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THE ZEBULON RECORD, ZEBULON, NORTH CA ROLINA, FRIDAY, MAY 6,1938
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CHAPTER I—James Lambert tries In
( vain to dissuade his beautiful foster
daughter, Leonora, from marrying Don
•Mason, young "rolling stone," whom ha
likes but of whom he disapproves ac
cording to his conventional business-man
standards. He tells her, "Unless a house
'is founded upon a rock, it will not sur
vive.” Leonora suspects the influence of
her half-brother, Ned, always jealous of
the girl since the day his father brought
iier home from the deathbed of her
•mother, abandoned by her Italian bari
tone lover. Don arrives in the midst of
■the argument, and Lambert realizes the
frank understanding between the two.
CHAPTER H—Sitting up late lnio me
night, Lambert reviews the whole story,
of Nora as a child, at boarding school,
Studying music abroad, meeting Don od
the return trip. In the morning he de
livers his ultimatum, to give Don a Job
with Ned for a year's showdown. When
Nora suggests the possibility of running
away with Don, Lambert threatens dis
inheritance. Don agrees to the job, but
before a month is over, his nerves are
lumpy, he cannot sleep at night, he is
too tired to go out much with Nora, and
admits to her that he feels stifled. Nora
soothes him with her music. He falls
asleep and his face is more peaceful than
It has been In many weeks.
CHAPTER Hl— Nora grows quieter,
and broods over Don, complains to her
father of Ned's spying on him, and de
cides that rather than see Don's spirit
broken, she will run away. She urges
her father to put an end to the futile ex
periment. James Lambert is obdurate
and angry. Lambert tells her that if
Don quits she will quit with him; that he
will be through with her. He adds that
if she tires of her bargain It will be use
■“ctfMSS MUMT £?%«»* -
spring, Don is full of unrest and wander
lust, and takes long walks at night. One
evening a poor girl speaks to him, and
in his pity for her, he gives her money.
A car passes at that moment, flashes
headlights and moves on. A terrific heat
wave ushers in the summer, and Nora
refuses to go to the country with her
father. Ned, meanwhile. Insinuates to
his father about Don's evenings away
from Nora, but Lambert refuses to lis
ten. Meanwhile. Don broods over the un
dermining of his morale
CHAPTER V—At the height of the
heat wave, when Don is finding every
thing insupportable, Ned speaks of hav
ing the goods on him, having seen him
give a girl money. When Ned scoffs
at the true story of the episode, Don
knocks him down, and is through. He
calls Nora, who insists on running away
with him to get married, realizing it is
her Job to restore Don's faith in himself.
Her good-by to her father Is met with
CHAPTER Vl—Don and Nora go to
Maine and settle down in the studio of
Carl Venable, a famous ■ artist friend of
Don's, whose daughter he saved from
drowning. Nora writes her father. There
Is no answer, except her baggage, con
taining her entire wardrobe, and SI,OOO
hidden in a gold mesh bag.
CHAPTER Vll—After a tranquil sum
mer. which partly restores Don's health,
Don and Nora accept the Venables’ in
vitation to Capri for the winter. Nora
realizes she is to have a baby, but says
nothing to change their plans. She is
also reluctant to go so far from her fa
ther, and writes him of their sailing. At
the dock, Nora, feeling that her father la
there, waves good-by.
CHAPTER VIII—Ned, reading of the
Masons' sailing, goes to see his father,
and has a talk with Martha, the old
housekeeper, who bemoans Lambert's
stubbornness which is breaking his own
heart and Nora's. Ned finds nis father
In Nora’s old room, and when he offers
■to buy her old bed, Lambert asserts it
Is not his to sell, but belongs to his
daughter. After Ned's departure. Lam
bert reads Nora's letter again, and won
iipr« if «hp him on the pier.
CHAPTER IX—Nora's first son is born
In England, while Don is successfuly
writing "Letters from Capri" for a Lon
don editor, and selling them in America,
with Venable's illustrations. Assigned
finally to Cape Town, Don comes down
with typhoid, followed bv the baby, and
Mrs. Venable writes of Carl’s drowning,
leaving his last gift to Nora, a baby
1 The rest seemed easy to Leonora
.compared with all that had gone
before. Yet the night when she
found Don asleep over the weekly
“Letters from Cape Town,” his
head dropped forward on the kitchen
jtable that served as desk, one still
thin hand clutching a stub of pencil
'(“Too tired to use his typewriter,
poor boy I” she thought compassion
ately), and discovered that instead
of spending long days in the open
as he’d led her to believe, getting
•back strength lost in his illness, he
,had for weeks been going into Cape
,Town to help load freighters at the
docks jecause it meant more mon
ey immediate money, the girl
;wished for'one bitter moment that
[they had never met.
I “Oh, Don, what have I brought
iyou to?” she cried; and he respond
ed la aa effort to console her:
“To something betver, I hope,
than the careless boy you married,
Nora. We’ve been growing up, I
suppose; and growing pains leave
scars on some of us. Give me
time, darling, and I’ll get back my
It still hurt Nora to think about
And the next morning!
In Don’s absence a letter arrived
from the London editor. Nora
opened it eagerly. According to
her husband’s contract each article
was to be paid for when received;
and the “cupboard was bare,” or
nearer bare than she liked to think
about. But to her surprise no crisp,
blue check fell from the envelope.
It contained merely a letter and a
manuscript. The editor was, it ap
peared, courteously puzzled. His
contributor’s work seemed to be
slipping—was surely not up to its
customary standard. The last few
For i long time Nora
installments had seemed forced—as
if he were writing under pressure,
not for the joy of narrating his ad
ventures. They lacked utterly the
charm of all his former work. For
both their sakes he was returning
the last “Letter from Cape Town.”
For a long time Nora sat strick
en, staring at those words written in
neat longhand. Under the circum
stances it was not a disagreeable
letter. It was merely cold. It made
her think of a hypercritical parent
reproving a careless child. It would
hit Don like a blow between the
After a while she drew the manu
script from its envelope. For weeks
Nora had been too worn and tired
to peruse the articles her husband
was sending out. Now, reading crit
ically, her heart sank still lower.
The editor was right. This wasn’t ona
of Don’s joyous narratives. It was
the work of a harassed, half sick
man, driving himself on because the
need of money was imperative.
Part of the thousand dollars
James Lambert had tucked into her
gold mesh bag had paid the charges
at the nursing home in London.
The rest (long saved for an emer
gency), melted away during the
months of sickness in South Africa.
Dreading to run up bills, Nora had
paid the Cape Town doctor at every
visit, not realizing that if the man
possessed a conscience he would
doubtless have deducted something
from the sum total. There had been
medicines, too, expensive medi
cines; and nourishing food that
cost real money. And now Don,
burning the candle at both ends in
a desperate effort to provide for
his loved ones, was failing to make
good. She would not show him that
letter. She could not.
What Nora did was to sit down
at the kitchen table, spread out the
rejected manuscript and proceed to
imbue it with the missing charm.
And because she knew her hus
band’s style so well —because she
had listened spellbound while he
talked of his adventures, she did it
superbly. Her tired eyes lighted as
she read it over, knowing by in
stinct that her work would “get
■cross.” And then she made the
wisest move of all: wrote simply
and honestly to the London editor
(she had to check herself from be
ginning the letter “Dear old life
preserver”!). confessing what she
had done to this Cape Town Letter
—telling him something of the un
foreseen troubles which had de
scended on them —agreeing to watch
over her husband’s work, speaking
quite frankly of the reason why they
must return to England at the time
planned. And at the end: “You will
understand, of course, why you
must send no answer to this letter;
but if in its present form you find
the article available for publication,
kindly forward a check to Mr. Ma
son as soon as possible ...”
“And never let anyone persuade
you,” she said months later when
Don learned the truth, “that Eng
lishmen, for all their cold exteri
ors, haven’t the warmest hearts in
the whole world!” For just when
her husband was beginning to worry
about the missing check, a letter ar
rived bearing the familiar heading.
The editor, it seemed, had learned
of his contributor’s recent illness,
regretted it deeply, and suggested
not trying to write till he was quite
himself. Enclosed was a check for
the last article (an especially good
one), as well as for the three to fol
low, “on which, my dear fellow, you
are at liberty to take your time.”
And with kindest regards to Mrs.
Mason, he remained very cordially
indeed . . .
“But how in thunder,” asked Don,
lifting puzzled eyes from this wel
come missive, “did the old boy
learn that I’ve been sick? And why
does he lug you in all of a sudden?”
“Well, don’t ask me!” responded
Nora, so guilelessly that for the
time being Don hadn’t a suspicion
of her intrigue.
After that things really did im
prove. The tension lessened. Don
did better work. The little son was
growing rosy; and Nora, rested her
self, admitted (although it went
against the grain to do so!) the
surpassing beauty of Cape Town
harbor the grandeur of Table
mountain rising majestically behind
Thus a day arrived when she
braved the eyes of a scandalized
community, and stopped at the
house of a woman who, like a min
istering angel, had appeared one
chill, gray dawn to offer help.
"Whoever sees me will be horri
fied, I suppose,” she said to Don,
“but after all, why should that mat
ter? I was at the breaking point
when she helped me out, you know.
It wouldn’t be decent not to say
good-by to her.”
"Os course it wouldn’t” Don
turned from locking a steamer
trunk to add: “I’ll go with you,
But Fate had other plans. Be
cause of some error about their
stateroom Don was called away;
and Nora went alone.
"I just dropped in to say good
by.” Her hostess, obviously aston
ished at the call, was leading her
into a small, tidy living room. Nora
had not expected its surprising neat
ness. Then she saw that the wom
an herself looked neater —more self
respecting, and continued: “We
leave for home tomorrow; and I’ve
never half thanked you for all you
did for us.”
“You don’t need to, lady.” The
voice sounded a shade breathless.
“It wasn’t nothing. I—” The
woman, seated across the little
room, arose suddenly. “I heard you
folks was pullin’ out tomorrow and
I got somethin’ for you—a —a sort
o’ good-by present, if you don’t
mind. I Was goin’ to carry it over
Touched, and a trifle puzzled,
Nora watched her open a bureau
drawer and take out a small box
tied with a bit of scarlet ribbon.
“Will —will you promise me some
thin’?” she asked, her voice still
“Why not?” said Nora. “Weren’t
you a real friend in time of need?”
"Friend!” echoed the woman, a
nervous, unsteady laugh escaping
her. “Well, lady, it’s this I want:
Promise you won’t open this box till
you’re out at sea; and —and that
you won’t never try to get it back
to me, noways.”
“That’s easy,” smiled Leonora,
anxious to put the other at her ease.
“Why should I want te send IK
“You’ll know when you see It
Your man might not like to have
you take it—from me, you know.
But you tell him that if I was to
kick off sudden some guy would
steal it off me moat likely. And —
and I wanter give it to you—’most
more’n I ever wanted anything. 1 —”
she hesitated, then broke out pas
sionately: “Say! you’re the first
good woman that’s spoken a kind
word to me for 15 years! I’m dirt
to ’em all; but if they knew how I
got this way— Well,” her voice
dropped, dully—“that don’t matter
now. I’m used to it. But you keep
that safe, lady. I come by it hon
est. A man give it to me once —
the only decent fella I ever
And next morning, a bright, clear
morning as if Cape Town were do
ing its best to overcome an unfor
tunate impression, -they set forth in
a second-class cabin (Oh, shades of
Leonora Lambert!) on what was
to be a most momentous voyage.
Safe in the depths of Nora’s hand
bag lay a small white box tied with
a scarlet ribbon. The English boy,
reluctant to see them go, was on
the wharf. His was the last face
they saw in Cape Town. His the
last voice they heard. Above the
confusion of departure it reached
them clearly: "Good-by and Good
Hope!” South Africa’s farewell to
the departing voyager.
(Continued Next Week)
IRBY D. GILL
Attorney & Counselor at Law
Zebulon, North Carolina
DR. J. F. COLTRANE
Office Hrs. 9-12:30—1:30-5
M. J. SEXTON
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Phone Off. 2881 Res. 2961
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