Evening Star Newspaper, January 17, 1932, Page 76

Of Course the Love of a Dusky Belle I the Main Theme of This Yarn, I1"hich Is One of The Star Magazine’s I'irst-Run Storiecs—Another Complete Story Will HaveltsFirstPublication in theMagazine Next Sunday. UNBOAT WILLIAMS ambled along the dusty road toward Rosetta’s little cabifi down in Monkey Hol- low. He jingled the few coins— all he possessed in the world—in his ragged overalls pocket, and meditatively kicked a stone out of the road. Money! That was the trouble—that was why she wouldn't marry him. Rosetta, she was a high-sprung gal. Picking up odd jobs over to the Seminary, that wasn't anything to get married on. She wouldn't marry an odd-job man. And that swell-dressing, lodge-going, big- mouthed Irresistible Jackson who was spend- ing a lot of his time hanging around Rosetta. That man certainly had a way with him with the women. Money again—that was the rea- son—it was all women cared for—that low- down, crapshooting Jackson now—Gunboat groaned. If he could only get a job—real money—perhaps she would listen to him. So deep in thought was Gunboat that he had nearly passed “The Oaks,” now occupied by newcomers in the community named Blaine, when he stopped dead in his tracks and held his breath. His frightened eyes strained through the July dusk at the shadowy hulk of the rambling house half hidden back of its masses of shrubbery. A flickering light, borne by unseen hands, moved eerily along an upper porch. “Fo' de Lawd!” breathed Gunboat, prickling fear creeping at the roots of his hair, “dat’s de ha'nt—dat’s de spook oI’ Mammy Cindy done tol’ 'bout. Lemme git away from here!” He leaped off down the road in a panic, bent arms flailing at his cides to aid his speed. He had put pcrhaps a quarter ol a mile between himself and the haunted *“‘Oaks,” still intent upon covering ground and lots of it, when a motor horn close behind him startled him into the bushes besidc the road A shining blue coupe drew alongside him and stopped; and Mrs. Twillery Blaine leaned out. “Isn't this Gunboat Williams?” she asked. Gunboat peered out from belind the bushes. “yas'um. I's him. What kin Ah do fo’ you, ma'am?”’ “I've been looking for you,” :he said. “They tell me you're looking for a jc A job—real money—at last the realization of his dreams. The recent brief feeling of panic dropped away from bhim like a cloak. “Ah sure am, Mis’ Blaine,” said Gunboat eagerly. “What was you needin’ done?” “Why, Mr. Blaine and I are planning to be away the rest of the Summer, and we want & man to look after the place. Mr. Harper, in the store, told me of you. He says you're depend- able; and he says you know Rosetta Dawson. I need a cook, too. Mr. Blaine’s mother will be at ‘The Oaks,’ and I'll have to have some eme to keep house for her. Can you get Rosetta for me?” “Ah don’t know'm. Ah'll ax her,” said Gun- boat. “I wish you twe were married,” said Mrs. Blaine musingly. “I only have one servant’s room, and I'd rather have both of you stay nights, instead of just you.” r RS. BLAINE failed to notice the sudden change of expression on Gunboat's open face when she mentioned his staying at “The Oaks” at night. “I'll pay you $40 a month,” she went on. “Is Rosetta a real good cook?” “Fust rate, Mis' Blaine. Ain't nobody kin cook chicken lak dat gal” A smile born of pleasant memories spread over Gunboat’s broad face, eclipsing his look of apprehension. Mrs. Blaine had a sudden inspiration. “I believe you're fond of Rosetta, Gunboat,” she accused him, teasingly. A self-conscious grin widened his broad mouth, and he rubbed the inside of one leg with the ragged sole of his other shoe. “Well, why don't you two get married, then?” suggested Mrs. Blaine. “I'll tell you what I'll do. If you get Rosetta for me, I'll give you two a wedding present. How's that?” “Fair 'nough,” chuckled Gunboat, forgetting for the minute “The Oaks” and its haunt. “Ah’ll do de bes’ Ah kin, Mis' Blaine; you kin be sure of dat.” “If you can't get her, Gunboat, I'll have to get another couple to work for me,” warned Mrs. Blaine., “Of course I don’t mean to inter- fere with your plans. If she doesn’t want to get married right away——" “Oh, she will, yas’'m she will,” said Gunboat enthusiastically, “soon’s she knows Ah’s got a steady job. Ah'm on my way to propose to her right now.” “Well, good luck. I'll have to know by the end of the week. Remember, I'm depending on you,” said Mrs. Blaine. Gunboat waited for the dust to settle behind the departing car, and then struck out for the Hollow. The pad. pad of his great feet (gun- boats sure ’'nough, his cronies called them) raised little clouds of dust as he went along. But in his mind he was treading on air- He hardly noticed that it was hot, that every- thing was dry as tinder. The sparse grass along the roadside was sere and brown, and had the smell of hay from its long burning under the blazing July sun. There was not even a breeze to stir the dead heat of the coming night. Unconsciously, Gunboat wiped the beads of moisture from his face with the back of his hand. “A fire sure would play de debil, 'bout now,” he mused; but his mind was on “The Oaks,” the $40, and the prospect of marrying Rosetta. Then gradually as he came face to face with the problem of actually proposing to her his enthusiasm began to wane. “Women is funny,” he stated aloud. “Course dey ain’t no tellin’ what Rosetta’s goin’ to say. Maybe she will an’ maybe she won't. Forty dollars ain't sich bad pay; an’ if we gits mar- ried dey ain’t no ha'nts goin’ to come bodderin® ’round us, maybe. Maybe dey ain’t no spooks up dere, nohow.” - Gunboat padded along in silence for a few yards; and then his mind grappled with another problem. “Ah loves dat gal,” he resumed, “but she’s been ac’in’ mighty sof’ to’ads dat nappy-headed Jackson-man here lately. Ah jist cain't see dat niggah fo’ dust in de eyes. Here Ah is a ha'd- workin’ man; an’ she roll her eyes up at him Freak Thrills of U. S. Aviators Continued from Thirl Page f the newcom-rs, in a relief plane, evolved a Jan whereby he would fly his ship into the $FHouston Channel, land in the water, and then fhave my pilot cut me loose, allowing me to drop into the water, when Lieut. Strickland would pick me up. But I refused this plan, for I am geathly afraid of the water. “However, not everybody understood the gause of my predicament. Freddie Lund, flying by in another plane, held a knife in his hand with which he planned to sever the small rope that supporteds my body in its helpless dangle. Very quickly I signaled with my hands the posi- tion of my parachute, and he then tossed the knife to me. I missed it by about 2 inches. Had I caught it, I would have attempted to cut the small rope around the top of the spreader bar. With one foot dangling, while Capt. Giyton sat in the same manrner on the other side with a foot dangling, I caught hold of the toes of both shoes “After I was lifted to the spreader bar I was asked if I was able to crawl up into the cockpit. I found my strength unequal to this additional tax upon it. So Capt. Girton and I hung onto the landing gear, while Clyde Pang~ born returned to the cockpit and took over the controls from Freddie Lund., while Freddie crawled into the front. We landed after 43 minutes of the most trying ordeal any of us had ever experienced.” (Copyright, 1932) ALT lakes and salt deposits are commonly associated in the public mind with loca- tions at or not too far above sea level, yet Persia has a salt lake, Urumiah, which is 4,000 fect above sea level. This lake is so salty that no fish are to be found in it nor in the lower por- tions of the streams leading into it. The watcr is so heavy with salt that a fairly stiff wind is necessary to ruffie its surface. The lake is of considerable proportions, being nearly 80 miles in length, and the width aver- ages around 25 miles. It is gradually drying up, the average depth now being around 12 feet, with no depths exceeding 25 feet. It is the source of supply of salt for the entire Kurdestan area. Surrounding the lake is a country rich in fruit and vegetables, and 10 miles away is the City of Urumiah, a city of 30,000 inhabitants, said to be the birthplace of Zoroaster, founder of the religion of the ancient Persians. A mud wall surrounds the city. lak he was sumpin’. He spen’ his time crap shootin' and playin’ de races, an’ just because he blow his money on her soon's he lay his han's on it—well, it beats me—dese women.” Again he paused in his self-communings as he reached the whitewashed picket fence about Rosctta’s neat yard. He turned in the gate and went toward the door. No one answered his knock, so he walked around the house. There, sitting on the back porch steps.in the deepening twilight, he found the lady of his choice conversing with his pet aversion, Irre- sistible Jackson. Rosetta held in her arms a tiny, pink, squirming pig, which she was endeavoring to feed trom a nursing bottle. The consequent hilarity had reached Gunboat's ears before he turned the corner. “Hello, dere, Gunboat,” Rosctta greeted him affably. “You's jist in time to build me a pen fo’ little Pansy, here. Ain’t she 'bout de cutest pig you eber laid eyes on?” “Miss Rosetta, here, is lookin' fo'wa'd to a sumptuous an grandiluscious repast on Thanks- gibin’, Mr. Williams,” spoke up the self-im- portant Irresistible. “Dat ain't so! Ah done ’splained dat all to you wunst, Mr. Jackson,” said Rosetta huffy. Gunboat glowered at him, and said nothing. It did not please him to find this thorn-in-his- side camped on Rosetta’s premises when he had come to propound the all-important ques- tion. “Ah guess Ah’ll be movin’ 'long,” said Gun- boat. g “Say, what’s yo’ hurry? You cain't go 'way from here ’til you build me a pen fo’ Pansy, lak Ah tol’ you. Now snap along out of it, an’ set awhile,” commanded Rosetta, slapping the step beside her as an indication to him where she expected him to sit Gunboat shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. “Ah got business down yonder.” He waved "XHE SUNDAY STAR, WASIHI “My man!” sobbed Rosotta, “Praise de Lawd fo’ a man what’s a man. Praise de Lawd fo’ Gunboat!” vaguely in a southerly direction. “Mr. Jacksor can build your pen fo’ you.” Rosetta rocked back and forth with mirth. “Lissen to dat man, would you? ‘Mr. Jack son can build your pen fo' you',” she mimicked “Gunboat, don’'t you know yit dat Mr. Jackson. aere, 1 a head-worker? He ain’t got no knack wid his han’s. He ain’t got no call to hab, she added proudly. Gunboat began to back slowly toward thq corner of the house. “Well, Ah'll be gittin’s 'long,” he mumbled “Maybe Ah'll be back in the mawnin’ to fiy you a pen.” “You ain't got no place to go,” Rosetta said sharply. “You's jist a-puttin’ dat on. An’ if you cain’t spen’ a minute he’pin’ me fix a pen fo