Evening Star Newspaper, December 15, 1929, Page 117

THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, DECEMBER 715, 1929. RIGHT TRIANGLE—By Fannie Hurst This Story Is Com- plete in Itself, a First- Run Bit of Fiction by the Highest Paid Writer of Short Stories in the World—Another Story by Miss Hurst Will Appear in The Star’s Magazine Next Sunday. TANLEY WICKERSHAM was one of those widowers, youngish, well-to-do, well set up, over whom mothers with marriageable” daughters and the daughters themselves sighed, in spite of the fact that Wickersham was the father of four children (one of them already begin- ning in his father’s business), the others scarcely more than tots. After the death of his wife, Wickersham broke up the beautiful home they had occupied during the pcriod of a happy marriage, and moved with his orphaned family to a large and comfortable suite in a family hotel, where he installed two governesses and a maid to Jook after the two little girls, aged 7 and 8, and a baby still crawling. About once or twice a week, as treat to his children, Wickersham dined with his family down in the public dining room. The young- sters loved this, never seeming to tire of the . sense of novelty afforded them by the bright lights, music and gayety of the hotel restaurant. ‘The eldest boy, Jonathan, also took part in these occasions. He was a sleek young fellow, well set up, vigorous, just out of college. The two men, father and son, were a presentable pair, SY‘MPATHETIC dowagers and marriageable daughters, and widows, too, looked with tender eyes upon the picture of this little fam- ‘ily. The gray-bhaired, handsome and rather " tired-faced father, his good-looking 20-year« old son, the three lovely children and the governesses. A prosperous type of family, bereft of the grace of a woman at its hcad. There was something ineffably pathetic about the lttle boys and the prattling baby, to say noth- ing of the eldest boy and the handsome widower. Wickersham was a meticulous parent, that is, he ne<ver lost sight of the fact that his children, each and every one of them, were entities unto themselves, and as such deserved his personal att:ntion. He was never too tired, too harried, too harassed with his large busi- ness interests, to listen as specifically and as Ut o - Wickersham, handsome widower, never forgot that each of his children was an entity and as such deserved his personal consideration. interestedly to the tribulations of his little girl, for instance, as he was to lend serious atten- tion to an important business complication. ‘The affairs of his adult son he heeded with a careful consideration that was not so much father and child as man to man. The young Jonathan did not hesitate to confide to his father his affairs of the heart, of the soul, of the mind and of the spirit. Wickersham the elder had succeeded in establishing between himself and his boy an ideal camaraderie. It was this charactcristic of the little family which used to excite the interest and admira- tion of the occupants of the family hotel on those occasions when the Wickershams dined in a group in the public dining room; the little boys seeming quaintly precocious, conversing so seriously with their father, who in turn listened, replied, debated and discussed. Jona- than Wickersham had a ‘way of talking to his father as if he were som: one with whom he was on amiable and rather reserved terms. ‘There was absolutely no family bickering; no undue intimacies; no sharp r<proofs. Except for the fundamental fact that it was a family without a wife and a mother at its head, here was an ideal brood. It seemed strange, as the years moved on, ~ that a man of Wick:rsham’s social and finan- cial importance had not remarried. The dow- agers wagged among themselves over this fact and the marriageable daughters and the mar- riageable widows yearned. It was along about the time that the baby was 4 years old that a Miss Felice Daly and her mother moved to the hotel, and as fortune would have it occupied a small table adjoining that occupied by the Wickershams. An acquaintance was struck up in much the fashion that hotel acquaintances occur, and it came about gradually that young Wickersham and the brunette and quite demurely lovely Felice began a friendship. THER! was nothing unusual in that, how- ever. Young Jonathan was at that p:riod of his life when his heart responded more quickly than his mind. His fickleness was a standing joke between him and his father. Girls had come into his young life and girls had gone out of it again. More than once he had poured forth what seemed to him the pangs of a love affair which was to be the final and outstanding one in his life, and more than once had confessed to his father that the flame had flickered and died. With Felice it was different only to this extent. She was a girl of unusual sensitive- ness, combin:d with a quiet beauty also that made her seem a creature under glass, as it were. She was the sort of girl who had been educated in a French convent and had lived abroad ‘with her mother for the greater part of her life. The American “flapper” was a new and astonishing creature to her. She had none of her technique, none of her char- acteristics. As Jonathan confided to his father, thcre was something of a lily about Felice, so aloof sh: was, so calm, so white, so patient. The Wickersham children adored her, clamored for her to join them at table and at their games. No, Felic: was not quite the run-of-th2-mill type of girl, so far as Jonathan was con- cerned. She puzzled him, she quieted him, she was, as he put it to Wickersham, a sedative. It was this quality in the girl that scemed to fascinate the boy most. The same age as Jonathan, she had, nevertheless, an adult man- ner with him. She let his youthful enthusi- asms beat up around her like a plunging surf; sh: listened quietiy and just as quietly advised. There was nothing reckless, impulsive, or of the juvenile about Felice. Whether he was in love with her or not, certainly she had in- spired in Jonathan somc:thing of awe. For the first time the boy was a bit hesitant in confiding in his father; not so much be- cause he feared lack of sympathy; on the con- trary, Felice was probably closer to his father's ideal for him than any girl Jonathan had yet known. But th: difficulty was that Jonathan was too confused to gather his thoughts. For a little while it had seemed to him that here, at last, was the “grand passion.” Felice was the sort of girl to shed a quiet and pearly kind of radiance over the lives of those about her. Her beautiful old mother, who wore precious lace and cameos, was part of the rare tran- quillity and breeding that was Lelice’s baci- ground. The trouble with Jonathan was that as h= came to see mcre and more of Felice he found himself admiring her more than he loved her. T was finally Wickersham who approached his son about the matter of Felice, as the two young people came more and more to go about tog:ther. £ “Jonathan, where do you stand with Felice?” “Hang it, father, I wish I knew.” “It’s about time you did, son. You can’t string along with a girl like Felice, as you have with the others.” “I understand that, father. You're right. This much I know, I admire her more than any girl I have ever known.” “You love her?” § “If I knew I wouldn't be dangling along this way."” “It's up to you to find out pretty soon.” ““You're right, father.” The wecks marched on. It was Wickersham who again aproached his son. i “I don’t want to seem to barge in, son, but I won't have things go on with Felic: in this way.” “You mean it's up to me to decide?” “Exactly.” “You're right. My uncertainty has decided me. You can't love a girl the way I feel T have to love a girl in order to marry her, and dilly- dally this way. You can count it being off with Felice, fath<r.” THERE continued to be something troubled about Wickersham. That same night he approached Felice. “Where do you stand with my son, Felice?” he asked her outright. “I feel toward him,” she said, looking Wick- ersham squarely in the eye, “as a mother.” “Will you be mother to him, F:lice?” he sald, meeting her squarely in the eye. There is a fair lily-like personality at the head of the Wickersham family now. (Copyright, 1929.) One Hundred and Thirtieth Anniversary of George Washington’s ‘Deatlz BY ISABEL LIKENS GATES. 66 DIE hard,” he remarked during his last illness, “but I am not afraid to go.” On the 14th of December, 1799, be- tween 10 and 11 o’clock p.m., at Mount Vernon, Va., George Washington closed his earthly career. After rerusing_ a third term as President of the United States, after y-ars of strenuous, active life in the interest of his be- loved country, h- retired to his home in Vir- ginia, on the bamks of the Potomac. In his sixty-eighth year he had not begun to show the infirmities of age—as active and energetic, scemingly, he was as when in his prim: he attended to the affairs of his estate. Shortly betore his death his nephew, Bushrod Washington, was visiting at Mount Vernon. Gen. Washington showed him about the place and tld him of improvements h-: intended making. Pointing to the place where he is now entombed, while speaking of the removal ot the old family vault which had become impaired because of ingrowing tree roots, he said: “I am going to place it there. I should make the change, for, after all, I may re- quire it before the rest.” Speaking of this visit, Bushrod Washington wrote: “As I bade him good-by I nited the flush upon his cheek from the frosty air, and I have sometimes thought him the handsomest man I ever saw. A fcw days later a messenger handed me a letter— ‘Washington was dead.” Each day it was the custom of Washington to go on horseback the rounds of his planta- tion. On the 12th of Decemb:r he took hig customary rid:. Shortly after he left home a storm came up—rain, sleet and snow alter- nated, and the wind blew fiercely. On his return Washington refused to change his clothes, though snow was upon his neck and head, saying his storm coat had protected him. There were no bad effects from the storm unti) the next day, when his throat became sore, and he was very hoarse. This he made light of. ‘Whether because of this or the storm, he did not go riding, but h- did go out ovr the grounds. directing some work he wished done. Before he retired that night, the 13th, they begged him to take medicine, but h: refused, The Father of His Country Died at Mount Vernon, December 14, 1799, After an Illuess of Only T'wenty-Four Hours. saying: “No, you know I never take anything for a cold; let it go as it came.” In the night he was taken with chills and toward morning he awakened his wife, t:lling her he was very ill. He could hardly speak or breathe, and he was in great agony. Still he refused to let Martha call any on: for fear she would take cold. About 5 in the morning the slave came to light the fire and efforts were made to reli-ve - Washington’s suffering. A man on the place, skilled in the art of bleeding, removed a quan- tity of blood before the doc'ors arrived, much against the wishes of Mrs. Washington. Later in the day and night much more of the sus- taining fluid that might have saved his life was taken from him—ebbing away faster the life of the victim. Besid's being bled and blistered externally, he was given strong medi- cine. As the hours passed, the sick man’s breath- ing became very difficult. On the afternoon of the 14th he sent for two wills. They were handed to him. He looked them cver and or- dered one of them d:<stroyed. Toward the last he made several attempts to speak after feel- ing his own pulse. Finally he said: “I am just going. Have me d:cently interred. Do not put me in the vault for two days. Do you understand?” ‘“Yes, sir,” his attendant answered. “It is well.” Those were his last words. He died between 10 and 11 o’clock of acute laryngitis, a disease scarcely known at the time, after less than 24 hours of rc¢al illness. His mind remained clear to the last, and the finc noble traits that marked him in lite were manifest through his death ordeal. Martha Washington knelt at his bedside with her head upon the Bible. After his passing upon his breast was found a miniature picturc of his wife he had carried for more than 40 years. Betore it was known at the Capitol that Warshington was ill word was carried to the Senate chamber that he was dead. John Mar- shall read th: report and a solemn silence ensued for several minvtes. Shortly there- after Congress adjourned. The Senate ad- dressed a letter to th: President—John Adams —saying, in part: “Permit us, sir, to mingle our tears with yours. On this occasion it is manly to weep. Our country mourns a father.” The President replied, expressing his grief, closing as follows: “His example is now complete, and it will teach wisdom and virtue to magis- trate, citizen and men, and not only in the present age but in future generations as Jong as our history shall be read.” In the Library of Congress there is a very precious book containing black-bordered clip- pings from the Reading Advertiser, dated Phil- adelphia, Wedpesday, 18th December, 1799. “Al.xandria, December 16th. “It is our painful duty to announce to the country and to the world the death of GENERAL GEORGE WASHINGTON. “This mournful event occurred last Saturday, about 11 o’clock. On the pre- ceding night he was attacked with a vio- lent inflammatory affection of the throat, which in less than twenty-four hours put a priod to his life.” From a newspaper dated Georgetown, Decem- ber 20, 1s taken the following description of the funeral: “When the procession had arrived at the bottom of th- elevated lawn on the banks of the Potomac where the family vault is placed, the cavalry halted, the infantry marched toward the mound and formed their ranks, the Masonic brothers and citizens descend<d to the vallt and the funeral service of the church was performed. The firing was repeated from the vessels in the river and the sounds echoed from the woods and hills around. ‘Three general discharges by the infan- try—the cavalry and 11 pieces of artile lery which lined the banks of the Po- tomac back of the vault, paid the last tribute to the entombed Commander-in- Chief of the Armies of the United States and to the venerable departed hero. “The sun was setting—Alas! The sun of Glory was set forever—No; the name of Washington—the American President and General—will triumph over death: the unclosed brightness of his Glory will illuminate future ages.” About the middle of his coffin were they words: GLORIA DEO, and on the silver plate: GEORGE WASHINGTON, Departed this life on the 14th December, 1799. Domestic Sodium Products. ALL the §odium carbonate produced in this country last year, 79,830 tons valued at $1,578,256, was obtained in California. The total value of all sodium produets, other than salt, produced in this country, was 206,000 tons with a value of $5,389,728. L Fire-Clay Deposits. FIRE clays are those which will stand ex= ceedingly high temperatures and will not fuse ordinarily at less than 3,000 degrees Fah- renheit. The term is sometimes used loosely, however, to include all clays found below coal deposits. The most important deposits of fire clay are found in the coal belt extending from Misscuri east to Maryland. They are of the Carboniferous age,