The Bismarck Tribune Newspaper, July 22, 1935, Page 2

CHAPTER 1 'JO DARIEN straightened from the trunk she was pack- ing and regarded her roommate with disapproval. “Haven’t you any packing to do, Tubby?” she asked. Tubby Davis nodded. Dark and complacently buxom, ‘Tubby sat on the window ledge swinging her ample legs continuously. At about every tenth crack of high heels against the woodwork she took a chocolate from the disheveled box in her lap and popped it into her mouth. “I've got all of it to do,’ Tubby announced, making away with a chocolate. “I haven’t even asked Ike to get my trunk up from the basement. But I’d rather watch you, Jo. You're so darned industrious and neat that I thought maybe I could learn how it ought to be done.” Jo laughed. “Well, 1 wish you’d start. You’re make ing me nervous and throwing me off form.” Tubby’s legs ceased swinging. ‘“That’s the first time ryou’ve cracked a smile today. You had me worried. You know, | think you actually hate to see school close for the summer.” “I do,” Jo said. “It’s fun here.” The other shrugged. “Sure. But vacation’s more fun, and we'll all be back soon enough.” Jo. met Tubby’s good-natured eyes, seemed about to speak, and then went on with her packing, silently. “Well,” Tubby remarked, slipping down off the win- dow ledge, “I suppose I’d better start getting my stuff to- gether, at that. Mind if I have my trunk brought up now, or would you rather I’d wait until you're tinished?” “You won't disturb me at all,” Jo told her. “I’m al- most through, anyway.” She knew very well that it would be several hours before Tubby got around to telephoning the handy man to bring her trunk upstairs, From the hallway there drifted to Jo the disconnected sounds of half a dozen “gabfests”—punctuated with occa- sional bursts of carefree laughter. Her sorority sisters were all excited about school being over, and about their plans for the summer. Only the seniors seemed quieter than usual, possibly because they realized they had the world to face now, and weren’t returning to the friendly campus. And Jo Darien could understand how they felt, even though this was only her first year at the university. “My first—and only—year,” Jo thought. * ay ray she left her packing and went to her desk where a letter lay open between the pages of Fresh- men Readings in English Literature. Once again she read the reticent but revealing lines from her mother: “Dear Jo: I haven’t written you for some time, partly because there was so little to write about, and partly be- cause it’s hard to write what | must tell you now. “As you know, Jo, there wasn’t much left after the sale of your father’s store. By the time he had paid the bills he owed, and the back taxes on the house, there was even less than he planned. Of course it would have worked out all right if he had received the appointment he was promised, But your Uncle Frank isn’t in the same de- partment as he was at the state house, and since being transferred he doesn’t seem to have anything to say about who shall have a job. “T’ve held off telling you these things because there was nothing you could do about them; but now that school is about over and you will be coming home for the sum- mer I thought you should know how things stand. “T'm enclosing a little check for your fare home. We're both so anxious to see our sweet daughter again. Much love from Mother.” Bout there was no “little check” folded with the letter now. ‘The check was sealed in an envelope which lay stamped on Jo’s desk, addressed to Mrs. Arthur L. Darien. With it was a long letter which had cost Jo the better part of the morning. She had made her decision quickly —but it had been harder to write it in a letter, to tell her parents that she wasn’t coming home for the summer. “Until Dad gets adjusted again I'd better so some shif ting for myself,” she wrote. “You’ve been grand to keep me in school, You've been grand to keep me from knowing it was difficult to keep me here; but you shouldn’t have done that. I’m young and healthy, as the song says, and it's high time 1 made use of my youth and health!” __ Nevertheless Jo Darien did not feel nearly as gay about it as her letter indicated. Only a year out of high school, and that year spent in’ the sheltered glamour of a big uni- versity where everything runs smooth for youth, she had never really known what it would be like to make one’s own way in the world, Men admired Jo Darien; women envied her. And Jo, who was 19, with steady blue eyes, full red lips, and a beauty that somehow reflected the windswept sea, found both situations presented their difficulties. F course the depression had slowed things up in Wes- ton, as it had everywhere else, but her father insisted that she apply for entrance to the university as soon as she’d graduated from Weston High School. “Business isn’t as good as it could be,” he confessed, “and I owe con- siderable to the wholesale firms, But my credits always been good with them, and | guess they'll wait a bit. Now Jo realized that the wholesale firms hadn’t wanted to wait quite as long as her father wanted. ; “Poor Dad!” Jo whispered, and her eyes filmed with tears, As-she stood there holding her mother’s letter she was tilled with sudden self-hatred. While she had been having the best of everything, living in the swank sorority house, dancing on silver slippers to smart orchestras, play- ing tennis and badminton ina costume that would have made Weston gasp, her father had been lying awake nights, wondering Re he was to make both ends meet. ‘Well—her small hand clutched the letter into a tight ball—she’d make it up to them now! She'd find a job and support not only herself, but her mother and father, too, if need be. She thrust out her delectable chin, the gesture that Bret Paul called “the danger signal,” and her blue eyes shone with determination. _ Her thoughts were suddenly disturbed by the raucous sound of an automobile horn below her window, and someone shouting “Hello, Babs!” from the veranda. In- voluntarily Jo looked down from the window to catch sight of Babs Montgomery alighting from her cream-col- ored roadster, the nickeled trim of which was always kept in eye-dazzling polish, Some- how the roadster reminded Jo of its owner: gleaming and hard, perhaps cruel, and just a bit too noisy and sure. Jo Darien couldn’t like Babs Montgomery, although she had tried hard enough. It was neither because Babs showed so obviously that she. didn’t like Jo, nor was it because Babs had tried to prevent Jo from getting into the sorority —as Jo had learned since. Jo Darien was honest enough to admit the truth to herself. She couldn’t like Babs be- cause Babs seemed to want Bret Paul very badly indeed. “Maybe,” Jo thought, “she wants him so much because she can’t have him. She has everything else.” But—what about next year? Next year Babs and Bret would be together at the uni- versity, and Jo had to con- fess she didn’t know where she would be. Certainly it wouldn’t be on this campus. Even if she got a job in town, as she planned, Bret wouldn’t be able to see her very much. It was a long distance from the-campus to the busy busi- ness and aberiment house districts of town, and the uni- yong. students were wrapped in their own lives and ac- vities. AS though in unconscious verification of her power to hold Bret, she turned from the window to the lon, mirror over the fireplace ip her room. She saw reflect there a slender, well -poised girl of 19, almost 20. A girl with really blond hair, with steady blue eyes in just the shade for that hair. A girl with firm yet full red lips that more than one man ‘had mistaken for a dare. e Vi- king” her father had called her when. she was small, and indeed there was something in her blond beauty that re- flected the windswept freedom of the sea, something that was brave and clean and breathless. “Satistied?” inquired an arrogant voice, and Jo whirled to see Babs Montgomery framed in the doorway. “Tubby said you. were busy packing—and here I find you taking inventory of your charms. . Are they. all there?” “I—I was just thinking,” Jo said. Somehow, much as she disliked Babs, the girl had the power to disconcert her, to throw her off balance. Thrilling Beginning The Jo Darien, Coed, And The Three | rn aya 308s Men Who Loved Her “O-oh, thinking?” said Babs. “Then you've a brain, too? What a catch for some summer beach Romeo! By the way, where’re you going to spend your summer, Jo?” “I hadn’t thought about it,” Jo lied. “I suppose I'll go home first.” “I’m tired of the seashore,” said Babs in a bored tone. “I think this yee I'd like the mountains—or perhaps one of those ranches. You know, where they have handsome dude cowboys. What I'd really like to do is take a sum- mer tour to Europe, but Dad’s set his foot down on that. He hasn’t forgotten the time I went to Mexico City! ... By the way, I saw Bret this afternoon.” “Did you?” Jo resumed her packing. “Yes. 1 offered him a spin, but he had to go to the li- brary. It’s a shame how that man works! He studies like a mad person, and does odd jobs to boot. Is it true he’s a life guard in the summer?” “Is there anything wrong about being a life guard?” asked Jo acidly. ; “Not in the least. Especially if there are pretty girls to save.” Babe took a cigaret from her tiny bag, lit it carefully with her silver pocket torch. “What Bret Paul should do is marry money. It’s a rotten shame for a man like that to be born poor.” “If I know Bret,” Jo replied, trying to keep the anger from her voice, “he'd rather work for what he gets—even if it’s only a little.” Babs shrugged. “I’ve heard there are people like that.” She turned toward the door. “If I don’t see you until next fall, pleasant vacation!” “Thanks, Babs.” No sooner had Babs left the room than Tubby reappeared, her amiable face a study in mock astonishment. “Did I hear Miss Montgomery wish- ing you a pleasant vacation?” “You did . . . and where’s the trunk you were going to ck?” - “I decided it was too near dinner time to start packing. I'll just wait until tomorrow. Story Of Beller get ready for dinner, jo.” “I'm not having dinner Tubby.” | ER roommate crossed the room, stood squarely in front_of Jo. “Look here, Jo Darien, what’s wrong with you? I’ve seen it all day. You ought to be able to have it out with me.” “It isn’t anything, really, Tubby. I—I’m a fool even to show it, only it’s been sort of a shock. You see, Dad’s had some bad luck. I won’t be back next year. I’ve got to find a job—and right away, too.” The other regarded her for a scant moment, then took both Jo’s hands in her own. “So that’s it!” She shook her head gravely. “I’m darned sorry, Jo. And I think I know just how you feel. It’s not just finding a job, or leaving school maybe forever that worries you. It’s taking the chance of losing Bret.” i td nt Tubby’s gaze unflinchingly. “Suppose you're right “I know cockeyed well I’m right! None of the boys pay any attention to me because I’m fat—but | know what it’s all about just the same, 1 like being fat, and watching the stews you skinny girls get yourselves into over men. ... Now are you coming down to dinner?’ Jo tried to viet oo 1 know it’s silly, feeling this way, but I can’t it. "tabby released jee hands, “Of course you can’t. And you'd be crazy to come down and eat with that cackling mob if you didn’t feel like it.” “Oh, Tubby! ...” Jo embraced those well-padded shoulders hard. “Tubby, you're the grandest person I’ve ever known.” “Skip it,” Tubby told her, blinking her eyes sus- piciously. “Just hit out for the University Inn and eat your waffle alone. I'll tell the sisters you’ve a headache. Tl tell them you’re having dinner with it.” I Jo managed a laugh. “If you're insulting enough to mean Bret, he waits table at his fraternity house—but I'm going to meet him afterward.” yaa When Jo was sure that all the girls were settled in the dining room she slipped into*her polo coat, and made her way softly down the stairs. Emerging on the wide veranda, she tossed her collar around her throat—for despite the calendar’s assurance of June, the air was keen ~ now that the sun had slipped beyond the west edge of the big campus. But Jo struck out briskly, taking wide, boyish strides. Since she was not particularly hungry, she decided not to stop at the University Inn. Instead she would walk an hour or so before meeting Bret, and they could stop to- gether for coffee. ‘The campus was deserted at this hour. From some- where Jo caught the faint sound of singing. She paused a moment in the summer moonshadows of the big Gothic library and listened. The song was coming from own sorority house . . . “and though we part, we'll come to- gether again. . .” beyond the Hurriedly Jo pressed on. Past the library, low engineering laboratory where Bret spent most of his hours, clear down to the president’s house at the very tip of the campus. Then she doubled back, walking even faster now, for she had come farther than she: -had- planned, and Bret would be waiting for her on the steps of the library. . HE saw her coming up the path, and dashed from the shadows of the library steps to meet her, moving © swiftly and easily with the grace of the natura! athlete. He wore his usual campus costume of sweater and cords, no hat; but, Jo retlected, he looked nicer this way than did most men in their dinner jackets, “Hello, Jo darling!” He peered down at her in the darkness, “Anything wrong? You sounded upset over the telephone.” : Jo shook her head. “It isn’t anything, Bret. Only—you know how we'd planned | would spend a weck at Placid Beach where you’ve a summer job?” “Don’t tell me you can’t.” “I’m afraid that’s it, Bret.” i His voice, usually so light and boyish, was tilled with dismay. “You mean I won't see you until next fall?” “If you sce me then. | have to tind a job, Bret. I'm hoping I can find something here in the city. But if I can’t find it here then I'll just have to go where there is a job.” His ern tightened around her waist. “Something wrong at home?” “It’s just that Dad and Mother aren’t exactly rich, and it’s mostly up to me now.” “Gosh, darling . . . that’s tough.” é H At Bret’s lugubrious tone Jo couldn’t restrain a laugh. “You seem to thrive under similar circumstances, Bret. Any reason why I shouldn’t?” “But you’re a woman!” “Heavens! Don’t tell me you're old-fashioned enough to believe a woman shouldn’t work!” ; He turned her toward him. “You shouldn't. And if—if only I were through the university and we could—” “But we can’t,” Jo said. And then she added, “At least, not now.” “But in another year I'll graduate, and old Prof Keagles will get me in somewhere. Then we'll be married.” He looked down at her fiercely. “Nothing can happen in a year to make any difference between us!” ag Jo couldn’t reply at once, because just e bent down swiftly and kissed her, hard. And even if he hadn’t kissed her aie would have had no answer to his question. What could happen in a year, out beyond the campus? It wasn’t a thing to think about now, this problem of what they should do and plan. Something bigger than either of them was planning for them. Tomorrow she had to start hunting a job, and Bret had to start prepara- tions to fo fo Bivad Hench 9 ig enough money - to finish his year at the university. ea : (To Be Continued)