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FIFTH DKSTAtLMENT
Synopsis ~ .
Jocelyn Harlom, raised to a
French eooTent, at (bt age of
dfhtMo Jotos her mother, Mar
celfaw to New York. Worried
about her safety, because she
is with the modern
world and has developed Into a
beautiful woman, her mother's
first wish Is to ret her safely
married. Attending her first
ball, Joeetyn meets Felix Kent,
rich, handsome and nineteen
yean older than herself. En
couraged by her mother, she
and Felix quickly become en
gaged. Alone to her apart
ment one night, a cripple, Nick
Sandal, enters by the .flre
esoape, confides in her that he
is her father and that her real
name is Lynda Sandal. Uncer
tain about whether die wants
to get married so quickly, Joee
lyn becomes Irritable with
Felix and one night decides to
go to talk things over with her
mysterious father. As Lynda
Sandal she goes to his house,
climbs three flights of stairs
and enters a room where he is
sitting with several men to the
midst of a card game. Later,
when both Felix and her
mother are away, Jocelyn re
turns to have a second visit
with her father.
"There's only one beside this,
two if you count my bath. By all
means explore. Excuse me if I
don't play courier. I've got some
figures to read over, and you'll
find me at leisure for daughterly
confidences when you return.
Lord, Lynda! If you knew how
odd it feels to be the father of
a tall lovely thing like you."
Lynda paused at the closed
inner door and smiled.
"Do you really think I'm love
ly?" ' s
"I seem to. I'd like to see you
in your ballgown with your
smooth hair and your pearls.
Were they real pearls, Lynda?"
"No, I think they were Just
cheap pearls that went with the
costume. Mother bought it for
me."
The bedroom, which contained
one full-sized bed and one nar
row cot against the wall, was the
most untidy and unattractive
apartment Lynda had ever been
allowed to enter. Its one dirty
window looked out on a black
ness of sordid yards and passage
ways. On Nick's dressing table
there were no photographs, no
knick-knacks; there were no pic
tures on his walls. The one
shallow closet held two thread
bare suits and some battered
looking shoes. In his drawers the
underwear shocked Lynda. Tat
tered. She would bring her sew
ing kit and mend his clothes! On
top of a tall chest of drawers,
however, a set of clean cheap
toilet articles had been neatly ar
ranged and there was a great pic
ture of a dog, one of those mag
nificent canine heads which, loy
al, brave, unselfconsclous, have a
nobility greater than humanity's.
A setter, listening, looking, the
eyes deep with devotion, with a
sort of ecstasy.
"Tell me about your dog,
Father," was the girl's first ques
tion when after a very brief in
spection she came back into the
outer room. "He's such a beau
ty."
"It isn't my dog. It's Jock
Ayleward's. The animal's dead
now, I imagine. He was Jock's
beast before Jock met with other
beasts leiss beautiful. Jock keeps
a sort pf corner here with me.":
"It's not his home, then?"
"Bless the child! Home?" He
clucked his tongue a dozen times,
his eyes laughing at her. "No.
This is not his home. Look like
a home to you? Jock is what
you might call a bird of passage."
"A salesman?" suggested Lynda.
Nick chuckled. "Well, yes. You
might call it that. He's a sort of
hunter, too. Tonight he's after
big game—against my express
advice. If I'm touchy tonight.
Lynda, that's the reason.
"When will you be married?"
"That Is one of the things I
must talk to you about. Father.
They—they are planning an
earlier date for my wedding.
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Nick whistled. "So soon! Well,
why not have it over? The soon
er it's over the sooner to weep."
"Oh, Father. I don't want to
weep!"
She looked at him so humbly
and so wistfully that he put a
hand across her eyes.
"Tell me then just this: Shall
I like being married, Father?"
"I wish you'd call me Nick."
"Oh, wouldn't that be horribly
disrespectful?"
"The last thing I crave, O
daughter of mine old age, Is re
spect."
"Then—Nick ... oh, please do
answer me quickly, someone is
coming up the stairs."
Nick listened, alert, rigid.
"Father, Nick, please. Before
Jock Ayleward comes."
"How did you know his step,
. young witch?/'
"I don't know. It sounds like
him. Nick, shall I like being
man-qfd?"
"No. Of course not, you little
simpleton."
The door was opened with a
sort of quiet violence and Ayle
ward, faultlessly attired in even
ing dress came in, shut the door
and flung a fierce arm about
Sandal's shoulders.
"There, you old belly-acher,
what do you say? Next time
will you trust a born card
handler?"
As he spoke he was pulling
from his trousers pockets great
handfuls of paper money which
he shook before Nick's eyes and
then tossed up In the atr so that
they fell about the room like dead
leaves.
"Jock, you fool. Here's Lynda!"
Ayleward turned upon Nick's
visitor in startled grim fixation.
He bowed and began to collect
his earnings; for surely they must
be, thought Lynda, some sort of
earnings from his salesmanship!
When he had them bundled to
gether he added to them what
was left In his clothing and put
the whole great mass into a
drawer which he locked. Then
he turned to go.
"You stop here tonight, Jock,"
Nick commanded but with an un
dertone of pleading. "Lynda can
put up with you. Good for you
to talk to a real gentlewoman
once In a blue moon."
Obediently but with a sullen
air he sat down at a distance
fropi the two Sandals near the
central table and taking up the
pack of cards that lay there be
gan to shuffle absent-mindedly
but with a skill which widened
Lynda's gaze.
"Oh, I wish I could do that!"
"Come over here and I'll teach
you," he said with impersonal
brusquerie, like a big schoolboy
to a small one.
Jock pulled up his coat sleeves
and turned his long and limber
hands about artist's hands,
thought Lynda, but stronger,
maybe. He went through a daz
zling series of wizardry in which
the cards seemed to shift and
dance and climb about the room
at his will.
"Take her home, will you,
Jock," said Nick suddenly. "I'm
done and she ought to be getting
back to where she seems to be
long."
Lynda's laughter went away.
Her face turned pale and blank.
"Oh, Fath —oh, Nick—"
"Better do what he tells you,
Miss Sandal. He's a bad man to
disobey, I'll tell you! Come on.
I'll tumble you into a taxi at the
corner. So long, Nick. I know
you want to hear the dope. Don't
make off with the swag while
I'm out, will you? I'll cut right
back."
But it was nearly morning
when he came back to furious
prowling Nick.
Ayleward came in at the door
then, humming a dance air with
a strange dazed wistful look on
his young face.
Halfway down that first flight,
Jock on her heels ready to put
her into a taxi, Lynda Sandal had
abruptly stopped. So abruptly
that the young man following
was forced to leap up a step.
"What's the matter? Forget
something?" asked Ayleward. His
voice was quite casual.
She turned with the difficulty
of a nightmare-will and raised
her eyes to him.
"I know," said Jock. "You
THE HLKIN TRIBUNE, HLKIN, NORTH CAROLINA
think he turned you out. Poor
kid! You mustn't let Nick hurt
you, Miss Sandal. The times I've
been shown the door! He's a
great man, is Nick, but he can
be rough. Nick can do what he
likes with me. I'm his. I'd be
dead now if it hadn't been for
Nick."
She ran before him down the
stairs. Not until they were on
the pavement did he come up to
her. Then she stopped again and
gripped his arm. "I must talk to
you. You must tell me about
Nick."
"All right. I'll take you some
where."
Their taxi moved toward some
address he gave the driver.
"Do you like to dance," asked
Ayleward.
"Yes. But I'm not dresesd for
a restaurant and my moth —"
She was going to say, "has never
let me go" but checked herself
with an hystercal Impulse toward
laughter. What did that mother
on her knees before an altar
know of Lynda Sandal, the ad
venturess?
"You're dressed for the place
I'm taking you to, only I will say
you're a bit stagey."
"I—l thought it was all right."
"So it is. Pretty cute get-up.
You're on the stage anyway,
aren't you?"
"Why n-no, Mr. Ayleward."
"You talk like an actress some
how. You 'r's' or something. I
like it awfully."
She stiffened. "I am going
with you," she said with her
princess air, "because I want to
learn something about my father.
You understand that, don't you,
Mr. Ayleward? It is not desire
for your companionship."
"Oh, I see. I hadn't really
analyzed the situation. All right.
Here we are, Miss Sandal."
He helped her out and gave a
number or a name, some open
sesame at a grilled door under a
flight of marble steps. Lynda
found herself seated on a bench
against a wall, Jock opposite her
across a bare small narrow table.
It held one shaded light. Jock
ordered supper food. Mechanical
music was playing. The floor
was filled with dancers. Others
drank and ate.
Lynda drank the black coffee
~w. M. I
Phone 56 JEWELER Elkin, N. C. I
Jock had ordered for her. Jock
was watching the dancers.
"I ought not to let you do this
for me," Lynda said suddenly. "I
ought not to let you. I mean,
give me a good time. That
wasn't what I meant to do. You
see of course I don't know you
well and may change my mind
but it seems only fair to tell you
that—that—" her cheeks were
hot wltn the effort of such a
statement, "that I don't really
like you at all yet, Mr. Ayleward."
"That's O. K. with me," he
grinned, glancing at her and
away.
"I did not suppose it would
matter to you but I felt that I
ought to be honest with you. And
we shall probably be running Into
each other now and then. Women
usually like you, I understand."
"You understand? Who told
you that tale?"
"Nick did. Want to dance?"
"But I came here to ask you—"
"Want to dance?"
She rose. He took her into his
arms so tightly that she could
hardly breathe.
"Don't! I can't dance . . . that
way—please."
"Oh, I forgot. Let me see. Sure.
This is the way, isn't it?" And
he moved with her out on the
floor, dancing with the ease, the
pride and the smoothness of a
gentleman. And he danced beau
tifully.
"Where did you pick It tip?" he
asked her.
"A Frenchwoman came to the
convent to teach me. The nuns
did not really approve but my
mo—-but they had orders."
"You mean you were educated
in a French convent?"
"Yes." She was annoyed. It
was no part of her intention to
tell anything of her own life as
Jocelyn Harlowe to this young
man.
"Aren't there some very queer
sort of people here tonight?"
asked Lynda.
"Are there? I hadn't noticed
it."
"Look now, that big man with
a white scar; dancing with the
woman in—in—shoulder straps."
"In and out of 'em, eh? Well,
yes, you might perhans call him
queer. He's Toni Padrona. Just
out."
"Of the hosoital?"
"From up the river. He got
off with two years."
"Oh, I can't stay here, Mr.
Ayleward. I can't stay in a room
with—with criminals!"
"Hullo!" said Jock. "Go easy.
If Mr. Padrona heard you he
might resent it."
He gave her a queer long
glance and took her back to the
table silently. He called for his
check. Lynda was distressed.
"I haven't asked you . . . you've
told me nothing about Nick."
"Maybe you'd better leave it to
him. He would like to tell you
himself perhaps. It seems a queer
question but I gather you are a
queer family—how long have you
known your father?"
"Only since one night a few
weeks ago."
"You live here in New York
alone?"
"No. With my mother."
Jock's eyes opened. "You mean
Nick's got a wife here in New
York?"
"They have been divorced for
very long. I do not know their
history."
"Nor do I, Miss Sandal, believe
me. I did not even know his
wife was living nor, until I met
you there that night, that he had
any child."
"You won't dance just once
more?"
Lynda was tempted. "If you
will promise not to let me touch
that man."
"Not touch the jailbird, eh?"
(Continued Next Week)
Scotch Thrift
Two Scotchmen had planned a
hike into the country, and had
agreed to meet at a certain place
at five in the morning. Only one
of them owned an alarm-clock,
but he finally hit on a solution of
rousing the other.
"Mac," he said, "when the
clock goes off, I'll get up and
ring you on a public telephone.
But be sure and don't answer it;
so I can get my nickel back."
A fish native to African
swamps always swims upside
down.
..BARREN
MARRIAGE
is a tragedy as old as man
kind. Modern Science is
accomplishing miracles in
its cure and the situation
is far from hopeless. Read
the amazingly frank article
on this all-important sub
ject, in JANUARY . .
PICTORIAL
REVIEW
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Thursday, December 8, 1938