Evening Star Newspaper, June 7, 1931, Page 78

THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, JUNE 7, 1931. - JASON GEORGE==_, g %) AND THE WIDOW VAIL & Simply Showing That “‘the Widow of the Species May Be More Deadly Than the Male.” BY Pictures by Deorothy Urfer. letter he's just read back in his pocket. “Who's been run over by a truck now?” I asks, putting a cigar beside Jason’s lunch plate and lighting my own. It's kind of a waste of Havana's best to slip Jason one of my perfectos, his taste running to Pink Emus, six for a quarter here, never heard of in London, but one has to make his gestures, hasn’t one? Oh, yes, quite. “Worse than beinz run over by a truck,” says Jason, lighting my cizar crooked, “this lad has hitched himself to the juggernaut.” “Slough the symbclism,” I remarks, “and talk in words of 10 syllables or less. What's hap- pened and who to—or whom to, if that's better?” “Ray Rand has got married,” says George. “Banzi and Bismillah,” I applauds, “it's about “That's just how your essentially bourgeois and bebbitty brain would react to this disas- trous news,” replies Jason, “but I say it's a ca- lamity. Here's a lad just beginning to gei his feet on the ladder of artistic endeavor—just at the start of a big future as an etcher; and he has to load himself up with a wife. Meaning that he’ll have to go back to commercial work to boil the pot, and—" “Yeah. Ain't it awful, Mabel,” I says. “In- stead of being a free soul, aloof, apart, untram- melled by the ties of necessity, responsibility and whatnot, he’s in the army now, trudging along under a pack. Sweating, puffing, getting footsore and weary, tasting the lot of common humanity instead of soaring to the empyrean or the welkin or whatzver it is free souls soar to. Terrible.” “Well, it is terrible,” Jason insists. *“Making a plough-horse of Pegasus, a pack-mule out of Man o' War, a—" “A watch dog out of a curly wolf,” I says. “Or a house-cat out of Mehitabel. I can think of just as many figures of speech as you can. And they wouldn’'t mean anything except that you're all wet.” “He travels the fastest who travels alone,” Jason quotes. 8 JASON,” I says, and I'm serious, which I can be if there’s reason for it, which ain’t often, “have you any body to support beside yourself?"” “No, thank heaven,” says Jason, “my mother has her own income and dad left me enough to plug along with.” “You've traveled alone then,” I says. “And Jason—how far have you got? Not how fast have you gone, but how far have you got?” “You know, Horace,” Jason comes back, “I Jove you. But at times you're a pestiferous, interfering, proselyting nuisance with a mes- slanic complex, trying to make the world over in your own go-getter image, God forbid.” “Admitted,” I says, for the sake of saving econtroversy. “But Jason—how far -have you got, traveling alone?” “Oh,” says Jason, “not very far, maybe, but for all you know as far as I've wanted to go.” “And as far as you ought to get, Jason?” I keeps on. “That's my business,” Jason answers. *“Well, yes and no,” I says. “The world owes everybody a living—if he can collect it. That's his business. And everybody owes the world for the living he eollects. And that's every- body’s business. Mull that over in whatever you mull with.” “What are you driving at, anyhow?” says Jason. I don’t answer him, directly. “And while you're mulling,” I proceeds, “mull over how many free souls you know that amount to a whoop in Dante’s inferno. And after that mull around the park benches and the blind baggage and learn about how free souls get by the police. “I've got a lot of respect for your brain, Jason. And you've got a lot of judgment, too. But you've neglected your mulling something scandalous. So I'm leaving you—not being a free soul, I can feel my fetters tugging me back to my office cage—with this bit of uncalled-for advice—mull, Jason, mull hard. He mulls the soundest who mulls alone.” ANG goes another promising career,” I/ B says Jason Georg: to me, sticking a l'u called away on a business trip and I don’t see Jason for nearly two weeks. When we do nieet again at the Idlers’ Club the first thing I says is: BERTON BRALEY “Nothing I said or did made any difference to her. She went on like that all evening. She made me take her home in a taxi, and we hadr’t any more than got in it when she began to strug- gle” “Well, Jason, how's the mulling?” “Mulling!” Jason sniffs. “If I wanted to do any mulling about anything she wouldn't give me a chance.” “She!” I pretty near gasps, because Jason has dodged the frails with skill added to terror ever since I knew him. “Jason, you ain't gone and got yourself entangled with a woman, have you?” “If there's any entangling,” Jason sighs, “she’s done it. Lord knows I haven't given her any encouragement, but these modern women don’t seem to have any dignity or reserve. T've done everything but slap her face, but——" “Is it a pretty face?” I asks. “Oh, her looks are all right,” Jason says, “but just the same Il never forgive Lincoln for ringing her in on me that night I dined at his house. I've hardly had a minute’s privacy since. No time for study, no time to work, no time to think.” “Who is this vamp?” I asks. “Mrs. Vail,” he says. “Mrs. Sybil Vail She's a widow.” “A widow,” Jason.” “Aw, can the comedy,” he says, “and help me. I need advice. What can I do about her?” “Marry her,” I tells him. “I don't want to marry her.” “Then,” I says, “travel. And travel fast if you want to travel alone.” “I can't,” Jason wails. “I'm pretty near broke. She makes me take her out places, ex- pensive places. And, besides, some of my se- curities have passed a dividend. I couldn’'t get much farther than Chicago.” “Loud cheers,” I chirps, unsympathetically. “She's beginning to make you pay some for that living you been collecting from the world.” “I don't owe the world anything,” says Jason. “My money's invested in productive industry.” “Yeah,” I says, “but somebody else earned it, and somehow or other the world has a way of collecting double on money of that kind— from the guy who made it and the guy who uses it.” “Why should I get out and toil and sweat,” says Jason, “when I don't need to?" “I could tell you,” says I, “but you wouldn't ke it.” “Oh, go ahead and insult me,” Jason says. “I can listen.” “It's one of the best things you do,” I re- I says. “Well, good-night, all you do. Like an oyster. “You study, and take in knowledge. You travel, and take in geography and zoology and ethnology and all the other ologies. You go to dinner and take in food—but do you give out conversation to pay for your food? No—you take in conversation, too. around mostly in that moldy room and take in your washing once a week. “Funny about that flat idea of yours, Jason. “She has it, too. And furthermore, have to admit that she told me that I mollusc, which, as you may or may not might mean a clam.” 11 THE lady,” I says, “sounds more and more certainly do mean maybe—I can suggest some- thing in the way of & counter campaign.” “Well,” says Jason, “I know this sounds lke boasting, but the cold fact is that ever since we met at Lincoln’s she's been pursuing me. She even announced that she intended to. “Not 10 minutes after we'd met she said: *« ‘Mr. George, how does it happen that neo- body has married you? Of course,’ she sald, ‘you™re just s little fusty from living alone and not having a woman's hand to scrub those two little corners of the ears that a man never finds for himself; and your clothes show a species of fugginess from not having a little woman to see that your tailor does right by you; and you have no conversation; but you are 6 feet 1, you have nice hair, your handshake has strength behind it—and women love strength—and you're the kind that makes a hit with us femmes. “‘I'm going to pursue you,” she said, ‘and what do you think of that?’” “And what did you think of that, Jason?” I “Oh, T mumbled something or other. But nothing I said or did made any difference to her. She went on like that all evening. She made me take her home in a taxi—and we hadn't any more than got in it when she began to snuggle.” “She seems to know what she wants,” I says, “and if you quote her correctly, she can spill a mean wisecrack. As I said before, she sounds interesting to me.” *“‘She makes it interesting for me,” says Ja- son. “She phoned me the next morning and asked me to take her to a matinee. I said I was busy. She asked me at what. I said I had some studying to do, and she said she’d come down and help me. Then she rang off and I went out and stayed out until after dinner. “And when I came home at 7:30 she was curled up asleep on my couch! She woke up after I'd turned on the light and said, ‘Sh-h-h —the landlady thinks I'm your sister, come to surprise you. Have I surprised you?” “‘Nothing you do is very likely to surprise me,’ I said. got my bureau in order now. ‘though when we're married,’ T shan’t make a practice of it,’ and it was ridiculous anyhow for one room and she knew where I ot ttle parties for - rried—and from Jason two weeks later. Horry,” he chirps. “You and Helen for tonight?” “Not that I know of.” over to my flat, then,” he says, “I'm party.” recovers from this—which doesn't T asks: 've taken my advice, Jason. But flat?” me the address and rings off, after guessed we could come over. Guessed movies any more—and the party. All our Id- lers’ Club gang is there; with their storms and strifes, or storms and strives, as you wil. And there's a dozen or so people I don't know—but smart up-to-date folks—and Mrs. Vail I sheds my coat and Kelly and makes a dash her way—it's easy to pick her, she's the pep- piest looking wren in the room. “Well, well,” I breezes, “so you're the siren that is coiling her sinuous folds around poor <ld Jason, are you? Circe, your work is fine. 1 salute you.” 7 Then she laughs, puts out her hands anJ says: : “So you're Horace, the Perennial Pest. Boy, I like you.” “Once in a while somebody does,” I says, “which keeps it from being pure egotism. Re- verting now to the subject of Jason George, bave you clamped him down finally, yet?” “Not yet,” she comes back, smiling gayly. “But I think he feels the coils tightening about him.” ¢ And with that she grabs me by the arm and) drags me into another room and shuts the door, Then she turns and faces me and her face has gone white and there are tears in her eyes. “Oh, Mr. Gleason,” she says. “Can’'t you help me? I love him so, I'll die if he doesn’t marry me. I've pursued him shamelessly, but it scemed to me the only way. It wasn't easy—® I'm really old-fashioned and I hate chasing after 2 man, but Jason is so bashful and =0 afraid of life, that I thought I must jar him out of it before I could possibly hope to make him even notice me. “Help me, Mr. Gleason, somehow I'm sure you can. And you know that you'll be helping. gentlemen,” I remarks, “I have / you this evening. Instead of Lincoln or any other