Newspapers / The Wallace Enterprise (Wallace, … / April 15, 1937, edition 1 / Page 7
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A* Lida Larn'mw* — SYNOPSIS Jim Fielding, one of the "lost genera tion” who had left college in the depres sion and is unable to find a Job, arrives at Glendale to visit his friends the Mac Phersons. Mac had formerly been gar dener at his late uncle's estate and now works for T. H. Vaughn of "Mead owbrook.” Jim is tired of being sup ported by his married sister Kay. While he still can marry Lenore, an attractive divorcee who is in love with him and have an easy life because of her wealth, his mind rebels. Stopping at the village drug store for a sandwich, he meets Dolly, a pretty soda fountain girl. When he inquires about the Vaughns, she asks if he is a friend of "Cecily's." She also entrusts a message to Tommy, young son of the family and tells him how to reach the Vaughn's estate. Approach ing the house, Jim encounters a tom boyish little girl, fishing. She Is startled and falls in the brook. Incensed at first, she discovers she likes Jim and he learns that she Is Susan Vaughn. He discovers Cecily Is her older sister. He sees Tommy, a youth of eighteen who imagines he is in love with Dolly. Jim explains his Impecunious position to the MacPhersons. They tell him that Mr. Vaughn Is recovering from a nervous breakdown. Mrs. MacPherson suggests that Mac give Jim a Job as handyman. Jim goes for a walk to think it over and picks up a horse shoe. Cecily, a lovely young girl, appears, riding a limping horse. Jim scolds her when he sees the animal has thrown a shoe. There Is an angry scene. Jim’s Ire cools and he is intrigued as he thinks about her. He tells the MacPhersons he wants to stay and assumes his du ties as handyman. He sees Dolly again. She explains that she has been seeing Tommy, but regards him with amuse ment. He writes a letter to Lenore ex plaining about his new Job. When Cec ily returns from a house-party she asks him airily, "I wonder how long you'll stay?" Soon Jim gets a promotion and la acting as Mr. Vaughn's part-time secretary. CHAPTER IV—Continued There, was a knack, Jim thought, in getting along with children. The MacPhersons had it. Mr. Vaughn obviously, did not. The result was a series of conflicts which played havoc with the household. “Jordan tells me Tommy isn’t studying,” Mr. Vaughn said one morning. “Lazy young cub! If he doesn't work off those conditions he’ll be a year behind his class. Why does he suppose I pay a tu tor?” , Jim made no reply. He knew that none was expected. The attitude of an employer toward a familiar dependent was curious, he thought. You weren’t a reasoning human be ing. You were an excuse for let ting off steam. Tommy was trying. Mr. Jordan, the rector in the village, was prob ably justified in making complaints. But blustering and threatening wasn’t the way to manage the boy. Oh, well, it was none of his busi ness. Tranquillity was presently re stored. Mr. Vaughn returned to the correspondence. The tranquillity, however, was not of long duration. -It was shattered by Tommy’s unexpected appear ance. Mr. Vaughn looked up from a blueprint showing the proposed addition to the stable. Jim applied himself to the typewriter keys. Mr. Vaughn frowned at his son and heir. “Why aren’t you at Mr. Jor dan’s?” he asked sternly. Tommy sank lower into the chair. “I overslept,” he replied, resting upon his spine. Mr. Vaughn rejected the bait. “Mr. Jordan tells me you’re shirking,” he continued. “Aw, gee, Dad,” Tommy protest ed. “Nobody could learn enough to suit him. I don’t think dates are important, do you? “I’d advise you to learn some of them,” Mr. Vaughn said crisply. “To assist you, I’ll provide an alarm clock.” “Thanks,” Tommy said amiably. “I certainly need one. Dad. No body ever bothers to call me.” "And,” his father interrupted, “you can bring your books down here and study until luncheon. Jim will keep an eye on you. Until luncheon, Jim.” les, sir, oim repiiea, not very well pleased with the prospect of policing Tommy. “Now go get your books, young man.” “All right.” He retired with an air of offended dignity a little marred by stubbing his toe in a crack between the bricks. Vaughn glanced at Jim. "What’s the matter with the boy?” he said wearily. "Growing pains.” Jim smiled. “They aren’t serious. He’ll get over them after a while.” “I hope so.” Mr. Vaughn looked harassed. “They’ve gotten out of hand. All of them,” he continued irritably. “Cecily, Tommy, Susan.” The thought of his combined re sponsibilities seemed to overwhelm him. He was silent for an interval. Jim, too, was silent. Suddenly Mr. Vaughn thumped the table. “They need discipline!” he said grimly. “It’s time I took them in hand.” Jim found himself sympathizing with the children. He was too closely involved with the affairs of the Vaughn’s to maintain a de tached attitude toward the house hold. Detachment, in any situation, was impossible for Jim. His warm sympathies, his interest in people, his tendency to follow the impulse of the moment, forced him, invol untarily, to take sides. It was diffi cult to convey a surface impression of disinterested neutrality in the daily clashes between Mr. Vaughn and his family; especially difficult in the matter of a letter which Jim opened for his employer entirely by mistake. The scene, once again, was the side veranda under the roof of vines. The time was the morning following the interview with Tom my. Jim sat before a typewriter waiting for Mr. Vaughn to conclude his leisurely perusal of the mail. A startled exclamation caught his attention. The exclamation was fol lowed by a question, directed, pre sumably, at Jim. “What in thunder is this?” Mr. Vaughn asked testily. Jim glanced up attentively, but made no reply. Mr. Vaughn read from the sheet of stationery in his hand— “Darling, “When I think of last night, the music of all the ages sings in my heart. I have not slept. All night I walked in the moonlight, treasur ing my jeweled thoughts of you—” Mr. Vaughn broke off with an ejaculation of disgust Jim sup pressed a smile. “Lyrical,” he said. “Mush!” Mr. Vaughn looked with distaste at the sheet of stationery closely covered with fine writing. “Who’d send me a thing like this?” he asked testily. “It was probably intended for someone else,” Jim replied. “Miss “I Overslept,” He Replied, Rest* Ing Upon His Spine. Parker was expecting a letter. She sorted the mail before I brought it to you.” Mr. Vaughn consulted the enve lope. “It's for Cecily,” he said. “From Jeremy Clyde, of course.” The an gry red flushing Mr. Vaughn’s face deepened perceptibly. “She’s been writing to him, I suppose. Seeing him. Taking advantage of my ill ness." He turned to Jim peremp torily. “Where is she?" he asked. “If you’ll pardon my suggesting it,” Jim said reasonably, “she could hardly prevent his writing to her.” “She doesn’t want to prevent itl She’s in love with the jackass! He can’t even write a sensible letter,” Mr. Vaughn fumed. “Music of the ages! Jeweled thoughts!” Anger and indecision mingled in Mr. Vaughn’s expression and, tem pering both, a sort of furtive relief. He subsided into his chair, contin uing, however, to express his opin ion of Jeremy Clyde. “I forbade her to have anything to do with him," he fumed, ap parently unconscious of Jim. “He thinks I’ll support him, of course.” The business of the morning pro gressed. Mr. Vaughn, however, did not devote his entire attention to the correspondence. Jeremy Clyde’s tribute to Cecily had obviously spoiled his day or, perhaps, Jim suspected, the necessity for an in terview with his daughter. He seemed edgy and absent-minded. MacPherson, presently, appeared. “Good-morning, Mr. Vaughn,” he said. “Would you cart to walk iibout a bit? The new calf arrived last night I thought you might like to see her?" , Mr. Vaughn appeared to be grate ful for the interruption. He rose at once from his chair. "That’s all,” he said to Jim and went off with MacPherson in the di rection of the barn. Jim rolled the typewriter stand into a closet in the halt When he returned to the veranda, he looked for, and found, the poetic tribute to Cecily lying upon the table. No use leaving it there. If Mr. Vaughn came upon it, he would rim a tem perature again. If he wasn’t re minded, he might prefer to forget. Jim slipped the sheet of paper into his pocket. As Jim walked past the wire en closure of the tennis court on his way to the vegetable garden, a ball fell at his feet. Cecily came running to retrieve it, flushed and bright-eyed, her hair curling about her temples from under a band of yellow ribbon. "Here’s the ball,” Jim said brief ly. “Thank you.’’ She lingered for a moment, breathing rapidly, smooth ing. the damp curls back from her forehead with the palm of her hand. “You are useful,” she added mock ingly, “as well as ornamental. I think you can stay.” Jim hadn’t intended to give her the letter. He’d had no such idea in his mind when he had slipped it into his pocket. The idea presented itself as a mild retaliation. He could make no verbal response to her mocking words. He couldn’t shake her. The tribute from Jere my Clyde might give her an un pleasant moment. It should, Jim reflected. It was certainly a mushy letter. He drew the sheet of paper from his pocket “I think this was intended for you," he said and, without waiting for any reply from Cecily, went on to the vegetable garden. A stortn the preceding day had beaten down the bean-vines. Jim set about the task of repairing the wire screening on which they grew. As he measured and hammered, as he fastened th^ vines against the screening, he considered the possi ble results of his latest impulse. Cecily might think that he had meant to warn her, he conjectured. Hadn’t he? Certainly not. Well, possibly. Not that he cared whether or not she got into hot water. He’d been thinking of his employer. Mr. Vaughn was in no condition for an Interview with his daughter. He’d wanted to give Cecily an opportu nity to avoid the interview, if possi ble, or, at any rate, to arrange miti gating alibis and excuses. She had, moreover, arrived* dF a definite conclusion. Jim was made aware of Cecily’s mental activities concerning him when she came into the garden some time later. * He saw her making her way toward him between neat rows of cabbages and tomatoes, looking scarcely older than Susan in her short, sleeveless tennis-frock and the rib bon around her hair. He devoted himself to the bean-vines, whis tling, in an attempt at nonchalance. Cecily halted her progress a foot or two from Jim. “Hello,” she said amiably. The whistling ceased. Jim glanced away from the bean-vines, assum ing what he devoutly hoped was a respectful expression. “Yes, Miss Cecily,” he said in the manner of an extra man who knew his place. Cecily smiled but her eyes were mocking. “I just wanted to tell you,” she said coolly, “that I know all about you.” Jim remained silent "I knew you weren’t a chauffeur or a gardener or whatever you’re supposed to be the first time I saw you, the evening in the drive when you were so concerned for ‘Lady.’ ” Still Jim made no reply. He stood beside her among the bean-vines, deferentially attentive. She was lovely - looking. Truth compelled that admission although he did not like her. She used an ingratiating perfume. He was reminded of the woods in spring, arbutus, trilium, ferns . . . “You and Father must have thought me singularly unobserv ing,” she continued in a low silken voice. “That’s my only quarrel with either of you. I resent having my intelligence questioned.” This time Jim was too astonished to reply. ••ordinary oaa - jod men," sne went on, stressing the adjective mockingly, "don’t wear English shoes and tailored riding breeches. We’ve never before had an extra man who read Conrad and received telegrams from ladles and whistled college songs while he tied up the bean-vines.” Jim suppressed a smile. “We’ve never had a chauffeur,” she continued, "who was devoted to the ‘New Yorker’ and Lynn Fon tanne, or a connoisseur of benedic tine. That’s what I resent” Her voice lost its silken tone, became slightly edged with malice. "How could you and Father not have an ticipated that I’d have known you were here to spy on me, to break up my friendship with Jeremy Clyde? How could you have thought me so childishly stupid?” Comprehension dawned through the bewilderment of ideas which fogged Jim's understanding. So that was it! She thought he was some sort of a private detective. It would never have occurred to him—not in a/million years. "A I should ask you why you re turned the letter which you inter cepted for Father, you would prob ■bly make pretty speeches,” Cecily went on after a barely perceptible pause. “I hear a great many pretty speeches so you needn’t tax your invention. I prefer to consider it a challenge." I "A challenge!” Jim repeated, wanting to laugh, not at all con cerned about explanations. “I’m giving you a break.” The sherry colored eyes, bright with scornful amusement, flickered over Jim. "I assume ' that you’re too good a sport to take advantage of a victim. You’ve sent me your card.” Her hand touched her breast, pro ducing an unmistakable rustling of paper. "I accept the challenge. It’s your wits against mine and a fight to the finish.” She moved away from him, al most running between the rows of vegetables, lightly, gracefully, her chin tauntingly tilted. Benedictine! Lynn Fontapne!— Cecily, obviously, was not unob serving. But how bad she made such revealing discoveries? The riding breeches, the telegrams, the songs he whistled—no black magic in her possession of those facts. Benedic tine? Lynn Fontanne? . . . Jim puzzled over the possible source of Cecily’s information. The intriguing question was never far from his thoughts. How could she have known that he was addicted to the “New Yorker,” that Conrad was his favorite author? She’d been questioning someone, he concluded. Was It possible that somewhere, at some time, she had known Vic? Or Kay? Or Lenore? He had nothing to hide. Cecily’s revelations amused and intrigued him. How had she found out so much about him? He mulled over the question, accepting, rejecting, entirely at sea. And then, late that afternoon, as he was driving Mr. Vaughn home from a neighboring estate, a possible explanation oc curred to him. Cecily had talked to Mrs. MacPherson, perhaps. Bes sie was loyal, Bless her! But Bessie was loquacious. He proceeded to test the truth of the conjecture. That evening he questioned Mrs. MacPherson. By devious means he led her to speak of the Vaughns and when he was sure that all suspicion had been fore stalled he remarked casually: “You seem fairly well acquainted with Tommy and Susan. Does Cec ily ever come here?” Mrs. MacPherson drew her at tention, with obvious reluctance, from the partially completed pan orama of the Battle of Bunker Hill. “Only once,” she replied. “She wanted to look at my homespun counterpanes. Miss Parker had told her about them.” “Counterpanes!" Jim explained. “I wouldn’t have supposed that she would be interested in anything so domestic.” “It was for a Shower gift,” she explained. “One of the Patton girls is getting married this fall. Miss Cecily is to be a bridesmaid. She’d bought a counterpane and wanted to be sure it was genuine home spun.” “Was it?” Jim asked, hoping for further details of Cecily's visit to the cottage. “Yes,” Mrs. MacPherson replied. “It must have cost her a pretty penny. She told me about the wed ding and was as pleasant as you could ask.” “I hope,” he said, “that you gave Miss Cecily a glass of your ginger beer.” “I didn’t!” Mrs. MacPherson re plied. “I was so mortified at the condition the place was in that I couldn’t think of my manners. It was the day your trunk came and I was unpacking it down here be cause you and Andy couldn’t get it up past the turn in the stairs.” The trunk! Jim began to under stand. A smile touched his lips. “Doesn’t it beat everything?” she went on, after a moment, “how somebody always comes in when the place is topsy - turvy? Your things were all over everywhere, shoes and clothes and books and magazines. I can’t say that who ever packed them did a neat and tidy job. Miss Cecily was pleasant about it, though, when I explained. She seemed interested in the books. I wouldn’t have supposed she was literary, but then you never can tell.” dim naa no xuruier uesire iu ui rect the conversation. He had found out some of the things he wanted to know. The contents of his trunk had revealed certain facts to Cecily. He wondered if she had noticed the photograph of Lenore which Kay had thoughtfully included. Probab ly. She appeared to be minutely observing. And what an imagination! Her conception of his position at “Mead owbrook” was pure fiction, of course. There had been nothing in the trunk to suggest his acquaintance with either benedictine or Lynn Fontanne. The question was answered for him sooner than he had anticipated. The following Sunday Mrs. Mac Pherson called his attention to the rotogravure section of the paper. (TO BE CONTINUED) Ail Ancient Town Acoma, New Mexico, was visited by members of Coronado’s explor ing party in 1540. After Oraibi, Ariz., it is believed to be the oldest continuously occupied town in the United States. Franciscar. mission aries labored in Acor.ia as early as 1629, later establishing San Estevan Mission. j STAR * | DUST | ★ JVlovie • Radio * ★★★By VIRGINIA VALE*** WHILE the director, George Cukor, was in New York making film tests of Southern debutantes and several young actresses from New York stage, the news in advertently leaked out in Hollywood that David Selz nick, the producer, had al ready made up his mind about who should play the leads in “Gone With the Wind.” Miriam Hopkins is to play Scar lett, Clark Gable will be Rhett, Janet Gaynor draws the appealing role of Melanie, and Leslie Howard will be Ashley, whom Scarlett lov.es but loses. Undoubtedly if the tests made in New York show real talent, the girls will be put under contract to play supporting roles in “Gone With the Wind” or for future pictures. That cast that Hal Roach has lined up to support Constance Ben nett in “Topper — ' Connie’s entry in the high comedy race— has everyone gasp ing. Cary Grant, so overwhelmingly pop ular since he dom inated Grace Moore in “When You’re in Love,” draws the lead. Hedda Hopper and Billie Burke, who are just as slick Cary Grant al comeoy lines as they are at wearing exquisite clothes, are next in impor tance, and Roland Young and Alan Mowbray join the cast to add to the hilarity. Even if Greta Garbo were playing the lead, a more im posing cast could not have been commandeered. A current picture that everyone likes, and that men are particularly enthusiastic over is “Sea Devils,” an RKO picture with Victor McLaglen. There is a storm at sea in this one that will make you grip the arms of your theater seat or your companion and if you don’t let out a few loud gasps, you won’t be like the majority in the preview audience. Ida Lupino plays the lead skillfully, but the girl you will remember is Helen Flint who gives a brilliant perform ance as a tough character. So many people complained about the moderately-happy ending of “Lost Horizon” that the director changed it several weeks after the picture had started its triumphant run in New York aad Los Angeles. The ending that the rest of the country will see makes it appear very doubtful that Ronald Colman will ever fight his way through a blizzard to the heavenly peace of Shangri-la high in the Thibetan hills. With either ending this is a picture that everyone will want to see. Fruits and vegetables are the he roes and heroines of a movie being shown extensively in the producing regions of the South and Far West. The picture, designed to bring the big city auction markets to grow ers, dramatizes the selling process on a typical auction market where thousands of cars of fruits and veg etables are translated into millions of dollars in revenue to the growers every year. —-k— ^ List among your ' future film favorites Ella Logan whom you will soon see in Universal’s “Top of the Town.” She is the enchanting sing er with a thick Scottish burr to her voice who, accent or no, used to shout swing music over the radio with Abe Lyman’s band. I like her best when she sings simple songs, but swing addicts rave about her ability to improvise new hi-de-hos. —-k— “Seventh Heaven” was previewed in Hollywood this week and every one agrees that it Drings more glory to Jimmy Stewart than to Simone Simon though she is pert and appealing in the role that brought Janet Gaynor fame. Simone arrived at the preview wearing a hair ribbon tied in | a demure bow just | over her forehead, * ana was so notice- gimone ably nervous that Simon she fidgeted with her coat, her dress, and her hair ribbon all evening. She was accompanied by Anton Litvak. —+c— ODDS AND ENDS—A make-up girl at the Paramount studio has twelve wrist watches given to her by grateful stars. Just to be different Frances Dee gave her an alarm clock at the finish of “Souls at Sea” . . . Ann Sothern will probably win the airlines award for the most persistent air-commuter of the year. Whenever she has two or three days to spare, she dashes off to Chicago to see her husband, Roger Pryor, who is leading a band there . . Everyone at Paramount is glad to have Marlene Dietrich back, particu larly the electricians and carpenters on her set. She brings such luscious Viennese cakes and cookies to them. O Western Newspaper Union. I about The Origin of Sitdowns. SANTA MONICA, CALIF.— —With the Barnum show there once was an elderly lady elephant named Helen. Now, Helen had wearied of traipsing to and fro in the land. Probably she figured she’d seen everything anyhow. So each fall, when the season ended, she went rejoicing back home to Bridgeport, Conn. Nobody ever knew the date of depar ture the next spring. There was no more bustle about winter quarters on that morning than for weeKs past. But always, when jjyj,, s. Cobb the handlers en tered the “bull barn” to lead forth the herd, they found Helen hun kered down on her voluminous haunches, which, under that vast weight, spread out like cake batter on a hot griddle. She would be uttering shrill sobs of defiance. And neither prodding nor honeyed words could budge her. So they’d wrap chains around her and two of her mates would hitch on and drag her bodily, she still on her rubbery flanks, aboard a wait ing car. She’d quit weeping then and wipe her snout and accept what fate sent her. So please don’t come telling me that the sit-down strike is a new notion or that somebody in Europe first thought it up. Thirty years ago I saw my lady elephant friend, Hel en, putting on one, all by her four ton self. » • • Taxes and More Taxes. JUST when everybody is taking comfort from the yodelled prom ises of that happy optimist. Chair man Harrison of the senate finance committee, that the government will be able to get by for 1937 with out asking this congress to boost taxes, what happens? Why, in a most annoying way. Governor Eccles of the federal re serve board keeps proclaiming that, to make treasury receipts come anywhere near meeting treasury disbursements throughout the year, he’s afraid it’s going to be neces sary to raise the rates on incomes and profits higher than ever. And meanwhile state governors and civic authorities scream with agony at the bare prospect of any reductions in Uncle Sam’s allot ments for local projects. A balanced budget would seem to be like Santa Claus, something everybody talks about but nobody ever expects to see. Self-Determination. FORMERLY the states jealously guarded their sovereign per quisites. Once—but that was so long ago many have almost forgot ten it—they fought among them selves one of the bloodiest civil wars in history over the issue of states’ rights. Now we see them complacently surrendering to federal bureaus those ancient privileges—and may be, after all, that’s the proper thing to do, if in centralized authority lies the hope of preserving a republican form of government. Still, one wonders what English men would do under like circum stances, since Englishmen are fussy about their inheritance of self-de termination. Perhaps the distinc tion is this: In democracies there exists the false theory that all men are bom free and equal. So the Englishman insists on having his freedom, which is a concrete thing, and laughs at tha idea of equality. Whereas, the American abandons his individual freedom provided he may cling to the fetish of equality. Yankee tweedledee and British tweedledum may be brothers under the skin, but they have different skin diseases. • • • The Parole Racket. IT IS astonishing but seemingly true that, of five young gang sters recently caught red-handed in a criminal operation, not a single one was a convict out on parole. Is there no way to bar rank amateurs from a profession calling for prior experience and proper background? And can it be that the various pa role boards over the union are not turning loose qualified practitioners fast enough to keep up with the de mand? Maybe we need self-open ing jails. Those sentimentalists who abhor the idea that a chronic offender be required to serve out his latest sen tence should take steps right away to correct this thing before it goes too far. Our parole system must be vindicated if it costs the lives and property of ten times as many innocent citizens as at present. IRVIN S. COBB. ©—WNU Service. Fire Damage Slight Only 100 acres of national forests In Colorado were damaged by fire in 1936—the best record since 1925, when 71 acres were burned. Mtf rTavotite ecipQ By Irena Cattle McLaughlin Marshmallow Sweet* Boil some sweet potatoes. Mash and mix in a little cream and1 a good-sized lump of butter. Place in a baking dish and bake until brown. " Remove and cover the top with marshmallows; put into the oven again and just let them get * rich brown on top. Copyright.—WNU Service. Dr. Pierce’s Pleasant Pellets are an effective laxative. Sugar coated. Children like them. Buy now!—Adv. Essential Victories Be ashamed to die until you have won some victory for hu manity.—Horace Mann. ! THERE ARE NO SPIDER WEB CHECKS IN MY FURNITURE. 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The Wallace Enterprise (Wallace, N.C.)
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April 15, 1937, edition 1
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