Evening Star Newspaper, October 19, 1930, Page 96

THE SUNDAY., STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, OCTOBER ATE Priday afternoon Erik Jorgenson killed his young wife Greta. It had been inevitable, he brooded, glancing down at the still figure. She had taxed his patience to the break- when he Jost his temper he was ything. The stick of stove wood Silly fool! Extravagant him, he forced a chuckle, he had two evil-faced - tramps loitering farmhouse that afternoon; lucky for him, too, Nils Olson, a neighbor’s boy, had to see them. Nils had said they sought food that same afternoon at their , had become angered at his affright- mother’s thoughtless refusal and had left openly grumbling threats. Greta, of course—of course—had alco in alarm unwisely turned the hoboes away while he was in the from work, he had found his slender young wife lying on the kitchen floor dead. Erik Jorgenson methodically put on a clean and hat, went out and harnessed horse to the buggy and drove to the village sheriff of the tragedy. Brokenly gruesome facts, he looked Larry Walls, the sheriff, straight in the eye. The middle-aged farmer, semi-recluse, had a good reputation thereabouts and there was no rea<on to disbelieve him. Tmmmmymmw pick up any tramps in the vicinity, sum- a coroner’s jury and went with Erik Jorgenson -back to his farm, several miles off the main highway and a mile from the Olson place. Nils supported Jorgenson’s testimony; trembling mother told of their threats against her, and murder by parties unknown was the Mk..lorgenwn, when at last his house was ture for a long time and it'd never be any good in the field. She had been spolled She had even wanted him to buy a radio, flower pots and curtains for all the windows. She wanted to spend money wild like that! And with wheat and corn the lowest in years! With taxes going up and the bank cutting down its interest on savings. Did she think he was a millionaire? No need for regrets mow! It was all over! Of course, obtruded an after thought, maybe he shouldn't have lost his temper last night, but at the same time she shouldn’t have brought up that touchy subject of a car again. A car! Well, a horse and buggy had been good enough for his dad and his ma, and it was good enough for him and her! Yeah, he would outlive this and marry again—the next time to a girl who was buxom and strong and able to help in the fields when it was necessary. Erik Jorgenson, dismissing the train of thought, sat down to the bare table, pulled the bacon and eggs toward him and ate avidly. Nothing, he grinned, could affect his appetite, A sudden whining caused him to glance around. It was Greta’s pet cat. The enormous gray feline stood there at the back screen door, mewing hungrily—humbly. Tinker, she had named him. What a senseless name! Annoyed, Erik Jorgenson threw a table knife at the ani- mal and, crestfallen, it slunk away from the door. He would, he decided, get rid of the beast; he didn’t want anything of the woman’s around any more, The cat was a nuisance and, anyway, it cost money to feed a cat. Let it starve to death or find another home. He had to sweat and worry emough MNving; he had Greta had found 19, 1930, The Cat’s Clue By]oseplz Faus A Haunting Mystery Story Solved in an Unusual Way, lllustrated by George Clark. Thoroughly alarmed, he sat up. There by the side of his bed was the great gray wraith, from which two round green eyes shonme clearly and viciously. he gulped the food, half dead in town one Sat- urday afternoon and had brought it back home and nursed it to health again. They had be- come great pals, Greta and Tinker. URE! The fool woman thought a be part human. Lots of times she had she belleved that when she died her spirit would return and inhabit the body of her loved Tinker; that she would, just for haunt him! Ha! ha! The stolid, unimaginative farm laughed heartily, shoved back his chair arose. “Of all the damned nons<ense!” he claimed aloud. “Well,” he diverted to practi matters, “I guess I'd better harrow the sou gldfllhmornlnl.uldthhd&ernoonl'u.o n- He carefully closed the kitchen door as went out. In the barn, as he took down the “You can’t fool me!” he laughed coarsely. “You're just like your dead mistress—you want Beat it!” He flung his hat .. ...¢ door and the lean, gray animal leaped off the porch. After the meal the farmer washed up, ex- changed his working clothes for his Sunday suit and started for the barn, to harness for the trip to the village. He glanced, on abrupt thought, down at his shoes; they were cracked, worn and lusterless, and he hesitated. “They ought to be shined,” he said aloud to himself. “A fellow ought to fix up decent,” he grinned, “for his wife’s funeral! 1 guess I'd better go back and clean ’em.” He retraced his price. “It's too fancy and expensive for a plain fellow like me,” frugally he decided. “The bot- MOHINTAR!LY frightened, Erik jumped back. He picked up a open the screen and, as the cat scurri Erik violently cast it at the beast. Tin| pertly dodged, turned unexpectedly on arched its back and exposed some long, looking teeth in a flerce spat. There denly, in the feline’s malevolent gaze look the man had seen once before. fe T ES §] Fo g £ it i Tyt FHY mal and it sped into the field. The funeral, sparsely attended, was soon over, ‘The farmer’s shopping for his meager weekly supplies took very little time. Larry Walls, the sheriff, met him as he came out of the village post office with his mail, a seed catalogue and the weekly county paper. the time just now. I may be by your farm to- night about 8. 1Is that all right?” “Yes,” stoically replied Erik Jorgenson, une disturbed. “I'll be there, Come any time.” When he drove into the barnyard at dusk the fagmer saw no evidence of the cat. Somewhat relieved, for it had been getting on his nerves, he unharnessed his horse, fed and watered it and the rest of the stock, and then strolled to the house. After a supper of eggs, butt€rmilk and crack- ers, he systematically wathed and dried the dishes, swept the kitchen floor and then re- paired to the front porch calmly to sit and await his anticipated caller, the sheriff. In su- preme content, through the twilight, he glanced to his left at the long rows of tall corn shocks. “They’ll Ietf}\ another thousand,” happily he estimated. “I'll keep out enough to buy a new suit, then I'll go to the city and meet some new girls.” He slyly grinned and let his tongue slide over his lower lip. “A man like me,” he medi- tated, “ought to have a nice, strong young wife on the place, one who can do all the housework and still have 'plenty of time left to help out in the fields—and one who won't be so spend- thrifty as the old one was!” 5 The shadows lengthened, the sun's glow in the west metamorphosed.to purple, a somber mantle soon hid the fields and night envel- oped all. Erik Jorgenson sat phlegmatically in his chair, deep in his cheerful ruminations. A soft swish back of him made him sit up, suddenly alert. He glanced cautiously around, saw nothing. Again in a moment came a scratch along the porch floor. Rapidly the man turned. Tinker the gray cat, its eyes gleaming with what seemed to be a baleful gieam, was erouched on its haunches preparing, it seemed, to leap at the startled man. Erik Jorgenson in one motion bounded up and madly threw his ehair at the intruder. Tinker, with a ghostly eaterwaul, fled off the porch and into the refuge Continued on Twenly-first Page ..., . .,.i