Evening Star Newspaper, June 7, 1931, Page 86

E kissed the photograph of the girl he was to have married, waved a grace- ful farewell to his comfortable sitting room, grasped his revolver firmly and put the barrel to his head. In the brief pause that followed his funeral song was rended by a trolley in the strcet. A line that he had been sentenced to write 3,000 times at school, and had never thought about since, came back into his mind. “Lif> hath more awe than death.” And having looked at it with a startling clearness of one who was on the verge of taking it at the age of 26, he said aloud, “My friend, a last look round.” He put the gun among his pipes and stalked across to his desk. Even in that fantastic dressing-gown and rather grotesque pyjamas he managed to retain the wiry, muscular ap- pearance. In spits of his open-work shoes, too, which were all the go at Newport, his clean- cut face with an amusing n._se bore the stamp of his efforts to reduce his golf handicap. For the rest his color was chocolate, which proved that he had possessed of leisure and the money to pay for it. Or friends who put him up. He w2s & very popular man. The letters to his lawyers and his recent fiancee he then proceeded to s2al. They looked mote formal like that. Glancing at the clock with more than a touch of impatience, he strained his ears toward the door, heard ap- proaching footsteps, returned to his favorite chair and put the gun to his brain. Yes, he had a brain. EN minutes b:fore he had opened the door of his apartment. He didn't desire to be disturbed by a ringing bell while in the act of departing on the only journey for which it is impossible to obtain a ticket to return. He held his position until Alan McCrombie, his wealthy friend, entered the sitting-room with a sort of reluctant haste. Whereupon Gilbert put his revolver where it simply had to be seen. H> was annoyed in being caught in what, after all, is a very private act. He said, toning down his anger in what under the circum- stances was a surprisingly friendly voice, “What's the great idea?" McCrombie had seen the revolver. He re- fused, however, to believe the evidence of his eyes,» He had danced all night in a jazz haunt and considered that he had the right to see non-existent things—floating yellow spals, sudden smudges of cloud, curious little dark things which moved about rapidly looking for holes in the wall. All previous calls by Gilbert had resolvad themselves into immediate “touches” for cash. He was fully persuaded that he had now been brought to the presence of this graceful and charming sportsman for that purpose once again. But when he ap- proached the table he was bound to believe that what he had seen was a gun in very truth. Horror thickened his voice. “Were you . . . Is it possible that you ... Of all men, you ..."” “I don't suppose you know,” said Gilbert “you, who have so much money, how difficult it is in these days of unjustifi:d panic to screw oneself up to a moment of such high courage as this. As you have broken in upon me one minute too soon I'll confess quite frankly that I was about to remove myself. I hoped that you would arrive to find not too messy a sight. H-'nce this dressing-gown ® bought—or rather owsd for—especially for the event.” MeCrombie had a tender heart and a sympa- thotic soul. It has been said that he had al- ready lent Gilbert various lumps of cash. One way or another they totted up to about $5,000. In return he had received, of course, the usual 1. O. U.'s but, although he was proud of being s:en in public with a sportsman so well known, h» had been through moments of severe pain at the too long withdrawal of this useful sum from his 4'; per cents. It was true that Gil- bers was heir to real money, but this was still bsing enjoyed by his last remaining aunt. This d-ar old lady was not only a vegetarian who took regular exercise, but she was also a vibra- tionist who permitted herself to tune into only those thoughts which are philosophical and sw2et. In her seventy-seventh year it went almost without saying that she would reach at least 90 with the greatest ease. McCROMBIE had made up his mind not to be “touched” again. But, good heavens, imagine being followed through life with tha ghastly weight on his conscience of having sant this man into the unknown pathway for the sake of 500 bucks. He felt that this was the sum. And so he said, with great emotion, “How much will you take to live” Much to his astonishment, Gilbert was amazed. Inde=d he was greatly distressed. “Is 1t conceivable,” he said, “that you've run away with the hideous belief that I arranged to be caught like this for the purpose of frightening, bullying or blackmailing you into lending me a bit?” “Tha point is,” said McCrombie, “just how much do you want?” He took out his little check bock and unhitched his self-filling pen. He was a man who attached a row of such things to the pocket of his waistcoat. They looked like organ pipes. “Generous as ever,” said Gilbert. “Make it 590" old dear.” McCrombie shaky pen. Gilbert held out a very grateful hand. But he first of all took the check. “Reprieved,” he said with joy, “just at the moment, so to speak, when the ax was about to fall. ‘Life, what art thou to such as I? Only an empty dream, only the leave to di:.'” He was immensely moved. “And now, my dear old Alan, one other kind action, quick. June is on the stairs. A punctual person, June. Good blood. Tiadi- tion. How marvelously they tell! just long enough to teil her in words how you caught me on the pathetic act, and prepare her to find $12 a new beginning, a better and w I an excess of joy she will cancel my made it 500 with a slightly THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, JUNE 7, 1931 TheOne -Way Ticket— srory By Cosmo Hamilton Horror thickened his voice. night's letter in which I broke things off. I thought I'd get in first. She was a trifie hip- ped with me.” McCrombie unde:stood. Not only had he a very kind heart, but h was engaged to be married himself. He was out of the room like ~ - RASAN “Were you . . . Is it possible that you . a shot. . . . A shot! vented that. And the man who had b2en born a hero with a magnificent forearm darted into his bed- room, ran a comb through his hair, changed his bedroom slippers and resumed his seat Thank heaven he'd pre- Fifty Years a Soldier of Fortune Continued from Eleventh Page much excitement, “fighting” for the allies in Canada as I could have had on European soil. Yes, I fought actively for the allies, not- withstanding the fact that I was born and reared to 15 years of age in Schleswig-Holstein, a German province. My very name—Gustav Heinrich Schoof—was enough to excite sus- picion of me many times in those hectic days from 1914 to 1918, when all sorts of propa- ganda was rife. He looks like a German. His name is German. He must be a German spy! Sound reasoning! ELL, as a matter of fact, “Maj. G. H. Schoof” did do some work—some secret service work—for the Fatherland during the World War. At least the American papers said s0. One morning in 1916 the papers carried front- page announcements of the fact that “Maj. G. H. Schoof” had bcen executed as a German spy in London’s Bloody Tower! Imagine my astonishment upon reading of my summary execution, after all that! Imagine, too, my friends'—and my enemies’ —astonishment! I had bzen a skulking traitor all the time I was preaching loyalty! The telegraphic news dispatches from London said that “Maj. G. H. Schoof had b2en found in possession of plans of certain American arsenals, depots and public buildings, attempting to carry them to Germany, and had been shot to death in the Tower. American newspapers killed me with much gusto. And then were forced to bring me to life again. I suffered the initial embarrass- ment; they suffered the next. For subsequent investigation revealed that one Maj. Schwartz, in reality a German spy, had taken my name, had forged my signature, had generally tried to step into my personality as a means of hiding. I was not without some reputation at the time, and he sought to conceal his true identity in it. He almost succseded. He might, however, have been sportsman enough to have revealed his true seif before they shot him! But I suspect a man about to be executed finds sportsmanship a secondary consideration. Confederate Ground in Arlington Continued from Third Page came an investigation by the Charles Broadway Rouss Camp of the locations and conditions of the graves of the Confederate prisoners of war who died in Federal prisons and military hos- pitals in the Northern States. They found 30,152 graves of Confederate soldiers scattered care and attention as were given the graves of the Union dead. The other 20,852 graves were on leased lands which would likely revert to owners and the graves become obliterated. nder the bill introduced by Senator: Foraker the Scnate, and passed March 1, 1906, an appropriution was made of $200,000 to purchase the lands, build substantial fences around the burial grounds and erect durable headstones over the graves, and a Confederate veteran was appoinjed as commissioner (o undertake the work +£ properly marking and caring for these graves. The first commissioner was Gen. Wil- liam Elliott of South Carolina, appointed by President Roosevelt. N the Spring of 1903 the Confederate section was physically complete. In June of that year the first meémorial ceremonles were held. Successively each year on the succeeding Sun- day nearest the 3d day of June, the birthday of Jeflerson Davis, memorial services are cb- served, being held on Sunday to enable the people employed in the District of Columbia to attend. A trumpeter from the United States Cavalry Band sounds reveille and taps. Choirs from the city sing the favorite hymns of Lee and Jackson. Confederate chaplains make the invocation and pronounce the benediction and Confede:ate orators pay tribute to the men who wore the gray and to the women of the sixties. In December, 1906, in compliance with a call issued by the president of the District of Columbia Division of the United Daughters of the Confederacy the Arlington Confederate Monument Association was organized, with seven representatives from each of the Con- federate organizations in Washington with the exception of Charles Broadway Rouss Camp. On November 12, 1912, the corner stone was iaid for the monument during the annual con- vention of the United Daughters of the Con- federacy, which met in Washington and which for the first time convened outside of Dixie. Eighteen months after the laying of the corner stone the completed bronze monument was unveiled June 14, 1914, with appropriate ceremonies. . + Of all men, you . . . near the little table on which his revolver gleamed. He heard the resonant rumble of McCrombie's Boston voice and the high, bright exclamations of the lovely June—quite one of the most lovely Junes that had been knowa for years. “Gilbert, you fool,” she cried, and threw her- self into his arms. “You were going to make a nasty mess simply because of my icy mitt yesterday afternoon Gee, but this is love!™ ILBERT held her tight. “It is love,” he said, “even in these days of flippancy and jazz. But there are things a man can't stand. A girl can go too far. It's amazing how the female forgets that the beautiful male is sensitive and idealistic, so terribly easily wounded by modern flippancy. If you hadn’t kept your appointment VS She didn't allow him to finish. She sealed up his lips as though he were going to be sent by mail. Not ccn'‘ent with which, she jabbed the marks of her lipstick all over his pale face. He might have been a piece of jewelry duly registered. “Put that gun away,” she said, renovating her mouth. “Climb into & suit, bring hun- dreds of egarettes and I'll drive you out to Greenwich for 18 holes before lunch. Oh, yes! And cash a little check.” Gilbert managed to smile as he followed her to the door. “Thanks, thanks, and again thanks,” he said. Hz was a vety well-read man, “Ill be with you right away, with cigarettes, high spirits-and a nice bulging wad.” He kissed her under the chin and waved to her repeatedly as she made small work of the stairs. He lived in one of those old brown houses in which you have to walk up. It was a stone’s throw from Madison avenue, along which the trolley sang. ‘The check was in his pocket and June should stop at the bank. It might be well to cash it before McCrombie altered his mind. You never know your luck. Pitching off his dressing-gown he went to his dear old friend. He said, “Thanks so much, old dear. Let's dine togzther tonight. We must see a good deal more of each other— David and Jonathan, €h?” McCrombie, vastly flattered, put up a little struggle as he was pushed toward the door. “I absolutely refuse to leave you,” he said, still shaken, “until you've emptied the cartridges out of that rotten gun.” “Oh, I'll do that,” said Gilbert. “Naturaily, of course ... So long, my best of friends A Screen Hanging Simplified. SIMPLE and effective way of hanging fali. length window screens, and one which does not entail the use of outside hangars which are often disfiguring, involves the use of four hooks and screw eyes per screen. The hooks are screwed to the inside corners of the screens and may be used to draw the screens in tightly to the window frame, where the eyes are placed for fastening the hooks. By detach- ing the lower hooks the screens may be swung outward whenever the necessity arises, the " wupper hooks serving as hinges.