Evening Star Newspaper, June 10, 1923, Page 78

Just When, You Think They Lost AN Interest in There Comes a Change in Fortune HERE wae a figure, he noticed, ahead of him as he came out of tho shadow of the houses into the open park at the street's end. It walked before him, awsely discernible, moving with & directness that gave purpose to its opogress. It troubled him. There -7as mockery in the thought that its »arpose might duplicate his own. A fine mist blurred the lights of he houses that stood grouped about ‘he little park. The houses remind- d Martin of Paris. He remembered he march up the Champs Elysees n the drizzling rain between.rows ,¢ bulldings something like these. varis! He laughed. Beyond the park was a stone ter- race with broad steps leading down to the river's edge. Martin began to walk down toward the black water. Then he saw her, sitting huddled on the bottom step. A" woman—a =irl 1 Sho heard his step behind her and zave a start and a cry, shrinking away from him. Martin stoou still. t's all right; T ain’t no bull” Her volce came in a quick whispe: “Whatcha want?” “Nothin',” said Martin “Watcha doin’ here?”’ “Nothin." ither 'm I She leancd back on one arm, her | face turned up toward him. It was « sharp, triangular face! white, with | two dark spots for eyes. “Outa luck, huh?" she queried. “I'll say so Her glance made note of a shrunk- | No work? artin shook his | head. “Sit down. Make yourself at | home.” . | Her pert humor, \ith its ironic| undertone, drew: from him a sheepish | laugh. He sat down beside her on| the stone step. i “I see you walkin' ahead of me. I had a hunch where you was goin". “Yeah. “You outa luck, too?” | “You said it, bo!" | “What was you goin' to do?" The girl studied his profile, dimly | revealed \In the mist. He repeated | Lis question. | Jump in" she said shortly. | “Takes nerve” sald Martin. “I| here before. I mean—to the| b Teen rivee.” “And you couldn't do it?” “Well—I mean—I thought I might -as well hang on—a while longer.” Not for me!” exclaimed the girl “You had it pretty tough, hu “Rotten. | “Well, say—I mean—let's go—to- | &ether.” This frankly. “You scared? “Yeah.” i “And you a soldier! Maybe you| Gidn't get across, though? | Sure 1 aid!” sald Martin. | | time she looked at him Yeah. And Russia. It was fright- | zul there. 1 got hit with a plece of | °an have anything you want. I &0t | me, and Tll put my coat @ hrapnel. In the hospital six months.” | Was you scared then? | “Naw! I dldn’t care what happen-,| #d. So far away from homs and all You got & home?" | “Did have.” “Married? “Naw. Just my mother und me.” “What happened to her?" “Died.” “While you was over ther ok EITHER spoke for some time.| Then, “What's your name?” he | What's yours?’ artin.” The girl gave a fluttering laugh. “Funny, ain't it, our bein’ here?” “Yeah, it's funny, all right.” “Whadda y' s'pose—" She paused, groving for speech. “Whadda you &' pose it's all about?” ! I don't know.” t's the bunk, ain't 1t?" i “Sure, it's the bunk, all right. Fight- fu' them Russians, and the boches end all, and gettin’ the bum's rush swhen you get home.” K “Yeah; it's worse since the war. But it always fvas a punk game. Jakes you sore—don't {t?—when you walk up the Avenoo on &an empty stomach and see all the guys and| dames ridin’ round in fancy buzz-| wvagons? Gee! I could live the rest of amy life on what they spend for gas. “I used to feel that way, too. But it ain't thelr fault! It's just luck.” “Yeah! That's right. Offen I used to think T'd ltke to throw a brick through some of them plate-glass windows on the Avenoo, but then I zhought s'pose I hit some nut that win't got it comin’ to him. “Sure! You can't tell” Some of them birds is all right. I met a guy In “Russla—he was one of them bolshe- iki—you know. He was in the hos- pital with me, and he could talk American. He taught me a lot of ahiem Russian songs and dances, after ~ve were up and around. Well, he was 4ryin’ to tell me I should start a revo- Jution over here when I got home, but 4 says, 'Gosh, we hadda revoclution once, I says, ‘and now look,’ I says, “you can't even got a glass of lager.’ Kinda kiddin' him—see? Well, he mever sald nothin' for three days— gveah, three days. And then he says o me, ‘Martin,’ he says, ‘you're right,” Jie says. ‘We hadda do what we done En Russia because it was the only thing to do. I believe in bolshevism,’ Jie says, ‘because it's all for the svorkin' man and 2ll, but what the Nvorld needs,’ he says, ‘ain’t new forms ©f gov'ment. It's a new state of mind.’ Now, whadda you make of that?” “Gee, I don’t know.” “I figgered it out this way: What Do meant was it everybody'd quit try- 1’ to grab off everything for himself ®nd try to act—you know—mors on he level, and kinder— Martin stopped, overcome by the futility of attempting even a state- ment of the world's need. “But you can't blame 'em ed. “If T hadda chance, grab off all T could for myself? say T would!” . 1 “So would 1" said the girl. “You| Just betcha!” " he add- wouldn' I rn 1 ¢ | | smoke.” - __THE SUNDAY Have This World “Yeah. 1 But they 418 not move. It was very | still. A i “Say—Minnle—" | “What?" - | “If you had a chance, what'd you | rather have than anything else?” “Who—me? T'd llke to have one of them big cars, and a place to go to— | an apartment. With nice curtains, and a sofa with cushions on {t—you know, 1ike they have in the movies—" | “Sure!” said Martin sympathetically. “What'd you llke to have—if—-" “T'd like a car, too. And 2 guy dress- edup in one of them monkey suits to drive me round. You know—a shofer. | A shofer named Jame “Why?” “86's I could get in and say, ‘Home, | James! " She laughed. “And I'd llke a-place down the island,” continued | Martin dreamlly, “Like Far Rock-| away, or somewhere—you know.” ‘'Yeah. With a garden— " | “Sure! A garden.” She 1doked at him, and he thought | that she was smiling. ’ “Funny—ain’t 1t? R H “funny—yeah! I feel like we was| old friends. “So do 1" “Say—Minnie?” ‘ ““What' “How'd you come to—what glve' you the i{dea? I. mean, the river- 2 . “I was sick of the whole works. [ had enough of it.” “I bet it was some guy—" “Yeah,” sald Minnle, vaguely “The dirty dog!” She glanced at him, her hands play- ing with the cheap handbag in her | 1ap. . | “He—he was a dog, all right.” “What'd he do to you?” “Well, I'll tell you. Say, got a clga- rette?” “Sure!” He fumbled in his pocket, produced a crushed packet, which he held out. to Her. ,“Its your last one.” ‘Go on; take it. I 'don’ THE DAY MADE NOTABLE FOR THE wanna tune to a dragging a dancer. 'He taught me. We a‘,mt; , changed i cabaret work. He was a bad actor—|selection with a pani- \used to beat me up. Well, after two|ment. Minnie put her hands against his kst years of it, I left pim and teamed up |breast and pushed him away from her. E struck a match for her, observ- | with another guy. And, after that—I| “Tll give the boobs something to look {ng, by the flare of It, the youth- | just kinda kep' goin’ down.” She at:” she eried, and plunged passlonately ful curve of her lips, the gleam of|a deep breath. ‘Well, I g - into an mpromptu Spanish dane her cheel, the dark curl of her lashes. | you don® wanna—try it with u Martin stood gaping at her for She was pretty. Why not? 5 jment. Was this whirling, graceful fig- “Sure. I don't care what's the difference how you got there? | #2% 0 Bt ©F €l T8 Bed HOR © He munched them hungrily while T ain't told you everything. 1 pinchedgore §n e’ it Moo’ e dane she smoked. . a ten-spot off a guy one uight. | that he had learned from the bolsheviki “They're good. 1 ain't had a feed “You did | when he was a soldler In Russia. since vesterday mornin’.” “Sure! Gosh, I was hungry. I hac Minnie left off her Spanish fandango “Gee!” had only a cup of Java since the ¢ - -‘J and began to imitate his wild Slavonic ‘What was you sayin’ about that|before. This was at night. This 8UY gestures, improvising s she danced it | was just gettin' out of a taxi. “Thanki drew ‘e vn and ou! _ Well | 1t is possible that they would have Minnie blew & cloud of smoke into | he flashes his wad and pays the taxi, | gone on til] they both dropped exhaust- the April mist. rand then puts the bills back In his|ed, but a man in a cutaway coat and oA overcoat pocket. It was pretty crowd- | neatly pressed trousers came walking w v ? I wi y ‘Well, it was like this—see? I was I felt kina | into the park—a bald, bland man with- 5 ed, and T got close to him workin' in a store and this guy—his| L0 "y T qone it. Oh. boy! Didn't T|out a hat. name was Harry—Harry Van Kirk—| pays ‘some feed that night! Minnie) saw him he used to come and talk to me over |, . panting. Martin whirled in midair, the counter. I was at the gents' neck- cracked his heels togcther and came Well, he says to me, Minnie, down face toTace with the phenomenon. marry me,’ he says, ‘and you It startled him. Instinctively he And a bed, first and stopped, “I don’ blame you, “And I dom’ bla Martin wear. he says, othin’ , you kinda lle back against DANC He used to lotsa dough, ‘he says. take me out in his car. Some car “You was married to him?” eah. And we had a swell apart- ment and all. Only, he wouldn't tell | me what his business was. Then, one | thing preclous in this strange guardian- | day, the bulls come and pinched h‘mi!hlp* |for runnin’ a gamblin'-joint—see? | on his breast. | And on topa that a dame blew in| from—from Alaska and says he was married to her when he was a gold- miner.” “Gee, Minnie!” She turned to him. story of your life?” “Oh, it ain’t nothin’. Only, I had a good job before the war. I was in What's the end. We had a nice little flat over on | | West 198th street, me and my moth- | er—" He suddenly put hi§ face in his hands and gave a whimpering cry. The girl slipped her arm about his shoulders. . “That's all right, bo! She's. better | oft where she is.” Martin sat quletly, his elbows on his knees. Minnfe withdrew her arm, but her shoulder still pressed his. “Well, then, the war come and I was drafted. I was In France and Russia—three years. When I come home she was dead. I couldn’t get my Job back because I got hurt in the shoulder, and I couldn’t do no heavy liftin". I ,trled tb get eome lizht work. I was-night watchman on & construction job for a while, and I got thirty days for vagrancy—that helped. And- the rest of the time I| slep' in doorways and on park| benches—only. the bulls run you outa there.” . “Gee! I don’t blame you for givin' it the go-by."” i “Well, I was hungry, and 1 didn't see no chance—"" “Me, nefther.” His hand groped for hers, found it and squeezed it. S “I'm glad I met yeh, Minnie.” “Same here! It's kinda nice—hav- in, somebody to talk to. Say—it/ must be gettin’ late.” | They looked at each other. ‘Well?" sald Minnie sharply. 'm game.if you are. ‘I'm game.” Her glance wavered, was turned toward the river. “Gee! It looks cold” She pressed against him, ' trembling. Her voice was & wail. “I don' wanna dle, Martin!” This time it was he who put his arm round her. “Look, Minnle! Don't cry. We can try it'a while longer. We'll stick to- gether—I and you. Huh? “Stick ' together?” “Sure! - I'll start in lookin' for a | job again. Maybe L can got Some- | thin’. And if I don't—well—we can | always come back Here, can't ‘we?” “Yeah. That's right.” “Sure! “As soon as I get a coupla dollars saved up we'll go down to City Hall ‘and get a license and get married. And then nobody won't have nothin’ on ui She drew away from him. “You're a good guy, Martin. And I"—her voice was bitter with self- rpproach—"I'm & dirty lar.” Martin looked at her in surprise. “It's a fac. T'ma liar. I was mar- ried, all right—but not to ne swell guy. There wasn't no such feller— like Harry Van Kirk—I got the whole thing outa the movies. I never was in no department store. My old man kep’ | a storage warehouse—on the movin'- | DIlE her eves. { Look, Minr | dodged, doubling his fist. The bald man fell back then recovered him- self. “Beg pardon, sir,” sald the latter, with a formality that was obviously a | roint of homor with him; “yvou're wanted.” “Wanted?’ growled an ominous word. Minnte. he read the question fn his eyes and gave a slight shake of her head. Then, turning to the bald man: “Who wants us?” she demanded. “Mrs. Kingour, miss. She saw you dancin’ in the park ‘ere, and said would { you kindly step into the ‘ouse a mo- She'd like to ‘ave a chat with ound you— like shis—and you go to sleep.” a step, She settled down grateful | hollow of his arm, looked up 1 and smiled; then her eves closed. He sat holding her, aware of somee Martin. It was He glanced sidewise His head nodded, fell He, too, slept * % % % forward E was wakened by the insistent beat of a hurdy-gurdy. It was broad daylight But th was | one in sight—not even cop. gently woke the girl | “Minnte, wake up! |away from here.” | she sat up quickly, no He We gotta beat it yawning and rub- Then she smiled. “Martin!” “Yeah. You're all right. Come on, | we gotta be goin’." o : He took her arm and they walked to- gether up the steps of the terrace. The | park dawned on them suddenly with an | effect of virgin beauty. In the center of it was a 'small circular space,. paved, | where a fountain tossed free silver into | the air. Minnle stopped to drink. | *“Have one on me!” she said, with a | droll smack of her lips. Martin laughed. | “Don’t care if I do,” he replied gayly, and put his own mouth to the jet. The hurdy-gurdy had stopped in the “PLL GIVE YOU FIVE HUNDRED.” i TION—FROM DISASTER., street opposite the: park entrance. It| “All right,” said Minnie. “Sure! burst suddenly into a raucous one-step: | We'll come.” “Hey, Minnie! Le's dance!" “Very good, miss. He put his arm around her. They |please.” were both laughing. It was a joke—a | ‘“‘Come on, Martin!"” joke on them, but, chiefly, a Joke on | the world that had rejected them. That | was the cream of the jest. | Minnle drew back her head and smiled FLIGHT of stone steps, with 2 at him. | heawy irom door standing open “You're some dancer, Martin!" {at the tomh of it. A hiall, cool and dim, “I'll say you.are!” {with a tiled floor. An impression of On the sidewalk outside the park aflowers growink against white walls. few passers-by stopped Lo stare at| “Upstairs, if you please them. _ .| They walked up’the broad curving “Look at them nuts!” grinned Martin. “I guess they think we're cyckoo all right.” The hurdy-gurdy, with scarcely a This way, if you * % ok ¥ door.. Then a room, stately and spacious, with color distributed about it in subtie barmonies. A woman, stairs. Another hall and another |” STAR, 'WASHINGTON, D. C, erJE 10, 1923—PART 5. - REET'S END spirit of our work. Why, we sat up half the night out there——just kinda gettin’ into the spirit of it. That's why we're dressed like this. I'm sup- posed to be a poor sho-girl—and Mar- tin's a returned soldier—out of a job."” | “Really?’ | “That's NG TEAM BY MRS. KINGOUR'S in a dress like a cloud, sitting in a | painted chair, doing nothing. he turned toward them as € |came in. She had copper-colored hair land a face that looked as If it had been worked out of fine clay. When she smiled it lighted up charmingly. How do you do? I am Mrs. King- our. I saw you dancing in the park and thought I might get you for my tea this afternoon. I was having some professionals, but they disap- pointed.” She gaid this casually quick to take the cwe “We're professionals ourselves” she sald, in a tone that reflected to a nicety the other woman's bored gerenity. It left Martin dazed. Only one thing impressed him, and that was Minnie's cleverness, He must be | careful not to crab her game, what- ever it was. Mrs. Kingour nodded ta the butler. MR all, Johnson; thank you.” ery good, madam. He bowed and went out. The: alone with this charming. indifferen’ | woman. | “Do sit down.” “Thank you.” Was this Minnie speaking? Where did she get that refined accent, that nice shading of tone? From Mrs. Kingour, of course. But wasn't she | the little wonder to catch on like that? { And the way she took her chair! | “You say you are professionals?’ | Mrs. Kingour addressed herself to Minnie. O, yen" “May I ask your names “We're Minnie and Martin" sald the girl, with a smile that seemed to | invite recognition of their profes- | sional status. { “Oh! And wh in the park?’ Minnle was | were vou dancing | | hours. We'll practice here. | Hola it. Now I come in.” MARTIN GASPED, BUT MINNIE SAVED HIM—AND THE SITUA- | “Well, you see, Mrs. Kingour, we gotta new feature. We're just workin’ on {t— ‘' It's called the— the dance of the unemployed.” | “won, really? How extraordinary! Rather clever of you, though. I un- | derstand there's been a great deal of | unemployment this year.” | | “It's the latest thing,” said Martin, !!\\ddenh‘ finding his_tongue. . \ “It'N be & hit” put in Minnie con- fidently, “But 1 don't quite see why you should choose the park?’ said Mrs. Kingour. “We wanted to get into the feelin’ “That's right, “Atmospher what sald Martin. 3 explained Minnie. we wanted—atmos- phere.” TEA. “We got it,” sald Mart! grimly. Mrs. Kingour was interested uld you do this dance for this afternoon? 1 think it might be amusing. I'll give you what I was going to give the other people. Five hundred, 1 bellfeve—"" somewhat Martin gasped, but Minnie saved | him—and situation—from dis- aster. “We've never worked for five hun- dred before,” she said, with just the proper note of hesitancy. “Still, as 1t's a new number——" “That will be splendid! anything else you can do?” h, yes, Our regular specialties. Russian, Spanish—" Minnie waved her hand rou'll the Have vou come then? About four- | thirty?” “I guess so,” gaid Minnle. ¥ we al-aren’t too tired. Mrs. Kingour, we didn' expect to work today. And we're pretty tired— sittin’ up all night. What do you think, Martin?* Martin couldn’t think. It's up to you, Minnle,” he said. Minnie sigheé “Well, T don't like to work when I'm tired—" | Mrs.‘Kingour interrupted her. | “Couldn’t you rest here? If 1 let you go, I'm atraid I'll lose you. As| for costumes, if you want-any, I've| a whole trunkful” She smiled en- gagingly. “I could give you a room and some luncheon. You could rest. “That s, | You'd be quite fit by this afternoon.” | She rose and pulled a cord of | twisted silk. “I'm really quite keen on you.” She smiled. “It must have been great fun, dancing in the park. Had you engaged the hurdy-gurdy? | “No; that was an accident,” sald Mirnte lightly. | The butier entered. “Yon rang for me, madam?”’ “Yes, Johnson. I want you to take |care of these young people for me. | You see, | ] BY DANA BURNET, ¥ Who Finds Effective Drama in the Lives of Ordinary People | “Yeah: ok | “Ana. Martin, when we're dotn’ our dance this afternoon, it you lose your nerve, just think of grapefruit and | sweetbread patties!” | “And. that five hundred bucks!” | sighed Martin. “Don’t you worry, | kid. I'll be there with a wallop.” When they had finished, Martin | carried tho tray out Into the hall| and, *returning, locked the door. | “Time to go to work again, huh, Minnte?” | “You're on! We'll jump right into | [the second part of it. You know,| | where you push me away and I spin | around. Ready? Got the tune in | your head? All right—go!” | They practiced furiously for un-! other hour and 2 half. . Minnte| evolved their “feature” of assorted professional material, teaching Mar- | tin only the fundamentals and leav- | | ing for hergelf the more complicated | movements. Martin lacked entirely |the girl's expertence, but he was | | auick and wiry, and he picked up the | steps with a precision that caused | | the girl to exclaim: | “You're a nachrel-born | Martin?” | " “I guess I'm pretty fair. 1 learned them Russian dances right off the | dancer, | awtul | I'm tired all right. ! You better lie down on the | bed and take a nap. What's that | door over there?’ Hec crossed the room and opened the door. “Gee! It's a bathroom—all white tile. Come | and look.” ! She walked over to him | “Say, Minnie; why don’ you taks a nice hot bath and then go to bed? You got plenty of time. The dame'll | call us.” Minnie; you look * ok x ¥ E pushed her into the bathroom, | closed the door,®and, walking |over to the couch, flung himselt down on it. His body ached. He was dead | tired himself. | But he couldn't sleep. He lay with | his arm over his eyes, his mind full | |of broken thougths, of odd bits of | memory. He heard her come out of the bath- | room. She spoke to him quietly. ‘“Martin?” He dldn't answer. She lay down | on the bed. He waited till he was sure she was asleep. Then he got up |and went over to her. | She was lying on her side, her| cheek on her hand. Her hair was| {down about her shoulders. In her| |underwalst, with her dress thrown | over her, she looked small, childish. | Tears came into his eyes. | There was a blanket on the foot of | the bed, a pink, fluffy thing. He un- | rfolded it. and spread it over her. | Then, stooping, he touched her cheek | | with his lips. | She stirred. He tiptoed back to the | |couch and lay down again. He| {mustn’t fail her. Five hundred dol- | |lars! . A place with a garden at Far Rockaway or somewhere. “Home,| | James: An hour later, Johnson knocked at | “Mrs. Kingour says youll be wanted soon,” announced the Butler. “All right,” sald Martl % | was slow with remintscence. Minnie was sitting up, smiling him. Time for our act—huh? Yeah. How'd you sleep? “Fine!” She jumped off the bed holding the pink blanket round he: “Where'd I get this thing?" “I put it oyer you. Thought might catch cold.” She took up her costume started toward the bathroom, stopped and looked at him over shoulder. “Say—Martin " “Huh?” “Did you—when f wus as —aid you kiss me “Yeah. Kinda. Her face grew strangely peac strangely content.’ “I dldn’ know. I thought*ma dreamed it,” said Minnte. The dancing team of Minnie Martin is famous in New York now both in professional and in social circles. Its rise has been rapid. In act, it never was heard ofetill the afterncon of Mrs. Kingour's tea. But, on a certain April morning year from the day made notable b; Mrs. Kingour's tea, a black and g car rolled into the exclusive neigh borhood of the wealthy Riverside community, turned about the pari and came to a halt at the top of terrace. Minnie and Martin got 'out walked down the steps. It was fore daylight, and the air was ch “It wasn't as cold this a 3 ago,” said Martin. “Neo,” sald Minnie, and drew fur-trimmed cape closer about her. They sat down on the bottom ste; their shoulders touching. “Funny, ain't 1t?* “Yeah; it's funny, all rig] They were silent a long tir night was growing gray. “Yeah; it's funny.” Minnie's voice very- different Fo bu: he and as T thing’s diffefent now t00.” “Sure!” “Do you think we're any happi Wwe were then?” Minnis spoke softly Martin laughed and put his aru round Ler. “I'll say we are! “Yeah; I guess we're right. Only- “What, Minnte?” “I don’t know. Only—we had some thin' then—that we haven't got now That's funny, too.” “You're right. I was just thiinkin that myself. What was it, Minnle “I don't know. It was someth! wo had—and It's gone. We won't never have it again." Martin made no attempt to her. After a moment, he said. “Well, I guess it's time we was goin’” “Yeah.” She got up and stood look ing down at the river. Then they walked back up the steps. The car was waliting for them. As they went toward it, Martin was con- sclous of a vague disappotntment, be. wildering to his mind. They were happy—yes. But the joke was n Jonger a joke. The cream had gone trom the jest. He handed Minnio We wappier all wer into the Mm- | the door. Martin rose and opened it. |ousine and turned to the chauffeur “Home, James!” sald Martin (Oopyright. 1023. Drunkards’ Retreat Is Kept by Kinglet CATTERED about the shores of | the British isles are islands, large and small, whose proprie- [ tors are monarchs of all they | eurvey. In many respects they pos-{ | sess greater power over thelr “sub- | jects” than is held by King George| run with rabbits and rats, both of which are tailless. This little island kingdom was sold not so long ago for $100,000. On the eastern coast of England 13 a tiny island called Osea. It is about mile and & half long and three-quar Give them a roomeand something to | pinege | ters of a mile wide. It is a delightful eat, and—oh, ves! Please have one | little retreat, covered with meadow Although they owe allegiance to| of the matds show them my costumes. | ) | 1and and charming old elm trees—an S e | the British crown, yet parliament has | | 1aeat place for batht ; e “Very good, madam. Wl you come | B e e e Thibi{iaa viaia Nistoty thitiaste: this way, please?” { . nd on thelr | 5 1 > 2 | shores without the permission of the | {rO™ the time of Eidward the Confes- TR s | sor, and from that time it has alwars THEY followed the butler up two| Some of the islands are but a few |had 2 “king” and a small population more flights of stalrs to a room | acres fn extent, while one of them {g| The present “king” is the son of on the top floor at the rear of the |the largest island around the British |Prewer who refused to continue house. It was a large white Toom, | coast, next after Ireland, and boasts|that business. In doing this he sac with & bed in it gnd a couch against i of a fairly large population. | rificed more than a million dollars, { the wall. The special privileges mentioned | sald, and has converted the island “T'1l sond one of the maids With|naye been granted in times past by | into a retreat for drunkards. His the costumes,” sald the butler. | gome soverelgn to a favorite to whom | forts have met with considerable suc “You're to ring if you want &ny- | pe wished to give a mark of special | cess, for the isolation and the bracine thing.” | favor. Like titles of nobility, these |air have worked wonders. His bald head disappeared dowNn | gpecqa]l privileges were made in per-| There are some of these dimunitive the corridor. Martin gently closed | petyity and still cling to the terri- | water-surrounded monarchies off the tucidoor snd Tesnedims sinat s | tortes! | coast of Scotland. One of them is the “Holy cat!” was what he said. Minnie sank down into a chair and laughed. Martin was frightened. He went to her and put his hand on her shoulder. “Buck up, Minnie—Minnie!" “Yeah. TI'm all righ She straightened up, gasping. “Well, gee, hete we are “‘Here we are’ is right” gazed at, each other. gonna do now?” Minnie rose and caught his sleeve. “We're goin’ through with this bluff —see?’. “It—it's a chance for us, Martin.” “But I gan't dance!” “Yes, you can! ‘Wasn't yYou .dancin’ out there? Look; we got six or seven T'll teach They ‘What are we you. She w do it, Martin Martin grasped her hands. “You're some game kid, Minnte. I'd take a chance with you any day.” “That a boy, Martin!” she laughed excitedly. “Come on! We'll start on our feature number.- You'll be sittin® on a park bench—see? “The sofa—that's right—no; over. You're all in, bend 8e3? There! She moved toward him, humming a dance-tune, her body swaying, T1l tap you on the shoulder, and you ‘rise to me. That's it! Now break—keep dancin’! Not too much jazz. - All right; come back. Faster, now!” . They were interrupted only twice in the three hours following—once by the maid who brought the cos- | tumes and again by the imperturable Johnson, bearing a luncheon tray. “Mrs. Kingour wishes to know whether you feel rested,” he said “Oh, fine!” sald Minnie. “Great!” “Very good, miss. Thank you, {miss. The correct, blank man went out. They pounced on the food, “Gee, Martin! Grapefruit! And chicken patties—no; it’s sweetbreads! of 1t.” answered Minnie. “You know, us artists hafta—kinda—get inte the ‘We mustn't eat—to show we ain't starved.” Then she began to_ sob. | 't hear us. We gotta | .| rises out of the bay that is known All who have read “Westward Ho!” will remember Lundy island, which Mes in the British channel. Now | | Lundy is one of the best known otl | the tiny island monarchies. It s a | delighttul little jewel that was once | | the paunt of pirates and smugglers. | |It was at one time captured by | French pirates end at another time | fell into the hands of Turkish pri-| vateers. No one can dwell upon or | even visit this bit of the earth’s sur- | face Twithout the consent of the| | owner. It is exempt from taxation. | | Luupdy Is probably not paradise, but | it is actually the property of the| | Heaven family, and a clergyman of | that name fs the owner. He rules| over a kingdom of 1,200 acres and | fewer than a hundred souls. Down near Land’s End a great rock as St. Michael's mount. It is an island and it {s not, for at low tide a rough /stone causeway connecl it with the mainland. It is little more | than a mile in circumference and Is | probably the tinlest of the island kingdoms. Perched on the summit of | the rock, which is about 200 feet high, iz the famous old castle in which the “king,” Lord St. Levan, resides. Clustered at the base, facing the land, is a tiny village composed of a score of houses where dwell the “subjects.” A UST south of the Isle of Man is a little island called the “Calf of Man.” The original owner recelved from Queen Elizabeth a grant of this island, which was declared to ba for- ever free from taxation. No one can live there, or even on its shores, with- out the consent of the owner. it is in every sense of the word private. The late owner was o engrossed in his books and lived so retired a life that years would sometimes elapse between hls visits to the neighboring Isle of Man. Only a small part of the land is cultivated, and the whole is over- Isle of Bute in the Firth of Clyde, which s owned by the Marquis o Bute. This kingdom contains almos fAfty square miles and has a populs tion of 11000 people. There are & many as stx little lakes in that mon archy, the largest of which, Loch Fad 1s & quarter of & mile wide and abou nine times that in length. The famou old home of the Marquis, Rothesa Castle, dates from the Fear 1088. Ar ran 1s another of these sea-girt king | doms in the same firtn. The ruler of this little principalit: is the Marchioness of Graham, and :. wise ruler she has proved to her subjects. Although only ninetee: miles long and ten broad, Arran has : romantic history. Robert the Bruc is sald to have hidden himself ther for some time in a cave and to hav prepared one of his expeditions to re cover the crown on the island. The ruins of a castle are shown. It was one of the residences ot Scotland kings. * kR % NOTHER little kingdom is ti Island of Rhum, whose potent: is Sir John Bullough. Nearly all the island is deep forest and moorlan and it is 4ll mountainous. Only 30 acres are tillable. The subjects of Sir John number fewer than eight score. The whole island 1s one vast game preserve, where deer and other game roam to provide sport for the bility. The largest of thage fsland king doms. is doubtless Lewis Island, one o- the Outer Hebrides group, off the west coast of Scotland. It covers an sres of nearly 700 square miles and 37,000 people. Tt has several lochs where splendid fishing is to_be ha. Over the moors and forest lund the red deer still roam. This island has had g stirring his tory, for the people have always hee fighters. Many times have roy troops been defeated by the isiander Many members of the royal family of England have been entertained at Stornoway Castle, the residence of the owner. no ’ ‘