Evening Star Newspaper, March 16, 1930, Page 107

D. C, MARCH 16, 1930. 13 S Y e At wa.s | ——— t Stories of the Year W By Katharine Brush . There was a quarter in it at the start. n 30 cents. Then 33. Then 43. “By the he he’s grown up . . . ” -Jenny Miller bught, breathlessly, schemingly. Economy had always been a necessity with Now it became an obsession. She re- mmed her two hats for the second time each d stirred fewer eggs than usual into the gel food cake for the Baptist Church Christ- as supper. Out of old wash dresses and tticoats she manufactured Roger's little othes. “Don’t you care now,” she would oon to him, putting them on. “Some day 'll be the best dressed boy that ever was. p don’t you care.” She faded a little that year and was not so ty or so young. The small uncertain mir- r above the bureau in the bed room told her and once or twice she sighed. She was a pman. But she was material even more, and pger’s pink increasing pounds, the china nk that shook so noisily were compensation. ter all, what had her prettiness ever got ? Harry, of course, but—she had him now. hen one day, a June day, warm and grant (she remembered it still: the sun- ine, and the song of a bird in the yard) ptsteps came speeding to her door, knuckles pped frantically, a voice cried. “Mrs. Mil- ! Mrs. Miller! Mrs. Miller!” d she had only Roger in the world. never to forget it; never again to ex- or to give any quarter. lots of toys for you—and a pony , . . s as though he were a little prince of blood whom she had brought to live in y. But not for long! Not for very long, kept assuring him. Something will happen 'e day she had to break his china bank spinach and a saucepan and a thread she cried for many minutes, The matron of the orphanag:, who had been her only mother—and a kind one—was retired now, living in a neat green house in the next . sunny village but one. To her Jenny Miller intrusted her son. “Take care of him,” she said, white-faced. “Oh, you’ll take good care of him? I have to go away—to work—for a little while.” That little while was 15 years. AT first she looked for a fine man who had money, who would marry her and love Roger as his own. Everywhere she went she looked for him. In cafes, in dancing places. Always her eyes strayed past and beyond her companion of the moment, looking for him. Later, she looked for money. Simply that, and all of it she could get. When Roger was 3 he had mittens of fur, and a puppy, and a silver mug for milk. When he was 6 he had a red automobile and a Liberty bond in the bank. He went to kindergarten and was kept immaculate with soap that cost 30 cents a cake. His guardian, Mrs. Wil- Joughby, boasted to the neighbors of his . mother’s phenomenal success as a dressmaker in New York City. *“You know she has a shop now. Yes, all her own. Well, I always knew she was smart!” Once a friend of Mrs. Willoughby's on a trip to New York tried to find the shop and failed. This was duly reported, via Mrs. Willoughby, to Jenny Miller, who wrote at once of new triumphs. She had given up the shop! She was designing now for a wholesale house in the Thirties, at a salary “that is really big, and will increase, I think.” Apparently it did. ‘Roger, 10 years old, was sent to a boarding school, the most expensive, the most exclusive. In the Summer he was sent to a private camp. He grew. He acquired muscles, a handsome tan, a smattering of learning, a circle of polished young friends with tailored clothes and allowances that were large, but not larger than his. He became what adults fondly call “a little gentleman.” He shot up, and the adjective had to be left out, But the noun remained. His mother was proud, proud. The briefest thought of him could inflate her heart like a sudden wind blown in. This she had created, no matter how, this perfection, this young elegance. She was proud of his week ends at great estates, of his easy use of grand and glittering names. On the rare occasions when, dark clad and chary of speech, she visited him at school, she was proud of his patent popularity. As time went on she sensed a certain fastidiousness in him, and she was in- sanely proud of that. - Somehow it seemed to balance things a Mttle. . . . March 16th. Dear Mother: Just a line, as I am writing in French class and may be called on at any moment. I had your wire, and the fudge, which was marvelous. I am looking forward to the 26th, which is the day I arrive. Vacation starts the 24th as I toid you, but I have to stay over here an extra day on account of this play I'm supposed to be in, and will leave on the 25th, getting there the 26th, Sunday. Don't try to meet me, as I don't know quite which train. I'll come straight to the apartment when I get In. I certainly am wild to see you and a thousand things to tell you and ask you. What would you think about my going to Europe for the coming Summer with Randy Britton—he's the English prof—and a bunch of the fellows? I've never been, as you know, and it's high time. Think it over, and we'll talk about it when I get there. Hastily, R. He was coming tomorrow. Tomorrow. Not two weeks from now, or a few days from now, but just overnight from now! It was a song in the mind of Jenny Miller, alias Mont- gomery. It was a warmth in her heart. All afternoon she had toiled at the little apart- ment on the side street, getting it in readiness. Making it look lived in. Winding clocks, pute ting flowers and new magazines around. Bak- ing a chocolate cake, a lemon pie, a loaf of nut bread—for tomorrow! She had not wanted to return here to the roof bungalow. It spoiled joyous anticipation just a little to return. But this was Saturday night. big night and profitable; she really ought to be here, since she could. After tonight the place must get along without her for a time. She would not come near it while Roger stayed. She would tell him that the firm had happy . . . happy. “Purple velvet,” Jenny Miller hummed with it. Hmm-hmm- hmm-hmmmmmm., : Eulie reappeared. “It's Mr. Williams,” she said, “and a friend of his,” “Somebody new?"” “I think so. I don’t remember seeing him before. Mr, Williams,” said Eulie, “asked me to ask you to please call up a couple of young ladies right away. Miss Gertrude and—" SHE strolled forth a minute later, vivid, spectacular; one hand on her hip where the feathers quivered, the other fingering a long jade cigarette holder. In the living room Wil- liams stood with his back to her, beside a divan. His companion, seated on a divan, was par- tially hidden from her by Williams, who bent over him. She could see long legs in sharp- creased black trousers and knees upon which was balanced the tooled leather photograph portfolio from the table, open wide. As she approached, one of the stranger's hands held out one of the photographs at arm’'s length. She noted, feeling vaguely reminded of some- thing, that the sleeve of his coat was short, showing an extra inch or so of wrist. She said, above the music, “Good evening, gentlemen.” Williams straightened and wheeled, crying boisterously, “Hul-lo, Monty! How's the girl? “Here,” he said, “shake hands with a friend of mine. Mr. Miller. From Canada. Rog, this is the famous Mrs. Montgomery—otherwise Monty—1I've told you about.” He stopped speaking. The phonograph with a crash discordant chord stopped ‘playing! and after that it was quiet, weirdly quiet in the room. Jenny. Miller stared at her son. From the divan—he had not risen—Roger stared back. His eyes were wide, incredulous, horrified, fear- ful. Fearful above all else. “He thinks,” thought Jenny Miller, “I will give him away.” With a small still piece of her whirling, scream- ing mind, she thought this. She shook her head ever so lightly. “How do you do?” she said, “Mr.——Miller.” And she made her mouth smile. Above the smile her eyes spoke anguished- clear, as his had spoken. “Act!” they besought him. “Help me.” Another atom of thought emerged distinct in her mind. She turned quickly. “Wallace! Oh Wallace.” And when the man presented himself she said, “Don’t let any one else in. A——private party.” “Fine!” cried Williams. “Say, that's awfully sweet of you, Monty! And on a Saturday night, too!” He beamed at her. If he had for an instant sensed anything amiss, her manner had quite reassured him. “Great girl,” he said. “Treats her old friends right——don’t you, Monty?" He turned to the tray on which botfles and glasses stood. “Straight?” he asked her. She needed it. She sat down on the divan beside Roger, striving not to let herself notice how instinctively he edged away. She thought, “What shall I say? What would I say if he were-——anybody?” - Her brain fumbled for words, light words and casual. “You——you're from Canada?” she said, not looking at him. That was safe. Williams had mentioned that. It was Williams who answered her. “Yeah, Canada,” he nodded, pouring rye. “I met him when I was up there at Christmas. We had some gorgeous benders together, too——eh, Rog?” Carrying the little glass of brown liquid, he approached the divan. “By the way!” he chuckled. “He’s on a train coming down from Canada right this minute if you did but know it! Here you are, Monty.” She took the glass. Her fingers carefully steady. “How do you mean?” she lightly said. “Well, you see,” explained Williams, grinning at Roger, “his mother lives here in New York, and he's going to spend his Spring vacation with her. You know how that is, of course! No change for any excitement or anything. Seo he told her he couldn't get here till tomorrow and wired me to meet him at 5 today. He's got this one night to celebrate——and he’s rarin’ to go. Eh Rog?” Roger beside her made an unintelligible sound in his throat. “Speak up!” commanded Williams, hugely amused. “What's the matter——cat got your tongue?” He winked at Jenny Miller roguishly. “Boy’s a little shy,” he informed her, “just at first. But a great fellow! And it's up to us to give him a big evening.” Jenny Miller swallowed her drink. WILLIAMB sat down, squeezing himself be- tween them. He set his own glass on the floor and transferred the photograph - folder from Roger’'s knees to his own. “Now,” he said, “let’s get this party started—" “;Nol" cried Jenny Miller suddenly, shrilly, 0.” She got to her feet. Faced them. Stood facing them, burning-eyed, the fingers of her two hands locking and unlocking before her. She could feel how pale she was. She moistened her lips. - “No,” she said again. “I— there isn't going to be any party. Not here. “You'd better go,” she added faintly. “What the——" Williams, bewildered. “What's wrong, Monty?” “Nothing,” she said. “Nothing. I — can't, that's all.” Abruptly her voice soared, vehement, loud. “It’s all wrong. And I'm through with it. I'm " through, do you hear? I'm giving up this place. I always hated it—hated everything about it.” She was looking at Williams, pleading with Roger. QGroveling mentally at Roger’s feet. “I mean it,” she said pitifully. “Never any more. Never. I swear it. 1IN scrub floors first, I'il— It was useless. Her eyes flicked Roger’s face once and saw that it was useless, and the swift words stopped in a thin, small whimper of pain. “Oh,” she cried out, “don’t you understand? It was only so I could gi—" She checked herself. Shook her head, choking. Turned blindly away. “Well, I'Il be darned!” said Williams into the silence. Jenny Miller scarcely heard him. All her mind, all her faculties were concentrated on the blurred shape a little distance off that was a ch&lr._ll_fhsht osmld reach it, if she could only willlams was talking on. Demanding testily what had struck her. From the chair, through the hot, molst haze in her eyes, she glared at him, loathing him. This was his fault. He had come and brought Roger, and now, because he was here, she shuldn’t explain, she couldn’t defend herself, she had no chance. . . . “Get out,” she heard herself say to him ton lessly. “Get/out of here. Get out.” Even aftey she had ceased saying it, it re- peated itselff again and again in her mind. “Get out. Get put” It was all she could think, Dimly she Kpew that Willlams stcod up; vaguely, without carihg, she heard the word he threw at her. didn’t matter. Nothing mattered at all except his going. “Get out. Hurry. Leave us alone.” Then she saw that Roger was going, too. Rising from the divan, moving toward the foyer, following Willlams—going. . “Wait!” she called sharply. Both young men halted in the foyer door. Turned inquiringly. Reger's face, stranger’s face, white and set, leaped at her. She was out of her chair now. Standing erect. Newly, desperately. calm. “Mr. Miller,” she said, “will not leave.” It was horrible, it was not to be borne, that grim young face of her son. “I—I'm sorry,” he said, low. And he went. For seconds the echo of the slammed front door filled all her consciousness, crowding out thought. Then she shrieked, “Eulie! Eulie!” The maid came running. Jenny Miller seized her by the shoulders, pushed her toward the door. “Quick! The other young man, the new one—make him come back—tell him he must, I must see him—-—" The door slammed again. The echo subsided, and therc was stillness. Centuries of stillness. Jenny Miller waited. Listened. Died = little. She heard at last the sound of the elevator in the corridor outside. The door of it opening, clanging shut. Then Eulie returned. Alone. ‘“He's gone, madame. He wouldn't listen at all.” HE house telephone was on the wall of the kitchen. Jenny Miller reached it in four seconds. “God,” she prayed, “make them an- swer—make them hurry——" Until the door- man's slew “Hello” crept up 16 stories to her ear. She spoke rapidly, concisely. “John, this is Mrs. Montgomery. Listen, a young man in a raccoon coat is on his way down now in my elevator, with another—— ‘Just stopping now?'” She took a quick, deep breath. “Tell him—the younger man—he has left some money in my apartment. A check for $20,000, made out in his name, tell him. Twenty thousand, Yes, that's right. I'm holding it for him, Hurry!” She hooked up the receiver. She walked out into the living room and sat in a chair, and waited again. She thought, “It'll take a minute or two, He'll have to tell Willlams something or other. And the elevator—slow—-he couldn't possibly get here yet,” She thought, “I might have made it twenty- two thousand. That's what the last balance was. Twenty-two thousand, four hundred and—— He'll come. Don’t worry. He'll come, It’s a lot of money. He wants to go to Europe, and he wants a special-built car . . Her fingers pulled and shredded a little handkerchief. Her red mouth trembled, and she bit at it. In a minute. In just a minute now. Dom't worry—yet . , . “I'll count to 100,” she thought childishly, "Th;: he'll be here.” She counted as far as nine; forgot to count further. “Maybe,” she thought, “something’s wr;r:: vbvel:h tli;e elevator.” utes. ore minutes. How long had it been? Long enough, surely. Too long. “‘Oh, God!” she moaned aloud. Her ears strained for a sound. There was no sound. She got up difficultly and went to the outer door and looked into the corridor. No sound. Nothing. . “Maybe the doorman didn't catch him.* She telephoned .down again. The doorman's voice sounded dazed. “I told him, all right,” he said. “I told him just what you told me. Buttmaldltwun‘thh.mhewentm out.” She left the receiver hanging by its cord. She walked like a sleepwalker through the rooms, into her bed room. She shut the door and locked it and lay down on her bed. She thought, “He is gone. He is gone.” mihedidnotcry. There was no tears for “He is gone. I .5 hlm—.ul:_? Jost him. I shalle Her life was over, then. Oh, she would go on lving, she would eat, and sleep, move about :‘::ewtrnlg xz ::MMe was over. Roger was s not bribe him back, iy mp g Or bribe him back. She thought about that, Hours she lay there, thinking, staring. Until she was very old and very wise. Until she knew at last th t, though her heart bled dry, she could be glad, she could sa rself, “Well done.” o o — (Copyright, 1930.) Big Chromium Supply. THE rapid expansion of the chromium-nickel industry may raise the natural question of just what the supplies of this hitherto little employed metal may be, The answer is that thers seems to be an un- limited supply of chromium awaiting mining and extraction. The Jureau of Mines estimates the reserves of Cuba at 3,000,000,000 tons and those of the Celebw Islands as 1,400,000,000 w. ‘vl: :&;‘? to these !:nuce estimates, there fleposits Greece, Borneo, Gold Coast and “he Philippines.