Evening Star Newspaper, February 3, 1929, Page 86

3 — WHAT'S A MILLION DOLLARS XQUISITELY, luxuriously, Pam- ela yawned. It was 4 o'clock in the morning, and Pam sat on the edge of her bed. The frock she had worn that night—a shockingly expensive scrap of a frock—Ilay on the floor. ing Alice, the maid, would pick it up. Pam was kind to maids, if unkind to frocks. She had not kept Alice up. Anyway, she had something more in- | teresting than frocks to consider at the moment. Love? And at first sight? “Oh, noth- ing as serious as that!” Pam would have protested. And yet . . . “It’s quite evident,” she informed her- self, “that I shall have to give Dad a talking to. What does he mean by hold- ing a man like that out on me? I've told him, times enough, that men are scarce, and here he’s been hiding a per- fectly good man in his office ever since I came out.” They—Pam and her father—got along famously. From the time she had opened her eyes she had flirted with him. And never without a swift re- sponse. Even tonight, when he had sat, obviously, preoccupied. A newspa- per lay in his lap, apparently forgotten. But what he had read was very much in his mind. “Poor Billy Stone gone— & suicide,” he had been thinking. As stunning that as the sudden col- lapse of the house might be. Poor old Billy Stone, who, through all his busi- ness career, had never known even a minor reverse up to a few. weeks ago. But that, of course, could mean noth- ing to Pam, in no way affect her life. So her father thought—then—and, as always, he had roused himself to her ehallenge. “Don't break too many hearts to- night,” he had warned, for Pam had gayly met the enemy, man, many a time. As she had Larry Amory just afterward. But with such a difference. “This,” had been her first, very mod- ern, reaction, “is going to be worth look- ing into.” ‘The opportunity had not been denied her. They had looked into it together. ‘While they danced and, a bit more in- timately, as they had not danced, sit- ting out one while he smoked. “How astonishingly like your father In the morn- | | commented Pam. THE SUNDAY STAR., WASHINGTON. D. C, FEBRUARY 3. 1929—PART 7. By Royal Brown Business Was Larry’s Life, Romance Was Everything to Pam, So— | have contracted this evening,” he had suggested. No more than that, for with that Pam had nodded good night. Yei she | did feel as if he had departed think- ing of her. And he had. | “Larry Amory?” Pam'’s father had | exclatined when she had told him of | the incident. “Where did you meet him?” “At Sally Treat's danee,” she inform- ed him. “Have you any more like him in your office?” “Not,_exactly—he's unique,” he said. “Rather terribly so, I should say,” “What does he do, anyway?” “The work of three men,” he replied. “I hope you pay him accordingly.” “I've had no complaint from him,” he assured her dryly. B By THE next day a cold kept him in his room, and Pam heard him call several of his assistants on the phone. One of them he summoned to the house. And so it was that Pam and Larry met again. The men talked for 20 minutes, then Pam interposed. “Time!” she announced. “Twenty minutes is the limit just now, you knf;‘:"" ITy rose instantly, said good-by to her father, then turned to her. Y “Oh, you're not saying good-by to me just yet,” she announced coolly. “I've arranged for tea in the library.” “I'm ever so sorry,” he said, “but I truly haven't a moment.” Pam glanced at her father. “Have all your young men such bad manners?” she asked. Pam's: father grinned. “You may have a profound distaste for tea,” he informed Larry, “but I advise you to make up your mind to swallow it.” They had tea in the library—a charming room, with its book-lined shelves, its temperately burning fire and the tea-service catching and reflecting the light. “L” said Pam, when he rose to de- part, “will tell father you drank your tea like a man.” “I hope you mean that,” he replied. “I should hate to drink it like a wom- an—tea in the afternoon is rather a feminine specialty.” u are,” he had said. “My father?” Pam had echoed, sur- | prised. “Do you know him?” i “I happen to be in his employ,” he | had confessed. “But does Father know you're out?” Pam had persisied. “I thought all of Father’s young men were supposed to live, eat and dream business—Father's business, of course, and none other. here’s one young man Father simply Taves about. He does nothing but work. Father had him checked up a while ago —perhaps I shouldn’t tell you this—but he discovered that in August—August, mind you!—he hadn't once left tl | lady than to consurhe the tea, if that “I have always suspected,” confessed Pam serenely, “that when a man sug- gests afternoon tea—for two, that is— ! he is more apt to want to cultivate the | is what you mean.” “I suppose it is,” he admitted. “But you are acquitted of that.” Inexcusable, that. Because he was trapped—and she knew it. “I must seem an awful oaf” he re- marked. ~ “But —perhaps some day you'll take tea with me.” “And what is your secretary’s name?” “Miss Forsythe—why?” “Because,” explained Pam, “I can just effice before 1 o'clock in the morning. Does he sound human to you?” S FATHER GRINNED. “YOU | never a suggestion of a maid forlorn, | moved on_toward the library. She knew she would find her father there, now out of bed. but still kept indoors. “Well, how went it?” he asked, as she kissed him. “Oh, I attacked with infantry, cav- alry and artillery—by land, by sea, and by air,” she retorted airily. “And was repulsed, I grieve to say, with heavy losses—and not a single prisoner.” Curicus how easy it was to talk that way, deceive anybody. “I'm glad to hear it,” he answered. “You may want his scalp, but I want the use of his brains—unaddled, if you don't mind.” Pam hesitated a second. Then: “But think how nice it would be to have them in the family,” she gibed. “I'm not so sure of that,” he replied slowly. That surprised her. “Why not?” she demanded. “You ap- prove of him so highly in other ways— and he isn't wholly lacking in social graces.” “I think very highly of him in many ways,” he answered. “And—I do not doubt that his manners are good. But —you have no intention of annexing him permanently, I take it?” “Absolutely none,” sald Pam with great finality. ‘When she left his expression changed. She hadn't fooled him quite so com- pletely as she thought. He knew her too well for that. Never had he been able to deny Pam anything. Was she very much in love with Larry? he wondered. He felt a sudden protest well up in him. “Paternal jealousy, probably,” he sug- gested with wry whimsicality. It would be hard to surrender her to any man, permit so much of color and life to go out of his days. He knew that his judgment might be warped by his own feelings, and yet— “Supposing he is another Billy Stone,” he reminded himself. He had known Billy Stone for vears, A charming chap, a veritable darling of the gods. From the first it had been apparent that Billy Stone was created for success. He moved swiftly and easily along a path that fate seemed determined to strip of all obstacles. His career had been unique. Through almost 40 years he had never known a single reverse. So he had come to 60. The president of a great bank, honored, with a nota- ble record behind him and seemingly impregnable to the assaults of misfor- tune. Then suddenly one of°*the minor em- ployes of the bank he headed—a young- ster he had picked himself—had proved a defaulter. The amount was compar- atively small, under 50,000. But there had been an investigation, and Billy Stone, as president, had had to answer many questions. “He took it hard, regarded it as a the truth. He had been created for success—but never for failure. It had made him wonder of how many other men it might be true. Not many, of course—and yet, there was Larry Amory. It had come to him suddenly that Larry was another Billy Stone, at least, so far as the gifts of the capricious gods were concerned. The same charm of manner, the same potential execu- tive ability, coupled with a remarkable grasp of detall. A youngster whom he had picked to go far, on whom he had placed heavier and heavier burdens. Who had neither buckled nor faltered, and who had the same genius for avoiding pitfalls, stepping surely, serenely from one success to another. “Would one failure crack him wide open—shake all of his self-confidence?” | he had mused, then. It had been an arresting thought. But there was no way of telling. Only time would tell, and time's hand was not to be forced. Yet the possibility had been in his mind when he had answered Pam’s flippant suggestion that Larry ought to be precisely the sort of husband he'd pick out for her. B T 11 Pam went out. To dance. Why not? Would any modern maid stay at home to moon about a man? Never! “I simply don't exist for him,” she admitted miserably. “He—he can’t see me or any other woman. He's too darned wrapped up in his old career!” And that, so far as Larry’s own idea of it was concerned, was the truth. He had no intention of marrying. At least, not for years. And that, so far as he @®s con- cerned, began and ended the possibility of his succumbing. Except, of course, that it Nidn't. It was two days more before Larry himself realized just what and how much had happened. Two days during which it became increasingly difficult for him to focus 'his mind on matters on which it was extremely desirable his mind be focused at its sharpest and clearest. Instead: “Good heavens,” he all but groaned. “Anybody would think I was in love with her!” Miss Forsythe, his private secretary, had privately reached that opinion her- self. At least: “He has all the symp- toms,” she had already informed one of her coworkers. “And it's a darned good thing—he was becoming a perfect ma- chine.” = But to Larry the bare possibility sug- gested catastrophe. He was like a man who surveys the scene of an earthquake. He set his teeth grimly, intent on resto- ration. He hadn’t the slightest idea how he had fallen in love, but he knew per- fectly well how to fall out. “Forget her—buckle down to work,” | | about you, he said you weren't ? than when she had heard his voice on the telephone. She had been silent for a breathless second. Then: “Tea with me again,” she had cchoed. And. managing her voice ad- mirably, almost miraculously, she had added, “Gracious—have I got you into bad habits?" He had the wit to refrain from tell- ing her that he felt so himself; that he actually hoped that seeing her again might free him from the spell she had put on him. But his heart contracted, almost suf- focatingly—there she was, coming t ward him. With her most becoming hat at its most adorable angle, her face eager and flushed. She had been de- termined to be distant, cool, casual. But when her eyes met his— They were two young people in love. They danced, they talked, and they said many things that were not spoken. And so their golden hour passed and they found themselves in a taxi, exquis- itely conscious of each other. Silence, for a minute. Then he took a deep breath—and Pam held hers. “Oh, my dear,” he murmured huskily, ;I've _just, discovered that I love you. Pam glanced up at him. Her heart was in her eyes and she knew it. She didn't care. Impetuously, hungrily, with an ardor that all but crushed the breath out of her, he took her in his arms. Until “Oh!” gasped Pam, opening her beglamoured eyes. “Here—we are!” And there they were. She adjusted her hat while Larry paid the fare. “I can't bear to have you go now,” confessed Pam. “Come in and—-" She broke off there, bit her lip. “Oh, gosh —I forgot about Dad! Oh, Larry, I'm —I'm afraid he's not going to approve of you!” “Of me?” echoed Larry, astonished. And then, realizing how that might sounti, went on with: “I know that sounds as if I thought a lot of my- self. But I only mean that I thought he did—rather approve on the whole.” “Oh, he does—in many ways. Quite raves about you, in fact. But the other night when Wwe were just—just joking ‘precisely the son-in-law he'd pick ou & “I'll see your father in the morning,” he said very soberly. “I might as well find out what is in his mind, anyway. I—I just don't get it.” “You'll call me in the morning—the minutq youre through with Dad?™ asked Pam. * ok T was almost noon before Larry called her. And he hadn’t had a chance to see her father. At least, not about her. “I couldn't help it, truly,” he pi tested. “The office is in a turmoil. It's something to do with the coal-mining property I dug up last Spring on my fishing trip. It looked Mke a winner, was his prescription. but it's proved an awful flop, instead. As if that hadn't been precisely what | We're in up to our neck, because we've hear you saying, ‘Oh. Miss Forsythe, please make a memo that I am to take blot on his record,” one of Billy Stone’s assoclates had explained to Pam'’s | he had been trying to do, eve er since his ' sold almost a million dollars’ worth of AY HAVE A PROFOUND DISTASTE FOR TFA,” HE INFORMED LARRY, “BUT I ADVISE YOU TO MAKE UP YOUR MIND TO SWALLOW IT." “Well, perhaps he had something to &eep him working so,” Larry had sug- gested. “Pooh!” Pam had scorned. “Imagine a man like that—what can he get out of life? Last May father insisted he go off for a vacation, and he started for some place called Solomon’s Island— end came back with the report of some other place where millions and millions of tons of coal could be mined. But, of course, you must know him. You—.| T'll bet it was you!” she had announced ebruptly. “It was, wasn't it?” Larry hesitated, but she had no need @ his confession. “How did you ever happen to come € anything like this?” she had de- manded. “Oh, this—this is my semi-annual spree. Sam Treat was my roommate at Yale, you see. And this being his sister’s party, he insisted upon my com- ing, and so here I am.” “I musn't monopolize your semi-an- nual step-out,” she had said—insin- cerely. “I do sound rather terrible, Tl ad- mit,” he had commented. “I begin to wonder if I've spoiled your evening.” oKk 'HE orchestra started up at that sec- ond. Pam half-met, half-evaded his eye. She couldn’t, wouldn’t ask him 1o dance, of course. And yet— “perhaps I can still make amends,” he had suggested quickly. “If this is not taken.” Pam had let her eyes meet his, de- finitely—and mockingly. “You do dance very well,” she had said. “And, if you ere very clever—outside business hours —you may make amends.” Evidently he had understood, found 1 worth his while to be clever. And ne talk charmingly. They had ®gain and agal “And, anyway,” she had assured her- self—at 2 and again at 3—“he hasn'f made a break back to his beloved of- fice yet!” Nor did he. He stayed to the very end. It was almost 4 when he bade her good-night. “You made most honorable amends,” Pam had said, offering her slim hand. And added, lightly, “I hope I may see You again some time. #ix months you step out. In May then.” He had smiled his attractive smile. danced did_dance very well and he could | Let's see—every | Miss Pamela Thorpe to tea some time, | 2nd, if I happen to have a free after- noon, remind me!’” .. | Outrageous, of course. But Pam was | fashioned to get away with it. | “You can name your own time,” he | assured her. | “How rash—but how flattering!” she | murmured. “Let’s see, this is Friday... | How about next Wednesday?” And as | he nodded assent, “The Gilmore, then —at 4:30.” “Yes—but at what time will you be | there?” I shall try very hard,” she retorted, “not to keep you waiting any longer than any girl feels it her privilege—and | good judgment, as well—to keep a man waiting.” o o | AS it happened she was almost on time. She had found it amazingly | difficult not to be there ahead of time. But there was no hint of that in voice or manner as she greeted him. “I remembered,” she told him, “that you were a busy man—and I really ought to make the supreme sacrificc and be on time.” Yet even as she spoke a little panicky thought ran through her, “Oh, darn it—I am going to fall for him. Hard!” They moved into the grill-room, were | solicitously, desirably placed. i “I had my secretary phone for a table,” he explained, as Pam approved. “And jog your memory,” gibed Pam. ‘This he chose to ignore. Wisely, be- | cause it was true. | They had their tea and they danced. | And he was everything she could ask, {gave every indication of interest, save | the one she wanted most. And that was that sudden, subtle change in man- { ner, the underplay of something heady and significant that bubbles under the | surface before it comes to the top. Oh, he was ettentive and charming. But—well, that's all there was; there wasn’t any more. 1t was 6 when they parted. He would have taxied her home, but she refused to have him. “I've had a wonderful time—thank you,” she said, and slipped into a wait- ing taxi. She felt perfectly sunk. Even though, being Pam still, she tried to make fun of herself: { * ok kK 'HE taxi stopped—she was home. * Once inside the house, she slipped . jout of her furs, removed her hat, swiftly *Who knows what bad habit I may powdered her nose, and then, with father on the day of the funeral. “If he had been through a similar ex- perience when he was younger, he would not have felt as he did. The in- vestigations were purely routine; but he took the questions as reflections on his judgment, had” an idea he might be forced to resign. I suppose that, in responsible for what he did.” And Pam’s father, who had known Billy Stone so very well, felt that was BY WILL ROGERS. ELL, all I know is just what I read in the papers. I never felt as important in my life as I have lately. I am the only name I know W of that has not been named in the new Hoover Cabinet.. I have had a terrible time keeping it out of there. It has been kinder llke a Press Agent for a Movie Star. The thing is not to see how much they can get in the paper about their client, but how much they could prevent from getting in the pa- pers. Hoover went down into Democratic territory, but that dident stop the Boys from flocking in. You cant hardly go so far that an office secker cant find you. As I pen thesz lines it looks like my friend Morrow dident want the Secretary of State job. He feels I know that he is not through in Mexico yet and that he would rather get that done right than take a chance on a job that nobody knows what would likely happen to you. Thats a tough Baby that Secretary of State thing. You come in there labeled as a States- man and limp out headed for the ash can of Political hopes. Well I hate to rattle skeletons in my own living room, but aint the old State of Oklahoma just taking the prize for continuous humor in_Government. I dont know this fellow Johnston per- sonally, but I used to hear my Dady talk about him. They were both on the Constitutional Convention for a long time togeather. And Papa thought | | |last meeting with her! As if all the force of his will power would help him now! He had yet to discover that a man may strive through 24 hours to follow a definite policy, and then, in the space of five tempestuous, treacher- ous minutes, disrupt it altogether. That was what happened to him. And his nervous state, the thought of that |why he found himself waiting ‘in the | was in the back of his mind and was | hotel lobby for Pam. Waiting, because | this time she felt privileged to keep him waiting. Never has she been more surprised he was a mighty promising young man at that time. And when I heard about him going to be Governor I thought well at last we got one that will go out of office “Purposely.” I dont know what all this mystery thing is he is mixed up in. They claim he consults the stars and is guided in his actions by the Zodiac. I dont know what the Zodiac is, and I had no idea that any other old time Oklahomian did. The thing may b2 a new “Mammy’ song, or a Flesh remover, for all I know, but from what I can gather in his case its a “Mrs. Hammond,” she is the Zodiac. I can remember out in Los Angeles when Aimee McPherson first started “Zodiacing” around. She dived down on a California beach and come up in a Sedan five hundred miles away. Peo- ple love high ideals, but they got to be about 33 per cent plausible. So when the Governor went out to see if the “Stars” was right before he signed a bill, and it would be on a night when there was no stars, the people just kinder suspicioned that that Mrs. Ham- mond had been “Pinch Hitting” for the Stars. bonds to people who bought on our recommendation. Of course, we are not legally responsible, but—" Pam struggled a wail. “Does—does Father blame you?” she asked. “He hasn't sald a thing either way. There’s to be a special meeting of the board at three. Of course, it’s an aw- ful black eye for the firm. The engi- neers who made the soundings esti- mated that ten million tons of hard coal could be mined, but they now say they made a mistake.” Rogers Finds Humor in Politics of Oold State—Feels Important Because He Is Not Suggested for' Cabinet. Boys if the word ever gets out that a female is doing a little “Power behind the Throning” You just as well cash in your littlechips and call it an evening, for your career is just about over as as the Political feed trough is concern- ed. The madam might have had the best intentions in_the world, but if the people get the idea that she has re- verted to type, why about the best he can expect is the following, “Among those impeached were the following.” Thats why its going to be tough for ‘Women to get into Politics in any kind of a real way, for the.ones who get in first crab it for all the rest. They are ligble to have more time if not now, why after his term expires to really give the cld Stars some serious consideration. She might have meant well, but she will see where she just Zodiaced her- self right out.of Free rent. By the way speaking of Women, there was one convicted here the other day for shooting her Husband, she was a big African Game Hunter. She claim- ed that he charged her in the Jungles. To have made it real good she should have had her picture taken afterwards, standing over him with one foot on.his “I don't see how you are to blame, if it’s the engineers.” “I took the credit—and I'll have to take the bumps,” he reminded her. “That's all there is to it. I must run.” “Can't you call later?” interposed Pam_quickly. “I'll want to know.” “What's left of me, after the directors get through with me, will call some- time,” he promised. * Kk ok K "AT 7, Pam was still waiting. Her father was not home yet, and Larry had not called. Then she heard Larry’s voice below. “Mr. Thorpe asked me to come here,” he was saying, “and wait for him. “You had better step into the library, sir,” came the butler’s voice. Pam’s heart was in her throat as, swiftly, she went to him. “Oh, dearest—was it very awful?” she asked. “Rather,” he confessed. “The board decided the only thing to do was to re- imburse those who lnvested in the bonds and take the loss itself. A cool million gone into red ink.” “And—and they blame you for that?” “They’re only human, my dear. I of- fered my resignation, of course, but it was tabled, for the time being. And— that's th “Dearest,” she said very earnestly, “it can't make any real difference. Everybody makes mistakes. And—and we do love each other awfully, don’t we?” “You're a perfect peach,” he mur- mured unsteadily. “But it can't help but make a difference. Everybody makes mistakes, but—as a member of the board remarked—this is a million- dollar mistake—" He broke off, held her close for a second. “Your father was right,” he went on. “I understand his position now. He must have known this was coming. Of course, he wouldn't want me for you." “But I do, and I am of age!” she reminded him swiftly. He shook his head. “We both owe your father a lot, remember,” he said. “Hz's done a lot for me, first and last. And—" “And—and that's what you call love!” broke out Pam passionately. “I —I might have known you'd feel that way. I—I never want to see you again.” And, because tears blinded her, she left the library precipitately, hurried up to her room and—let the tears have their way. “He wouldn't, couldn't even dream of giving me up, if he really loved me,” she vehemently assured herself—or rather that segment of self that sought to_reproach her. Yet in her heart she knew that he had done the only thing he could do— d that she had failed him. “I—I can't just desert him now, any- way,” she assured herself. She was on the top stair, ready to descend, when her father came in. She paused. “Mr. Amory is in the library, sir,” the butler informed him. ‘The library door closed before she could move. She remained poised on the top stair, wondering what her fa- ther was going to say to Larry. The truth would have taken her breath away. To add in any way to the terrific strain that had been put on Larry was the farthest thing from her father's mind. Nor was he thinking, particularly, of the lost million. His mind was occupied with only one thing He knew, now, what a real sizable setback would do to Larry Amory. * ok ok ok THE ghost of Billy Stone had been laid. It had been laid that afternoon. Normally, Pam’s father would have gone to the board meeting ready to defend Larry. It had been a shared responsibility, certainly, and the en- gineers were the real culprits, if any. But, as things were, he had felt that he must let the directors have their way with Larry. “It's the only way” he reminded himself, “of discovering whether he’s another Billy Stone—or not.” And Larry had laid the ghost. He had taken what was coming fo him in the way of censure, but he had neither cringed nor cracked. He had never missed a point, nor had he hesi- tated to state his own case with courage and conviction. They had discussed that after Larry had withdrawn. Back and forth, until Oklahoma Just Takes the Prize neck. She dident kill him however, he come too, I guess that's why she was convicted. She was penalysed for bad markmanship, if you dont know the vital spot to shoot your husband in you better not take a chance on a Lion. . Our New Chief of Police here has just about quit raiding the “Speak- easies.” His Squads were just cxhausted. It was just like trying to keep dry with nothing but a Lamp Shade over you. About the best he can do now is to try and do what he can to keep em from opening em up right in the Police Station. The Juries they have had here In New York on all the Night Club cases have all refused .to convict. They have Jjust brought in a verdict “Poor business Jjudgment on the part of thz accused for entering a business that is already over crowded.” In some cases they have opened em up right in the Jury rooms for accommodation of the Jurys. Congress voted 24 million dollars a couple of weeks ago to be used by Mr. Hoover in the enforcement of Prohibi- tion. That was like I remember one time here in New York they started a fund where every child would donate a dime, to build a battleship. Now just think 24 million for prohibition en- forcement, and I just read this week where rich men had donated two and one half billion dolars, that's twenty five hundred million, for education pur- poses and the higher the education the higher priced drinks they become ac- customed too, so prohibition will never catch up with education. (Copyright, 1929.) |no effort to compete with specialized “OH, GOSH—I FORGOT ABOUT DAD! OH, LARRY, I'M AFRAID —AFRAID HE'S NOT GOING TO APPROVE OF YOU!” Pam'’s father had intervened. To him, at least, it was clear that what might seem the greatest tragedy of Larry's career would prove his greatest blessing. “Personally,” he had said, “I have even more confidence in Amory than I had before this meeting. I do not be- lieve that his value to us has ceased; I rather think it has increased.” And that—as was usually the case when he spoke—had been the final de- cision, yet to be made known to s And, one might believe, his decision on fixother question, should that be put to him. But no reference had been made to that when the library door opened and Pam, still poised on the top step, looked down and caught the expression on Larry's face. It was not what she had been steeling herself to expect. He looked a bit incredulous, but, at least, not as if he had had to brace himself against fresh onslaught. “I played foot ball for three years in college,” her father was saying. “A good team and a good coach, and the combination proved a hard one to beat. We weren't beaten through two years. And then, in the middle of the third season, came the first defeat some of | Th us had ever experienced. We were dazed, but not so dazed that we didn't wonder what the coach would say to — =328/— us. He could say plenty. on occasion.” He smiled reminiscently. “What he said, in effect, was this” Pam's father went on. “Fifteen straight victories preceded your lick- ing today. That record was becomin; a heavy burden. Don’t let today’s hap- penings worry you. Just snap out of it—and forget it’ And that's what I say to you.” He offered Larry his hand and Larry grasped it. “1” began Larry, “will—" There he stopped short. A small- sized avalanche was coming down thz stairway. “Oh, Larry,” implored the avalanche, “will you ever forgive me?" ‘They were quite unconscious of any audience. They had achieved a little cosmos of their own. One thing re- mained for Pam'’s father to do, and that was to withdraw. Presently, he supposed, his consent would be asked. But, for the moment, it was plain that Larry needed no more than he held in his arms. “But it did take you an awful long time to fall in love with me, it seems to me,” Pam was saying. He pressed his lips to the nimbus of bright hair that caught the lamp’s glow. e n: “That is because I wanted to make a very complete job of it,” he answered. (Copyright, 1929.) Nation’s Great Library (Continued From First Page.) edition of a book exhibited before a court handling certain litigations. These ;l:!m mx;my rev&ve l:im‘md alleged pla- rism, co-authorship or illegal appro- priation. » s s Among many requests for information by correspondence, one finds people wishing enlightment on the first edition of Browning's “Pauline”; on the first appearance of Poe’s “Gold Bug,” facts concerning service rendered by Baron de Viomenil in the war for American independence; from the significance of an elephant’s head on the binding of a 1664 edition of Satyr's Menippee de la vertu du Catholicon d’Espagne to a record of North Carolina’s warriors in | the Battle of the Monocacy. A file of about 14,000 city and town directories is useful to people trying to | find lost relatives or establish addresses of debtors. The genealogist. historian and biographer make frequent use of them, too. Distant correspondents often ask for information contained in these directories. Substantial collections of trade jour- nals, by far the most complete in the country, supply material for inventors, lawyers, statesmen, historians and liti- gants. The interest is not restricted to the text; often, patentees spend hours examining advertisements therein. Aside from readers with practical | ends, there is the pure philosopher, the metaphysician or theoretical chemist. ‘They exercise no control in choice of material. Whither the workings of a fecund mine leads, there the meta- | physician follows. One day he stirs his soul with illogical logic, and the next | will find him figuring in cold-blooded | mathematics the strain of tides on the | earth’s crust. | Serious investigators call forth special | material and apply for uniquz accom- | modations. The library now assigns | about 125 study rooms and tables to men and women who can provc the im- portance of their work. All these places have been filled, and now applications are being answered from a waiting list. Of a recent group on which statistics were assembled, 48 investigators repre- sented 18 foreign countries; 213 came from 35 States; 120 were faculty mem- bers of American universities, and 13 represented learned societies. ‘While supplying needs of this army of special investigators, the library makes collections. It declines to compete with the medical library assembled by Army surgeons-general; or to supplant the Army Air Corps library, or nautical publications assembled by the Navy. And now that Washington will become the Capital of Shakespeareana, it will refer specialized requests on the bard to the Folger Library. * ok ok ok T E. LAWRENCE, the man who made ® Arabla a modern wonderland, makes a strange request of the library. He has deposited the first edition of his book printed in America with the stipulation that it not be shown pub- licly, until a limited time elapses. When this request first became known, a notion prevailed among litterati and newspaper men that this was the fa- mous 300,000-word edition of “Revolt| in the Desert.” According to the librarian of Con- gress, the secret edition differs very slight]y from that which may be bought at thousands of book stalls, save that it may differ in its prefatory matter and a few other details. While no legal ties prescribe that the librarian must] withhold this edition from public view, the request is nevertheless honored. In his letter, Lawrence indicated that the British Museum had already ex- tended the courtesy to him. So far as is known, the 300,000-word edition never came to this country; and grave doubt exists whether it ever was| published. One story has it that the original manuscript was stolen from Lawrence at a railway station. And the short, popular version is what Lawrence wrote immediately thereafter. Of the edition deposited in the Library of Congress, only enough copies have been printed to warrant issue of a copyright. * Kk K TH!.' year 1947 will mark a climax to the career of a rail splitter, one Abe Lincoln, who became President of the United States. For in that year the Librarian of Congress will have author- ization to clip seals from five or more strong boxes that are expected to add last strokes to a full-length portrait of the Emancipator. More than 10,000 pieces are said to be embalmed in thes> portable vaults. Their contents and significance have never been revealed. Robert Todd Lincoln, son of the Presi- dent, had been their custodian. When h2 died, the papers came to the library, according to terms of Mr. Lincoln's will. “For 21 years after my death, these boxes shall not be opened,” he wrote emphatically. Rest assured, then, that no one may know what the Lincolns bequeathed to the National Library. Actual gift of these heirlooms pre- ceded Mr. Lincoln's death. Three years before his demise, he wrote the librarian a letter, assuring him that the national library would be the re- cipient. And in his declining life, he made regular visits to Herbert Put- nam, inquired about facilities for stor- ing sacred things; about the life span of paper, and the likelihood of fire. What diplomat other than Herbert Putnam could have engineered this gift? ~He stifled outward show of anxiety and tried to make Mr. Lincoln feel at ease, to understand that Wash- ington and the national library would give his heirlooms a sacred, eternal Testing place. Springfield, I, Lin- coln’s burial place, put forth a strong bid for Lincolniana. A fortunate de- cision placed the trust in the Library of Congress. What specific alue La attached to these docum-n.s wh-a nothing is known of their contents? Specifically, that question cannot bz answered. We judge cnly by the fact that Robert Todd esercised such meticulous care in disposing them: that thoy descended directly from father to son; that secrets held scaled for almost a century arc worth more than paper written on. The least that may be said for this bequest is that it will condition his- tory, if not rewrite it. The Nation, and a world, must wait with bated breath. 2E RS ‘VITH the new policy of Dr. Putnam —!o place experts at the head of each division—the library bounds to the forefront among institutions of co- temporary learning. The chief of the map division is an expert cartographer, the chief of the legal division is a full- fledged barrister and a composer heads the music division. They serve as in- terpretive experts, liaisons between the library’s treasures and the general pub- lic or specialist, not as professors or teachers. Yet none of this activity duplicates. Dr. Putnam's “treasure house” aims to fill needs, to supplement what others lack, to supply unusual data for unusual purposes. Ask yourself, then, whether this institution remains a library. If it does, new light is thrown on the term; lexicographers had best take note and condition all future definitions of “library.” No longer an “arranged col- lection of books.” It is haven for the soul and spirit of man, not in the ecclesiastical sense, but in the realm of undiluted estheticism. In other words, the simple sign over the door should read, “Here dwell the arts.” America’s culture is a direct out- growth of this institution. Who would study Cathay's history and philosophy must come here to consult the largest collection of Orientalia outside China: who would be versed in teachings of men of might, the Hebrew prophets, must come here to consult some forty distinct sets of the Talmud; who would catalog his private library must come here for a set of printed cards from a collection that approximates 80,000,000; who would see the mirror to America a hundred years ago must read the library’s newspaper files; who would trace development of printing must see its unrivaled collection of printers’ marks; who would know of cotempo- rary apostles of light must for who would feel the spell of Lincoln, Washington, Pranklin, Jefferson and Madison must come here to see their moods, personalities and ideals set down in thefr own handwriting. A" knowledge rings granite building. Tu iral rives from treasures it harbors. And so vst:u]:ul it the House of Great Men's The First Coins. ONLY four known specimens exist of what/is believed to be the first con ever minted—a Greck gold drachma which experts think was struck off about 700 B.C. One of these, in the colection of J. P. Morgan, New York mr. is conservatively valued at