Evening Star Newspaper, January 17, 1932, Page 74

THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTON, D. C, JANUARY 17, 1932 An old-fashioned father shows the way to handle his modern daughter and her amorous boy friend LITTLE coupe bustled up to the curb in front of the Howard home and came to a stop. The girl and boy in it sighed with relief and laughed at each other. “Well, we made it again,” said Paul. “It’s exactly three minutes until eleven.” “It's been a wonderful evening,” and Lucile started to hop out. “Aw,” and the young man’s face grew sol- emn, “the evening has just begun. I wish we didn’t have to hurry home this way like & couple of grammar school kids.” “I do, too,” said Lucile. “But you know how dad is and e “And I don't see why we can't be married right away,” growled Paul “But we couldn’t hurt dad.” “Why should it hurt him for us to be happy?” “Now, Paul, even if dad is old-fashioned, he thinks a heap of you, and he says we can be married when I'm 21. He's as proud of you as I am.” Paul reached over and drew her close to him for their good-night kiss. “Forgive me, darling. I reckon I'm going to be terribly unreasonable until you're all mine. But you know I wouldn’t harm Mr. Howard's precious daughter. The next two years are going to be mighty long ones.” “I Jove you,” whispered Lucile. Then they saw the front door opening, and Lucile was out of the car and on a run up the walk before another word could be said. Paul Arnot slowly started the coupe and headed toward his rooming house. He drove right through the first traffic light without seeing it. Yes, things were in a bad way. While, at the same moment, in the Howard home, there was the same spirit of rebellion. Mr. Howard regarded Lucile with stern disap- proval as she came in the door. “I wish you wouldn’t sit out in the car with Paul, when you two come home,” he said. “But dad, we were only talking.” “It doesn’'t look well.” E had taken a chair, and Lucile came and sat on the arm. She leaned down and kissed him. “You're a good old daddy. But you're still living on that farm you left 30 years ago. Why, daddy, don’t you know the young folks of today do just as they please? “Still, we don't go to night clubs; we don’t drink; we don't go to wild parties, and we don't believe in free love. Really, I think you could trust us a little more.” “I promised your mother I'd take care of you,” he said grimly, “and that’s what I'm go- ing to do, Lucile.” “But you married mother when she was 19.” *what if I did? It was easier to get along then. It's different today. I just don’t want you to take any chances on your happiness, daughter. You understand, don’t you?” “Yes,” and she kissed him again. “I do understand. But—well, I suppose it's the feel- ing that I'm being repressed or something. You know, daddy, this present generation of crazy young people, as you call them, don’t like to be repressed.” Lucile lay awake a long time that night thinking about things. Yes, she should be per- fectly happy. Her father was good to her. And she had Paul. He was so steady and reliable and wholesome. Maybe he was a plodder. Anyway, he'd al- ways be a good husband. He'd always take care of her. He'd always have money in the bank, like her father. Yet, Paul was a divine dancer. He was handsome, He would have fitted right into the “goings-on” of the so-called younger society set. He would have been at home in the smart- est clubs, in any exclusive company. But here he was, and her she was. Twice a week they went to a picture show, or for a few dances in Ault Park. They came home at 11 o'clock. And they were waiting until she was 21 years old before they could be married. Were they missing something worth having? Lucile wondered—wondered guiltily. Oh yes, she knew all about how other young people had a good time. And she had told herself she didn't care for their ways. But maybe— maybe just once—if—if she and Paul could be like other boys and girls—if they could do the same things—oh no! not the naughty things— but just the hilarious things—just once wouldn't hurt! ND then she’d know. She'd understand then, that Paul wouldn't be any more pre- edous te her in a tuxedo. that be wonldn’t “ W hen they reached home they were to make the amazing discovery that things really were hap- pening to them. Mr. How- ard beckoned them™with a stern wave of his right arm. dance any more divinely at the Peacock Salon than on the roof of the Ault Park pavilion, and he wouldn’t love her any more in the glare of the bright lights than in the snug little seat of his coupe. Yes, it wouid prove all of these things. Real- 1y, she argued sleepily with herself, she and Paul owed it to themselves to find out. Why, they might look back all of their life together and wish they had found out. ¢ But there was her father! Oh, she was tired of having to think always of her father. Bless his old heart. He did mean well, of course. What if she were to tell her father that just once she and Paul were going out to see what the ways of modern young people were like? As she prepared breakfast next morning, her mind was still toying with the idea. Other young people were still asleep, probably. Other young women would sleep for hours yet, have breakfast in bed, and then go to their beauty shops to get in readiness for another gay eve- ning. And the young men would soon be strolling out upon the golf links, getting their exercise so they, too, would be fit. Lucile’s heart was heavy as she thought of Paul down there in that old office, already fighting the battles against the time when they would be married. Why could other young people be so happy, so carefree, so wild-—yes, that was the word— and still have all ot the good things of life? Before the day was over, Lucile had convinced herself that she and Paul simply had to find out! Wednesday evening, she told Paul she'd rather just drive around instead of going to a picture. She asked him to drive in the city. She wanted to see the bright lights, anyway. They passed the big hotels, where smartly gowned young women were entering with equal- ly smart young men. They saw big limousines rolling up in front of gayly illuminated man- sions. They saw successful men sitting pom- pously at club windows. “What's the matter, honey?” Paul asked suddenly. “You seem worried about some- thing.” “Oh, silly,” she laughed at him. having a good time.” He sensed, however, that she might be a little blue about something. “One of these days, Lucile, we’ll be happy.” They happened to be passing the Peacock Salon, from which came bits of happy laughter. “One of these days, darling, 11 go to all of these places, if you want to.” One af these days! Why nnt now? “I'm just She smiled up at him curiously. “Have you a tuxedo, Paul?” “Yes, but it isn’t much good. I bought it for Cousin Janie’s wedding. That's the only time I ever wore it.” It's strange what silly little ideas sometimes come into people’s heads. For days, Lucile couldn’t think of much of anything else but how wonderful Paul would look in a tuxedo! It would be ridiculous to ask him to wear it just because she wanted to see him wearing it. Of course, she knew if she asked him to take her to dinner some evening at the Gibson or Sinton and wear it then, he would gladly do it. Put he would wonder if she hgdn’t lost her mind or somethirg. She really w#hted to see him wear- ing it, where tuxedos were worn. She wanted to see Paul among other young men in the tuxedo stratum. ES, that was it. She wanted him to wear it, but at the right place and time. And she just knew if they could go somewhere— somewhere real—just once, she’d understand about that great “over yonder” in which the modern youngsters were living. But her dream, she was quite sure, was like that of a prisoner planning behind his cell bars, how he would go on adventures to explore strange lands. How could she and Paul do anything when her father demanded that she be at hcme at 11 o’clock? Meanwhile, Paul continued with his prosaic old job; her father continued to watch over her; and Lucile continued to pamper the silly longing that was annoying her. “If you want a thing badly enough,” she would whisper to herself, “it is likely to happen somehow.” And then—she had a letter from Lenore Caldwell who was her best friend. Lenore was a sophmore at Cornwall University. She had often had letters from Lenore, but this one was different. It contained this wonderful paragraph: “Now . here’s what I want you to do, Lucile. Our big dance is next Friday evening. You've got to come. Bring a boy. It's formal, but youll have a good time. I'm going to expect you. .Be here at 9 o’clock.” Lucile had to read the words several times before she finally grasped their full mean- ing. It was a real event! And Paul would wear his tuxedo. The dance would be small, just the members of Lenore’s sorority and their friends. And Lucile had another wild thought. Maybe some of the boys would have flasks; maybe there would be wildness. Wildness! But her father—11 o’clock—— But, as has been recorded, things were really happening, and just when Lucile had about de- cided it was no use for her to plan on going to Lenore's dance, her father came home from his office and reported that he had to go out of town Friday afternoon. Yes, he was going Friday afternoon. He'd be gone two days. Back Sunday. Sorry, but he had to go. It was the first business trip Mr. Howard had had to take in months! She saw Paul that evening, it being Wed- nesday. And she told him what they were going to do. She didn’t ask him. “And we've going to have a glorious time, We'll dance all night. We'll look fine, too. You’'ll wear your tuxedo, and I'm going to get a new dress. Oh, Paul! Just think! For once, we can forget all about being home ab 11 o'clock. I'm so excited I can hardly wait!™ But Paul seemed concerned. “Listen, dear, I don’t want to get you into trouble. Of course, I never agreed with your dad, but even so, if he thinks we ought not to——" “Just this once! I told you dad was going to be away. He won't know a thing about it. And I want to see——" she hesitated, wonder- ing if he would understand. She decided he wouldn't understand. “I just want to be happy- And you're to come for me in time to be up there by 9 o'clock Friday evening.” ENORE'S dance was a wonderful success. The sorority house was decorated with all of the gayety of a Broadway night club, Lucile was sure. And there was soft, dreamy music by a hot colored band. Finally, with every= body in evening clothes, the picture was com=- plete. Lucile didn't dare breathe a word about how thrilled she was. She couldn’t let Lenore or Paul know she was like a little girl at her first party. She tried to act sophisticated—so calm, so perfectly at ease. Midnight came, and the dance became a bit more lively. Lucile saw no flasks, but she had suspicions. She saw one boy kiss a girl as he danced with her. Yes, that was the way the smart young set did. But she didn’t know-whether she liked it se well. +She looked hurriedly at Paul, who was dancing with another girl. She sighed with relief. Paul wasn’t kissing his partner. And she couldn’t quite act natural when she was talking with the girls who were smoking cigarettes. Of course, smoking wasn’t wrong. And yet—— It was 5 o'clock when the dance finally ended. With much laughter and ribald talk, the crowd surged out of the sorority house and started home. Some of the couples started off in search of breakfast. Lucile and Paul went to their car rather solemnly. Obviously, they both were tired and very sleepy. “I've had such a grand time, dear,” Lucile said, in a matter-of-fact tone. Paul looked closely at her. “All fagged out, Continued on Seventeenth Page