Evening Star Newspaper, November 26, 1922, Page 70

Hold His HEN Jimmy Blair got out of the army. which was in the early spring of 1919 he spent one memorable da; and oue still more memorabls evening in the city of New York Then, dutifully and somewhat giddily, he boarded a morning train and started home for Carpentéerville, five hours up-state Jimmy wanted to go home; that is. his had wanted to go home. Ile wanted to sce his mother and father and Joe Hollis and the Denisons and ail the rest. But, gosh! how he actu- ally wished he could stay right on in the big town Jingmy knew exactiy what had hap- pened to him He could even have out it into music In words. he n v mia Van Westyn again for the irst time in Af- 1 Virgluia. as he had sen months, admitted the fact to himself, had w. toped him she had pasted him <:raight between the ey had sent him to the ropes. had hog-tied him. put the Indian sign on him, sewed hin up. knocked him for a goal—Vir- zinfa. who lived on the twelfth floor of 5 Park avenue apartment house here the rents ran into five figures o the of the good old decimal point. Yot as the dingy left Jimimy swung off the train at old station b s con- wvic faf Tump that had risen ' nte his threcal. Then. before he ould ook around. he was engulfed v a wave of turbulent humanity, and Al at once he was being kissed and thumped and slapped upon the back. while a machine-gun fire of questions was rebounding from his eardrums. “Tou old scout. you!" he heard. And then his mother was looking up into his ey Hello. ma' he said. and hugged Yer tight “Gosh! i good to be bhack '™ You're t vou awsy agai ronr hif, Same old goos to stay back now. You won't go dear—ever in going Jimm will are) You. said Jimmy Blair., and kissed his mother again. Then Why. Mary Denfson'™ he calied over his mother's shoulder. “I thought you'd be all grown up. Well. I'll be darned’ You look just about six- teen.” fimmy's father laughed ‘Lot of changes since vou been | away. Jim." But Jimmy wasn't listening. He had caught Mary Denison's hand and pulled her to him, bear fashion, and kiszed her. And then he was patting her paternally on the bac You look great. Mary.” suid. Geat good to see evervbody . he its again’’ * x T never wecurred to Jummy that the he paternal pat and the casual verybody” had completely neutral- = the kiss—and everything else. Mary Denison didn't know Virginia Var Westyn's name, or whether Vir- fa was blonde or brunette, or tall short, or French or English. or what not. But Mary did know in- <tantly that there was a Virginia and that she was a person to be hated. Except for the fact that he was #till in uniform. Jimmy was puzzled by the feeling that he had never been away from Carpenterville at all. The place was exactly as he had expected it to be. That was the trouble. felt lat down. He wondered pointedly what Vir- 2 would think of ft—the somewhat Ri <hoddy streets of brown and vellow frame houses; the two-storied busi- ness district: the golf course itself. only nine holes and very seedy: the one white marble building. the bank. at the corner of Park and Main: the 'wo movie houses that smelied of peanuts: the black soot of the freight vards hanging over evervthing like a mail. Jimmy pressed his lips together and shook his head. He would have to bhreak it to his mother that he was zoing back to New York—going back just as soon as he decently could. \fter supper that evening. he re- flected, would be the time. Yet during the meal itself Jimmy felt himself weakening. His mother simply beamed. She had prepared srape(ruit and the tomato bisque that iimmy loved so well, and here was a juicy steak.swith baked potatoes and Deas and caulifiower, and a salad— and then lemon meringue ple. Mrs. Blair was going through the cere- ' mony of cutting this delight when ‘here came a knock at the door and Joe Hollis stormed in, with little Mary Dentson on his arm, all wrapped in a soft brown elfin cloak that matched her hair and eyes. “Car’t leave you alone. vou se Joe priclaimed. “Mary said we ought to lay off vou, but 1 dragged her along just the same.” The gl laughed. “That® how we women fool vou. Jdoe. As fong as Jimmy wouldn't come to see e, why, T had to come to see him. that's all. are newadays. so they tell forward.” She let her brown eyes rest for an imperceptible second on Jimmy's face. But Jimmy Blair was laughing with- Jut concern. and his eves were not on hers. Don't be a goose. Mary.” he said. “Since when have we got so formal and everything?" “You two sit down.” Mrs. Blair was insisting. “and try a bite of this ple. 1Us the first I've made in & long time —vour favorite, Jim." us—very * ok k% FTER the last crumb of pie had A disappeared and they were set- ling themselves comfortably in the wld-fashioned living room rockers, timmy's father, asked what Jimmy, specifically, was zoing to do. ‘Oh. you men!" broke in Jimmy's mother. “Why talk about jobs when Jim has so much to tell us “Jol said her husband. peeling the band from his cigar, mother, are sometimes quite imspor- tant. I'd say this was one of the times. Anyhow, I'd like to know. Done any figuring. son?" Why. ves.” And Jimmy shot a glance at his mother. “You see, dad. my major, a dandy chap, named Het- hall—he's a partner in a big broker- age. nouse down on the street—and sie a2t of thought—-" “Street?” asked M Blair. “What treet?” “He means Wall street, mother.” the boy's father explained. ‘Oh. Jimmy! Down in New York?’ “I'm afraid e, ma. But, you see, the chances down there are wonder- ful. particulerly with the social con- nections 1 had the luck to establish ew York_ Went to His Head. Will the Old Home Town Heart? Ho‘ That's the way girls | lighting his cigar, | overseas time, really IUs the chance of a life- Ji Not very well, ma. as doing s ve hundred u ye just {seratch compared to what 1 van make tdowa there. Besides———" welve hundred a year is a mighty teomiortable his mother pro- tested. “What with this home and everything.” She turned impatiently sung Hollis, “Can’t you do an thing with him. Jor Toe Hollis laughedd 1ts w disease,” he all got “What | munded. ated. They've do you mean? Jimr There was just an e | 1 EVERY EVENING Joe ‘Hollis had waited the draft and had not been called “All vou guys” Joe explained “You've gone and goi yourselves big ideas. Half the men that have come back are looking for soft jobs—soft ! Jobs and big mones Jimmy Blair leveled his gaze at the ! other. “Haven't his tone for your own earnings gone up considerably in the last year and a half> Haven't you got a few | 1deas yourself? You've got u car now. { How about that?” | Hollis scratched his head Sounds like an argument.” lie said till, I suppose you're partly right. {Jim. But you see. we've actually ibeen doing the work. turning all our |apare cash over to the government |and carrying bigger loads than 1 knew it you were doing so well here, | JIMMY'S MOTHER AND LITTL ing hard in & mighty good office, and may be he might make a killlng. And fally lots of people were taking him up, though naturally she herself had helped there. Anyway—dnd here Virginia would yawn prettily—there were heaps and heaps of 4imé, and there were always heups and heaps of other men There wer Jimmy Blai tov. They bothered For things were not go- ing exactly as he had hoped they would. For one thing. there was the job. It was a perfectly good Jjob. and everybody told him he ought to tickled to death with it, but somehow it secmed a little bit flat. Selling stocks and bonds! DAY'S EARNINGS, f xhe now—thay would be casy. You'd have something in vour hands and you could say “These are good shoes—real leather. Look Selling @ pair [ 1ook. as if he wanted a pair of good | shoes big | ia man could carry. Isn‘t that so. Mr. Blair?" | “Well. yes” said Jimmy's father. 1 | Buess that's so.” Jimmy fely annoyed. but he com- his jaws and muanaged to mother was stud. seems sort of funny, Jim." served. “the way you take up for |New York. And vou spent a whole day and a night there. too. when you |could have come up on vesterd | train. What's her name, Jim?" ed. “Blonde or brunette? Evervbody roared. for there had i been tension. So nobody but Joe Hol- {1im noticed that little Mary Denison | straightened up ever so slightly, and ithen. after a second, laughed loudest {of an. For only yesterday Mary. very pink. {had told Joe, as nicely as she could. g him she ob- tea Mr. Blair | { ood $30 hole in vour wallet. Well, it would be a cinch. But this other thing was not a cinch. How could you know the Shoes wer good if you'd ugver even seen them? Yet you gave vour word on it. just a if you personally knew. Funny bus ness! Then there was the cost.of living. That was another thing to think about. They paid you wbat they called a drawing account of $50 a week down there at the office. and that was really your salary You got $60 a week. maybe a little bit more—call it $200 a month. Well, your room cost you $50 and your meals cost vou at least $75—jugt your own meals, t was—and you had to have two zood suits for the office. | and evening clothes, and a dinner jacket, and a silk hat. and all sorts of shees and shirts and things. Be- side in to all th there ddition Jimany Blair wiped his If you took Virginia to tea, it cost you a couple of dollars. That was easy. But if you took her to dinner. which you wanted to do once in a while, it cost you$ls before vou got through with the taxis and the tips. If you took her to dinner and the theater—and. of course, you had to get decent seats—it would knock a Thirty dollars in one evening! Zip!—just like that! And. by the same token, if you took her to dinner and th that she liked him a lot. but that she | theater and out to dance afterward— could never, never think of marrying {and vou just And Joe thought he knew the |sionally—you were mighty | nim. {reason why. and the reason worried |him. But now, seeing Mary laugh | and watching that toss of her bobbed brown curls, Joe Hollis felt much bet- ter indeed. Joe was only a man. * * * HE very da: Jimmy Blair reached | Jimmy it wasn't. i New York he called up Virginia | worth had that occa- lucky if you got out of it for forty-five cool to do iron men. Jimmy knew—he knew until it hurt. * ok K K UST the same. New York was worth it. Nobody could tel And Virginia was it—you bet she was! There | Van Westyn. only to find that she was | was something about the whole thing “ all tied up with engagements, but the | that was worth it. Just walking up second day he captured two hours of | 5th avenue. for instance, at § o'clock !her time and put her in a taxi and took her to the Biltmore for tea, and they danced. Jimmy danced. He danced then. | He danced through the spring. When Virginia went out to Old Westbury {he followed her there every week end she would let him, which was about one in three. He followed her to Southampton in August. He followed her to Great Barrington in the fall. And he danced. Not even Virginia's closest and dearest girl friends questioned the | fact that she possessed a genius for attracting men. Some of them per- haps admitted to one another, in the strictest confidence, of course, that anybody who, spent as much thought and time and money on herself as tainly to make a splash. It was inted, too, still in confidence, that in the matter of property—man being the property un- der discussion—were not above cavil. But that must be as it may. Virginia was human. Blair was not unattractive in his own right. There were only two things he lacked—one was social position and i Virginia’s ethics 1 were very important. When Virginia reached this point of a spring afternoon. . Take today, for instance. Jimmy Blair hadn't sold a single stock, but he had left the office at 4:30—that was one nice thing about Wall street —and now he was striding confidently up 5th avenue. Some day he'd be riding up this street in a shiny limousine, nodding casually to the traffic officers. Well, it was a great town, full of hustling, clean-cut- men. and just packed with the most wonderful look- ing girls a tellow ever saw. Couldn't touch Virginia for a minute, but good to look at just the same. They all were. Sleek, glossy furs and sleeker sllk stockings and all kinds of smiles —that was New York. It was a darned shame to have to turn off 5th Virginia Van Westyn did ought cer-|avenue for anything,-even to get to your room. Some day— There was a yellow envelope for Jimmy stuck cornerwise in the mirror of the dark entrance hall. He seized it gingerly and tore it ‘open. = Tele- grams alwayé made your heart stop And Jimmy {a little, even though you pretended they didn't. N This one was from Jimmy's mother: “Your father facing operation. Not the other was money. Both of these |serious, but want you home soon as possible.” Jimmy stood there, irresolute. He in her estimate she would screw up |knew about his father’s operatiomn. her pretty white forhead in a petu-|The old man had told him six months lant scowl and wonder. Jimmy all right. Wel, She 1liked |ago. Just a couple of days in the he might | hospital and then out again. But still! come through, at that. He was work- ' Jipmy scowled. Darn it, ha'd been be | MARY DENNISON WOULD HELP HIM COUNT THE And the other person would | jlars in hand, and thereby place him |invited to Virginia's for dinner that levening. And afterward they were all going to the Ritz. Yes, and that lunnrjd bird would be there, and |Jimmy didn’t trust him a bit. Now, !what difference would one evening make? Jimmy looked at the telegram again. Then he shook his head mournfully, went to the telephone in- |strument that hung on the wall, jdropped a nickel into Its slot and |called Virginia's number. | Virginla was out—Ilikely enough | with that Conrad bird! i “Please tell Miss Van Westyn," said “that I have been | a sudden illness jn | {Jtmmy evently | called home b {my family. Tell her I'm dreadfully ! | | | | | | sorry. but 1 can't help it. Yes. this is Mr. Blair.” | | Just before he was to be wheeled Jout to the operating room Jimmy's: father asked to see the boy alone. | “Son." he sald with a smile, “the | ! doctor has told mae about this lhln!! of mine. Your mother doesn't know— | not exactly. I've got a good chance, | they say, but if anything should ! | happen—if anything should happen, | Jim—I'm depending on you." The | older man hesitated. “Things aren't | n as good shape. financially, as I'd like to have them. But I've got you. | That's a—a big relief. That's all. Call ‘em in. Jim. So long. old man. | Wish me luck.” He grinned agaln and held out his hand. Jimmey took his mother downstairs . to the waiting room. He was wish- |ing his father did not look so pale. | {And why did hospitals always have | such depressing medical smells? After what seemed like hours and | {hours. a nurse, all in white. came softly Into the room. Mr. Blair was | out of the cther. she said, and resting comfortably | “Thank God!" said Jimmy's mother. |and stood up. “He's going to live!" she affirmed. her eye gleaming moist. | and clutched for Jimmy's hand. The nurse smiled and nodded. | But the nurse was wrong. i PR i T was notuntil the day after the! funeral that Jimmy was able to i set his thoughts In any kind of order. | Somehow he had managed to wire his office to tell them he could not be | back for another week at least. For the rest, he had arranged the funeral and seen about the cemetery lot and | one through two long talks with his father's lawyer and held his arm| | tight about his mother's shoulders hour atter hour, all in a sort of daze. But now at last he was facing facts. They were not pleasant facts. | First, there was his father's store. | | For four years past it had been los- | !ing money. Jimmy couldn't believe | | that until he had gone over the books the president of the bank. His father had been old-fashicned and easy-go- ing, and he had been in competition with three chaln stores, each one of . them run by a local man. They could | undertuy him and undersell him, and | they had. Only Mr. Blair's popularity and his name for square dealing had kept him in business at all. The president of the bank explained |that it was his best judgment that Jimmy had better take steps to sell the stock on hand and dispose of the lease on the store building. This would give him a few thousand dol- in a position financially to meet most, if not all, of his father’s debts. “Debts?" Jimmy demanded. ‘Well, yes, there were some debts. Mr. Blair had made a number of in- vestments on margin, in the hope of recovering some of his recent losses, and the investments had turned out pretty much as everybody except Mr. Blair predicted they would. The banker coughed deprecatingly. “That was about your father's only fault, Jim. He never could seem to understand the value of money. Jimmy stared moodily at his finger tipe. “I guess I don’t either,” fessed. “Good time to learn,” said the older ‘man, not unkindly. “By the way, your father carried a little insurance. That's intact, as far as I know. I've been, figuring things up for you, Jim, in a rough sort of way. If you can get rid of the stock on hand down there at the store for a fair price and 'gat r1d of the lease, there’ll be som: whera between fifteen hundred ‘and! he con- | patiently several times and then talked with - two thousand dollars left over after you've called In all the paper: your father had out. Your mothér ‘wifl have that and the house. That's free and clear, you know. except for a three-thousand-dollar first mortgage.” -Jimmy continued o stare at his finger tips. “Of course,” he sald presently, “we can gell the house and I can take mother’ down to New York with me. I'd thought of that a little” His voice trafled off uncertainly. The banker laid a large, hand upon Jimmy's knee. “I'd thing about that a long time,” he said. “What paternal do you mean?’ | oy “From what 1 know of your mother. Jim, 1 don'y think she’d want much to go to New York. Carpenterville's been her home for a good many years. Its—well, it's about all she has left now. You're not old enough to un- derstand that, maybe. But iU's my opinfon that taking your mother to New York—uprooting her right at this time—would just about end her. “That's what Aunt Hat says, Jimmy muttered. “Well, I'd listen to your Aunt Hat. Jim. Jimmy Blair raised his eyes to those of the man opposite him. “That means L1l have (o stay here” he stated dully. “It does.” ‘The banker nodded’ slowly. Jimmy ghook his head doggedly. “There's not a salaried job in this town. Mr. Perry—none that 1 could get, anywav—that pays more than twenty-five dollars a week The banker admitted thi: “I can't see that” said the_boy morosely. “I've been earning pretty r four théusand.” “Ye: put in the man, “and spend- ing most of it to keep up a front.” “Most of it,”” Jimmy agreed, weakly. * K ok ok / HE banker paused. “I 1 you. son.” he finally began. "l imagine 1 know about how you feel. Yo gone and got vourself New York eyes. But maybe Carpenterville'’s a bigger place on the map—and on your map, Jim— than you'd think for off- hand. Besides, I've got an idea for you.” “You have”" Jim was being polite. He really didn't much care. Inside of him he felt all torn apart. Why aid problems like this have to be put up to a fellow? He couldn't leave his mother now. he knew that. But how, how on earth, was he going to be able to give up Virginia? “My idea's this” the banker was explaining. ou know old Jed self up auite a retall creamery busi- ness, covering this whole eection of the county. He uses a horse and wagon, but my idea would be for you to use a filvver truck. Cover four times the territory. Well, Jed's get- ting pretty well along in years, Jim, and those forty-quart cans are some- thing of a chore to handle “What's he do?’ asked Jimmy im- “Doesn’t he peddle the stuff from house to house. I think I resmber him. [ don't want to do that, Mr. Perry “There’s a whole lot of things in life we don't want to do, Jim, par- ticularly when we're responsible for somebody outside of ourselves Jimmy said nothing “Jed's got @ good trade worked up. Jim, and he's willing to sell. I happen 1o know, for six hundred dollars. ask- ing price. He'll take five. Now. here's what Tl do, Jim. Tl advance you the five hundred and I'll advance you the first payment on a flivver truck— and the rest is up to you. But I'll back you that much.” “Yes,” said Jimmy wearily. “but 1 can't see that it’ tunity, Mr. Perry. “You can't, hey? Well, maybe it isn't, but I'm willing to take a little gamble on it if you are. Youll be much of an oppor- {living home with your mother, Jim, at “HOP IN;” THE GORGEOUS VIRGINIA VAN WESTYN COMMANDED. “WE'RE TWO HOURS LATE NOW. and keeping her happy. And you'll be in business for yourself, which is just about the greatest semsation in the world. Think it over, son, and come in to see me tomorrow.’ * %k k ¥ ELL, he had done it, and here he was at last—a buttermilk ped- dler, rattling up the road toward the Cuylerville creamery in a dusty truck that had seen many better days. Yes, he had done ft—and that last day in New York had seared itself indelibly into his memory. Resigning his job had been nothing. They did not seem surprised. They did not seem to care. ’ But saying good-bye to Virginia,| had been another story. He had told her ‘that he couldn't afford a past so—and It was mighty decent of her— | she had met him at the Waldorf and they had walked up 6th avenue to- gether and then over to her home. Jimmy told her what he was going to do; that is, he almost told her. He was taking over a big creamery busi- ness, he explained, and it would mean working almost twenty-five hours a day. 5 “Isn’t that splendid™ Virghia Tl how can you handle the cans with she that _stiff white collar on, Jim? | Won't those New York people notice | Somehow he managed to say good- ' you in your working clothes: |bye. He walked over to 5th avenue.| "“Oh.1 feel better in these things:” but 5th avenue was but a collection | gaid Jimmy lightly. of buildings along a paved street.| But he didn’t. As he drove back up | Something had happened t6 Jimmy: | the Cuylerville road, with his empty he didn’t know what. He only wished fiivver rattling under him, he felt that it was midnight. suddenly foollsh, out of place, nettled. | Well, and that was that. Jimmy|He, Jimmy Blair, ashamed of the |1aughed harshly as he swung his rat- | clothes he worked in! He wished | tling filvver alongside the londlng;hnlly that he had left his flannel platform of the Cuylerville creamery. | shirt and stained overalls on. Well, and this was thi: “It she doesn’t llke ‘em.” he “Light cans this trip,” he called out | formed himself, “she can lump ‘em, |as a man’s head appeared in a door- | that's all.” !way. “And I'll be back for another, He reached the creamery at load this afternvon. oclock and then he began to wait Ten minutes later Jimmy and his|One of the men there good naturedly flivver were roaring and bouncing |loaded his truck for him, and that down the road toward Carpenterville [again made Jimmy feel ashamed. He again. Casually he looked at his|smoked a cigarette and logked at his | wrist watch. It was just a quarter | watch. He smoked another and an- | past seven—in the morning. But |other and another. He walked around. |Jimmy grinned. The sun was warm |sat down, stood up, walked around and the leaves were green and the |some more. He looked at his watch birds were singing by the roadside. | agaln. Great Scott! half-past 2! | And the earller you got started the!Two hours gone by and those eight | |more milk you sold, and the more |cans to be sold. quart by quart, be- |milk you sold—Jimmy's right hand |fore nightfall. Jimmy scowled. | straggled into the pocket of his blue At ten minutes past 4 a !overalls, and there sounded a pleas- | touring car slid to a halt by the lant jingling of small change. After'creamery gate. Jimmy Blair ran out all. life could be worse. “Hello, Jimmy, old thing!" sald V * Kk ok ginia. She was as orgeous as ever, her fawn-colored hair flufing out above a fawn-colored motoring coat. “Hello, Virginia! Gosh! iU's good to see you! Oh, hello, Conrad! How |are you?” Jimmy extended his hand. print butter and honey. | Tt surprised him that his feeling to- | At half-past seven of a week day | ward this quondam rival was for evening Jimmy would pilot his little | gome reason quite cordial. be & man’and accomplish thing: neyer_forget you, Iimmy, boy, added: 1 sieek I was 'doing a real business. He | I'l had made a new contract with the | | creamery 1o take its entire buttermilk | output, and as a side line he sold | bus into the back yard of his mother's| *Hop In,” the gorgeous girl com- yhouse and kill the engine. The'n.!m;ndgd. “Where's your bag? We're | with the shadows long across the | two hours“late now. Maké it snappy, cool, sweet grass of the lawns, Jimmy | Jimmy." A would unburden his overalls poekelsl . “I know darned well Youre two of his day’'s earnings. I hours late” Jimmy heard himself | His mother would help him then. saying coolly. “But I can't o along | and generally Mary Dentson. and they | with you, Virginia—can't leave the | would count, smoothing the bills out |job. I wired you that.” | in neat. thick piles, stacking half “Oh, forget it" the girl directed petulantly. “You and your stupid old | job. You make me sick! Come on— | we're going to have a great party. | You know the gang.” “Got a little of the 6ld stuff on the | dollars and quarters and nickels and |dimes. And Mrs. Blair would beam all over as they tallied the score, and little Mary Denison would literally {jump up .and down with happiness, {and excitement. For Jimmy was mak- | Conrad volunteered pleas- | | ing money. “Here!" From somewhere be- | His profits, with his butter and all, | neath his feet he produced a-quart | | were running over ‘20 a day. Of bottle half full. “More where that| | course, the car, with its upkeep, was came from.” he added. | coming out of that, but Jimmy was| “You tempt me, laughed Jimms. In fact, he had | 1 very well satisfled. “but 1 can’'t. ~ I'm awfuily sorry |already arramged with his friend, the hope you didn't misunderstand my | president “of the bank,.to finance a . wire. Virginia. 1 just wanted to say gecond car and a helpér on. commis- | hello. sion, for Blair's buttermilk was be- | “Well, if you can’'t give up a bloom- coming known, -and Cohoes and Troy | ing old job for me. I'd like to know ' |1ay to the south. what good vou are, anyway!" Vir- | But s0 did New York. ! ginia stated irritably. Jimmy Blair felt strangely guilty| “Can’t vou see | can't? Jimmy |about New York. He felt, in fact, as | pleaded |if he were being disloyal. For New | Then suddeniy he knew he was | York—and what Jimmy really meant |angry. He found himself appraising | was somebody in New York—was not | Virginia almost indifferently. For | he |=0 constantly in his mind as ! thought It ought to be. Last Sunday he had written a long {letter to Virginia Van Westyn. Writ- ten her for the first time in almost ' a month. and the writing of it had 1ade him feel better. She was the most wonderful girl in the world. he { the first time since he had known her |it occurred to him that she was a poiled. selfish young person. Her ! nose, he noticed, was trifle wind-blown. It made him want to laugh. What a fatuous boob he'd been! Why. this girl's world was as | far apart from hix as—— He almost, now 3 |told himself hotly. and some day— |laughed aloud. {why, right now he was on the track! She was pressing her foot on the Then, out of a clear sky, Virginia's | starter. i telegram came, and Jimmy found him-|{ ] think you'rg the most selfish self shaking as he read it. She was motoring through tomorrow, she in- | formed him, on her way to her father's camp in the Adirondacks, and { she would stop for him at 2 o'clock and pick him up and take him along | for the week end. Where should she meet him? “Week end!” Jimmy laughed. “Fat chance I've got. with the Friday and Saturday deliverfes. Still..I can see her, anvway.” | He hurried to the telegraph office and wired his reply. He would be ‘at the Cuylerville creamery from 1 o'clock on. Jimmy smiled covertly | his choice of the Cuylerville, “EMERSON (Continued from First Page.) There is a new home out on the| banks of the Rouge, in Dearborn. My wife and 1 were with him and Mrs. Ford the day the foundations for the new home were roughly! staked out. Social ambition would | - have dictated a different locality.| | creamery as a meeting place. Might [Sentiment of the finer sort said: “Here | as well let Virginia think the place |in the midst of scenes where we were | | was somehow his! Then abruptly he jboy and girl and lovers togeth-| | scowled. er; here in sight of the cottage | Shucks! He'd promised Mary Den- | which was the first modest home, | ison to take her along on the route|where dreams of the future were| tomorrow. Mary enjoyed it so, just|dreamed and air castles that have’ like a kid, and she'd been helping him | since come down to earth were built; | ia lot. Already she had lined upjhere among old friends who have about half the housewives In Car-{known us all our lives will the new penterville as steady customers, and [nome be erected.” And there it tomorrow she was planning to start | stands, large, but not pretentious— in on Cuylerville. Well, he'd have to|not a hotel run by a regiment of make some excuse and put it off. He'd | yorvants, but a house in which to tell her most of the truth—that he|)ive in quiet and comfort, a home was expecting some New York triends | en the home atmosphere about it. ot his to pick him up along the road. | "gome years before the new house Mary looked at him quite steadlly | /oy erectea Mr. Ford suid to me: “T with those soft brown eves of heral,,ve found something to Inscribe MAKE IT SNAPPY, JIMMY.” and said: 5 s over the fireplace in the new home ot course. Jimmy. What does It] yhen 1 build 1t He then repeated 2 3 i the following: “Chop your own wood But it made Jimmy feel Mke },.q 5t winl warm you twice” And t. ey the words are there over one of the 5 great open fireplaces in the Dear IMMY cut his morning deliveries |born house. They express—or rather short next day and raced back to | Suggest—one fundamental article of 'the house &t moon to-change his{his ereed. It is the wholesome, sav- clothes. ~+ ing power of work. “You'll ruln that In speaking more particularly" of * * ® % nlce suit” his ceoed, “Jt must bs so wonderful to |mother reproved him mildly, ' "And|the “downs and outs” he has often ] |ana I another. GERALD MYGATT ithing T ever knew,” she said as tn ! engine caught g [" “Think away, old'dear™ said Jimm with a genfal wave of his hand. “at ! we hicks tiink about is the almight | dollar, you know. Takd a drink fg | me. Conrad—a couple of ‘em!" | Well, you certainly are a hick! Virginia announced, for she wa | annoyed. ;I eertainly am.” said Jimmy pleas lantly. “I certainly am, frem th |Bround up.” Virginia was throwin {In the gears. “So long, folks,” Jimm called. And they were gone. R R IMMY BLAIR walked slowly baa to the creamery “Darn fool!” h Well, that's the w.s BUESE, Darned go.- thing He scowled *And to thin of me, old Jimmy Blair. falling for |chicken like that—yel, falling aun scraping my nose on the pavemen) | Why, put her up against a giri 1k | Mary Denison—wait a second, now!* He seated himself on the splintered sun-warmed boards of the creamert ‘dell\‘ery platform, and there, for per hape ten minutes, he swung his leg and alternately frowned and grinned Then he stood up, shook himeelf a. stalked into the office. where stood . telephone. “Sell that sour old stuff tomorron he murmured eryptically. oda, goes to profit and loss Then w called a Carpenterville number. i | | was muttering life goes, 1 That you, Mary?" he asked. “Sas . wait for me, will you? Il b &t your place in half an hour. Jimmy Blair made it in twents two minutes. On the way he re hearsed over and over just what I was going to say. He was going 1 tell Mary about being in the servics and seeing Paris and New York, an getting big ideas, and being all cucko; and getting all balled up about lif and its ramifications, and he was go ing to tell her—and Jimmy knew i now—that he had been in love witl her all the time, which was a fa:t and that he hoped—gosh, how he hoped'—that she'd let him hary around and try to show her that I was just an ordinary guy who wou'c try ke the dfckens to prove himsel worthy to kiss the hem of her dres —or something like that, anywar. But when he pulled up at the Den son house there was Mary at the to; of the porch steps, sort of holding her hands together at her throat am staring at him with that funny ques tion-mark look in Ler big brown e - ‘And she was dressed in that brow: and white checked thing that he like: so much, and her brown hair. al fuzzing-6ut around her face. made he look just a kid. and sunlign was throwing leaf shadows acros her =0 that she.look: heroine in a play Jimmy Blair killed the engine deus and jumped out of his flivver anc raced up the steps. He heard himself stammering in : ed just like husky voice that didn't sound lik his own at all: “Mary. kid. look at me. No, loo} at me. right in the eves! Mary do you think you could manage 1 fall in love with a guy who know he's a biame fool?’ And then—now hadn't he beer fool?—little Mary Denison was lea ing against his shoulder and cryins and he was patting her on the back. (Copyright. Al rights reserved.) THE FORD PERSONALITY ES SUCH LARGE WORDS.™ said to me: “You preach one gosp- My gospel is work If a man is down and out, the only thing that will save him is work work that will give him something to live on.” His conception of his relation 1¢ wealth he has stated to me in thit way: “The money g have gatherec ogether is not mine to do with al- together as I please. I do not owr it. It is mine to control simply a: the steward of it. The men whe have worked with me have helped to create it. After they have hac their wages and a share of the profits it is my duty to take what remain: and put it back into industry in orde: to create more work for more men « higher pay.” Henry Ford’s passion, so far wealth is concerned, is not to owr it, but to create it. I think him siu. cere in his statement when he sayt that his ambition is not to make millions, but to make opportunitie: for the employment of labor. “It I were as rich as Henry Ford' —s0 have 1 heard a thousand penni- less dreamers begin the unfolding of a wonderful charitable or philan thropic Scheme. And Henry's onmy answer to_them all "My gospe. ix work. The best use to which I cau put my money is Lo make more work for more men” And while Henry lives the Ford fortune Is likely tc be haudled with that as the mair object in view." (Copyright, 1922, North Americas Newspapa Alljance.) (To be continued in next Sunday's Star. { 1