Evening Star Newspaper, August 26, 1923, Page 74

TWO FO HEN the rain was over the sky became yellow in the west, and the air was cool. A man who had turncd the corner into the empty street stared with obvious and peculiar interest at the house before which he was stand- ing. It was the oldest house In the str built with clapboards and & shingled roof. The man was about as old as the ouse—that is to say, about forty-five. His name was Abercrombie and the most important event of his life had taken place in the house before which he was standing. He had been born there. 1t was one of the last places in the | world where he should have been born. He had thought so within &, wvery few years after the event ard g he thought so now—a plain home in 2 small town where his father had owned a partnership in a grocery store. Since then Abercrombie had played golf with the President of th United States and sat between two duchesses at dinner. The two inci- dents still sai softly upon his naive vanity. It delighted him that he had gone far. H He had looked fixedly at the house for several minutes before he pe ceived that no one lived there. The, grass had grown wantonly long in the | yard and faint green mustaches were sprouting facetiously in the wide | cracks of the walk. But it was evi-} dent that the property had been re- cently occupied, for upon the porch I half a dozen newspapers relled into cylinders for quick delivery and as yet turned only to a faint resentful yellow. They were not nearly so vellow as the sky when Abercrombie walked up on the porch and sat Gown upon an ymmemorial bench. for the sky was every shade of yellow. Across the street and beyond & vacant lot rose a ! rampart of vivid red brick houses, and | it seemed to Abercrombie that the | picture they rounded out was beauti ful—the warm earthly brick and (hoE sky fresh after the rain. changing and gray as a dream. All his life, when he had wanted to rest his mind, he had called up into it the image those two thinge had made for him | i {that's why I came down. there was a boy named Abercromble and he went away.” * ok ok X I a few moments they were talk- ing easily. It amused them both to have come from the same house— amused Abercromble especially, for he ! was a vain man, rather absorbed, that evening, In his own early poverty. He found it necessary somehow to make it clear in a few sentences that five years after he had gone away from the house and the town he had been able to send for his father and mother to join him in New York. Hemmick listened with that exag- gerated dattention which men wha have not prospered generally render to men who have. He was beglnning faintly to associate this man with an Abercrombie who haq figured in the newspapers for scveral years at the head of shipping boards and financial committees. But Aberciomble, after a moment, remarked abruptly, “I don't iike it here. It means nothing to me—nothing— e wondered if I did, you know, And I've de- cided I'm through.” Hemmick nodded. hough without thought. He had never thought. There was a certain luxury in thinking that he had never been able to afford. When cases were et before him he either accepted them outright If they wcre compre- hensible to him or rejected them it they required a modicum of concen- tration. Yet he was not a stupid man, He was poor and busy and tired. He was a closed book, half full of badly printed. uncorrelated trash. Just now. his reaction to Aber- crombie’s assertion was exceedingly simple. Since the remarks proceeded from a man who was a southerner by birth, who was successful—moreover, who was confident and decisive and persuasive and suave—he was In- clined to accept them without sus- icion or resentment. He took one of Abercrombie's cigars and pulling on it. still with stern imitation of profundity upon his tired face. watched the color glide out of the sky and the gray veils come down. In the stucco bungalows pianos gave out hot, weary notes that inspired the crickets to competitive sound, and squeaky thoughtfully, igraphophones filled in the intervals hen the air was clear just 8t roe [with patches of whining ragtime unti hour. So Abercrombie £ | the impression was created that each thinking about his vouns day {1iving room in the street opened di- { rectly out into the darkness. EN minutes later another man|{ Abercrombie was saying with a turned the corner of the street— ffown. “It was entirely an accident o different sort of man both in the|that I left here. an utterly’ blind texture of his clothes and the texture | chance, and, as it happened, the very of his soul. He was forty-six years|train that took me away was full of oM, and he was a shabby drudge,iluck for me. The man 1 sat beside married to a woman Who, as a EIil |Bave me my start In life.” His tone had known better days. This latter|became resentful. “But I'd have fact, in the republic, may be set down lsuyed here except that I'd gotten into in the red italics of misery. a scrape down at the high school— His name was Hemmick. He was & | I got expelled and my daddy told me clerk in & factory which made ice for { he didn't want me at home any more. the long southern summer. Never in| Why didn’t I know this town wasn't his life had Henry Hemmick discov-|any good?” ered a new way to advertise canned| ‘Well, you'd probably mever known fce, nor had It transpired that by tak- lanything better?’ suggested Hem- ing a diligent correspondénce course ‘*mlck mildly. o in ice canning he had secretly been ‘That wasn't any excuse,” {nsisted preparing himself for a partnership. iAhercmnmu». “If I'd been any good that |fact—as—a—matter—of—fact,” he re- Never had he rushed home to his|T'd have known. As a matter of servant now, Nell: I have been made | peated slowly, “I think that at heart ¥ % ok % wife, crying: “You can havé banks and especially at- the Cotton National.” " “I remember.” “Well, they caught him, anad they got most of the money back, and by and by the excitement died down, ex- cept in the bank where the thing had happened. Down there it seemed s if they'd never get used to It. Mr. eems, the first vice president, who'd always been pretty kind and decent, got to be a changed man. He was suspiclous of the clerks, the tellers, the Janitor, the watchman, most of the officers, and, yes, I guess he got 80 he kept an eye on the president himself. “*HAVE YOU GOT ANY CHANGE WITH YOU?' I ASKED HIM. ‘Do You Believe in L R A CENT --- The pocket was empty. There was a little hole in the bottom, and my hand held only a half dollar, a quarter and a dime. I had lost one cent. “Well, sir. 1 can’t tell you, T can't express to you, the feeling of dis- couragement that this gave me. One penny, mind you—but think: just the week before a runner had lost his job because he was a little bit shy twice. It was only carelessness: but there you were! They were all in a panic that they might get fired them- selves, and the best thing to do was to fire some one else—frst. “So you can see that it was up to me to appear with that penny. ___THE_SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, AUGUST 2, 1 and Bad? ck—Goo they were some distance off, and be- sides being pretty dizay, I hated to &0 out of my route when I was carry- ing bank money, because it looked kind of strang: “So what sheuld I do but commence walking back along the street toward the Union depot, where I last re- membered having the penny. It was a brand-new penny, ‘'and I thought maybe I'd see it shining where it dropped. So I kept walking, looking pretty carefully at the sidewalk and thinking what T'd better do. I laughed a little, because I felt sort of silly for worrying about a penny, but ‘I JUST WANT— have given me; something even the nigger baggage-smashers were jin- gling around in their pockets. I must have stood there about five minutes. I remember there was a line of about a dozen men in front of an Army re- crulting station they'd just opened, and a couple of them began to yell: ‘Join the Army!' at me. That woke me up, and I moved on back toward the bank, getting worried now, get- ting mixed up and sicker and sicker and knowing a million ways to find a penny and not one that scemed con- venient or right. I was exaggerating the importance of losing it, and I was exaggerating the-difficulty of finding THEN 1 STOPPED 5HORT.” “I don’t mean he was just watch- ful—he was downright hipped on the subject. He'd come up and ask you funny questions when you were go- ing about your business. He'd walk into the teller's cage on tiptoe and watch him without saying anything. If there was any mistake of any kind in the bookkeeping, he'd not only fire a clerk or so, but he'd raise such a riot that he made you want to push him into a vault and slam the door | on him. “He was just mbout running the bank then, and he'd affected the other officers, and—oh, You can imagine the havoc a thing like that could work on any sort of organization. Every- body was so nervous that they made mistakes whether they were careful general superintendent.” You will{T was the sort of boy who'd have]Or not. Clerks were staying down- have to take him as vou take Aber-llived and died here happily and never | town until 11 at night trylng to crombie, for what he is and williknown there was anything better.” | account for a lost nickel. It was a This always be. dead years. ! When the second man reached lh(‘: is a story of the| He turned to Hemmick with a look al- most of distress. “It worries me to think that my—that what's happened thin year, anyhow. and everything financial was pretty rickety, so ome thing worked on another until the house he turned in and DeEAN 0 to me can be ascribed to chance. But)Crowd of us were as near craziness mount the tipsy steps, noticed Aber-f crombie, the stranger, with a tired ! surprise, and nodded to him. i “@ood evening.” he sald. i Abercrombie voliced his agreement with the sentiment. Cool.” The newcomer covered his forefinger with his handkerchief and gent the swathed digit on a complete circuit of his collar band. “Have you Tented this?" he asked. “No, indeed, I'm just—resting. Sorry 1f I've intruded—I saw the house was vacant “Oh, you're mnot Hemmick hastily. ‘I dom't reckon anybody could intrude in this old| barn. 1 got out two months ago. They're not ever goin’ to rant it any more. 1 got a little girl about this high"—he held his hand parallel to the ground and at an indeterminate distance—"and she's mighty fond of an old doll that got left here when we moved. Began hollerin’ for me to come over and look it up.” “You used to live here?’ inquired Abercrombie, with Interest. “Lived here eighteen years. Came here'n 1 was married; ralsed four children in this house. Yes, sir. T know this old fcllow.” He struck the | door post with the flat of his hand. “I know every leak in her roof and every loose board in her old floor.” Abercrombie knew if he kept a cer- tain attentive expression on his face his companion would continue to talk. “You from up north?’ inquired Hemmick politely, choosing with habltuated precision the one spot where the wooden railing would sup- port his weight. 'm from New York." “S0?” The man shook Fis head with inappropriate gravity. ‘“Never have got up there myself. Started to | &0 a couple of times. before I was married, but never did get to go.” ! 1 1 i intruding!” said As though having come suddenly to & cordial decision, he extended the hand toward his companion. “My name's Hemmick.” lad to know you.” took the hand without rising. crombie’s mine.” T'm mighty glad to know you, Mr. Abercrombie Then for a moment they both hesi- tated, their two faces assumed oddly similar expressions, their eyebrows drew together, thelr eyes looked far away. Bach was straining to force into activity some minute cell long sealed and forgotten in his brain. Each made a little noise in his throat, looked away, looked back, laughed. Abercrombie spoke first. “We've met." “T know,” agreed Hemmick, “but whereabouts? That's what's got me. You from New York, you say?” “Yes, but I was born and raised in this town. Lived in this house till T left here when I was about seven- teen. As a matter of fact, I remember you—you were a couple of years older Again Hemmick considered. . “Well,” he said vaguely, “I sort of remember, too. I begin to remember —I got your name all right, and I guess maybe it was your daddy had this house before I rented it. But all I can recollect about vou Is, that Abercrombie “Aber- not understand. ,But I didn’t. that’s the cort of boy I think I was. I didn’t start off with the Dick Whit- tington idea—I started off by acci- dent.” £ % % FTER this confession he stared out into the twilight with a de- jected expression that Hemmick could It was impossible for the latter to share any sense of the importance of such a distinction—in fact, from a man of Abercromble’s po- sition it struck him as unnecessarily trivial. Still, he felt that some mani- festation of acquiescence was only polite. “Well,” he offered, “it's just that some boys get the bee to get up and &0 away, and some boys don’t. I hap- pened to have the bee to go north. That's the difference be- tween you and me. Abercrombie turned tently. “You did?" he asked, with unex- pected interest, ‘“vou wanted to get out?” “At one time.” At Abercrombie’s eagerness Hemmick began to attach a new importance to the subject. “At one time.” he repeated, as though the singleness of the occasion was a thing he had often mused upon. “How old were you?" h—'bout twenty.” “What put it into your head?" “Well, let me see,” Hemmick con- sidered. “I don’t kmow whether I re- member sure enough, but to him in- i i as anybody can be.and carry on the banking bustness at all. “I was a runner—and all through the heat of one terrific summer I ran. 1 ran and I got mighty little money for it, and that was the time I hated that bank and this town, and all I wanted was to get out and go north. I was getting $10 a week. and I'd de- clded that when T'd saved fifty out of it I was going down to the depot and buy me a ticket to Cincinnati. I had an uncle in the banking business there, and he said he'd give me an opportunity with him. But he never offered to pay my way, and I guess he thought if I was worth having I'd manage to get up there by myself. Well, maybe I wasn't worth having, because, anyhow, I never did. * % x % €6 \NE morning, on the hottest day of the hottest July I ever knew, I left the bank to call on a man named Harlan and collect some money that'd ,come due on a note. Harlan had the cash waiting for me all right. and when I counted it I found it amounted to $300.86, the change being in brand new coin that Harlan had drawn from another bank that morn- ing. I put the three $100 bills in my wallet and the change In my vest pocket, signed a receipt and left. I was going straight back to the bank. “Outside the heat was terrible. It was enough to make you dizzy, and 1 hadn’t been feeling right for days, 80, while I waited in the shade for a seems to : Street car, I was congratulating my- me that when I was down to the uni- !!Ell that in a month or so I'd be versity—I w. there two years—one | Where it was some cooler. And then of the'professors told me that a smart 88 I stood there it occurred to me all boy ought to go north. He sald busi- ness wasn't going to amount to much down here for some years. And I guessed he was right. My father dled about then, so I got & job as runner in the bank here, and T didn’t have much interest in anything except sav- ing enough money to go north. I was bound I'd go. “Why didn’t you? Why didn’t you?” insisted Abercrombie in an aggrieved tone. “Well,” Hemmick hesitated, “well, I right near did, but—things didn't work out and I didn't get to go. It was a funny sort of business. It all started about the smallest thing you can think of. It all started about a penny.” “A penny?” “That's what did it—one little penny. That's why I didn't go *way from here ang all; like I intended.” “Tell me about it, men,” exclaimed his companion. - He looked at his watch impatiently. “I'd like to hear the story." Hemmick sat for a moment, dis- torting his mouth around the cigar. Well, to begin with,” he said, at length. “I'm go'ng to ask you if you remember a thing that happened heie about twenty-five vears ago. A fel- low named Hoyt, the cashier of the Cotton National Bank, disappoared one night with about $30,000 in cash. Say, man, they didn't talk about any- thing else down here at the time. The whole town was shaken up about. it, and T reckon you can imagine the disturbance it caused down at all the | of a sudden that outside of the money I'da just collected, which, of course, I couldn’t touch, I.didn’t have a cent in my pocket. I'd have to walk back to the bank, and it was about fifteen blocks away. You see, on the night before, I'd found that my change came to a dollar, and I'd trade it for & bill at the corner store and added it to the roll in the bottom of my trunk. 8o there was no help for it—I took oft my coat and I stuck my handker- chief into. my collar and struck off through the, suffocating heat to the bank. ¢ “Fifteen blocks—you can imagine what that was Iike, and I was sick when I started. From away up by Juniper street—you remembeér where that is; the new Mieger Hospital there now—all the way down to Jack: son. After about six blocks I began to stop and rest whenever I found a patch of shade wide enough to hold me, and as I got pretty near I could kit going by thinking of the big gliss of iced tea my mother'd have waiting bestde my plate at lunch. But after that I began getting too sick even to want the iced tea—I ‘wanted to get rid of that money and then lie down and die. “When I was still about two blocks away ffom the bank I put my hand into my watch pocket and pulied out that change; was sort of jingling it in my hand; meaking myself believe that T was so close that it was con- venient to have it ready. I happened to glance into-my hand, and all of a sudden I stopped short and reached down quick into my watch pocket. 7 “Where I got the energy to care as much about it as I did is more than 1 can understand. I was sick and hot and weak as a kitten, but it never occurred to me that I could do any- thing except find or replace that penny, and immediately I began cast- ing about for a way to do it. I ooked into a couple of stores. hoping I'd see some one I knew, but, while there were a few fellows loafing in front, there wasn't one that I felt like going up to and saying: ‘Here! You got a penny? I thought of a couple of offices where I could have |all. gotten it without much trouble, but ' 1 didn’t enjoy laughing, and it realls didn’t seem silly to me at all. “‘V * k k% ELL. by and by I got back to the Union depot without having cither seen the penny or having thought what was the best way to got another. I hated to go all the way home, ‘cause we lived a long dis- tance out; but what else was I to do? So I found a piece of shade close to the depot, and stood there consider- ing, thinking first one thing and then another, and not getting anywhere at One little penny, just one—some- thing almost any man in sight would AND CUPID SMILED BY J. A. WALDRON, 138 EE him? 1 almost forgot my- self to the point of crying S “Hello! but he was going too fast to have heard me.” “Doctor Delavan? Yes. I saw him. He'll run up agalnst a traffic officer and be reminded of the speed limit. But he'll say he Is hurrying to the bedside of a patient and get off. Even young doctors are privileged as motorist: This was the comment of two of his friends as the young doctor sped along. “A patient! Il wager he hasn't half a dozen yet. And he drives as though he had half the town on his books.” “That's all in the game. If a young doctor can get a car by any means, and dresses well, he can make a show that sooner or later will mean business.” “Delavan is on his way, then! He's a fashion plate—no matter how much he may owe his tailor—and he has another requisite—savoir faire. I like him.” rd “So do 1. But I can't figure out how he manages to put on such a front. Of course he'll get there. “He talked confidentlally with me the other day. It's all right to-men- tion it as long as I glve no names. Within a week he was called in to treat two more or less aged spinsters. The physician of one of them was out of town, and the other's was ill Delavan thought the old ladies might keep him on the job permanently.” “I'l bet both of them had seen him first. That's what youth and a good appearance can do. Both may remember him in their wills—if they have money.” “Oh, bdoth have money.: But he sald their complaints were imagi- nary.” . ‘As 80 ‘many complaints are— especially of women, and particularly of spinsters. That sort of a thing is what makes easy going for estab- 1ished physicians well as begin- ners. Bills are rendered just the same. But why don’t Delavan marry some nice girl with money?"” ice girls with money are not so numerous. Don't you know? Delavan is ready to do that, I gu mental and all that—fond of the sex canny as to matrimony.” * ¥ ok ok speed as his friends talked. This time he was really going to see a patient—one of the elderly spinisters, who at I after imaginary afflic- tions, had developed a real disease. She died on his hands, much to his regret, but when her will was pro- bated it was found that a codicll gave him a little legacy. It was enough to pay his debts and leave a margin which he needed. The day after he received the mqney Dr. Delavan went shopping. He parked his car on a side street where several other cars of shoppers stood. While he was making pér- house—outside in the car—and she's it he finds opportunity. He's senti-| oy oqr home before dlscovering the—the mis- —but like most young doctors he I8}, o we'll call it.” The doctor heard | sergeant guttaw. Vare some men’'s new things in & bun- YOUNG Dr. Delavan kept on atlgie in the car. 5 chases he saw a charming young woman who was also shopping. It was not his first sight of her. He remembered that on several occasions he had seen her on the road driving her own machine. Twice he had pas- ed her in his fictitious haste. On one of these occasions, he remem- bered, the road was very dusty, and she won her way ahead of him again, out of his dust. And he couldn't catch her. In the shop the doctor lingered about this divinity, although she did not notice him. He finally passed out and put his bundle In his car, but he could not resist the temptation to re- turn to the shop, hoping to catch an- other glimpse of the young woman. He walked about, but could not find her. Returning to his car, he drove away in a maze. No other young woman had ever set his heart in such a flutter. %l alis [¥ his bachelor quarters Dr. Lelavan proceeded to inspect his purchases. When he ogened the bundle the first thing that came out, carefully wrapped by itself, was a beribboned chethise of an almost diaphanous fab- ric. He held it up gingerly and sighed. And there were other breath- catching garments, among them stockings that seemed liquid in fine- nese. The doctor lingered over the rewrapping of the parcels. What had happéned? After he had thought the situation over he rushed back to the garage. An examination led to the discovery that the car he had come home in was not his. In fact, it was a much bet- ter machine. He hurried back to his rooms and called up the nearest police station. “Do you know anything about a mix-up of cars?” he asked. “Yes,” sald the sergeant in charge, “we've just had & complaint from a young woman. One of the swells on Murray Hill. She says some one has taken her car from the street near the Sellwell Stores and left a poorer car in its place. ‘I guess you're the gulity man, Doc! ‘A gocd guess. I'm sure of it! Where iis the young woman?” Butlh young “She's right hers at the station put out about it, I'll say? She dreve “And she says there Yours?” 1l wager they are! she opened my bundle?” “She didn’t X-ray it, that's a cinch. Says she at first thought they were things of her own she had just bought. “Will you ask the young lady to wait for a few minutés, sergeant?” “Sure thing, If you're coming over.” 11 be there with her car in ten minutes. A The doctor and the young woman both blushed as they exchanged cars —and bundl And that was how a courtship began. . (Copyright, 1628.) 1 wonder if another, but you { st have to belleve that it seemed about as important to me just then as though it were a hundred dollars. “Then I saw a couple of men talk- Ing in front of Moody’s soda place, and recognized one of them—Mr. Burling—who'd been a friend of my father's. That was relief, I can tell you. Before I knew it I was chat- tering to him so quick that he couldn’t follow what I was getting at. “‘Now,' he said, ‘you know I'm a little deaf and can’t understand when you talk that fast!’ What is it you want, Henry? Tell me from the be- ginning.’ “‘Have you got any change with you?' I asked ;him just as loud as I dared. ‘I Jjust want——' Then 1 stopped short; a man a few feet away had turned around and was looking at us. It was Mr. Deems, the first vice president of the Cotton National Bank. Hemmick paused. ang it was still light enough. for Abercrombie to see that he was shaking his head to and fro in a puzzled way. When he spoke his voice held a quality of pained sur- prise. a quality that it might have carried over twenty years, “I never could understand what it was that came over me then. I must have been sort of crazy with the heat —that's all I can decide. Instead of just saying, ‘Howdy’ to Mr. Deems, in a natural way, and telling Mr. Burling 1 wanted to borrow a nickel for tobacco, because I'd left my purse at home. I turned away quick as a flash and began walking up the street at a great rate, feeling like a criminal who had come near belng caught. Before I'd gone a block I was orry. I could almost hear the con- versation that must've been taking vlace between those two men: ‘What do you reckon's the matter with that young man? Mr. Burling = 1 i would say without meaning any harm. ‘Came up to me all excited and wanted to know if I had any money and then he saw vou and rushed away like he Wwas crazy. “And could almost sec Mr. Deems’ big eyes get marrow with suspicion and watch him twist up his trousers and come strolling along after me. 1 was In a real panic now, and no mistake. Suddenly I saw a one-horse surrey going by, and recognized Bill Kennedy, a friend of mine, driving it. 1 yelled at him, dbut he didn’t hear me. Then I yelled again, but he didn't ‘WHEN THE SECOND MAN REACHED THE HOUSE HE TURNED AND BEGAN TO MOUNT THE STEPS. pay any attention, =o I started after him at a run, swaying from side to side, T guess, like I was drunk, and callilng his name every few minutes. He lookeq around once, but he didn't turned out of sight at the next corner. I stopped then because I was too weak to go any farther. I was just about to sit down on the curb and rest when I looked around, and the first thing I saw was Mr. Deems walking after me as’fast as he could come. There wasn’t any of my imagination about ft this time—the look in his eyes showed he wanted to know what was the matter with me! “Well, that's about all T remember clearly until about twenty minutes later, when I was at home trying to unlock my trunk with fingers that were trembling llke a tuning fork. Before I could get it open, Mr. Deems and a policeman came in. 1 began to talk all at once about not being a had happened, but I guess I was sort of hysterical, and the more I said the worse matters were. When 1 man- aged fo get the story out it reemed sort of crazy, even to me—and it was true—it was true, true as I've told you—every word!—that one penny that I lost somewhere down by the station——" Hemmick broke off and began laughing grotesquely —as though the excitement that had come over him as he finished his tale was a weakness of which he was ashamed. When he resumeq it was with an af- fectation of nonchalance. “I'm not going into the details of what happened because nothing much did—at least not on the scale you judge events by up north. It cost me my job, and I changed a good name for a bad one. Somebody tattled and somebody lled, and the impression got around that I'd lost a lot of the bank's money and had been tryin' to cover it up. “I had an awful time getting a job after that. Finally I got a statement out of the bank that contradicted the wildest of the stories that had started, but the feople who were still inter- csted said it was just because the bank dldn’t want any fuss or scandal —and the rest had forgotten; that Is, they'd forgotten what had happened, but they remembered that somehow 1 just wasn't a young fellow to be trusted—-" * ox ok ¥ EMMICK paused and laughed again, still without enjoyment, but Dbitterly, uncomprehendingly, and with a profound helplessness. “So, you see, that's why I didn’t go to Cincinnatl,” he sald slowly. “My mother was alive then, and that was a pretty bad blow to her. She had an idea—one of those old-fashioned ideas that stick in people’'s heads down here —that somehow I ought to stay here in town and prove myself honest. She had it on her mind, and she wouldn't hear of.my going. She said that the day I went'd be the day she'd die. So I sort of had to stay till I'd got back my—my reputation.” “How long did that take?’ Abercrombie quietly. “About—ten year “Oh- “Ten years,” repeated Hemmick, staring out Into the gathering dark- ness. “This Is a little town you see. I say ten years because it was about ten years when the last reference to it came to my ears. But I was ma: ried long before that; had a kid. Cin- cinnati was out of my mind by that time. “Of course,” agreed Abercrombie. They were both silent for a moment —then Hemmick added apologetically: “That was sort of a long story, and I don't know if it could have inter- asked ested you much. But you asked = i “It did interest me” answered Abercrombie politel. “It interested me tremendously. It interested me much more than I thought it would.” It occurred to Hemmick that he himself had never realized what a curious, rounded tale it was. - He saw tdimly now that what had seemed to him.only a fragment, a grotesque in- terlude was really significant, com- plete: It was an interesting stor: it was the story upon which turned the failure of his life. Abercrombie’s voice broke in upon his thoughts. “You see, it's so different from my story,” Abercrombie was saying. “It ‘was an accident that you stayed—and it was an accident that I went away. You deserve more actual—actual credit, if there is such a thing in the world, for your intention of getting out and getting on. You see, I'd more or less gone wrong at seventeen, I -, 5] ot IN was—well, what you call a jelly-bean. All T wanted was to take it easy through life—and one day I just hap- pened to see a sign up above my head that haq on It: ‘Special rate to Atlanta, three dollars and forty-two cents.’” So 1 took out my change and counted it—" Hemmick nodded. Still absorbed in his own story, he had forgotten the importance, the comparative mag- nificence of Abercrombie. Then sud- denly he found himself listening sharpl; “T had just three dollars and forty- I seo me: he kept right on going and | thief and trying to tell them what! F. Scott Fitzgerald Tells of Couple of Men Whose Fortunes Were Strangely Linked |one cents in my pocket. But, you see, 1 was standing in line with a lot of {other voung fellows down by the | Union depot about to enlist in the {Army for three years. And 1 saw that extra penny on the walk not lthree feet away. I saw it because it {we® brand new and shining in the sun like gold.” | The Alabama night had settled over [ the street, afid as the blue drew down upon the dust the outlines of the two men had become less distinct, ca | that it was not easy for any one who jpassed along the walk to tell that one iof these men was of the few and the other of no importance. All the de- jtall was gone—Abercrombie's fing gold wrist Watch, his collar, that he ordered by the dozen from London, the dignity that sat upon him in his chair—all faded and were engulfed with Hemmick's awkward suit and | preposterous humped shoes into that i pervasive depth of night that, like death, made nothing matter, nothing differentiate, nothing remain. And, a little later on, a passerby saw only the two glowing disks about the size of a penny that marked the rise and fall of their cigars. (Copsright, Radio Controls Planes. "THE Immense possibilities of fiying controlled by wireless from the 1923.) [ i ground were shown fn the most striking fashion at Etampes acro« drome, Seine-et-Olse, France, when a large Voisin bombing machine withy 8 300-horsepower engine and a heavy load tdok the air entirely nder wireless control, and after fiying for half an hour at a height of 1500 feet was brought back to its starting point, where it glided down in a perfectly smooth landing. Under the machine is an aerial which receives the wircless waves. These are sufficiently strong to work the series of levers which guide the machine absolutely independently in the air. During this flight there were two engineers in the machine, but they never touched the levers and simply sat there as witnesses of the perfect accuracy of the m neuvring. Capt. Max Boucher of the French army, who has been superintending these pilotless flights at Etampes, says that he sees a great future for the invention once it has been per- fected sufficiently to enable the cone trol to be exercised at an indefinite distance. It could be used not only for di- recting a huge fleet of bombing ma- chines which could be directed to- ward an enémy caplital, there to drop thelr bombs and to return to their own aerodrome for a fresh supply, but also for every-day peacc- able commercial purposes Mail planes with special motors thus directed could be controlied to fly in the upper regions of the atmos- phere where no pilot could breathe, and yet where the air resistance s 8o slight that immense speeds could be obtained. Capt. Boucher says that he hopes it will soon be possi- ble thus to send mails from Paris to Algiers in four hours, and that with- in ten vears it might even be possi- ble to send & mail plane direct to the near east by wireless control. The Benin Bronzes. HE acquisition by the University of Pemnsylvanla &f @ collection of bronzes and ivory tusks from the old savage city of Benfn mot far from the delta of the Niger river fn Africa brings to mind an interesting un- solved archeological problem. The British Museum owns a larger collection of the bronze plaques with figures in rellef, which are the most Interesting of all the relics, but just what the plaques were used for it is not known. Probably they adorned the walls of houses or of tempies. They are made with so much elabora- tion and in such high relief that it seems that the workmen must have used the difficult process of cire- perdue. Though the process was known in anclent times, investigators are astonished that a people who knew so little of civilization as the inhabitants of Benin should have dis- covered it for themselves. Appar- ently that is the case, however; the process was known in parts of Africa before explorers visited them. The quality of the bronze is so high as further to puzzle investigators; and that no copper is avaflable within thousands of miles of Benin compli- cates the situation more. Stll an- other remarkable thing: Many of the bronzes represent Kuropeans armed with matchlocks and swords and wearing aitnor of a fifteenth century type. The kingdom of Beni British subjected in 1887, was dis- covered about the year 1485; a Portu- guese writer mentions It a few years later. Some of the Europeans shown may be Portuguese, some Semites and some representatives of the early ad- venturers into Africa. which the A Pound of Silk. JEXPERTS in such matters assuro {1 us that silk that comes trom abroad sometimes has a surprising way of changing weight. It is inter- esting to consider one consignment that came from Japan. A leading chemical expert vouches for the truth of the figures, and, for the sake of simplicity, takes one pound as the standard in describing the change. It must be remembered that what was true of the one pound was true of the whole consignment. The raw silk weighed sixteen ounces to the pound when it ar- rived. After it was washed and dried it welghed twelve ounces. “The wily [Japanese!” one naturally exclaims, but wait, The twelve-ounce pound was passed through a bath of bichloride of tin and then through a bath of sodium phosphate. Those baths were repeated alternately a number of times, and then the silk was placed in a bath of aluminum sulphate. Back it went to the tin and phosphate baths and the swollen fibers were charged”with more “loading.” Then it was treated to a bath of silicate of sodium. After that it was dyed a rich black with logwood, which added a Jittle more weight. Finally it was ofled in order to give it luster. The result was ninety-six ounces of beautiful black “silk,’ which twelve ounces were real silk and eighty-four ounces were loading.