Evening Star Newspaper, March 9, 1930, Page 98

14 THE ‘SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, MARCH 9, 1930. H—4» 4unt Martha Story by Margery Land May ' WEAL'T And the Tale Is Supposed to Be Written Especially for the Wife Who Thinks SheFeels a Little Ashamed of Her Husband’s Bad Manners. one and all the gifts of Jerry Parsons, the lumbering young giant whom Doda had taken for better or worse on a fragrant, moon-touched night 10 Junes or so0 ago. In those years, when all the treasures she had now were the unrealized dreams of her things—a hundred things and Jerry in the midst of them, gentle, awkward, lumbering with his minstrel ha-ha and his touseled hair. In those days when life had been like an overbrimming cup, Doda had felt a pitying tenderness for the lonely. Especially for Mona Richards, who was her best friend and who had been going with that selfish Tom Andrews year after year—hopelessly hoping for the proposal which Andrews never made. “It isn’t fair. Some people, like Mona, have with sense enough to know it,” But all that was before a sun-baked piece of 13 sl - H seed 118 R With a sharp, knife-edged “Jerry!” Dora glanced up to find her husband and two other corduroyed males standing on the threshe old. White with fury, she watched the havoc this untimely intrusion had wrought. There was Parks, the butler, for instance, ‘Tall, straight backed, cat footed—the perfec- tion of his kind. She liked his purring dererence; his “Yes, madame,” and “No, madame,” and the swift- ness with which he drew her chair or ran down the steps to open the door of her car. “Doda and Barks (he insisted on calling him Barks) talks with their eyebrows,” Jerry joked to Mona. “Left éyebrow means fill the water glassés. Right eyebrow—two twitches and a pause—where is the salt?” you tried.” “Well, maybe you couldn’t. You've him forever, and so make allowances. what do you think people like the Se would think of his ‘reckons’ and ‘aints’ ‘goshes’?” she inquired. “Olga g - butter pats at a formal dinner.” The meticulous care with which Dora se- lected her menu testified to the high regard in which she held the Seymours. In this, however, she was not alone. Ever since Harry -Seymour, not good enough to play —broadening their “a’s” and using the very latest pronunciation of debatable words. they were secretly delighted to be big frogs in a tiny puddle, they lifted supercilious brows at anything that lacked the Manhattan Amhm,mm‘mnfl“m were few who did not accept them at their was Aunt i 1 ! psds 5??5255 g RE ab o itk i “NO." sobbingly, “you never do,” Dora flung him as Mona, gently but firmly pushed him into the hall. “Don’t be an idiot,” she said briskly. *“Jerry made the party. He was the hit of the show.” But Dora was not to be soothed. “You'd have thought her life had been ruined,” Mona commented to Aunt Martha the next day. “I dom’t know what's come over Doda. She’s discontented and restless and as