Evening Star Newspaper, May 16, 1926, Page 92

0., o THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. MAY 16, 1926—PART L - “Don’t Go to Any Trouble” ICE THOMPSON ENTERED THE HOUSE WITH ALAN CARRYING HER PERFECT BAGGAGE. By Margaret Culkin Banning Barbara’s Husband Urged Her to Take Things Easy. N the top of the ice hox was a round-shouldered piece of fce with a pint bottle of ginger ale leaning rakishly against it. Bar: bara closed the top door and opened the big door below. On one side were two tomatoes, half a head of lettuce, a triangle of cold steak and some cold boiled beets. On the other she saw a quart of milk, halt a pint of cream, some mayonnaise in & cereal bowl, a small piece of cheese end a saucer of lard—and so little butter! She had thought that at_least could make sandwiches. But if did make them for that mob in thery the children wouldn't have enough butter for breakf: The swinging doo opened and Alan appeared. He filled the doorway with his big. healthy body, expansive with hospitality, the softening of a smile around his friendly eyes “Don’t go to any dear? Just pick up anything. They all know it’s informal. We didn't have any idea of stopping when we ieft the motion picture, but this is a lot nicer than a restaurant them anything." “But there isn't “Coffee” “You've got to have something with coffee, and if 1 make sandwiches there won't be enough butter for break- tast.” Alan appeared to think “Give them crackers, then.” Before she had time to demur he bent and kissed the top of her head. “Just don’t bother, dear. Anything will do.” The swing door swished as he went back to the living room. Barbara pursed her lips without paying any attention. She got out a loaf of bread and cut it swiftly into clean, thin slices, thinned the cream and used some of it in the may- onnaise. For 20 minutes she went from stove to ice box, from bread box to cake box. Two big glass trays standing in the kitchen table began to be filled. Coffee, tomato sand- wiches (how far you could stretch two tomatoes, two Npanish onions and some mayonnaise!'—it took hardly any butter), a tray of fruit cake eked out with cookies. sugar, cream from the pantry trouble will you, anything:" She carried the first tray into the | lving room, and Alan jumped up to take it from her. The living room was warm and bright. Barbara, looking up from her coffee pouring, saw how much they all were enjoying its comfort, the wood fire behind the twisted brass andirons, the chairs, each chosen for comfort pla A4 with grac th low tables within reach for ash trays or coffee cups. Her mind leaped ahead past the present comfort to the thought of improvement The curtains really needed renew- ing. Six more months and they would be shabby. She regarded them spe- culatively while the others went on talking and ‘laughing and eating. It was time, she thought vaguely. that people began to go home. night. She was zet up at last and move toward the door- Alan stond on the front porch, lis- tening to the starting of each chug gIng engine as the final act of watch- ful hospitality. His wife did not s his concern. Already she had be to take the dish out to the pantry, getting rid of the ugly debris, sodder cigarettes swimming in pale tan coff Alan sa: u're not go- ings tonight, are ev had a great time.’ entering the kitchen. ing to wash those t vou”" “I must. 1'd rather wash them than see Sarah’s cross face in the mornin Besides, 1 was using my best Spode and I don't like to let it lie around with the breakfast dishes. Something might get broken. | Then let me help. Go to bed. You're tired, Alan, need to get up early. 1'd do it alone. It's really | No. and you rather quicke! The house grew very still down irs. Barbara washed each piece of china_carefully and polished it with her fine linen cloths. Everything about Barbara was fine and weil kept up, like her dish towels. She never allowed herself to gzet slovenly. There was never unything of hers that was not well taken care of, except, per- haps, the face that was reflected in her glass pantry d It had been a pretty face Barbara wus one of the medium. brown, size 13 girls, who make city streets in the United States o excit- ing, trim of wrist and neck and ankle, with plenty of soft brown hair and a. complexion which had enough color without ever being florid. A face which an hour of gayety or a night of romance could make charming or even beautiful, and also a face which 10 vears of close concentration on clothes and curtains and housekeeping and children’s manners could make strangely intent and yet strangely blank. Barbara was on her way to becoming a thin, middle-aged woman, one of those whose children speak of her with respect and affection, and whose virtues are summed up after death in conventional phrases Everything was immaculate at last, Harbara’s feet ached as she went up. stairs. Alan was already in bed. He looked at her commiseratingly, put- ting down the book he was reading. “You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble, Barbara. You are worn out.” ‘I'm all right,” said Barbara wear- ily. She got ready for bed. That didn’t take long. But the children had to be inspected, their three little M #™ ®BETTER MAVE CRACKS IN YQUR DISHES TH its continuation and | Past mid- | lad to see someone | beds tucked in again. There were so many little things. She went mechan- ically from one duty to another, enumerating them unconsclously as she did so. “Poor tired Barbara,” said her hus- band. “Call me if the children fret, won't you?" [ was asleep when Jack coughed, with the harsh barking cough that indicated croup. Barbara got up the first time to give him ipecac, the second time to make hot compresses, and the third time to light a steam kettle in his room. It was 4 o'clock before she went to sleep, and 7 when she wak- ened to listen to the children laughing and talking. She cailed across the room to her husband, and he stirred in his cheer- ful, sleepy fashion. asking her If she had had a good res| “Jack had croup. “He sounds all right Alan. “I'm afraid that fussed over him.” He didn't say it unkindly, but with ympathy. Barbara did not answer. Her head was light with fatigue, but already she had started to put her day in order. As she had feared, the milk man was late. There was only a lit- tle milk for the children’s cereal and for them to drink. Barbara gave what cream there was to Alan and drank her coffee clear, though she didn’t like it that way. “We used nearly all the cream last night and the milkman isn't here vet, children. You'll have to be content with what you have,” she told Made- line, who wanted another glass of Barbara,” * kX X said Just now you B on't bother id Alan, “this is just fine. Barbara's eyes held a little satire as she looked at her husband. Of course it was fine for him. He had the cream. And he had the cream, she reminded herself, because she had carefully put away enough for his coffee. ere were times, she thought to !, when Alan seemed exasperat- However, one couldn’t say that, in the face of his good temper and kindness and ready sympathy. ‘ou're not to work too hard to- dav,” he told her. *I don’t want to find you all tired out ton Don't | do a thing. Just rest all da “It’s ironing day, and Sarah will have to iron,” she answered shortly. “Well, let things go then—-" Barbara’s mouth shut with a little | snap, but Alan did not notice. | “I' wonder, dear, when vou get around to_it, would you ask Sarah, when she’s ironing, to press those ties of mine.” I'll press them.’ No: have Sarah do it They'll be done,” she amended her promise. 5 “Don't bother about them, will you”' But Barbara knew that when | he came home the ties would be lying lin renewed freshness on his bureau |and that he knew it and would expect it, even while he dis. | claimed the intention to cause any one work. He still had not lef: the iroom. There was something on his mind “Yesterday brother John “Yes. How is he? “He's fine. He said th: s coming on next week stop a few days he for Europe again. Next weel 1le says that he doesn't want us ) to a bit of trouble. Just that she’d lfke 1o stop off and see the city and that she wants to t acquaint- ed and be treated like onc of us. She thinks it's_time the families got to- gether, Nice way to put it, wasn't it?" Barbara broke out. “It's a stupid way to put jt. She n imbecile and she knows any guest, particularly one that you've mever seen, can't be treated like a member of the family. [t means all kinds of extra things; extra food, extra_service—and after that lunch’ eon 1 gave last week T practically cretly 1 had a letter from my his wife and could she’s sailing promised Sarah not to entertain any | mofe this month.” “‘Oh, well, we needn’t entertain her. And, of course, if you don't want her to come, I can simply wire John that it isn’t convenient to have her.” Nonsen You can’t refuse to re- ceive vour only sister-in-law.” “Well, if 1 let her come, you mustn't allow her to bother you. You mustn’t go to one bit of exira work.” He smiled, obviously glad to have the matter pleasantly settled on that basis. “I think you'll like her a lot, Bar- bara. I met her once. She's supposed to be something of a beauty, you know. John’s come on tremendously since he married her, three years ago. He’s making lots of money. “I suppose they have everything,” suggested Barbara. “They live pretty well, I gus Well, we'll try to make your sister- in-law—Janice, isn’t it—we’ll try to make her comfortable. “‘She couldn’t help being comfort- able here,” answered Alan, and breezed out, whistling. Sarah came in to take out the dishes, and Barbara regarded her wor- riedly. Sarah would have to be told. ‘“Sarah, next week, Mrs. John Thomson, my husband’s brother's wife, will be spending a few days with us.” Sarah’s face became sour. “She is a charming lady and I want her to have a godd time while she’s here. She'll just be like one of the family. You needn't go to any trouble or extra work. I'll look after her room myself, and manage to help you with the cook- ing while she’s here.” AN WRINKLES LY, IN YOUR FACE” SAID JANICE “I thought we weren't have any more company this month, said Sarak. It was on the tip of Barbara's tongue to say, “So did 1,” but she did not. “This need not disturb your routine at all, Sarah” she said. 1'll Jook after everything.” * k X ¥ ANICE THOMSON entered the house with Alan carrying her per- fect luggage. She already had a small niece by each hand. They looked up at her wonderingly. There was something luxurious about Janice which touched & new note of response in their small souls. She had a picture-book look, with her short waved hair and the soft, small hat that so perfectly matched her fur coat. The coat was of mole and squirrel, which set off her charming skin and her dark, lazy Vhat a lovely room, Alan. You have a clever wife.” She smiled at Barbara, who smiled back for lack of something better to say or do and felt both attracted to her guest and an- noyed by her. Alan sat around bland- 1y, obviously admiring this charming pretty sister-in-law, and beginning to suggest ways to entertain her. “We ought to ask the Grangers in tonight, Barbara. Janice used to know Mary Granger. Let's ask the Grange and the Willoughbys, and a few others.” “‘Heavens, no “Tll see Mary going to ' protested Janice, later. Why have a t won't be any trouble,” said Alan. “Will it, Barbar: “No, indeed,” agreed Barbara, re- flecting that it was one of the nights that Sarah went out early. “No trouble at all for Alan,” she said under her breath. “Come up and let me show you your room, Janice,” she suggested. “Alan, don’t vou think they will be waiting for you at the office?” Janice rose comfortably, looking from her host to her hostess. She left her hat on the table and her purse on the mantel. Alan had no excuse to linger. He went back to his work. The hat and the purse were, as Bar- bara guessed after an hour, indicia of the w Janice did things. Or, r, of the way she didn't do It seemed not to occur to her that a room should always be faultles 1y restored after its use, that traces of occupany should be erased, that magazines should be replaced, and hats kept on shelves. And though it was Sarah’s night out, and Barbara had been forced to hint that it was. Janice sat at the table lingering over her coffee, regaling Alan, and tryving to regale Barbara. with a host of amusing stories picked up here and ere. e had barely left the table when the guests for the evening be- gan to drift in. Barbara was dis- turbed. She went to the kitchen to try to mollity Sarah, and found that august person singing over her wor Tt seemed like a dream, until Bar- ba noted two of Janice's frocks lying over the ironing board and on the window ledge above the dishpan ve-dollar bill. That's the way with it,” thought “but what if vou dollar bills to give aw However, it was clear that was a convert to the guest. Th: a comfort. The children were verts, too, and when Barbara to tuck them in she heard nothing but talk of Aunt Janice. P Barbara went downstairs. pausing on the landing for a glimpse of the group in the living room. They were enjoying themselv It was the first she gets awa Barbara bitterl; in her house, and on Alan's account she was glad to see them there, though vaguely she resented the fact that Janice had been the occasion of their coming. Granger was a capi- talist whose interest might be very useful to a voung fellow in the bond business. They were all discussing plans for the entertainment of Janice. Grangers were insisting on a_small dinner for the next night, and Mrs. Willoughby wanted to have her chance to pay tribute to the inter- esting guest. Not to be outdone, Barbara said she was having a luncheon, and began to plan it furi- ously in- the back of her mind. > % w i HAT was the first night. There followed a group of extremely busy days. Mary Granger enter- tained at dinner for Janice, and Bar- bara furbished up her best evening gown and went to spend an evening watching Janice recetving the hom- age of a dozen men. Alan, as brother- inlaw and escort, enjoyed himself hugely. Mrs. Willoughby gave a tea in her lovely home, and Barbara met women rather intimately whom she had known only slightly beford Barbara’s luncheon cost twice what N N N NS e \\\\\ SN NS con- | went | time that the Grangers had ever been| ‘The! | muscles less tense. her luncheons usually did, and it was success, according to the guests. But Barbara tasted nothing; from sheer fatigue she had lost all sense of hunger. Since § o'clock that morning she had been up maR ing molded salads and preparing sweetbreads, and doing all the things that Sarah would not have time or skill to do. At intervals her husband told her not to go.to any trouble about the luncheon, just to give the guests what was easy. Having made those gen- eral recommhendations in his most sympathetic manner, he seemed to devote himself to Janice. Janice did offer to help, but she made Barbara so nervous that she quickly gave it up. Barbara defi- nitely did not like to have Janice around the pantry or linen cupboard. She insisted that there was nothing she could not do more quickly and more easily if unassisted, and Janice would go off with the children, dis- organizing their routine, and bringing them back gay and adoring and laughing. It was on the evening of the sixth day—Janice had agreed to stay seven —that a crowd gathered again at the Thomson house.- They had been to a theater 'party and Alan had brought them all home for a drink of ginger ale. Barbara, stirred to final effort, had made a lobster Newburg, cheese toast and coffee, and served . gener- ous buffet supper. It was long after midnight when the guests went, Barbara listened to their last jests. their promises and compliments, with u complete sense of unreality. All that was real to her now was the waiting kitchen, the table covered with dishes which she had not stopped to wash. She knew that the kitchen must be clean, so that in the morning Sarah would be ‘able to get a good breakfast, with all the extra trim- mings with which they had served breakfast since Janice came. And she knew that afterward, some time to- morrow morning, she must sit down and figure up what all this had cos and how to pare it off from some other expected and calculated expense. The dishes first—the dishes first—and then to pound up those pillow “Yes, indeed,” she was saving to Mrs. Granger, “It's been wonderful to have Janice here. . Yes, 1 do hope T shall see more of you. It's been very nice to get acquainted. . . . Yes, Alan is always lots of fun.” The last statement was in response to va. rlous complimentary things Mrs. Gran- ser was saying about Alan. He was standing on the hearth rug. telling Granger a story. Comfortable and healthy and happy, Barbara re gected that he had thoroughly enjo; his week ) How bitterly tired she was! Janice, radiant in a soft, brick- ~olored chiffon dress, came over anl slipped an arm through Barbara’s and stood that way as they said good night together. She drew Barbara to the door, and they watched the motors go down the street. “Great party,” said Alan. “Tired, Barbara sald Janice. Barbara turned accustomedly to the dishes on the card tables “Don’t wash these tonight,” said know what Sarah is,” sighed let me do it,” Alan suggested affably, as usual, with the familiar gesture of responsibility. “I can do it more quickly Don't go to any trouble Alan “She won't,” said Janice. ing to sit right down here in front of the fire. Take the dishes out and wash up, Alan. I'll straighten this room."'" Barbara sat down, protesting. and with a few amazingly swift gestures Janice made the room presentable. Then she lowered the lights and sat down by Barbara. “I'd better go and do those dishes," said Barbara. o, let Alan do it." “But he doesn’t know how, Janice. He never—-" “Oh, let him begin. It's my last night.” Let's relax,” answered Janice, lazily. She stretched her body out comfortably, feet crossed on the hearth, and the position was some- how contagious. Barbara found her Off in the pantry something very nyself.” began ‘She's go- Alan remote. She made a last struggle. w doing “Why? He's big and husky. Can't he wash a few dishes? Let him learn. Most men are more competent than you think. But'they never show it if you keep doing things for them."” Barbara looked curfously at her guest. A crash of dishes came from the pantry. Barbara jumped up. “Don’t bother,” said Janice. “Didn’t you heal “Dish broke, didn’t it?" “I was using my Spode,” exclaimed Barbara, almost with a wail. “'Better have cracks in your dishes than wrinkles in your face,” said Jan- ice clearly. Barbara's hand went to her face. Wrinkles? “They aren’t there yet, but they will be. Sit down and be easy. smash a few, and pay for them.” “‘Have you any idea of what it means to pay for them?" “I've a perfect idea. 1 married his brother, didn’t I? They're as alike as two peas. Only, I'm managing to in love with my husband, Barbara. “I don’t see quite what you mean,” Barbara's tone was icy. “‘Come,” sald Janice, “I despise talk- ing about such things. But we're the only two women in the world in ex- actly the same boat. We married the same temperament. You are making Alan lazy and selfish, don’t you see? You're letting him make his empty gestures and escape. How many times a day does he tell you not to g0 to any trouble, because he knows he can trust you to g6 to enough trou- ble to make him comfortable? It isn't conscious, 1 know. It's your own fault. You are one of the women, Barbara, who let the world make a hack of them.” “I really don’t quite get the point of this little lecture,” began Barbara, but stopped, because her sister-in-law had turned to her again, her eyes frank and honest and filled with affection. “You do. You know it’s because I'm ridiculously fond of you, Barbara. No one could live in the house a day without seeing what a darling you are and how you carry the heavy end—so selfishly carry the heavy end that you aren’t getting the most out of Alan. He's a strong, intelligent man. Why dop't you get some work out of him?" “It's deeper than you think, Janice. It's not dishes particularly. It's all right to be fine and languid and beau- tiful as you are, when you're rich. But when you have to scrape for ;?gney-—we do, you must have seen “So would J, Barbara, if I'd tried your method. T don't. I saw the tend- ency to shift responsibility, to_dis- pose of things by a gesture. So I sat still and looked useless. Some one had ;?fldo t‘l‘le work, and so John did. If But that’s not being a wife—"" “I'm not so sure that being a wife isn't making your husband make the most of himself!” said Janice, They heard Alan's voice calling. “‘Come on, girls, and see how a man does it. Here's the cleanest kitchen ever saw. i but I'llget you another,” l od | Let him | I smashed one dish, melf. /i di i v He was absurdly proud of the w: he had cleaned up. The dishes we washed and dry, all in the wrong places, and the food had been hurled into the garbage can or ice box. But Barbara amazed to see how com- petent Alan had been “Put her to bed, Alan,” said Janice mischievously, “and don’t let her tuck up a single child tonight. She's com- pletely tired out.” R HEN Janice departed the day she gave each of the girls a pretty new dress, Jack a set of elec- tric trains, Alan « kiss and Barbara a kiss and a word in her ear: “Remem- ber, the Thomson men are capable, but you have to put it up to them!” Barbara actually found tears in her eyes as the train pulled out. No one since her marriage had taken o much interest in her. Of course it was a mad point of view. Still When they were alone that night after dinner Barbara, who had been thinking instead of mending, said sud- denly “Janice's visit cost me over $150, with the extra_clothes we had to get and food and all. I dom't know where it's coming from. But you will get it for me. won't you, dear?” “Don’'t bother about that,” Alan. “I'm not going to.” said Barbara. As she went past him she smiled sweetly and went to bed. Alan looked after her. A hundred and fifty dollars next began deficit was serfous. She didn't seem to realize that hundreds of dollars didn't grow on trees. It wasn't like her at all. But then, all women were irresponsible at bottom. look after them. Janice, Barbara, alike. One hundred and fifty—he out a pencil and began to figure new issue of Whitehead and Heath's bonds ought to be carefully promoted. Everywhere she went Barbara was | reminded of Janice. The children spoke of her. her. Barbara caught herself talking about her more than once, remember ing little mannerisms, hal thought and speech. She set hersell deliberately to find what the children liked, and, though they could never tell exactly, The fruits of her analysis were a pur- chase of two new dresses and a visit to a masseuse, who told her she ought to lie down an hour a day would soon be an old woman. Barbara lay down for an hour every day. She placated Sarah with a $10- a-month raise, and told Alan she need- ed more money, though as she made the outlandish request she felt ashamed. Alan found himself making love to her instead of talking business. When he did mention business she found, to her amazement, that he had placed an enormous issue of bonds with Mr. Granger and that he was the tempo- hero of the local bonding busi- One had to | had to have that 11 | fifty dollars, if she had managed to | | Her friends spoke of | | | she analyzed it for herself. |°} { or she | I | downstalrs. | | was had liked in Janice, what Alan had | P e a few subsidiary sales almost doubled the Thomson income. Barbara admitted to herself that Janice was right. If Alan hadn't first hundred and | cut that expense and spread it over the income for months, and arranged it for him, he wouldn't have taken his plunge into aggressive new busines This meant all kinds of things. But her own part of the game was not growing into second nature. The | lovely indolence of Burbara sat upon her prettily, but not comfortably. With more money and the promise of still more money, her old skirmishes with bil's seemed to be over. There a little second maid to help Sarah 4 competent. deft girl, who :ared up after evening partie: they said, “Don't go to 1 Barbara took them at their word, and didn’t. But secretly she missed trou- e. Then now night she heard Alan She had gone up to bed early, for they were not going out and it was part of her regimen to rest and keep young. But this night she did not sleep, and she could hear Alan pacing up and down, restlessly, inde- cisively. She listened for an hour, then broke her rule and, slipping on a kimono, went downstairs. As she rounded the bend in the stairs she could see him. It seemed to her that his old plump blandness was quite gone. He w: hard looking, a little tired, competent one The commission from that and |and reserved. % ::\"\:_-:J “What's the trouble, Alan?" she nothinz. Aren't you aslee you see I'm not? I'm listen- to you. What is the trouble?” “Why. I'm a little hothered,” he told her reluctantiy. ome news from my brother ohn. He's had a little bad luck. I was trying to figure—but needn't both your head over it— “What?" She sat down, and came over beside her. “You see, he's lost a lot of mone and he needs a leg up. He does want to tell his wife about it unless he has to. You know how Janice i< awfully nice, but utterly helpless. 14 like to help them out, but I don't see my way to do it without cramping jurselves just now. I've made quite « lot lately, and, of course, John will get on his feet again. But I hate to ask you—-" me anvthing,” said Barbara. “We owe Janice a good turn. She did something for me. I'd do a lot for Janice.” “Do vou suppose vou could figure out a way to cut our expenses? So | could lend John something to tide him bl [ know I could,” Barhara prom ised. (Alan didn't caress her. He agmired or “I hate to have you trouble, dear——"" ‘m " lonesome for swered Barbara. (Copyright, 1826.) =0 to all that troub Mme. Curie Gives One Daughter, Trained For Work in Radium, to Musical World BY STERLING HEILIG. PARIS, May 6, 19 N a referendum by a popular Paris paper on who is the greatest per- son in France at present, out of 40 names returned by half a mil- lion readers, Marshal Foch came first and Mme. Curie, discoverer of radium, came second! Mme. Curie, highest personage in the world connected with radium, was training her two grown-up daughters to take places beside her as world “I ought to go help him, at least.” | Chiefs of radlo activity. ow she permits and encourages the younger daughter, Eve, to give up the unique opportunity in sclence and follow a resistless call of music! Mme. Curie’s official position is pro- fessor at the Sorbonne and director of its laboratory of radio-active matter at the steur Institute, where she has 25 persons specialized under her. The Pasteur Institute was chosen because the great use of radium, at present, is for the benefit of the hu- man race—outside cancers, especially of the face, being so mastered and cured that it seems incredible. While Mme. Curie is not nally occupied with these applicat! her counsel is there, and she con s her analyses and discoveries toward the vital pow- ers of the universe. Seated beside her is her elder daugh- ter, Irene, aged 28. Having already attained her degree of doctor in sci- ence and being continually occupied with her analytical chemistry, Irene remains in direct line for an exalted place in the world, similar to that held by_her mother. Mme. Curie might have made mil- lions out of her discovery, and the daughters were in line to be in a simi- lar astonishingly fortunate position, did they choose to profit by it. In- stead, Mme. Curie passes her time in the research of radio-active matter, intense scientific work done on the university’s small pay! Alongside this unselfish trait is the one already mentioned. Mme. Curie's second daughter, Eve, was being trained up, equally, in her mother's footsteps. \ Never had two girls such a chance to become universal figures in radium by mere birth, work and routine. Eve Curie had already finished her baccalaureate (first part, science; sec- ond part, philosophy) when, with her mother's approval, she threw all such advantages aside and gave up her place in radium to become an artiste! Eve Curfe has actually become a pianist. She is not yet a professional; but she surely will become so, and the two concerts she has given warrant it in the style of great players, Eve Curie is a strip of a girl of 22 with hair shingled like a boy. Add that she is a first-class chauffeur, a very practical twentieth-century girl of the latest modernity, strong, lithe, energetic, alert, very fine and very de- termined. She is as pretty as a picture, with eves that burn as she talks first in one language, then in another. At the age of 6, she played the piano “as most children do”; and Paderew- ski, on hearing her one day, recogniz- ed some particularity of touch or man- ner and advised that she be brought up a high-class planist, even a pro- fessional—of course, in Paderewski's views, an artist is greater than any sclentist! The child’s life being already all planned out for radium science, this advice was not followed as Eve grew up, but was never forgotten. The rest is told by l}lle. Eve her #In my,-early, years,” EVE CURIE. “THE CHILD OF RADIUM,” AT HER PIANO. Curie, “we lived at Sceaux, a nice little town outside Paris: but in 1911, we returned to the capital, and I be- came the pupil of a Paris college. “Up till then, I had naturally in- tended to go on and finish the studies which I had followed to take my doc- torate in science; but at the age of 14 or 15, 1 began to go out a little more and especially to hear more con- certs. The love of music, which had always made me continue the piano for my pleasure, declared itself stronger, and the hearing of some great piano virtuosos was a real reve- lation that perhaps I could have done something in a musical way. I deeply regretted not having worked at the piano professionally since childhood! “At 16, the feeling became so strong that I decided to try to make my way, even though so late, in that direction. My mother, seeing my deep love for the piano, consented and even advised me to quit the scientific work and undertake a musical career, if it was not too late, “At the end of my examinations and a two months’ trip to America, I began to work about five hours a day at the piano. I worked pretty hard for four years, first with teach- ers, then alone with counsel of great players.” Eve strides toward her seat at the piano, a lithe slip of a girl. She just nods, “to show that she does not want to make too much fuss.” Then she slips on to the chair or stool. The writer saw her at the two concerts she has given, and in one there was a chalr, and in the other a stool. It does not matter to Eve Curie what she sits on! At these two concerts, of course, there were many friends and con- siderable curiosity to hear Mme. Curie’s daughter—girl who all Paris knew was being brought up to be- come a radium scientist! Nevertheless, they soon began to look and listen for themselves. For an instant, the sllence and hush were striking the first note. (Was this preparation? ~Was it remains of radium? It is all part of a very smart girl’s manner.) Suddenly, there seemed to be a kind of jerk, and she began. That jerk transforms her from a flexile, cold-fingered girl to something alive, just made of steel! Perhaps the science, the radium, is still there. One woman's criticism was that Eve is “so scientific in her playing that people forget to look for the soul and tenderness of the com- posers.” Others find sentiment galore. One admirer assured Eve that she ought to play only Chopin, because everybody wept over the (unmll march the way she played it. Another sincere and heloved pianist friend confidentially implored her never to play Chopin, “because” she “had not the feeling for him! A third thought the best thing she did was a piece of the great Russian composer, Moussorgsky — which a fourth ordered her peremptorily to cut out of her repertoire. And so on, until the girl was nearly crazy. An American woman told Eve that she had a son who was to be a great pianist, but “had grown discouraged and was dwindling away when he heard Eve play, and took new life from it!” (For which the mother's heart desired to thank her, so much!) ‘Was it Eve's noble rendering of the composers which inspired the boy—or did he, pethaps, feel that he could do so much better than Eve had done that he grew willing to show it and so regained confidence? Who knows a mother’s heart? Mille. Eve has doubts as to its real and inward meaning. One woman sent her flowers. When she saw them submerged by so many others, more pretentious than her own, she apologized for mot sending better ones! Eve Curie does not dwell on it that she is her mmher":x da}\:gh!;r. ’bl:: wants the wo% to e her for ju: what she is,/ ', for better or says JHve oppressive, a3 Eve waited beforelworse, Mme. Curie, too, says that she wants her child to travel the rough paths of others. and to stand or fall by her plano work, now that she is at it. All the same, the first interest « great numbers of people is curio in Mme. Curie and a girl trained up her from childhood to be a scientisi. ‘Many went to the first concert by curiosity,” says an intimate friend, “but they returned to the second con cert to hear the girl play and watch her playing!™ Everybody is saying that Mme. Curie has given so much to the worid that the world cannot value it. Now she is giving something more to the world, and a great gift from herself, because, in permitting and even advising Eve to become a profes- sional planist, she sacrifices the place in radium which she was preparing her to fill! Mme. Curie gives the world an ar tiste in music. It shows, for one thing the culture of Paris and the digni of art in Mme. Curie's scientific mind: Al s weak and frail, Mme. Curie goes on with her task in the great Pasteur Institute, where she must direct and watch over the experiments of 25 speclalists. In her own work almost any kind of wonder may be discovered any day—in the invisible, tinv thing which is the atom, vet which is a solar system. This great thing itself w given to the world by Mme. Curie in her discovery and investis 11on_of radium! Yet Mme. Curie's health and nerves are so worn that it is 4 wonder how she lasts at it from one day to an other. Irene is there, supporting her. Eve was intended to be there. Roth were to continue her great sclentific name and career. e she has given to the world! uch is Mme. Curie, whom the sensa tional referendum just referred to and spreading from Paris paper to paper makes ‘the person most useful to France! This referendum supposed a gift unique in the world, beyond all price. Could it be given to only 40 French men, which 40 in all the nation would be most deserving of it? It supposed two airplanes, “each of which could with perfect safety carry 20 passengers on a trip to the moon ‘Which persons in all France would Le most worthy to make the trip?"” Here was the priceless trip. Tt re- mained to make up the illustrious p: senger list by popular vote. More than half a million ballots returned 40 names beginning in the following or- der of popularity: Marshal Foch, sol- dier; Mme. Curie, sclentist; M. Briand. statesman: M. Branly, sclentist: M. Clemenceau, statesman. It was such a vast success that a second edition was started and ran to completion with even greater success —to the overwhelming honor of Mme. Curie! The 40 passengers had reached the mocn. Then one of the two airplanes was found to be dls ed and could not return. Which of the 40 should be brought back? Here was a new and terrifically sen- sational subject for popular vote. Which 20 were most essential to the welfare of France? The winning list of 20 saved from the moon by many more than half a million readers began as follows: ‘Wanted—Mme. Curie, Marshal Foch, Dr. Roux, M. Branly, M. Briand, Dr. Calmette, Marshal Petain, etc., etc. Mmo. Curle came first—"most es- sential to the welfare of France'—by al .plun.llt);l e herself was training Daugh. ter Eve to take her place!