Evening Star Newspaper, September 23, 1921, Page 28

FEATURE PAGE. ~ ADVERTISEMENT TENDER, ACHING FEET CAN BE MADE HAPPY | You can go home tonight and gain instant relief from the nerv- | our strain of aching, tender feet. thick-lather bath, with Foot Soap—then a brisk th the cooling, sooth-| y Foot Relief, then a Foot t BY FRANK massige W ing Blue-ja: slight coating of Blue-jay Powder, delightful and deordoran Your feet will feel young agal | You'll wonder why you ever pe mitted If to endure the old time torture. You'll become a per- manent user of Blue-jay Foot Treatment, for sale at all drug-| gist Write Proper Bauer & The Story Up-to-Date | _The story opens at a race track | ninety miles from San Francisco, where day the bookmakers are pecially bad, one of them be- ng Bookle Skarvan, a tricky gambler. He ix unable to pay off the winning w0 orders Dave Hender- clerk, to take an sutomabile (Skarvan's machine) and drive to San Franclsco, where he 1s to obtain $100.- 000 from Martin K. Tydeman. The Intter 15 u silent partner of Bookie Skarvan, and telephone arrangements bad been made to huve the money ready for Henderson when he arrive Henderson, driving the car, conceiv a scheme’ of steallng the $100.000, booklet—*The | the Feet"—to Chicago. Blue-Jay Foot Treatment Keeps feet feeling fine A Bauer & Black Product for free t Black, and Lace Curtain Cleaning MME. VIBOUD, I Fatnblinhed 1855, 727 11 Laces hour later and demanding it. ing In San Franclsco he goes to his comfortless room at the Tooler House examines an ubandoned pigeon he plans to hide the $100.- Tooler he will be in town an hour, retnrning to the 'k by train. He goes to the Tyde- man home uod plans to muke rald of the library while Tydeman is at his six-thirty ~ diuner. Henderson enters the library and steals the pucl notes from a_locked drawer. - turns to the Tooler House to hide them in the pigeon cote. He uccidentally overhears » plan. explained by Runty Mott. u racetrack hanger-on, to steal the money from him (Henderson). Skar- van and two confederates are to divide the $100.00 after it iy taken from Henderson. The Best Spring! No sag, no dust, no wearing out—your body fits right into a Conscience Brand Box Spring—supremely comfort- able. Used with a Conscience Brand Mattress, it is the ideal combination for sleep. Let your dealer show you this quality box spring. (Continued from Yesterday's Star.) nister, ominous thing, attracting no attention from the passers-by, the big gray car main- | tained its distance fitty yards behind. | That grim humor. deadly in its cold composure, was upon Dave Hender- son again. He meant to be taken by ! neither Baldy Vickers mor by the po- ice; nor did he intend that a certain package containing one hundred thou- sand dollars in cash should fall into the hands of either Baldy Vickers or the police. Some day, even yet, he might find use for that particular package himself! Block after block was traversed, corner after corner was turned. as Dave Henderson threaded his way through the streets, heading for the outskiris of the city, road on which he had alread: eled ninety miles that day. yards behind came on that big gray car. y were well doubt— was playing their game for them! playing the fool! 1In the city their hands were tied! Out in the country they would be free to do something more than merely follow silently behind him! Well. that w: all quite true—perhaps! But out in the country he got away from them, he would not at least jump from the pot Into the fire and have the police at his heels the very next instant; and, besides. there was that hundred thousand dollars! The fur- ther away he got from "Frisco the more inviolate became Mrs. Tooler's old pigeon cote! Fifty yards! He glanced behind him again. It was still fifty yards— start. Well, fifty yards was fifty yards, and he might as well take it now. He was well in the outskirts, the houses were becoming scattered, an open road was ahead, and. He bent suddenly low over the wheel, and flung the throttle wide. The car leaped forward like a thor- oughbred answering to the spur. ‘There was a burst of yells from be- hind—and then silence, save for the rush of the wind, the creak of the swaying, lurching car. and the sing- i throb of the sixty horsepower engine. unleashed now, in full stride under the lash. A mile, two miles—tli¢ speed was terrific. There was no sound from behind—just the roar of his own car in his ears. The houses were fewer now—it was the open country. An- other mile! He was at his absolute maximum of speed now. He straight- ened up slightly, and shot a quick glance over his shoulder. The big gray car was fifty yards behind. A shot rang out—and then a fusil- lade of them. He was low over the wheel again. his jaws set rigidly. Was it fifty yards? He was not sure, he was not sure but that it was I he was only sure that it was not more. The shots ceased for a moment. A car, coming in_the opposite direction, had taken to the extreme edge of the road, half into the ditch. He had a flash of a woman’s face, as he swept by—great dark eyes ared out of a death-white face—a beautiful face even in {ts terror—it haunted him, that face. A furious sustained racketing, like a thousand echoes reverberating through a rocky, high-walled canon, stilled the roaring sweep of the wind and the roar- ing of his car. He shot through the main street of a town like a meteor, and laughed out like a madman. dog escaped by the fraction of an inch, and, tail down, scurried with a sharp yelp for the sidewalk; there was a dash for horses’ heads at the curbs: people rushed to doorways and wi dows, peering out; women screame men yelled hoarsely: a fat woman, re treating wildly as she was about to cross the road, dropped a laden bas- ket to shake her fist in panic fury. It _was kaleidoscopic—it was gone. The shots came again. Another town was passed—still another. The big gray car was not fifty yards be- hind now—it was less than thirty-— s0 near that now there came from time to time an exultant yell. Dave Henderson's face was drawn, tense, its lines hard, sharp, strained: but in the dark eyes was still that smoldering light of grim, debonair humot The race was almost at an end—he knew that now. He knew now tkat he could not shake off that gray streaking thing behind. It gained only by inches, they were well matched. the two cars, and it was a good race; but a few more miles would end it as those inches lengthened into feet and yards. ‘Well, then, since he could not eXcape this way, there was still the other way; and if that falled, too, in the 1ast analysis he had a revolver in his pocket. But it was not likely to fail, that other way. He had banked on it almost from the moment he had made his escape from the Toolers’ house. As between himself, Dave Henderson d the hundred thousand dollars, Baldy Vickers, if Baldy Vickers could not get both, would very obviously and very earnestly prefer the hun- dred thousand dollars. His lips tight- ened in a sort of merciless irony. Well, Baldy Vickers would have a chance at least to exercise his pref- erence! A few miles farther on, just a few miles, the road, in a wooded tract. made an abrupt. almost right- angled turn. He remembered that turn—and he had banked on that, too, if by then speed alone should have failed him! He could hold out that much longer. The inches dld not ac- cumulate fast enopgh to overtake him before he reached that turn—he was not afraid of that—but every one of those inches made of him a better target. He was motionless, like a figure carved in stone, as he hung over the wheel. The car rocked to the furious pace. but did not swerve. A swerve meant the gift of anether of those inches to that gray thing behind. He held the center of the road, driving with all the craft and cunning that he knew, his arms like steel bands. his fingers locked in an iron grip upon the wheel. He did not look behind him now. Tt was useless. Nearer and nearer the gray car was creeping up; he was well aware of that; but, also, nearer and nearer cime that wooded stretch ahead. He could see it mow—a mile down the road. But a mile at th! rate of speed did not take long to cover. The shouts grew more exultant be- hind him; the ehots came thicke Murderers! The angry hum of a bul- TRIUMPH BOX SPRINGS Conscience Brand The highest development in spring making. 72 highly tem- pered steel springs. Felt toy bese 8-0z. tick: neither dust nor vermin can penetrate. With a Conscience Brand Mattress the ideal combmation forsleep. Conscience Brand Box Serings INTERNATIONAL BEDDING CO. Bairuone anp Ricumonn { 4V ; Escape the “Stout™ Class An attractive figure is not a matter of size but of correct proportions. The stout wo- men who are never spoken of as “stout” are those who give a little time and thought to proper corseting. Rengo Belt Reducing Corsets give the wearer an appearance of l slenderness. The exclusive Rengo Belt feature gives strength and support where the greatest strain H falls — over the abdomen and hips. They have the reputationof being <sthe most economical reducing corsets cver devised.”” Priced from $2 to $10 Sold At All Good Stores The Crown Corset Company 295 Fifth Avenue, New York ! feeducing Corsets = You cant clean house thoroughly without using PREVENTOL Prevents Moths (PREVEANTOL) —> MAKES A CLEAN HOME 4— | FROM NOW ON L. PACKARD. Copyright, 1981, by Public Ledger Co. Gopyright, 1081, by R. K. Davis Corp. let past his ear roused a fury in his soul that was elemental, primal, and {he cursed now under his breath. Murderers . . six fect of earth . . . in cold blood or it they winged him, the car, amuck, slunting from the road to up-end itself, would do their bloody work for them Bookie Skarvan . « some day, if he lived through this . . Bookie Skarvan . . . it was strange that all their shots had missed even if the back of his car was a protection they wouldn't have many more chances . . . the woods and the turn of the road were just ahead now, and . . There was a crash, the splintering of glass, and a bullet shattered the windshield scarcely a hair's-breadth to the right of his head. A demon- jacal yell of triumph went up from behind. They had him now—and, with him, one hundred thousand dol- lar. Agaln that grimace of merci- less irony was twisting at Dave Hen- derson’s lips. It was the psycholog- ical moment, not only because that wood was just ahead, but because, re- alizing that his chances were desper- ate now, he would logically be ex- pected to sacrifice anything—even that hundred thousand dollars—to ve himself. omething like the flick of a flery lash, bringing hot, burning sensation. was laid sudden'y across his leg above the knee. Itdid not hurt very much— a bullet deflected probably from the rim of the steering wheel—but they had hit him at last. He laughed sav- agely—and snatched at the empty black handbag, and hurled it with all his might far out across the side of the road. A chorused yell answered his act. He looked back—and laughed again. It had not failed! They were stop- i Wolves! Again he laughed. ring fangs It would | give him a minute, perhaps two—but that was enough! The car swept on, and rounded the turn, and the trees blotted out the view of the road behind. He jam- med on the brakes, slewed the car half around, full across the road, and leaping from it, dash in among the trees. The follage was thick. He ran on. He was safe for the moment here in the woods: and presently it would be dark, and he would make across country to the rallroad, and work his way east. The roar of the gray car coming on again at full speed reached him. He laughed as he ran, harshly. with. out mirth. They wanted vengeance now—vengeance because he had not let them murder him! Well, he did not mean to disappoint them! He had disappointed them once—with an empty bag! He would not disappoint them again! It was perfectly togical that there should be—vengeance. There was hardly room to stop that car around the turn! A wild cry, echoed by another, and still another, shrill in terror, sprang oyt from the road over the roar of the speeding car—and then a terrific crash—a_ scream—silence. He had stopped mechanically. The wolves wouldn't bother him any more. It wasn't Baldy Vickers now. that smash would have taken the fight out of Baldy Vickers, if it hadn't taken anything more—it was the police. e clenched his hands in sudden, passionate fury. He was safe from Baldy Vickers here in the woods, anyhow; but, for all that, he had played and lost. He was a hunted man now. He was not whining, he had played and lost—only he had played against stacked cards. The face of Bookie Skarvan rose before him, and his hands clenched tighter. He swept a knotted fist fiercely across his eye. What was the use of that— now! Not now! He had something else besides Bookie Skarvan to think of now: there was the police, and— yes—his leg! It was burning hot, and it hurt now. He glanced downward. His trouser leg was soaked with blood. His teeth gritted together— and he plunged on again through the ‘woods. Iv. Two Thousand Dollars’ Reward— Dead or Alive. Three days and four nights—was that it? It was hard to remember. It hadn’t even been easy to get the little food he had had: it had been impossible to get his wound dressed, save in the rough, crude, wholly in- adequate way in which he had been able to dress it himself—with pieces torn from his shirt and underclothing. They had hunted him like a mad beast. Those cursed police placards were everywhere! Everywhere! TWO THOUSAND DOLLARS' REWARD— DEAD OR ALIVE. The police had acted quickly, quicker than he had ever thought they could act! Joe Barjan, Lieut. Barjan of the 'Frisco plainclothes squad, would have had a2 hand in this. Queer! He'd given Barjan tips on the races, ight tips, honest tips, in the old days—not this kind of a race. Barjan and he used ito get along all right together. Funny business! It was dark, pitch black—save only for a_moon ray that flickered and danced across the flooring of the bouncing, jolting boxcar, and that came in through the half-open, rat- tling door. He should have closed that door more tightly when he had crawled in. It had got loose again. Well, no matter! It couldn’t do any harm for the moment, except for the noise it made, a nolse that beat a devil's tattoo -on his aching head. But that didn't matter, either. /It wasn’t as bad as the clatter and jan- gle and damnable everlasting creaking of the car—and he couldn't stop the car from creaking anyhow. When the train began to slow down for the next stop, he would go over and shut the door again. It was an effort to move—uselessly—before he had to. Three days and four nights—was that it? It was hard to remember. But he must have put many miles. hundreds of them, between himself and 'Frisco. And he had lived through hell—alternately beating his way in some boxcar such as this, and hid- ing in thé woods, or where he could. But the boxcars were mostly for the night--mostly for the night—it was afer. Damn those police circulars, and that reward! Every one was on the hunt for him—every one—two thousand dollars. How far east would he have to go and not find one of jthe haunting things nailed upon a station wall! The dragnet couldn’t reach out all the way—there was a limit—a 1imit to everything. His brain caught at the last phrase —a limit to everythlng. His lips were cracked and dry, and he touched them with his tongue. “No!" He shook his head, whisper- ing hoarsely a dogged deflance. “No lmit—win or lose—all the way—no | limit.” Through_ hell! The whole country- side was hell! They wouldn't even let him buy food. Well, he had stolen it—what he had had. They had near- 1y trapped him the second time he had tried to buy food—the night following his escape—in 2 little grocery store— a big, raw-boned leering m: ran the place—the man had: got. the two thousand dollars’ reward—no, not much of a fight, he had knocked the man out, and run for it—that was all. After that he hadn't tried to uy any food—he had stolen it—only he hadn’t stolen very much. It was hard to get. It was even-hard to get water, a drink of water eometimes. (Continued in Tomorrow's Star.) Special Creamed Chicken. Take one tablespoon of minced chicken, flavor with a pinch of pars- ley and a squeesze of lemon, season with pepper and salt.. Moisten with one spoonful of sweet cream, put into & small cup, cover and steam untll hot lhrot?h. Turn- out onto a hot gln and decorate with parsle with nice crisp toast and ll“L pats of butter} ” 1 LISTEN, WORLD! BY ELSIE ROBINSON I am going to sing a song. There are so many songs today. Songs of hate and rebellion, songs of uncom- fortable freedoms and perilous loves. My song will be of none of these things. It will be an old, old song. almost forgotten in the crash of worlds, the welter of raw, crowding life. It Is the song of my home and the work that I do in my home. I love that work. I love the cheer of my small kitch- en—the glow of brass and china— the friendly homeliness of range and chairs against the wall and table with its bowl of fruit. I love the crisping of the curtains at my windows—the muslin billow- ing In fresh morning air—the panel of the moving skies across which brown birds flash, or white cloud gal- leons sail upon thelr pirate way. 1 love the smell of cooking—all the spicy flavors, or the good, strong warmth of soup on winter nights. The great preserve pot bubbling slowly, with the treasure jars amassing on my storeroom shelves. I am as greedy as a thief in gathering fat crocks or tunny little jars for jelly. I've known great adventures in my life—trage- dies, comedies, a little of that thing called Fame. Yet, somehow, no ad- venture brings such chuckling con- tent as mearching through old books of cookery to find some quaint recipe | for peach conserve or green tomato| my books—those shelves of | dear, old friends, shabby but com-| forting. My books lie everywhere— besides my darning basket. next to my drawing board, and almost in the soup. I love my pictures that have grown to be a part of all my strength and joy. The low black howl 1 fill with marigolds—the deep, worn chair in which 1 read and dream, the ink stained desk at which I work—I love it all This is my home—my place ob- scure, apart, in which 1 live a little while and serve and love. To others it is but a place of walls and rents and boring duties. But to me, it I8 the nearest heaven that I know. . e Baked Eggs. Cover the bottom of an earthen- ware shallow baking dish with a layer of fine cracker crumbs, separate the yolks and whites of the eggs and pour the yolks, without breaking, on the crumbs, placing them a littie apart. Moisten the crumbs with a little milk, put in a hot oven and bake until the yolks have set, then pour over them the whites of the eggs, which have been beaten to a stiff froth, and re. place in the oven until the mixture is baked brown on top. About six eggs can be cooked In this way in an ordl- nary pie plate. Eggs in Nest. FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 23, 1921. ITTLE GTORIES [fifingn%e Black Pussy’s Dreadful Blunder. BY THORNTON W. BURGESS. Look where you're foing lest 30u make Tnwittingly & sad mistake. b —Black Pussy. For four mornings Black Ppssy had patiently watched the little hole In the middle of the path along one slde of the O1d Orchard, the hole which had been the doorway to Striped Chip- long. Just in front of him close to the old stone wall lay something black and white. With a flying leap Striped Chipmunk jumped over it and landed on one of the lower stones of the old wall. In a flash he had whisked be- tween two stones and was safe. Black Pussy had eyes for nothing but that striped coat in front of her. Ehe didn’t see that black and white thing at all. All she saw was that Striped Chipmunk was almost to the safety of that old wall. 8o as he made that flying leap for safety, Black Pussy leaped too, her claws stretched to grasp Striped Chipmunk. And Black Pussy landed right square on that black and white thing cl. stone wall. Right then things happened very 3 Pussy had made a dreadful blunder. (Copyright, 1921, by T. W. Burgess.) munk’s home and which she supposed | still was. On the first morning she had all but caught him as he had pop- ped out, but since then he hadn’t pop- ped out. But as he had been out each morning she thought he must either ive come out before she got thee or else had another doorway to that Pomfs was the fourth morning and the fourth disappointment. Black Pussy was very angry as she sat in the middle of the path twitching her tafl. Disappointment often makes folks angry. Black Pussy felt that somehow. she didn't understand how, Striped Chipmunk was making, fun of her, and she couldn’t stand being made fun of by a saucy little chap like him. The more she thought about it the an- grier she grew. A" little movement in the grass not tar ahead of her drew her attention. Instantly she crouched until her stom- ach touched the ground. Then out from the grass beside the path came Striped Chipmunk. He didn't appear to see her, for he sat up and washed his face and combed his whiskers with his hands. Then he turned his back to her and sat there in the mid- dle of the path as If trying to make up his mind what to do next. Black Pussy's vellow eves gleamed with a flerceness and longing quite dreadful to see. Inch by inch she crept toward Striped Chipmunk. She wasn't near enough to make a rush and she knew it. Inch by inch, inch by inch she crept nearer, and still Striped Chipmunk sat there as if there wasn't such a thing as danger in all the Great World. The end of Black Pussy's tail twitched faster. Inch by inch she crept on. If he sat there a minute longer she would be near enough for a chance to catch him before he could reach the old stone wall. Now, all this time while he appeared to be paying_attention to nothing in particular. Striped Chipmunk was watching Black Pussy from the corner of one eye. He sat still just as long as he dared to, then, still pretend-! ing he didn’t see Black Pussy, started slowly toward the old stone wall. Black Pussy knew that it was now or never. As Striped Chipmunk disap- INCH BY INCH SHE CREPT TO- WARD STRIPED CHIPMUNK. peared In the grass beside gyhe path | Separate the yolks and whites oflg four eggs, one at a not to break the yolks. Beat each stiff, add one-fourth of salt, and pl kin and place the yolk of the egg in the center of each. Set in a pan of water and bake slowly until set and serve while hot. me, taking care You Can Learn More ! from a teapot test of "SALAD Than we can tell you in TRY IT Black Pussy rushed after him, and he can run fast when she wants to. Then Striped Chipmunk took to his legs for all they were worth. Through the grass and the bushes he raced for the old stone wall with Black Pussy al- most at his heels. Tt was an exciting race, a terribly exciting race. Striped Chipmunk began to wonder if he had been too bold; it he had walted too All N2ss a page of advertisement_ TO-DAY it for her. No finer hair net than the Jean is made—yet the price is only 10c. formly supply. perfect, guaranteed. Buya atthenearest Kresge store. FOR SALE EXCLUSIVELY AT SS.KRESGE Stores 11th and G Sts. N.W. and 7th and E Sts. NW. \ fl ALU FEATURE Floating Island. Beat the whites of five eggs until foamy, add one-fourth teaspoonful of cream of tartar and beat until dry, meanwhile adding one-half a cup of prune, fig, date or other puree, or crushed almonds or other nuts. The fruit should have been chopped fine and cooked to a smooth puree with a little water. Turn the mixture Into 2 large, well-buttered mold and cook in 'a steamer without bolling the water for about twenty minutes. As the mixture rises high the mold must be large. When cold, unmold in a deep dish and surround with a cold boiled custard. To make the custard beat the yolks of the five eggs with half a cup of sugar. Have & quart of milk !into the milk two tablespoons of heated to the bolling point and stir| PAGE. cornstarch dissolved In a Iittle cola milk, & teaspoon of butter and: the beaten volks and sugar. Boil for about three minutes, stirring con- stantly. Flavor with vanilla and put aside to cool. _— Pear Pudding. Mix together one-half loaf of st bread grated, one-half pound of sue chopped fine, thres-fourths cup of brown sugar, two eggs, one-half tea- spoon of cinnamon. a pinch of salt two or three tablespoons of flour and one-fourth of a teaspoon of baking powder. Roll the mixture in a ball and place on a plate in a kettle. Boil | with sugar and cinnamon one pound |of pears. Cook until tender, put th- pears around the pudding, cover an« boil for three hours. * )more to pay for such reateri satisfactio’n) A & AlsflqMaxwe‘” House Tea CHEEK-NEAL COFFEE C0., NestvitLe, HousTon, Jacxsouve Rsuons WEAR-EVER 2[R\ - INUM TRADE MARK MADE IN U. S. A. HE “Wear-Ever” Trade Mark stands for somecthing more than mere aluminum cooking utensils. It stands for utensils built with a due regard for the purposés they are designed to serve—utensils that insure BETTER FLAVORED cooking and a SAVING in gas bills. It stands for aluminum that is thick, hard and durable—cold-rolled, SHEET aluminum— aluminum that won’t dent easily and that will be doing duty in your kitchen Jong after othe ty to the scrap heap. 'pes have gone The Aluminum Cooking ‘Utensil Company New Kensington, Pa. v [