Evening Star Newspaper, March 22, 1931, Page 85

;TON, P. €, MARCH 22. 193L W ho Faced a Big Problem—By Sarah Addington tly tired and ulcredlbly lon"ly. HE came out right after breakfast. “Hello,” he said. "Moming, Mrs. Lea- croft. I came to “There's renny nothing to explaln e “Let him explain, Connie, dear.” “Well, you see.” He was twisting his old felt hat round and round; his eyes entreated them. “Well, it won’t sound like & good explanation, _but well, I was writing a piccz in the office, a thing I've been wanting to do, a—well, a short story, you see, and I just—I just forgot it!” “Forgot it! The party?” cried Connie. “Yes. You see, it was about 5 o’'clock when I began, and I thought, well, I'd work about an hour, then I'd go home and change, and then —well, I got kind of interested, and well, it was 10 o'clock when I looked at the clock,” he ended up helplessly. “Gee, I'm awfully sorry, Mrs. Leacroft.” Mrs, Leacroft was “You know, I think th-t‘s a pretty good reason for staying away from a party, Connie. How many boys do you know who would forget a party because of vork? Only, you should have tzlephoned, Eddie Well, I dldn't know. I thought she'd be skating around dancing with Gerry.” “Next time,” said Mrs. Leacroft, “telephone.” And so, because her mother took that view of it, Connie tried to forgive him. But she re- membered something he had said: “I don't believe a man’s love should interfere with his work.” That was Eddie’s creed. Work would always come first with him. He wanted love, he loved her, but work was his first love, his real love, his passion, The two men had been patient, but in Sep- te rber Gerald asked her please if she wouldn’t make up her mind. “But, Gerry, I can’t. I don’t know.” And the next night Eddie said: “Look here, is it Gerald Giddings or me? I've be:n looking ‘at apartments. I saw one in the Village today with a kitchenette and everything for $55.” “But I don’t want to give him thc ga‘e.” “Well, then, I'm going to l-ave you alone until after Gerald goes. You can think us over. ‘When’s he going?” “Monday.” “Good. Tl be out Tuesday. And then I won't bother you any more.” Gerald said: “Listen, Connie, well do something bang-up Sunday. Maybe then you can make up your mind.” And so she decided that on Sunday she would go with Gerald, on Tuesday with Eddie, and then, between them, she would choose. Sunday dawned clear and sunny. Gerald came in a slick, shining car. They drove, ' lunched and had tea, and Connie’s heart hum- med with happiness every minute. Gerry knew so well how to make a girl happy. And Connie, remembering Eddie’s solemnities, his crudities, his oddities, his blunders, thought triumphantly: “It's Gerry. He's perfect. And he’s mine.” At the tea table Gerry said, smiling: “Well,” “I think it’s all right, Gerry. But I'm playing & sort of game, I mean, I decided that I wouldn’t decide until after Tuesday.” “Oh, Connie,” gioaned Gerald. “Oh, but Gerry, I do think it's all right. I mean, T do think it's you.” “Gee, if I could believe that! Then why do you have to go out with that egg any more? ‘Why can’t you just say yes right now?” ~“No. I promised myself I'd wait until after Tuesday.” On Tuesday she rose to a world of driving Autumn rain, an ugly, cold, wet world that made yesterday’s mellow sunshine seem like an impossible dream. Maybe Eddie wouldn’t come. She hoped fervently that he wouldn't. She had no desire to sit indoors all day with Eddie Yackey, the family swarming all about them. This was all ridiculous, anyway. Eddie was a dear, he had his points, but ever sinc2 Sunday she had known that today she would merely put in the hours - with Eddie and that would be the end. Eddfe not.only came, but came before break- fast was over. Kathle2n, facing a window, started, gasped, squinted, said: “My dears, it's the ark. Noah is among us.” VERYBODY strained to look. Up the drive lurched a strange conveyance, certainly resembling nothing more than the ark of biblical celebrity, an old-fashioned, high-built, enormous automobile, flapping rubber curtains to the wind and rain, heaving and grinding its bulk up the gravel drive. Ken had gone to the window. “What in the dzvil is it?” he muttered. “But who is it?” asked Mrs. Leacroft. “It's the great American novelist, darling, come to woo,” said Kathleen. Instantly Connie was on her feet. “You make me sick!” she shouted. “You're all so smart! You're always making fun of him.” The tears were crowding her eyes, her face was hot and red. “I—he——" Her words choked, in another moment she had run from the room. She met him at the front door. He came in, looking peaked and anxious, water drops standing ludicrously on his nose, his hair, his eyelashes. “Gee,” he sald, “it's awful out. Do you think «~will your mother—can you go?” “Oh! I don’t see how we can.” Then sud- “'Course I can go. pneumonia. You and !ddle just m: here.” “Mother, I promised. This is important. Not to me, but to him. He’s counting on it. Oh, mother, I've got to go. He's gone and got Ghbis car and he wants me to.” Finally, in oilskins and galoshes, she was in the front seat and they were heaving down the drive. In half an hour she was thinking: “I never had such a hideous time! I never was in such a mess!” She was cold, she was damp, and Eddie was in one of his worst moods. He wouldn’t talk and he didn’é listen to her when she talked. Furthermore, he knew nothing at all lbout driving a car in wet weather. He went down slippery hills in high, he got stuck ih the mud twice, he nearly broke their necks once by whirling the wheel suddenly when the car was skidding dangerously. “Where,” asked Connie at last, “are we headed for?” Cerry knew so well how to make & girl happy. And Connie, remembering Eddw’: cruelties, thouglu triumphantly: “It's Gerry. He's perfect. And lle’l mine.” “Tanner’s Woods,” he grunted. “A woods? In this weather?” she inquired. He turned a brief, cold look at her. “Sure. Why not?” And seemed offended when she Jaughed. Tanner's Woods was a strip of bzeches and oaks 40 miles from Blue Valley. By noon they had actually reached Tanner’s Woods. Eddie drove valiantly right into the woods between dense, dripping rows of trees, and stopped the car. Connie stared. “1 always liked this place,” he grunted in explanation. “Thought we'd eat here.” He leaned over into the back of the car, pawed around vaguely, brought out a Ilimp little package. “Got some sandwiches and things.” “Oh, good. Shall I open 'em?” Connie did s0 hope she sounded friendly. She took off the paper. There, pressed to- gether, were several thick hunks of bread, and betwesn them blobs of yellow cheese. Connie had never seen such sandwiches; they had come from a Sixth avenue lunchwagon. There were also two hard-boiled eggs, two dill pickles, and a paper of salt for the eggs. They ate. Connie tried to talk, but Eddie merely worked away at his sandwiches, scat- tering egg shells all over the floor of the car, spilled most of the salf, grunted that he wished he had some coffee and scowled through the windshield at the rain. But she made an observation; under his old greesy raincoat there was a new, cheap suit of pin-striped blue serge, and on his feet he wore new brown shoes of shoddy leather. And he had shaved. Often he didn't shave. He forgot it he told her. But today, in honor of the occasion, he had shaved and he had bought new raiment. It touched her profoundly. She didn't want to be touched, but she felt the old flood of pity and loyalty rising up in her again. Suddenly, for the hundredth time that Summer, she wanted to make his life smooth and agrecable, she wanted to protect him against scorn and ridicule—this queer, harsh, raw boy who stood alone against the jibing world. And then he began to talk. “I lookzsd at that apartment again, Connie. It’s really swell. Two rooms, kinda dinky but cute—you'd like ‘em—and a bath and kitchenette and every- thing, and it's on a court with grass and stuff. It's only fifty-five. We could be married in a year.” “And what about your books? You couldn't stop your newspaper work if you had a wife on your hands.” “I could some time. We'd save for that.” He pulled out his eternal cigarette package, lighted up, leaned his head against the seat. “I kind of like this rain, don’t you? And you and me to- gether here, sort of alone in the world? Maybe it’s the last time, ‘the last ride together'—I'm facing that, but anyway I've got this moment, this hour. I'm glad it's raining. It makes us closer somehow. But, listen, Connie, if you give me the gate you're not to feel sorry for me, you know. I don't want you if you’re not sold on me. I don’t want you .if you're not all for me, every minute the rest of our lives. If you want to go off with that rich boy I want you to go. See?” Sfl!: thought, awed: ‘“That’s wonderful. He really means it.” He wasn't pathetic at all, she thought, amazed. He wasn't a green, ignorant boy; he was a man, courageous and upstanding, who could coolly tell her to go her way if she didn’t have a love to match his. Eddie smoked on comfortably, not looking at her, talking as if to himself. “I got my story back. It's pretty bum. What " I don't know about writing is just everything. But it's kind of fun just to start from scratcis like this, Only I won't be a hack forever. And maybe you'd kind of like the fight too. I'm - going to fight like the devil. It's the only way to live, I think. To fight hard and get some= where and then keep on fighting.” “That’s it,” Connie thought. “That's what % want, t00.” A deep thrill went over her. “Oh; that's wonderful, Eddic’s giving me a chance.” It was like a gift, she thought, this life he offered her. She felt as if she saw for the first time beyond her little boy-and-girl world into the vast outer world where men and women carry on their gigantic human struggles. Eddie was one of these men. She could be one of these women. She felt like a crusader, and once a woman fecls that high mood her flag is hoisted to stay—she marches on forever. “I would like it,” she said quietly. “Eddie, I want to marry you. I want to live with you in the little flat and fight along with you.” He turned to her with a queer expru.sion “Do you mean it?” “Yes, I do.” “What about the Giddings gink?” “He’s sweet. I'm fond of him. I—hate—sort of—to give him up,” she said painfully. “But I want to marry you.” "Oh, gee,” he said huskily. “Eddie, listen to the rain. You said it made ° us closer. I don't quite love you enough yet, Eddie, but I'm going to. I fe<l it now. I know it. Is that enough for you? Will you have me that way? I am sold on you. I think yoy'ré so fine, so wise.” ; “Oh, Connie. . . . Yes, I'll have you that way. Only, hwrry up and love me a lot—please!” Then she did we2p. And because Eddié understood her tears, she knew at last that though this strange boy might, and would, fool her nine times out of ten, the tenth time he’ would be there, a miraculous and sure refuge, and that one time out of 10vouldbeenou¢h for her. (Copyright, 1931.) Uncle Sam’s W oman Scientists Continued from Tenth Page add to and subtract from numerous incom- plete descriptions of specimens which earlier scientists may have misnamed in their tech- nical writings. Moreover, numerous early “type-specimens” have disappeared and many “type-localities” have been lost sight of through the passage of time. Uncle Sam’'s chief woman explorer is Miss Agnes Chase of the United States Department of Agriculture. Her official title. is “assistant agrostologist,” which means an expert in identifying every conceivable kind of grass. Miss chau helps Dr. Albert S. Hitchcock, principal agrostologist, take care of the largest and most complete grass herbarium in the world. Hcused in the Smithsonian, its speci- mens number about 200,000. In the course of a year Miss Chase is called uvon to identify on an average of 8,000 to 10,000 specimens for the Government and for schools, colleges and museums throughcut the world. Personally she has added at least 10 grasses of Brazil. Only last Summer she ex- plored important sections of Brazil, thereby adding between 25 and 35 varieties to her col- lection that hitherto had not been known in Brazil, and of which at least 10 varieties were entirely new to science. However, their exact classification has yet to be determined. Probably not many people realize these sur- prising facts about the wonderful grass family as pointed out by Miss Chase, who said: “The grasses furnish the principal food supply for all the advanced races. Here are just a few that one doesn’t think of as being grasses at all: sugar cane, corn and most of the other major cereals, such as wheat, oats, barley and rye. “More than a hundred different commercial products are now made from corn, not count- ing the lowly corncob pipe. Indeed, the 1920 census revealed that the Nation’s most valuable farm crop was corn, in terms of bushels con- stituting a fourth of all the farm products.” Miss Anna Mix has a fascinating job. Cer- tainly her name fits her task, for she’s chemist in the water beverage division of the Food, Drug and Insecticide Bureau. Every day she is busy with almost every conceivable kind of soft drink, from the cheapest soda pop to the most expensive grades of ginger ale. Miss Mix has the distinction of being the only woman engaged in this type of endeavor in the Government service. She makes an expert analysis of soft drinks, studying them for the Government from two major points whether the drinks come up to the precise specifications of the pure-food laws. But Miss Mix is not limited in her research studies to soft drinks alone. Frequently her expert attention is needed in an important poisoning case which has puzzled police or detectives. A PROMINENT woman scientist of the Bureau of Animal Industry is Dr. Eloise Cram. As “nematodist” of the Zoological Di- vision she has been with the Government for ferent kinds of plants and animals. “As nematodist of the Zoological Division, What food product is more important to - the world than sugar? Probably none, with creams, candies and sugar buns. Mrs. Ruth ° C. Starrett of the Department of Agriculture - is called a “cytologist.” Which high-sounding title really means that she makes minute “Mycologist” is an important-sounding titls. It belongs to Miss Vera K. Charles of the De- partment of Agriculture and it means a per- . son qualified to study the absorbing sciemce of fungi, notably to the end of working # the life histories of the various kinds. (Copyright, 1931.) Rosin Workers Increase.