Thursday, February 27, 1936
—Ushbel J^oss
SYNOPSIS ... A luxurious five
month cruise around the world
aboard the "M&renia" brings togeth
er a group of passengers for adven
tures, romantic, entertaining . . . .
and tragic. . . Like in "Grand Hotel"
these passengers offer a study in
human actions and reactions which
unconsciously bare their souls . . .
These characters are aboard the ship
Macduff, dour Scotchman, single, of
middle age; Miss Mudge, school
teacher, spending the savings of 20
years; Angela, faithful wife of Lovat,
gigolo; Dick Charlton, first'officer;
Clare, a person of experience; Joan,
a dissipated flapper; Jenny, run
away wife, and Peter; Captain Bar
ing, master of the ship . . . and his
soul . . . NOW GO ON WITH THE
STORY.
SIXTH INSTALMENT
"Well, I'm doing it. I'm painting
a little, because I like to pass the
time that way."
Macduff was charmed with An
gela's way of tossing off her words.
Here was a woman who might be
worth her salt. She chatted about
the Ganges, and gave him a lively
picture of her own impressions that
morning. Yes, she was an artist.
He could tell that from her choice
of words.
When Macduff was writing, he
bothered little with externals, going
in for sombre, philosophical stuff
that some people seemed to like. It
surprised him to see India through
the sapient eyes of an intelligent
woman. Soon he was talking him
self, and marveling at his own
fluency. For half an hour his com-*
panion sat back, entranced and
amused, while he unbent. She lit a
cigarette and watched him from
under the brim of her hat. It must
be the cocktails. He was off like
an orator. There was nothing to do
but listen, now that the floodgates
were open. But would he ever come
to the end of his soliloquy? Was he
talking sense or nonsense? Angela
realized that the man was simply
unused to voicing his thoughts, al
though verbose, no doubt, on paper.
She had heard vaguely of his books,
but had never read anything that he
had written. After this, she would
with ingredients of
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try to get hold of them and see what
they were like.
The other people in the room who
knew them were watching their ta
ble with surprise.
"Ye gods!" said Johnny to Clare.
"Watch Macduff talking to Mrs.
Wynant."
"It's a miracle. I'd like to know
what he's saying. It would be Mrs.
Wynant who would get him to talk.>
"Won't you come with me to -the
river, Mr. Macduff?" Angela was
saying, at the first break in their
conversation. "I can't keep away.
It's the most animated canvas I've
ever seen in my life and I'm rather
keen about masses of people."
"That's just where you're differ
ent from me," said Macduff, weigh
ing his decision on whether to go
with Angela or stay for a liquer.
"No, I won't. There's nothing I dis
like so much as human beings, and
I find it depressing to look at such
thousands mucking about together."
They went out to the veranda and
he ordered liquers. Angela watched
him, wondering if perfect frankness
tyere not the cue in handling Mac
duff. She leaned towards him.
"You're rather a myth on the boat,"
she laughed, "the man who must
not be spoken to."
A deep roll of laughter shot sur
prisingly from his throat. "It's not
on the boat alone —it's the way I
live. I find that human contacts
interfere with one's work and one's
life."
"Then I cant understand why
you travel around the world on a
cruising boat. To escape from peo
ple on the Marenia is like trying to
dodge bees in a hive."
"I came on a cruising boat because
it takes me to out-of-the-way ports
I'd never have been able to get to by
any other means. Moreover, I've
found all the isolation that I would
get at home—at the least possible
expense," Macduff finished, cannily.
Angela sighed and swung her par
asol. "Sometimes I think one would
be happier alone, in a world of one's
own. liie constant give and take of
social relations wear one down."
Macduff's face was loosening in
amiable lines, and she thought she
detected a twinkle through his rim
less spectacles. Or was it Just the
sun on the lens?
"I'm thinking that you're not very
happy," he told her, surprisingly.
"Happy enough, Mr. Macduff, but
wandering in my thoughts. To tell
you the truth, they're in England
with my husband and my home."
"Tell me about your home."
"J've never been able to conjure it
up for anyone else, although it's so
. frljf" *»* ' *• . '•! '• *' > '
THE ELKIN TRIBUNE, ELKIN, NORTH CAROLINA
vivid in my own mind. It's a ramb
ling house with gables, frightfully
ancient, with bits that have been
added on from time to time. The
ceilings are low and beamed, and
the dormer windows are tucked in
odd places under the eaves. It's filled
with pictures, ancient and modern,
and my dog Jock patters all over it
like a presiding Turk."
Angela stopped abruptly, think
ing that she had been lacking in
tact and reserve.
"Do you live in New York, Mr.
Macduff?"
"Yes. Have you ever been there?"
"Five year? ago I visited it for a
few wteeks. I love it, the excitement,
the tearing hurry, the air—such air!
But to live in it—how does one man
age that?"
"My life is as quiet and slow as if
I lived on the tip end of Cornwall."
"I don't see how you can dwell
among such glorious skyscrapers
and feel that life is quiet and slow.
Life can't be slow in a soaring city.
I think I should live on wings if
New York were my home."
"It's all tosh, the things people
think of New York. It's thp best pos
sible city for work, because it's one
of the few places in the world where
you are let alone if you want to be.
I can work better there than any
where under the suni"
"Perhaps that's why American wo
men accomplish so much. I admire
them greatly."
"Do you?"
"Yes. Don't you?" Her voice ex
pressed surprise.
. "No. They're scatterbrains—
reckless creatures. They're also
shockingly vain—spending, spend
ing', everything for clothes and ap
pearances."
"But how stunning they look!"
"Like so many dolls in a window.
The same eyes, the same lift to
their chins, the same way of wear
ing their clothes, and the same an
kles."
"But I can't imagine a race of
women with better ankles! Ameri
can women always surprise me
afresh with the buoyancy of their
spirit. They have such grace—per
haps because they're free and have
economic independence. They're
the only women who walk with hope
and assurance."
"I don't approve of them at all."
"Oh dear! What a pity! If I were
a man and lived in America, I
should admire them very much and
fall in love with any number of
them. They're intelligent, too. But
I see it's a hopeless argument."
Macduff had lost the thread of
the conversation, and seemed to be
stumbling towards an Important
conclusion of his own. He was stand
ing, looking down at her with an
air of gloom, Angela gazed at him
softly and he shifted his weight.
The sun was in his eyes, the gar
den was fragrant with blooms, the
Union Jacks were still pleasantly
warm in his stomach. He rubbed
the back of his head meditatively
and couldn't Imagine why his feet
were moving towards the river.
What was the sense of going to the
Ganges with a chance traveling ac
quaintance?
"How delightful of you to come
with me to the river, Mr. Macduff."
Angela's voice was gay with pleas
ure as she saw him falling into step.
Her companion grunted and pull
ed on his pipe.
"We'll ride to Tiger Hill togeth
er to see the dawn over Mount Ev
erest when we reach Darjeeling," he
announced, amazed at his own de
sire to establish a deeper contact
with the woman at his side.
"That will be splendid," she told
him.
The afternoon sun fell in slanting
rays over the Indian Ocean, shed
ding a flutter of gold on water that
heaved In a darkeneing swell. The
aquatic sports were about to begin
in the swimming pool. Patty, brim
ful of energy, was divir.g repeatedly
from the highest springboard.
"She was born to live in a swim
ming-suit," Jenny said, admiringly.
"A genuine water-nymph!" Peter
remarked, always appreciative of the
manifestations of physical perfec
tion.
Jenny saw that Clare and Patty
were both In the race. It would be
interesting to watch the twp of them
together, for they were evenly
matched, in spite of the difference
in their ages.
Clare was a gifted swimmer, and
her speed and form were equal to
the best that girls half her age
could do. No woman on the boat
could compete with her except Pat
ty. Joan Poster was good, but she
slept all day and took most of her
swims late at night.
Clare was In tangerine, a brilliant
flash in the clear water of the tank.
It suited her dusky skin. Patty
was In a striking green suit
The whistle blew and the con
testants were off, with orange and
green in the lead. Clare tore through
the water like a goldfish, using the
long Australian crs.wl Patty made
better time with the American
crawl.
Johnny was pierced in a corner
close to Angela. His face was set
in anxious furrows, for he felt that
the race had something to do with
him. Patty won the first heat, Clare
the second; they seemed to be mar
ve ously paired. Angela sat silent,
thinking of Johnny and wondering
whom he wanted to win.
Clare was leading now, but Patty
was creeping up. Every stroke
brought her nearer to the fleet or
ange figure. Patty was breathing
easily and turning in the water with
each long stroke.
Johnny's heart was pounding.
Clare was losing. Did he want her
to lose? He did not know. Patty was
magnificent. He liked the clean
sweep of her strokes. He remem
bered his college days, and his heart
went out to Patty. He knew that she
would root for him, but Clare be
witched him.
But this was Patty's race. She
must win' Johnny's throat was
soapy, as it used to be when he
tackled at football.
Patty won, and, as she touched
the end of the swimming pool, he
bit his lips on a shout of jubilation.
Angela felt his suppressed excite
ment and was suddenly sure of
something that had puzzled her for
weeks.
But it was Clare he went over to
speak to, Clare he helped out of the
water. "Good stuff, Patty!" whis
pered Johnny as she passed him on
her way to the dressing-room. "You
and I'll have a race pretty soon."
, Patty laughed in her throat, tossed
her cap and strode on. She felt ro
bust and happy, as if a dark shadow
that had been creeping up on her for
weeks had taken to its heels.
dare was also in gay spirits, a
step from Peter's side, she had not
cared whether she won or lost; stress
did nothing but give one crow's feet.
"Well, that's over," she said.
' Patty's like the wind. I admire her
fcrrr. In the water. 1 '
You were quite worth watching,
100." Peter's voice was warm, and
his glance passed over her like a
searching flame.
"Why didn't you compete, Mrs.
Rumford?"
"Oh, I'm a drone," laughed Jenny.
"She's a lorelel who looks for rocks
to sit on in the sun while she combs
her hair," said Peter.
Was Jenny dreaming, or did she
catch a look of understanding, the
sudden raising of a curtain, between
those two? Her heart missed a beat
No, that was absurd. Day-dreams!
Clare and Peter had scarcely spoken
to each other since they'd come on
ttie boat, except for their chat in the
lounge at Bombay. They all moved
out to the deck to dry themselves.
"Isn't the sea strange today?"
Jenny murmured, after a long si
lenc,e - "This Is the first time since
we left the Mediterranean that I've
seen the water crumpled, or foam
breaking od the waves."
No one was paying any attention
to what she said.
This Is no place to dry," said
Clare, shivering with cold. "It's too
late. The sun's gone clown.*'
Jenny was lost in her thoughts,
watching the dying sun in a semi
trance. She would not go below
while the sunset lasted. The others
had already gone; she had not no
ticed them leaving her.
She went down to B deck and
along the corridor. Her glance
swept by chance towards an alley
way, and her hand went> up to her
mouth to stop the exclamation that
sprang from her lips.
Continned Next Week
B. C. Scott, who lives six miles
from Cottonwood Palls, Kan., re
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