Thursday,' April 2s, 1923.
Matrimonial Adventures
Driftwood
BY !
Courtney Ryley Cooper
Anther of "The Cron (ht."
••The White Deoert.” "Dear
folk* at Home,” “The Basic's
Karo," eta.
Copyright by United Feature Syndicate
COURTNEY RYLEY COOPER
Courtney Ryley Cooper, author,
lecturer, circus man and expert on
Jungle animals, began life as a
clown in a small circus. Mr. Coop
er says that he ran away from
home for the first time to Join the
Buffalo Bill Wild West show at
the age of five, and that after that,
regularly two or three times a
year, the rest of the Cooper family
•pent most of Its time dragging
him home whenever a circus catne
' to his town, Kansas City. When
1 he was fifteen he made the final
breakaway, becoming a clown at
the magnificent salary of five dol
lars a week. After about five years
of this he began to mix the circus
business with that of the newspa
per and left the "white tops" to
become a reporter for the Kansas
City Star. He then successively
was a special writer for the Star,
the Chicago Tribune, the New
Tork World and the Denver Post,
when he again went back to the
circus to become press agent of
the Soils-Kioto circus, and personal
representative for Col. William F.
Cody, "Buffalo Bill." still
he became general manager of the
Sells-Floto circus.
Following this he turned his at
tention to telling the rest of the
world what he had learned of the
land of the sawdust ring and his
stories and articles began to appear
In all the large magazines or the
United Statea.
Mary stewart cutting, jr.
It was six-fifteen o’clock. In the
kitchen the last touches had been
given a meal which was a bit more ex
travagant than was customary In the
household of Mr. and Mrs. John Car
rington. The sliver candlesticks were
on the dining room table Instead of the
usual glass ones; the service had been
polished with extra care that morning.
At the side of each at the two alatap
was a sprig of orange blossoms, which
had arrived, special delivery, from
California, that morning. Just beyond
the French doors loading to the living
room naa a large basket of roses. It
was thus every yeur.
In the fireplace of the living room,
the flames leaped In blue and green
and violet colorings, the offglvlngs of
driftwood, sending their colorations
Into the big, comfortable shadowy
room and upon the woman who sat.
Just within the range of warmth, gag
ing Into the flames. Mrs. John Car
rington was watting for her husband
to come home to dinner In honor of
their tenth anniversary.
Not that there was any doubt as to
the time or manner of his arrival. Mr.
and Mrs. John Carrington had a repu
tation —they were known as the hap
piest married couple of all their set—
a set, incidentally, which Included
every worth-while name In the direc
tory. In five minutes, Mrs. Carrington
knew, there would sound the throb
bing of a familiar engine from down
the street and the squeaking of brake
bands which always announced the
homecoming of the best husband in
town. John never failed, just as he
never failed to telephone her precisely
at eleven o’clock each morning, just as
he never failed to remember her birth
day, or to send the biggest basket of
roses which he could afford, on their
anniversary. Just as he never failed
to take her to the theater on Thursday
night, to the Country dub for the Fri
day night dances, or—but the list Is
too long. John was the Ideal husband.
He never failed In anything.
Nor did she. For Medalne Carring
ton also had her place in the matrimo
nial sun. Even her enemies admitted
that she was a perfect wife. The se
renity of the Carrington home was
something which could not be denied.
Everyone knew of it, everyone spoke
of It. John Carrington and his wife
never had even quarreled!
Yet, as Mrs. Carrington watched the
Are, It seemed that an expression, al
most of utter fear, was in her eyes;
the tapping of a shoe upon the soft
rug gave evidence of nervousness, the
quick knitting of her hands em
phasized It. Now and then she turned
her head toward the window —as
though fearful of hts coming, yet anx
ious that he be here. Then she would
resume her former position, her eyes
fraught with presentment, gazing Into
the big fireplace where the driftwood
crackled and the flames leaped and
scurried In vagrant colorings. The min
utes passed.
A car stopped protesttngl.v. A step
sounded. The door opened. She turned
with her usual amlle.
"How lire you, Dearest?"
“Same as tisunl, Sweetheart.” He
was hanging up his hat and overcoat
▲ moment more nnd he came behind
her, to lay Uia hands on her shoulders
for an Instant. “How’s my Sweetheart
tonight?’’
“Happy us always, John.” She
turned and kissed him lightly. "You
were a dour to send me tboso roses.
Yen never forget. John."
•Why should I? Pretty ft**" l
"Yes—driftwood. I’ve been sitting
befe watching it, while I waked for
you.”
For a moment he, too, looked Into
the blaze.
“Beautiful. Driftwood, eh? Rmher
hard to get Isn’t It?”
She smiled.
“Yes—but then, this Is onr aanlver
**ry.”
“Thai's right. That’s right. 1 sup
pose the dinner's waiting?”
It was a useless question—asked
Merely for the sound of It. John knew
that dinner was ready. It always was
ready. The home of Mr. and Mrs.
John Carrington was one in which
nothing ever waspwry. He went on:
“Yes, of course, it's waiting. Just a
moment, Sweetheart, until I tidy up a
bit and I’ll be with you. Only a mo
ment—”
He hurried up the stairs, while again
the gaze of Medalne Carrington sought
the flames, the gaze of one whose mind
Is peopled with anguish. But jn a mo
ment more, it had vanished. John was
beside her, bowing in mock overpolite
ness. and offering his arm In an ex
travagant invitation to the table..
"Many congratulations today,” he
said as they seated themselves. “Four
or five of the boys dropped In to tell <
me their troubles, and incidentally to !
say how much they envied us. Strange
what n few little numbers will do,
Isn’t It?”
“Marvelous.” Her self-possession
had returned; with him before her she
was again the usual Medalne Carring
ton. “This is the tenth year, without
a quarrel.”
John laughed.
“And our idea may spread. Bentley’s
married you know—Just last week.
Catne 'into the office today. Told him
all about our system, and how It's
worked out. 'All that you need for
happiness. Bent,’ I said, ‘is to lenrn to
count to a hundred.’ Then, I went on
and told how it find worked with us,
how we simply schooled ourselves into
the habit of counting to a hundred be
fore we said an unkind word, how, If
one of us was nervous or Irritable, It
became the duty of the other to hold
tn, and the wonderful result that we’ve
attnlned. After nil, dearest, It’s all
very simple, isn’t It?”
“Extremely so.” For Just an instant
her eyes clouded—only to brighten
again. “I’ve never seen prettier roses
thnn the ones you sent today, John."
“Dint's what you’re always good
enough to say. By the way, this roust
Is done to a turn. I never tasted bet
ter.”
The meal progressed to a perfect
conclusion—as It always did. Once
more, they were before the driftwood
tfljme. took l>ls hand inciters.
“AfteraTk nAremarkable that two t
persons could go through ten years of
married life without a quarrel, Isn’t It,
John?”
He nodded. Then:
“Yes—ln away. Thpn again, all that
It necessary Is tommori sense.”
“I suppose so. But haven’t there
been times when I have tried you ter
ribly, when I’ve made you so angry
that you couldn't hold your temper?”
“No, not once, dearest. One simply,
couldn’t lose his temper with you.” j
“There—you mustn’t say that. Be- j
sides, the main point, I suppose, Is the j
fact that It’s been accomplished. Ten j
years of married life, without even a
quarrel!”
She rose then, and moved slowly
Into the shadows. Again her hands
knitted unconsciously. An expression,
as of acute pain came Into her eyes.
John did not see—he was gazing into
the flames and watching the colorings
as they came and went.
“Ten years without a quarrel! It’s
something to be proud of, something to
boast about to your friends and—”
“Yes, I suppose so."
There was something in her tone
which caused him to look up quickly,
to glance toward her as though she
had uttered a desecration. The flick
ering of the fireplace caught her fea
tures, to display them as singularly
pale, singularly drnwn and Indicative
of suffering. He half rose—but she
motioned him back.
“Please sit there, John, I’ve —some-
thing to tell you.”
“Why. dearest? Yon seem so—"
"Don’t—please.” She gripped the
back of a chair as though for support.
“I—want to say It as quickly as pos
sible. I’m going away, John.” The
voice was faint.
He was silent for a moment. At
la at:
“Well, if you feel that you should—
It course, it would be better from a
financial point’ If you waited a while,
but If you really want to—”
“I don’t mean that way, John. I’m
Hot coining back.”
“Not—” He stared at her In non
plussed fashion for a long time before
he rose. “Why t I don’t —1"
“I didn’t think you’d understand.”
“Not coming back? Why—”
“Not coming back, John," she re
peated, and this time the voice bore a
certain note of harshness. “We’re
through I”
"Medalne!”
"Please!”! She motioned him back.
“I know what I’m doing. I’m perfectly
clear and sane. I’ve simply put up
with yon as long as I can stand It, and
now I’m going away. You’ve become
unbearable to me, and when a thing
like that happens, the best thing to do
Is to get away. So I'm going."
She said it with more coolness than
ever, and with an tnclslveness that cut
d*ep. There was the slightest twitch
ing of John’s lingers—then he turned
away, and for a long moment was si
lent. At last, as though eased In mind,
he moved again to hts chair.
“You’re tired, sweetheart. Tired
out—norvoc.is. Don’t worry. Every
thin'll be all right. If you’ll Just tell
I mm what’s wrong, well find away to
remedy It. Nothing tn the world that ,*
can’t he remedied, you know —” l
“Except this, l’nt tired of you. John. *
Sick of you.’’ -
“Sick? Tired?” He ngnin faced *
her. "Sick of —” Then for a long
time he was silent again. “There,
sweetheart, don’t mind me. Os course /'
you’re tired. 111, too. We’ll talk It J
Over in the morning—” S
“There isn’t going to he any mom- 4
ing. John. At least, not with you.” 1
She laughed. “Ten years is enough. '
I want someone else now." 1
“You?" He was on his feet in an 4
instunt, his fingers stretching wide, ”
his brow working convulsively, “you— 1
M edit hie?"
“Exactly what I said.” J
“A man?” |
"You don’t suppose It would be any- *
one else?
“But Medalne—” 1
“And I have your permission to go?” J
It seemed that there was a little snr- ‘
casm in her tone. “Os course, you
know, I’d do nothing without your *
permission. I want to be frank with
you. you know. You’ve supported me 1
for ten years. You’ve given me every- "
thing in the world I could ask for, 1
you’ve supplied me with all the money
that anyone in my circumstances could 1
wish for, nnd you’ve really made It 1
possible for me to have the money to 1
do what I wanted to do when the time 1
enme, and so I really should ask your 1
permission. Especially when another 1
man is involved.”
"Do you mean—” coldness had come 1
into his voice, “that you’re going to
tnke tlie money that you've saved ns 1
my wife to go to some other man?” t
“I’ve said nothing like that, John.
Merely frankness and fairness to let 1
you know.”
“Who is he?” i
“A friend of yours. We needn’t ’
mention names."
“No?" There were no long pauses
between John Carrington's words now.
The whiteness of his cheeks, the lack
of color in his lips, turning them
ghastly blue In the light of the drift
wood, (he glazed yet flaming appear
ance of his eyes all gave evidence that
temper had go'ne beyond control. !
“No? We needn’t mention names.
Diat's what you say, Mrs. John Car- |
rington. but I’ve a different idea!”
“Your privilege! But the informa
tion won't come from me.”
“I don’t expect It. I can find out
for myself, without the necessity of !
running down any lies which you
might tell me. I’ll find out—”
“I expect you to.”
“I will!" John Carrington, the per
fect husband, swung past his chair to
face her, his hands gripped, the
muscles of his Jaws bulging as his
teeth gritted. “Don't worry for an in- 1
stant about that end of it! I’ll find
out.’’ i
“And then?” A peculiar glint had
come into her eyes. “When you've 1
found out? Murder, I suppose?” i
“Murder?” he laughed at her. “Mur* |
der, over you? Over a woman who has
no more sense of honor than to do
the tiling you’ve done? Murder? 1
Hardly! Merely the satisfaction of I
knowing the kind of a person that
would take up with a conscienceless
woman. Nothing more.”
“Very good excuses, John.”
“For what?"
“The lack of backbone enough to
even face a man who could steal your
own wife from you. You wouldn't
even have the strength to face him."
“No?” His hands worked as with a
sudden spasm. “When I face some
body. it will be for stealing some
thing—do you understand what 1
mean? When I face a man It will be
because he's taken something from
me that's worth while, and not ridded
me of a blank featured Incubus, a
thing that’s hung onto me like a
leech, given Into me at every twist
and turn merely that she could rob
me, someone so sweet and gushing
that she’s sickening, that herself
hasn’t any more strength than to take
the word of the first man who flat
ters her and who Is willing to run
away with him simply because he tells
her any mass of lies that happens to
j come into his head! That’s when I’ll
face a thief, when he’s stolen some
j thing—do you understand thsrt?
“And as for you—” he nodded to
ward the doorway—“you can go when
and where you choose, and the sooner
the better. I thought you were a
woman when I married you. I’ve
found out in the ten years that we’ve
been living together that you’re mere- j
ly a spineless, resistless, shapeless
mass of human putty. I didn’t expect
a thing like this —bnt I should have
known that it would come. It was the
only end possible, the only thing pos
sible—from a person like you. Resist
ance? You haven’t, any? Strength of
character? It doesn't exist. Spine
less? It’s the only word I can think;
of for you—the only— ’’
Then he halted, gasping. A warm,!
! Impulsive little form was close to him,
her nrms tight about his neck, her lips (
seeking his, and kissing him again nnd
again. !
“Oh, John, you’re wonderful!" came
all in a breath, “Just simply wonder
ful! I—”
He strove to push her away, nnd
failing, merely gasped the more. For
she was talking again, her words
streaming excitedly, delightedly.
“That’s Just what I’ve thought about
you, John—what you’ve said about me
—that you were spineless, resistless.
But you’re not, are you. John?
You’re—”
“Flense— 1 ” He strove to break from
her, but she held him tight, and a sud
den pleading, happiness In her tone,
“I don’t have to go away now, John.
My ‘other man’ has come to me. Don’t
you understand, dearest—don’t you
understand?”
“Huh?” It was the only word he
could utter, aa be stood there staring
iflE ccncoftD dailt TfcreyHß
at ha, his arms flat at his silos, his
Ups open, his expression one of com
bined anger, dismay and wonderment.
The soft arms tightened still more
about his neck. ,
“Kiss me, John —please!”
“Hardly.”
“But don’t you understand? I was
just trying to make you say the things 1
you di<l say—it was the only way I
could think to do it. Don’t you see? 1
didn't know any other way in, the
world to make you quarrel with me, to
forget that eternal counting to a hun
dred before you’d ever answer, to —to
—John, please—won’t you kiss me? 1
don’t love anyone in the world hut
you. I swear it —nobody in the world,
John. Don’t you see? I—I—” Then
Ihe tears came—“l Just couldn’t stand ,
it any—any more.” ,
“Stand it—stand what?”
“Why—why, everything, John.. You
just can’t endure things forever with
out salt and pepper. It isn’t natural.
It—lt just got on my nerves until I
thought I’d go crazy. I—”
“What’s the—” Frank amazement
was his now. "I don’t understand you
—can’t make you out, Medaine. Salt
and pepper—”
“Just what I mean, John. Put your
arms around me, won’t you please?
Please, John?’’ She caught a hand and
raised it ti> her shoulder, where it hung
a moment, then dropped limply. But
he did not resist her now, as he had
done a moment before. “Tell me, John |
—ls this the first time you’ve ever
thought me spineless?”
He shook his head, saying silently 1
what lie would not say in words. It
seemed to please her. She kissed him.
“.And haven’t you wondered often
how on earth you ever married me?
Haven't you wondered if I really had
enough spirit to even have a quarrel
with a tradesman? Haven’t you, John?
I’ve thought that about you—wondered
how on earth you managed to trans- ,
act your business, ltow you ever got
the backbone even to discharge an
employee. You’ve never shown it at j
home. I’ve tried to nettle you, anger I
you—and till you did was count to a .
hundred.”
’Dint was our bargain.” He said It
somewhat grudgingly.
“Just the trouble—just what hurt ’
me, that you’d stay by a silly bargain
like that. John,” she looked at him
quickly, “during the time we’ve been
married, have you really been happy?”
| “I?” lie-paused. His lips pressed
tight for' an instant. Then: “If you
want the frank truth —I haven’t.” |
“Why?”
Again a pause. Then;
"Oh, never mind.”
“But I want to know, is it for the |
same reason that I haven’t been happy
f 5 —because everything has been Just
the same, Just the regular monotony
of sugar, sugar, sugar all the time and
jnever a hit of bitter-sweet? Is that
the reason, John? And I have been
‘unhappy, John. I’ve known every mtn
jute what you were going to do. I
knew the minute you were going to
leave home, the minute you would tel
ephone me, the minute you’d get here
jat night, and what you’d talk about
|at the dinner table. I knew to a dot
jwhat you’d do and say and how you’d
isct. And, John—a woman may say
| she wants that, but she doesn’t. She
[wants a husband who’ll be good to
flier most of the time, but who now and
then—well, who won’t. We can’t be
superhuman, John, j -It isn’t in us.
You've been on time to dinner for ten
years. I haven’t even had the excite
ment of scolding you for being late.
I —" Then, as if with an inspiration,
she looked at him —“John, did you ever
notice liow an electrical storm
clears the air? And how sultry it has
been beforehand? We’ve never even had
the chance to know how beautiful
things can be after the clouds have
gone. We’ve had nothing but sun
shine—until It’s blinded us and we
haven’t been able to see anything!”
Then she hatted — beaming.
A light of understanding had come In
to the eyes of John Carrington. The
tired expression faded, to give way to
one which Medaine had not seen in
years. Slowly his arms raised and
(clasped about the form of his wife. He
; kissed her—slowly, as one who tastes
long at n sweet he is loath to leave.
I Ten years seemed to have rolled
laway, ten drab uneventful years which
now bore no more importance In retro
jspect than the flatness of monotonous
(plains. A soft hand touched his tem
; pie and lingered there.
II "We’ve just been driftwood, John."
) H[e nodded and kissed her again.
jThen, like a streak, he turned from her
(and bounded up the stairs; Wonder
ling, she heard him fumbling about in
an upper room, banging at drawers
land uttering strange things under his
breath. A grunt. Another. Louder.
Then:
“Medalne,” came in bellowing tones,
; yet 1 ones which seemed strangely
; fraught with happiness, “where In
thunder are my pongee shirts?" '
; In the room below, Medaine smiled
i —the smile of a woman who has
' fought and won. She whirled toward
the stairs and called snapplly, yet with
a glint of merriment In her eyes.
“Right where they've always been,"
came her explosive announcement,
"right In the third drawer of the chiff
robe, if you’ll only tnke the time to
look for them!”
Five minutes later a caller stepped
on the veranda of the Carrington
home. It was Inevitable that he should
Iglance through the window, to see
(within the living room two persons sit
ting before a driftwood blaze, bands
'together, arms about each others’
shoulders, two radiant sweethearts
watching the flickering of the flames.
The caller sighed In envy.
"They’ve got the system,” he an
nouncod to himself as he rang the
bell. "Happiest darned couple la
IflßVßj*
The Cotton Outlook.
Klrniinghnm Age-Herald.
According to nn official statement
of ilte department of agriculture the
cotton market will be able to absorb
at fair prices it eotton crop ol' (hir
teen million bales. li i . not likely
that tbe South will produce tbiiieen
million bales this yetr. It is certain
though, that it will pay every planter
to* take most excellent care ol’ bis
crop. This means n„: only that lie
fight the boll weevil in accordance
with file most approved methods, but
that he pay especial attention to
thorough and regular cultivation. The
farmer who makes money cm cotton
is the farmer who raises (lie .mis: cot
ion to the aero. There is many a
farmer, who with proper m« thuds,
could raise as much on fifteen .acres
ns he now raises on twenty. It Is
such an excellent chance of receiving
.. 'T**r • I ■ ■ ■wifi , , .....
’. . - _____ -
j.. | 'j
[ Walls of Beauty M
fp'lH 1 and Economy
l’c \ J | trend of interior decoration in
! I J*- modern homes is simplicity and har
%i A 'c3t\ 7 "' j Walls and ceilings should biend perfectly ffj
| TLe Modem, Durable. Sanitary Flat Oil Finish I -
It II It comes in White and 24 rich, velvety colors «H .
:: -w\ \\ |1 j which tend themselves admirably to the most charming p j
yd l_—-t Y-l combinations. Pee Gee Fiaticoatt is an ei ono- 'icaS ji.™ A
. .. \\\ lei fint-rJi, because its colors remain bright and berxutiful for SI I
• -f' '/■.\\ \\ J years and if soiled are easily cleaned with a moi, * sponge. || |
. \W, rH—For House Exvpriors use Pee tlee Masttc Paint—it contains i.igr? per- bl -j
- . \ \C^*^rfw' " ccntage of ZINC, last longest, looks best and gives lasting satistav tion fi|p’ n '' an ' T ’^‘' T *f
‘ \ \ \T at .lowest cost c
AjK to for ‘Paint liocfa: 40 The Modem Method of
aim g and Home jr and Hotu. tv Paint Them/* o* write dir£c%,to
Peaslee-iSaulbtrt Co,. Inearserctia, £ GuuDitte, Ky.
j|£ssS / Wherever motor cars are discussed, The name was selected because com- \®||
Ss* j and that’s nearly everywhere, somebody parative tests against all kinds of cars \
jjgjaj is sure to remark —“That Studebaker made this car stand out as something In
aBS Special-Six is a regular automobile.” special and apart from the ordinary ran \ Hgig
The Studebaker Special-Six has been of automobiles. _lt requites special merit
|pt possible. Today there are more than Count the “ Special-Sixes” that have |B|
||l one hundred and twenty-five thousand appeared since the arrival of the Stude- fj||
.jH in every-day service and we don’t be- baker Special-Six. That’s the props of ;||||
yf j Sedan 1550 Sedan 2050 Sedan... 2750 X^S^K:'■:
evident rhai -the cost of earing for
lift, ( ii acres will, he less than i lit- cost ■
cf earing tor twenty. There i» n»
1,-lan for a ml notion in acreage for i
'.the purpose of reducing the yield, but
rather such a reduction in acreage as
will give opportunity for better" cate
of fit cup and for the. production of
mote pounds to the acre.
Ti c c is ; i stimnitsa to planter.- this.
scfiSOi. nut only iti the prospect of a
gc-J (Ifinaml for eotton, hut also in
the fact that oty: tnlzed ginning grad
ing, storing and marketing will biiirt
a higher ■ average pritc to tin* gror;
than lie would otherwise be able to
ohliiin. Tlier<‘ in ay he seasonal -ml
other dc'iiwhacks. Imi; the farmer is
iucusnuue] to and not nniiervcd I»y
tlicia. Such obstacles he lias to meet
in one form or another every yctr.
'Kin not until recently has he stood
tfie fui! value of his protect. .
PAGE THREE
Children Wr.ik From Hickory to Tfn
.Fohnpon Cit. Tenn. , Ab'il 113.
I'har-ty and Leon Hale, li and 13
years of age, reached here today after
a tramp of ids aiil.-s across. -the Ap
pahihiuu mountains. following the
(teaill of their father their only rela
tive. at Hickory. N. C. They state
they have been cm the trip three weeks,
•cf.ping cuc ide every night, hat were
tarn shed ample f.ud by people living
alms: the route, and cisirn to be en
route to an aunt living in Lynchburg,
Tlic-y n cached Johnson City tired
ud ravged anil applied fur direction
in poiic. lieadtiuortei):. Police otii
<ci-( iivad d a sulcv. ipfion which citi
f|r.iekiy iucre. ..;*() to an amount
sufficient for new shoos- and clolhing.
railroad liihet to Lynchburg, a hair
• (!i-',run'ial pock>-! change and two
big hoxca of food.