Newspapers / Zebulon Record (Zebulon, N.C.) / May 13, 1938, edition 1 / Page 4
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SHINING PALACE «,V CllltlSTIM: WHITIXIi PAHMEMKR <.ii|>> ii«lh I 1m < ht'istinr WhifiiMf I’ji rm«*i»l «r W\i: SI HVK I THE STORY CHAPTER I—Janei Lambert tries In vain to dissuade his beautiful foster daughter, Leonora, from marrying Don Mason, young "rolling stone," whom h# 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 her 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 (ran* understanding between the two. CHAPTER U—bitting up late into me night, Lambert reviews the whole story, of Nora as a child , at boarding school, studying music abroad, meeting Don ofl the return trip. In the morning he de livers his ultimatum, to give Don a Job with Ned for a year’s showdown. When Mora 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 Jumpy, he cannot sleep at night, he is too tired to go out muen with Nora, and admits to her that he feels stifled. Nora soothes her music. He falls asleep and bis face is more peaceful than ft has been in many weeks. CHAPTER lll—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 loss tr> come to him for h**ln CHAPTER IV—With the coming of 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 derm'nine 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 comolete silence 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 is 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 his father in Nora's old 100 m, and when he offers to buy her old bed. Lambert asserts it is not his to sell, but belongs t& his daughter. After Ned’s departure, Lam bert reads Noia’s letter again, and won if ©ot*' Him on the Dier. CHAPTER IX—Nora s first son is bom 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 by the baby, and Mrs. Venable writes of Carl’s drowning, leaving his last gift to Nora, a baby oiann • How near, and yet how infinitely far away that year seemed now! Thus mused Nora as she watched the rising tide encroach, slowly, bat purely, on their resting place. What *things one lived through and emerged from unbroken! And here ithey were where they started life together, she and Don, back at “the .shack,” a very crowded dwelling place, “because,” said Don, regard jing Carl Venable’s last gift to Nora, ,**beeause, my dear, with a baby igrand and two grand babies, [there’s hardly room to come in out of the rain!” Yet Leonora was so happy at be ing home again—so lost in ecstasy over the piano, that nothing else 'seemed of the least consequence. It twas a long, long cry from that day !slx years before when she had re garded mere cobwebs and the lack jaf .water with such .keen THE ZEBULON RECORD, ZEBUI.ON, NORTH CA ROLINA, FRIDAY, MAY 13,1!>:88 dismay. What inconveniences hadn’t she put up with in those six years? Nora smiled at the thought, and ob served abruptly: “What a parlor ornament I once was, Don! Do you remember that until you brought me to the shack I’d never known the want of a kitch en apron?” Don turned his head, and without disturbing their younger son, who sat astride him, reached out and lifted one of Nora’s hands, her right hand. It was the delicately formed, sensitive hand of a musician—long fingered, slender. Nothing could mar its perfect contour; yet it was also the hard, brown hand of a wom an who had labored at tasks that leave their scars. It was a hand that had washed innumerable dishes; scrubbed floors; patched; darned; ironed; but on one finger blazed a thing of undying beauty: a matchless Kimberley diamond, the “good-by present” of a woman in far off Cape Town. Don kissed the palm of that work worn hand, and said, addressing his small son: “She’s a wonder, isn’t she?” “A perfec’ wonner,” agreed the baby; and they both laughed before Don questioned: “Where’s brother vanished to?” Nora glanced down the beach to where a small boy in a scarlet bathing suit was beginning opera tions on a tunnel that was to reach "Aunt Connie way over in Capri!” “He’s constructing a subway to It aly, I believe. The U. S. A. agrees with the kiddies, doesn’t it?” This question, innocent in itself, was, as developed later, merely an open ing. “Even this single month has made a difference in them,” Nora continued, choosing her words with care. “Jimsy has gained a pound, and Donald, two. I almost dread • M Don moved to scan her face for a stealthy moment. “I’ve been rather expecting that, my dear,” he said. Nora laughed, touching his hand at if to reassure him. "Afraid I’ll turn domestic?” she queried lightly. “You are domestic,” asserted Don. “That’s one of the reasons why I love you. You can create a home in the barest of hotel rooms, darling. Haven’t I seen you do it numberless times? Haven’t I seen you take a tumble-down villa over looking the Lake of Como, and with the aid of a couple of Italian blan kets and a .brass candlestick trans form it into such a place of peace and beauty that even Mussolini (if he had the good luck to get inside), would cease to dictate for a mo ment and let himself relax? If we were to occupy an igloo in the Ant arctic, I’ve no doubt you’d make it so attractive that the penguins would stand ’round begging to come in! You are a wonder, Nora, just as I observed a moment since. Why, I’ll wager you could take that weather-beaten old barn back there beyond the dunes and make a home of it!” “I could!” said Nora. Two words. Two words spoken with such a triumphant ring that in a flash Don comprehended things that had been puzzling him: a re cent preoccupation on the part of Nora; a day when he found her staring, dreamy-eyed, at the old barn; a trip to the Port that seemed unnecessary He sat up suddenly; deposited his outraged baby on the sand, and ex ploded with undue violence: “Nora, you can’t mean it! You’re crazy! That hideous old stable!” “It’s a lovely stable,” defended Leonora, “and we can buy it for al most nothing. The owners moved to Portland years ago when the house burned. Don. They’re tired of paying taxes and waiting for a summer colony to spring up next door and boom land values. They’ll take S3OO for the whole place—an acre facing the broad Atlantic! Imagine that! And the barn’s thrown in. They don’t consider it worth mentioning.” “It’s not,” said Don. His face was just a bit forbidding. “And it strikes me. Madam, that you’re rather astonishingly well in formed.” Nora was forced to laugh at this merited attack. *Tve taken pains to be,” she ad mitted honestly. “Not to deceive you, Don, or to put something over on you in an unguarded moment, bi£ because I, bad. to knew just where we stood. I’m not asking you to settle down forever, dear (How could you earn a living in such a spot?), but I’m homesick for a place to call my own—a refuge in time of need—a nook to hold the lovely things we just can’t help collecting —a haven when there’s a baby to be born. It’s no fun bringing a I child into the world duripg a storm at sea, as—as I did Jimsy.” Don looked at her in silence for a moment. When he spoke there was a trace of anger in his voice. “Are you implying that I don’t know it? That I underestimate the horror of that experience—for you, my dear? Do you think I’d have risked waiting so long to sail (even though we thought there was time to spare) if we hadn’t been so dam nably hard up that I felt I must squeeze every possible shilling out of South Africd? Why, I even con sidered sending you on earlier, alone, Nora, and was afraid you .couldn’t stand the trip with the boy to look after! I wonder if you’ve the least conception of how I felt that night when you woke me to say that things were imminent and I found the ship rocking like a cradle and the only doctor on board too sick with fever to lift his head off the pillow. I—l was sick myself, Nora, sick with fear, I mean, remember ing what you went through before. You don’t know me if you think I’d let you take a chance like that again. You don’t—” “Oh, come!’’ broke in Nora, smil ing a little. “One would think I’d accused you of neglect! And I didn’t need a doctor with that marvelous Norwegian nurse you dug up from mmwwfci “Let’s get back to the barn.” among the passengers and my ca pable husband, who took her orders like a soldier. It’s you who’s the wonder of the family, Don. You , never let me see that you were nervous—not for a minute. I re member thinking: ‘Don wouldn’t be so calm if things weren’t going right’; but I was frightened just the same, terribly frightened, espe cially when the storm was at its height and my vivid imagination pictured the ship just ready to go down. And if everything hadn’t been normal this time —Well, let’s forget that “possibility. Let’ get back to the bam.” | “Pony?” questioned James Lam bert Mason with what appeared to his admiring father as rare intelli gence. “You hear that, Nora?” he asked grimly. “Why, even the kiddie un derstands that a barn’s intended to shelter only cattle.” Nora laughed. “Since when have ponies been considered cattle, darling?” “Oh, you may laugh,” said Don, and his wife knew instantly that something hurt him, “but when I remember all you gave up for—for me, Nora, the thought of your liv ing in a stable—” “The Christ Child was bom in a stable. Daddy,” They both turned, startled, not having heard the approaching feet of their elder son. He stood behind them, his scarlet bathing suit a patch of gorgeous color against the dunes, his big, brown eyes regard ing his parents soberly. "So He was,” said Don, and pulled the scarlet figure down on his knee. Across the child’s dark head his eyes met Nora’s. This serious first-born of theirs, whose five short years had been spent almost en tirely among elders, possessed an uncanny way of getting at the heart of things. Sometimes it awed them, as it did now. “Cows?” questioned the baby, and sat down again, this time on Nora. His mother stooped to caress the soft, fair hair: and Don said gently: “I stand rebuked. Nora. Now I’ll be reasonable. What’s your idea? •’This,” she told him. "Let’s buy that barn, Don, and by degrees (as we have the money), make it into a home. To quote old Tom Little field, the carpenter at the Port, it was built at a time when ‘folks built honest.’ It was built to stand. I'll admit that it’s not beautiful. The cupola with its ridiculous colored windows is an eye-sore, of course; but it can be taken down —” “You mean that darling little house on top of the old barn. Mum my?” Young Donald spoke quickly, in alarm. “I love that cunning lit tle house, Mummy. Daddy and me climbed up there once, didn’t we, Daddy? We saw the lighthouse way, way out to sea; and a big steam er! Everything looked so kind of cheerful. Daddy ’splained it was because the windows are such pret ty colors. Daddy liked it too, Mum my. Don’t you let anybody take it down!” Said Don, who had the wisdom never to laugh when his small son was serious: “The cupola remains. It can be our watch tower. What, my darling," he asked of Leonora, "is a man’s castle without its watch tower?” For the first time in fifteen min utes Nora drew a breath of sheer relief. Don was won! His imagina tion had started working, and once that got going there was no stop ping him. For six years she had been an uncomplaining nomad. Life, despite its ups and downs, its some times terrifying hardships, had been rich, and colorful, and adventurous; but there were times when, woman like, she had dreamed of possessing a real home, even though she knew (being Don Mason’s wife) that they would occupy it only periodically. And her dream was to come true! Nora laughed, a laugh so joy ous and unguarded that Don real ized for the first time, perhaps, how courageously his wife had re linquished her own dreams that his might be fulfilled. The knowledge brought him a sense of his own un worthiness. He said, voice husky: “I’m a moron, Nora—a dumbbell —a complete washout. I hadn’t an idea that you were missing—any thing. With me, you know, home is simply ‘where the heart is.’ I ought to have understood that a woman feels differently—needs some place to call her own. Why didn’t you tell me? I’m only a blundering man, darling, but I love you and I haven’t meant to be self-centered. Os course we’ll buy that barn if it’s what you want and there's sufficient cash on hand to pay for it! Come on, kid dies! Let’s take a look at our fu ture home. Your mamma is more than a wonder, Jimsy. She’s some thing that’s utterly impossible to de scribe, and we don’t deserve her. Watch out, Nora! Here’s the big wave you prophesied a while ago!” • Don’s warning came too late. There was a rush—a scramble—a wail of anguish from James Lam bert Mason. Safe on the dunes the baby pointed seaward to where his small, red shoe: a tiny, fearless craft amid the breakers, was set ting sail across the broad Atlantic. (Continued Next wee*> FOR SALE! Several lots on Arrendall Avenue. See D. D. CHAMBLEE FRESH BARBECUE Strickland’s Place Rosen burp In Sandwiches or Bulk. Delivered in Zebulon Any Time. Guaranteed or Money Back. O. E. STRICKLAND. £££ cofs s ~ ODD ek’veb Aral day Headache SO aiaata Liqaid, Tablets, Salve, None Drop* Try "Rub-My-Tigm”-World's Beat Liniment Poetry Contest The poems given below were written by Wlakelon pupils and were submitted as entries in the contest sponsored by the Woman’s Club. A SNOW One day when we were playing, A playing in the yard, A crowd of merry boys were we, Playing prisoner and guard. When all at once we saw snow flakes, Floating down from above, White and downy snow flakes, White as the breast of the dove, In we went, into the house to put on our boots and gloves, So that we could play in the snow, That was white as the breast of a dove. By BILL BELL AUTUMN Os all the seasons of the year; I like the autumn best. For it gives most all the trees A golden yellow dress. The Pine is very different Most every time it will seem For every time you see her; She'll still be wearing green. Then old cold-hearted Winter Comes along and takes Every different colored dress; That Autumn ever makes. By MARSHALL KEITH SANITARY HANDLING LESSENS MILK LOSS North Carolina dairymen lose thousands of dollars each summer as a result of not handling their milk properly. John A. Arey, extension dairy man at State College, says that because milk is so easily contami nated, every person connected with its handling should be clean in his methods. When drawn from healthy cows, few bacteria may be found in it. Milk souring is caused by bac teria changing milk sugar into lactic acid. It is impossible to re move these bacteria by straining, as many people think. Milk receives- most of its con tamination from the body of the cow during milking. Therefore, it is essential that all parts of the animal's body be kept clean and well-groomed. Then, too, the milker’s hands may be a source of contamination, so they should be clean and.dry during the milking process. Small top pails have proven ef fective in cutting down the num ber of bacteria that enter while the cow is being milked. Dairymen should recognize this type of con tainer as one of the easiest and cheapest means at his disposal for producing good milk. All containers used in handling milk should be of metal with all •orners and seams completely illed with solder. To clean these containers thoroughly they should first be rinsed in lukewarm water, | then scrubbed with a brush in wa ter of the same temperature as that in the rinsing process to which a good alkali washing pow der has been added. After wash ing, sterilize with steam and store in a clean dry place. Milk should be cooled immedi ately after the milking process and held at a temperature of below 60 degrees F. When cotton and tobacco farm ers voted in favor of marketing quotas, they voted against big surpluses and possibly ruinously low prices. Patronize Our Advertisers.
Zebulon Record (Zebulon, N.C.)
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May 13, 1938, edition 1
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