Evening Star Newspaper, August 3, 1930, Page 84

OHNNY ACKERLY, in a new gray suit and a tie of a tender shade of blue, jauntily entered the law offices of Woods, Ackerly & Cutting. He was conscious of a discreet flutter of approval among the girl clerks and stenographers as he made his way toward his brother’'s private office. Outside the office, however, Miss Johnson, his brother's elderly and horn-rimmed secretary, looked up owlishly from behind stacked papers. “Your brother is very busy,” she said. “He will see you in 10 minutes.” Her abstracted glance resting on his tie, she motioned to a bench. So Johnny cooled his elegant Cordovan heels on the bench for 10 minutes and lost consider- able of his pleasant glow. When he entered Philip Ackerly’s office a little later he perceived that this had been a disciplinary measure, for Philip was quite alone. He sat, dark and austere, behind the glass-topped expanse of his mahogany desk, making cryptic notations on a pad of yellow copy paper. He recognized his younger brother by the merest flick of an eye- brow, indicating the chair opposite. Johnny flung himself rebelliously into the chair, and as his brother continued his compu- tations, occupied himself somewhat drearily by studying a pair of large framed photographs on the wall. “Well?” snapped Philip suddenly, laying the pad aside. “You wanted to see me about some- thing, Johnny?” “About something, certainly,” relied Johnny, hesitatingly. “Something very important, Phil.” “I suppose you've run out of money again,” “I haven't touched this I've even salted away some of my salary.” “Um,” Philip's handsome aquiline features relaxed. “The bond business picking up?” “So-s0. But I've got a motive now.” He “Philip, BIH AL ikt study, one—" “Oh, for heaven's sake, Phil” begged Johnny, “that’s neither here nor there. I didn’t know what love was.” “Not the little girl in the bookshop?” incredu- Jously. “Why, you said she taught you the meaning of love.” “Paula was all right,” muttered Johnny. “I guess I was—sorta infatuated. But this is dif- ferent.” “They were all different—in the beginning. You wanted to marry them all, singly, of course, not collectively. It's a good thing I know women. Whose wise and restraining hand ted you?” “You can’t prevent me this time!” flared “All you can do is to cut off my “The ladies,” judiciously, “one and all ob- 's a sizable income, and a sizable estate. And youll get all when you're 25, Johnny, if you behave the meantime. Can't you wait?” “Am I to understand,” coldly, “that you will not entertain the idea of my marrying until I No. If you'd pick out a nice girl of your own class—" “I'm in love with Hortense, and I'm going to marry her. She’s not in my class—she’s miles above me.” “Very pretty. Very pretty.” “And she won’t care about the money, either. She’d rather have me.” “Well, that's refreshing. Your late little playmates have shown a notable willingness to sell you down the river for a few thousand. But perhaps the young lady has money of her own. What does she do?” “She—er—Hortense is in vaudeville,” defi- antly. Philip’s eyes glittered. After a moment he said with an effort. “Tap dancing only, or does she walk the slack wire?” “She sings,” eagerly. “She’s really just a home girl—used to sing in a choir. But she has to support her mother.” “Oh, good to her mother, is she? And, of course, she's putting her brother through col- lege?” “She hasn’'t a brother,” stiffly. “Then she has an invalid father to support. Or an old bed-ridden aunt.” ~1 suppose you think you're funny.” Johnny’s voice rose in exasperation. “I came here this afternoon to discuss my future with you— something that concerns me vitally. And you sit there and jeer and jibe——" “I may have jeered,” demurred Philip, “but I never jibe.” - % “—just because you're a confirmed old wom- an hater.” “I don’t hate them. I know them.” . There was a sardonic twinkle in Philip’s eye. “And while I'm 10 years older than you, my arteries aren’t hardening wet, Johnny-boy. I'll be able to get around to your wedding in a wheel chair —wheg you're 25.” “I won’t wait until I'm 25,” shouted Johnny. it in “WELL," soothed Philip, “wait a week, will you, Flaming Youth, and I'll go around and look this queen of her sex over.” “I want you to meet her,” said Johnny, molli- fied. “You'll love her.” THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, AUGUST 3 1930 He Knew About Women The Romantic Comedy of a Big Brother Who Preaches on 1.ove, but Does Not Practice the Way He Preaches. By Madeline Kohler. She arose restlessly, “In another moment I'm going to turn cartwheels.” “Do?" said Philip, and to his discomfiture she turned one, slowly and gracefully, in a swirling cascade of chiffon. Philip gave him a wry smile. “I've no ear for boop-da-boop, but Il try to keep an open Now, let me see.”” He considered, eye- ther thoughtfully, a trifie maliciously. not bring her around to the Cuttings’ tonight? I'm going to drop in late. It's Jast club dance.” Johnny hesitated. “It will be quite all right. I'l fix it up with Marjorie. She sald she had an engaging young cousin she wants you to meet.” As he crossed the dancing floor he saw that Johnny was indeed dancing with the girl in blue, and with every evi- dence of enjoyment. He felt faintly an- noyed. “All the Cuttings,” said Johnny, “have large teeth.” “You might do worse. Rumor hath it that the cousin is blessed with a million.” “All you think of is money.” “And is not too hard on the eye.” “Hortense isn’t hard on the eye either. She’s “Oh, I will give you credit for that. You But the Cutting girl “Do you want a good sock on the nose?” Not especially. But breeding tells in the ong Tun, my lad.” g Philip took up his yellow pad again, and ohnny departed. “Contrast,” said Philip a few minutes later to the horn-rimmed Miss Johnson, “is & great » “Yes, Mr. Ackerly.” “A few years ago I cured my brother of a deathless passion for a circus rider by the simple expedient of taking her to the Ritz.” “Yes, Mr. Ackerly.” “She asked for a toothpick.” “Oh, Mr. Ackerly.” “I may be a bloodless lawyer with a shriveled soul—but I know women.” “Yes, Mr. Ackerly.” “And now take a complaint. ‘John W. Witherspoon versus the Pennsylvania Railroad Oompnny‘—'” HE music was in full swing when Philip Ackerly, dark and handsome in evening dress, looked in at the dancing floor. He skirted the weaving couples and moved unob- trusively to the balcony overlooking the dancers. Directing his gaze downward, his eyes came to rest on a vivid spot of color in the center of the room. Philip gasped. The girl who was dancing cheek-to-cheek with Johnny Ackerly wore a dress of flame-colored chiffon with trail- ing petal ends that touched the floor. Her slim powdered back, so far as he could see, was entirely bare except for gleaming strips of rhinestone at the shoulders. She scintillated with beads, bangles, bracelets and earrings. “And red shoes,” he said incredulously under his breath. “The dowagers will slay her.” The girl was dancing intimately, throwing back her red-gold head to smile up”at her partner. Philip removed his eyes with an effort, and scanned the rest of the assemblage. They were all there, the same. old crowd. A tall girl in a blue dress standing with Stewart Cutting—that would be the cousin from the West. But she hadn’t large teeth. A nice- looking girl. Now, if only Johnny would take to girls like that. Philip sighed, and found himself a seat be- hind some screening palms. The music had stopped, but he didn't want to go down just yet. Curiously, he felt weary and a little de- pressed. The dry clack of conversation from a group under the balcony came to his ears. Stocks and bonds. Bills and notes. Corporate trusts. Golt. He closed his eyes and remembered a girl 1 he had danced with at a college hop years agé —a girl like this one. He opened his eyes and rubbed them. The flame-colored girl was standing a few feet away from him on the balcony. He hesitated but a moment. “Good evening,” he said, rising, “did Johnny send you up here?” The girl drew closer, and Philip saw that she was vividly pretty, with a pair of brilliant blue eyes set in an olive complexion. “Will you pound my back?” she said. Philip.looked at her wildly. “Hic—hiccups,” she explained jerkily. Philip had seen hiccups before and had never thought them anything but disgusting. But this hate- fully alluring female had hiccups in the grand manner. She wrinkled her small nose and shuddered her slim shoulders, and all her beads and bangles set up a gentle tinkling. And presently, between resounding whacks, the paroxysm passed. “There—that’s better,” she said, throwing him a grateful glance. She settled herself leisurely in the chair beside him. “You've been drinking too much punch,” said Philip severely. “I suppose s0,” agreeably, “but nothing can take away the taste of this party.” Philip concealed his unholy joy. “You find it so very disagreeable, do you?” “I find it dead and buried. Something from the Stone Age that’s just been unearthed. And why,” she yawned, “dig it up?” She arose restlessly, stretching her arms lazily above her head. “In another moment,. I'm going to turn cartwheels.” : “Do,” said Philip, and to his discomfiture she turned one, slowly and gracefully, in a swirling cascade of chiffon. “That’s enough,” he said nervously. “You can't do your daily dozen here.” “You're bored to death yourself, Big Boy. When I saw you glowering among the palms, I thought, ‘Ha! & kindred soul.’” Philip looked shocked, but slowly, in spite of himself, a smile overspread his features. “Perhaps we ought to introduce ourselves.” “Good heavens, no. You'd probably turn out to be a bank president. And I'm fed wp on bank presidents. I'm going to get out of here,” said the girl suddenly, as the music started. “I'll find my car and cruise around for a couple :tenlmm“" . Try to run down a few bank presi- “What?” said Philip, “and leave You can't do that. It isn't done.” i 4 “I do all the things that aren't done,” airily, “and if you mean Johnny Ackerly, he’s turned thumbs down on me. He's smitten with that girl in blue—dancing with her all evening.” “Wait!” said Philip. “You can't go out of here alone. Il go with you.” He told himself that this was the least he could do for Johnny. As they crossed the dancing floor, he saw that Johnny was indeed dancing with the girl in blue and with every evidence of enjoyment. He felt faintly annoyed. The young fool needn’t right-about-face so quicklv. AB they breesed along Riverside Drive, the lights flowed gently into one, and Philip forebore to look at the speedometer. There was a large and brilliant mcon and the wind from the river was cool on his face. He relaxed in his seat and looked down at the small strong hand on the wheel with its string of absurd jeweled bracelets at the wrist. “She’s beautiful,” thought Philip, with & swift intake of his breath. Again he found himself struggling with that curious sense of depression. Was it pbssible that his standards were all wrong? He didn’t think about his standards again for a long time. They sped along to 18ist street, and crossed over into Fordham road, + and their conversation was only in fragmentary snatches against the swift rushing of the wind. Sometimes the girl sang—rowdy bits from the current shows—and once she put a warm Mttle hand tentatively down into his, and snatched it away again, “Crude stuff,” thought Philip, “and she’s en- gaged to Johnny.” “Do I or do I not know women?” he asked himself as they turned into the Bronx River Parkway. “Am I going to let this gilded child keep me up all night?” The answer was that he was, and glad of it. They stopped at an all-night lunch wagon at Scarsdale, and it was there, over the hot dogs and coffee, that he made a startling dis- covery. “My gracious! I'm in love.” There could be no doubt about it. All the symptoms were there. Hot flashes. Cold chills. A desire to show off his muscle. He looked longingly at the girl sitting across from him, consuming with delicacy and finesse, a hot dog smeared savagely with mustard and dripping with piccalilli. He hitched forward on his stool, and because the language of love is peculiar, said in a hoarse voice, “You know, I think you're a pretty fresh kid.” “Oh, absolutely,” she smiled across the hore rid concoction. “But you like me, don’t you?” “Ye-es.” “I thought you did, or you wouldn't have run away with me from that gummy party.” “Well, I'm going to drive you back right now, I've something to say to you, young lady.” “Call me Bunny,” she said dreamily. “All my friends do.” He got masterfully behind the wheel as they started back. They rolled for 20 yards and stopped under a spreading oak. “Are you in love with Johnny?” “Curses, why bring him up? Of course not.” “And haven't you any regrets?” “No. To tell you the truth, I think he's— well, kind of creaking in the joints, if you know what I mean. Like the rest of the party.” Do you think I'm—like the rest of the party?” He leaned close to her, his eyes dark and suddenly ardent. She moved, too, a seductive quarter of an inch. Her lips were very close to his. Some- thing seemed to leap between them. Then she moved away laughing silently. “I'll sing it for you,” she said. The fresh breeze blowing over the hills Continued on Sixieenih Fage