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AFirst-Run Story From the Pen of the World's Highest-Paid Writer of Fiction—An- other Story by Miss Hurst Will Be a Feature of The Star’s Magazine Next ROM the day of her graduation, 15 years before, from the high school of a large Middle Western city, Ada Gilbert had been baffled by the question which had first assailed her when her old sweetheart, Tom Cass, suddenly announced engagement of Tom and Evelyn. But for years afterward, long after the Tom Casses had moved East, that question bad flashed across the busy, varegated days of Ada’s life, What had Tom Cass seen in Evelyn Day, who from her on grounds of mental cruelty. was the most devasting -atastrophe of her life. A famous beauty in her social world, a woman of widest influences, the not been precipitated by a flare of passion for dhother woman. Nothing of that sort had his life. His act was the deliberate of a8 man who finds his marriage A‘r 35, still beautiful, well provided for, free, Ada found herself curiously cut away from the security and importance that had been hers as the wife of her husband. Life in the same longer tolerable. Divested of the prestige, position and local importance, she became merely a divorcee, living on a generous § i g alimony. It was then she decided to move to one of the large Eastern cities where the social horizon was wider, the life more varied. Once more it was the subconscious that must have settled her choice on the town in which dwelt the Tom Casses. In all the years which intervened between her graduation from high school she had not clapped eyes either upon Tom or Evelyn. In the interim Tom had become one of the most- were beginning to have their effect the country, if not the world, over. Tom Cass was a house- hold word. His success had never faltered. It was into his town, with magnificence of retinue, that Ada and her domestic caravan arrived with fanfare. Of course, contacts with the Tom Casses were immediately resumed. Strangely, Evelyn seemed enthusiastically glad to see her and regaled her with promises of what Tom’'s exuberance was sure to be upon his return (rnm Europe. The Casses lived in a magnificence that seecmed towering even to the accustomed eyes of Ada. The sweeping lawns, the baronial halls, the superb art wing and spacious nursery quar- ters were an a scale gargantuan. Evelyn's youngsters, true to form, were neither mentally or physically remarkable. A nice enough brace of children, a boy and a girl who had inherited much of their mother’s and ap- parently little of their father’'s glamour, . Bvelyn herself had not changed. In fact, i Byl ! / " Tom’s delight upon re-meeting Ada was all that Evelyn had promised her is would be. Here was & recreation, & new she had not even aged. The moth-gray qual- ity in her was apparently a -dust cover to the years. Quiet, unobtrusive, completely lusterless, she was the same quiet enigma who had startied - her community by capturing the bril- liant Tom Cass. HEN Tom returned from what had been the flying business trip to London, his delight upon re-meeting Ads was al! that Evelyn had promised her it would be. Here toy, & new delight, & new face. was recreation, a new toy, a new delight, & new face. The years had dealt lightly with him, as life had in general. He was a personality among personalities, assured, tremendously jovial, magnetic even beyond what he had been. Suc- him and his oid colleague. intervening years had been merely hiatus, and Custer’s Last Barbecue Stand. Continued From PFourteenih Peage motorist on the Pikestown-Briggsville highway pause and attempt to make friendly overtures to the animals. Gas masks, he confessed, are sometimes nec——" The rest of the broadcast was lost in the roar of engines. Young Mr. Custer glanced out to see an immense cloud of dust traveling toward Briggsville. He saw the curb girls sink grate- fully to their benches outside ang he heard the kitchen attendants sigh in sup®me relief. And then he saw a careless Miss Conroy limp in from Pikestown direction. “The income of the average stenographer is an hour late,” she remarked with forced humor when he went out to greet her. “A nail and a tire combined to give me blisters to heel before I could get sisters to help. However, that timely radio announcement seems to have saved the day.” “That was just me,” he elucidated ungram- matically and apathetically. “I disconnected the machine and exercised the amplifiers and in- genuity myself. You see, I had to do something to preserve the widespread reputation regard- ing our satisfactory service, even if I lost some black ink entries. But now my heart is dead and my ambition; I hate to stoop to deceit, honest. In fact, my conscience wouldn’'t permit me to remain here and answer the curious questions that will be forthcoming. Miss Conroy, this is Custer’s last barbecue stand. I'm going to sell out.” “To whom?” she though apathetically. “A man came in during the rush,” he re- counted, “and said, “This is a busy place,” and I said, ‘You said an oral cavity full’ ‘How much do you want for it?’ he said, and I said, ‘How much have you got?’ ‘Maybe $6,000’ he said, and I said, ‘Sold—if you leave out the maybe.’ He did, and we sign the papers tomorrow.” Miss Conroy gazed contemplatively at the moody individual before her. “In seeming de- feat,” she affirmed, “there is something vaguely familiar about you, Mr. Custer. Really, haven't we met somewhere before? Please cogitate deeply and at length.” “Were you ever in Miami?” he asked. asked, grammatically, “YES"' she replied eagerly. “Two Winters “I was defeated there by you,” he explained, grinning feebly. “I had a mustache then, and no job. T met you one morning in our hotel, fell in love with you, proposed to you that might and you disposed of me at the same time, After- ward I heard the veranda gossipers had told you I never made a very favorable impression or much money. Consequently, as soon as able, I went to your office and made a favorable im- on Messrs. Hard & Kraftee and the profit will be 100 per cent tomorrow.” “I remember you now, Timothy,” she said. “You look better without the mustache, and I apologize for succumbing to verands propa- ganda. But give me credit for one thing—I gave you credit. I made that loan to you; the bosses just allowed it to be listed under the firm’'s name.” “What!” he exclaimed, astonished and hu- miliated. Then grinningly: “And I thought my winning personality, aided and abetted by my sterling character, guaranteed not to tarnish, my flaming necktie and persuasive use of the English language, had wrung iron men from the firm of Hard & Kraftee. I might have known. But, after all, it is the fair—and not the unfair —sex I would impress. “You were the one on whom I desired most to make a favorable impression; and as for the cash earnings, half were to be yours, by right of prospective connubial contract. To prove my sincerity, if you still have that card I found, look on the other side.” = She did wonderingly—and saw: “Univifgssa- erntdluinolerfironaajungnarsigujak.” “What does that mean,” she queried, pink and laughing, “if anything?” “You froze me out,” he said, “so I sassed you back in real Eskimo. That means, honestly, ‘I love you.”” Miss Nina Conroy put her arms around Mr. Timothy J. Custer’s neck. “This may be Custer’s last barbecue stand,” she said, “but it is just the ‘beginning of something else! Teach me darling, how to pronounce that scrambled al- phabet!” (Copyright, 1930.) Where Big Pigs Grow. “O-HI-O! That's where the big pigs grow.” The paraphrase of the famous tall-corn song of Iowa is borne out by figures just issued by the Department of Agriculture, which gives Ohio credit for 98 “ton litters.” A ton litter is one which weighs combined more than 2,000 pounds 180 days after being born. Strangely, it was Pennsylvania, uspally thought of as the State of coal and steel, that led in 1927 and 1928. This year the Keystone State dropped to fifth position, but had the heaviest litter, one containing 17 pigs, which weighed 3,987 pounds at the end of six months. here they were agaln, tiploe as they had beem in their youth, filled with awareness of each other, tantalizing to each other and strangely exciting. During these months the beauty of Ada seemed to take on a new sheen. Her dolly blue eyes became brighter, her hair more jonquil yellow, the natural pink in her cheeks more surprising. She was taking the particulaf social set in which she was finding place for herself, chiefly, it is true, through the Casses, by storm. Her dinners, her functions became focal points of the city’s gayety. Not only Tom, but the town was agog with her. What did he see in Evelyn? More and more this question began to tor ment Ada. Why, here within arm’s reach, except for this drab woman with no face in particular, was happiness beyond anything she had dreamed. Not the person to err twice, her second alliance would not only be crowned with success, but it now became evident to Ada that all through the years of her marriage to ane other man her one grand passion had been for Tom Cass. And here he was, ready, except for the intolerable impedimenta of a plain wife and plain children—ready to march himself back into her heart. Fool, fool, fool that she had been, ever to miscalculate in those years back there; to let slip for want of imagination—yes, it had been just that—the youth with a future, for what seemed to her to be the youth with his future in his hand. F course, the expected happened. There came a time when Tom, as if to announce to the world he was no more than human, be- gan to be seen about, more than was discreet, in the company of the golden grass widow. Inevitably, there was talk. One or two of his friends even ventured to remonstrate. But Tom was involved. Tom was smitten. Every one, with the exception of Evelyn, saw that. Plain as the nose on your face. Tongues wagged. Tragic! Even with all his security, a scandal hurts a man like Cass. Has always seemed devoted to Evelyn. Well, serves her right, let ting herself remain drab. Can't expect to hold a dynamo like Tom Cass. Poor Evelyn. Won- derful woman. Such a sense of humor, but dumb! Never a word out of Evelyn. Never a lapse in her carrying on of the gigantic household, her duties to her children, to her social posi- ticn, o her husband. Funny thing, said Ada, aloud to her mirror one night. I've a feeling she is laughing at me. Fool! There came the crisis. Ada lost. A sickened, revoited Tom suddenly jerked to his senses, staggering from her presence with a sense of finality and self-loathing. Strange, but Tom, too, had the sense as he lay with his head in Evelyn’s lap and his arms flung about her knees, that she was laughing at him. “No, darling, I am not laughing. It's just that I am so much wiser than you are, sweet~ heart. I've been watching it happen, praying for how it would end—and somehow, knowing my bad boy to be just the youngest member of this family, feeling so sure , , . 8o sure ... E just had to see the funny side . . . or go under.” (Copyright, 1930.)