Evening Star Newspaper, July 24, 1932, Page 65

The instant her apartment door closed behind them she “turned on Mike angrily. in a parked car with that bird?” he demanded, with calm anger. “Shouldn’t I have stayed?” “You shouldn’t have gone.” “Why not?” His angry profile, sharp against the tired, drooping moon, was the most gorgeous thing she had ever seen. But how much he was talking like Johnatihan! 9 “To go out and sit in & parked car with Pete Mclain is . . . “But you introduced him to me.” “I introduced you to a lot of other fellows. You didn’t go out to sit in a dark car with them.” “They didn’t all ask me,” plaintively. “Are you deliberately making fun of me?” “No,” soberly, “but, you see, you are talking exactly like Johnathan. Since I left Hilltop,” By B. Janeith Knight she told the moon, “I haven't exactly been Johnathan’s sister.” Huge chunks of silence. The angry set of his head, the defiant tilt of his chin amused her. Made her angry, too. She wanted to make him explode once more. “I'm just Bat Winton,” airily, “just little Bat Winton. locking for . . . for a hickory tree and a good time.” g She hummed from “East of the ,Western Seas” to “I'll Try Somebody Else; You Try Somebody Else.” “Stop singing that song,” he snapped. She subsided, giggling softly. In a silence so loud it shouted they finished the drive to her apartment. She gathered her coat quickly about her, jumped from the car, ran up the steps, all before he set the brake and turned off the ignition. “You needn't come up, Johnathan,” she called, and let the door slam behind her. One whole day he forced himself not to telephone her. The little snip-snob.” he snorted angrily to some papers that would not get themselves into shape, “I'll never call her again. She’ll have to call me.” At 9 the next morning he wrapped on her door, commandingly. She answered, coming slowly, singing lustily, “You Try Somebody Else; I'll Try Somebody Else.” “Mike!” as she threw wide the door. “Don’t sing that song,” he begged. She wanted to laugh at the difference in tone. The first time it was demanding. angry. This momning it was supplicating, pleading. “I came for breakfast,” he said. “I'd adore having you.” She finished. *“Come in quickly. I'm famished.” The conversation was decidedly impersonal while they made orange juice, coffee, scrambled eggs, beat up little muffinc—the table set, company fashion, by the big open window. “It’s good coffee,” he smiled across at her. “I'm sorry, Batola, that I was so cross about Pete. He just isn't the sort of man you'd care about . . . not good enough. I can intro- duce you to a lot of others if you want me to. T'd probably murder them the first time I found any one of them here. But ...” “Oh, let's have them over,” she cried, “I'd adore a murder.” “Infant.” He pushed back, lit a cigarette. “It’s going to be hot. What say we hie beach- ward?” The world was right once more. N hour later they were stretched on the sands at the nearest beach. “Just what do you get out of your hickory tree fable? What does it mean to you?” he asked suddenly. “The unattainable, I think,” she mused, “like the papa chipmunk, who knew of the ‘wonderful hickory tree, but couldn't go to it because of the cares of his family.” “You? Cares?” He laugbed, rolling nearer; mocking her seriousness with merry eyes. “I thought you——" she flopped on her back, threw an arm over her eyes, lest they tell too much. “My cares seem to be summed up in the fact that I do not know what I want.” “Do you want to go back to Hilltop?” “No,” emphatically, “I won't go back there. I feel I must head forward, but that I'm standing still. I don't seem to know forward to what . . . it's rather disconcerting.” “Ever been in love?” “Always,” she laughed, amusedly, “from the time I can first remember. The gardener, the butler with his braided suit, the steamship captain, the curly-headed boy who carried our luggage in Berlin. Most any enticing man, young or old . . . except a Hilltop man.” “I don't mean puppy love,” crossly. “Are you making fun of me? I mean the real kind. The kind that makes you miserable when your adored is away from you and more miserable when with you, because you can't . . . well, AN IMITATOR, SAYS JACKIE COOPER don't care what a bunch of kids want to do. I ’spect they can't care. It's their job to finish their pictures and they got to think of their Job. “Sure, I like to work with a bunch of kids. Only it's like this, see? When you work with a bunch of grown-ups, you know there’s no use hoping they will want to play kick-the-can or handball or something in the noon hour. You know they won't, and you make up your mind to it. But when it’s a bunch of kids, see, you keep on hoping they’ll have lunch on the set and then you can swallow your sandwich quick and get up a game. And when they don’t let you eat on the set you sort of can't help feeling disappointed. You know?” E uses the phrase, “You know?” as Frederic March does, with a lilting lift to the word. “Am I hungry?” he sighed as the car pulled to the parking place. “Hope they have pinach. I like spinach. I really do. When I der it, people think it’s a gag, but I don’t jave it because it’s good for me. I have it ause I like it. Things that are just good you usually ain’t very interestimg. * “I like grapefruit, too. Maybe they’ll have apefruit.” ‘You like grapefruit for breakfast, Jack,” ggested his youthful-looking grandmother. “Well, for any old time I like it. I like lots things, especially ice cream. We're going have a party with ice cream and cake this ernoon. And we can eat the ice cream when ey’ve shot the scenes, too.” bpinach and grapefruit not being on the nu, Jackie and I compromised on omelet il vegetables, with chocolate soda for Jack. er this, the question asked all small boys all grown-ups was, of course, propounded. What are you going to be when you're wn up?” ackie shook his yellow head at me. “Every- Hy asks me that! Every single person I ever meet!” he chided me. “And how can I tell> I don't know. I haven't the least idea. Maybe by the time I'm a man they will have invented a lot of new things to be, and I'll pick on one of them. . “When some men I know were little boys nobody knew about airplanes, and how did they know they'd grow up to be pilots? “Wally Beery didn't even know about air- planes when he was 8. I like Wally Beery a lot. He's invited me to take a ride in his plane a hundred times. He's crazy about fly- ing. He says I would be, too. But my con- tract—you see, I've got a contract that says I can't ride in airplanes. I told 'em I'd wear a parachute or anything, but they wouldn't let me. “I'd sure like to go. But maybe when my contract’s over they’ll have airplanes so safe nobody’s mother would even worry if you went up. “Yes, I like Wally Beery. I like him fine. I like lots of 'em on this lot. Joan Crawford and—Ilots of ’em. I had some pictures taken with Johnny Weissmuller. Gee, he's a swell guy! He can do anything. I can swim pretty good myself. I like it. I went in the pool with him and he said I could swim pretty good. “Well, I guess I like foot ball befter than anything. You can get hurt as bad in foot ball as you can in an airplane, but my con- tract doesn’t say a word ut foot ball, I wear knee guards and a helmet and every- thing. I might be a Trojan some day.” “I'm glad he has self-confidence, but I don't want him to make empty boasts,” con- fided Mrs. Cooper, the former Mabel Leonard, well-known violinist, when Jackie was back on the set. “Jack is too fresh at times, but I try to avoid too many ‘don’ts’ We must all make mistakes so that we can learn from them, but we must not be too much discouraged by AND JACKIE'S MOTHER SAYS: “Jackie is too fresh sometimes, but I try to avoid too many ‘don’ts’.” “It doesn’t seem to have occur- red to him yet that he is famous.” “I have to be careful that I do not destroy his self-confidence.” “He’s a great youngster, if you can take my word for it.” them. I never discourage Jack about acting, for I know he needs all the confidence he has, but when he begins to tell how he can jump or dive or whatever it is as well as the other boy can, and he hasn't learned how to do those things yet, I ‘kid’ him out of it. I ex- plain that he mustn't make empty boasts. He must learn to do the things he longs to do. “I feel that I must be more careful of not disturbing his self-confidence than perhaps other mothers are, because l:is father had none and suffered from the lack “At first, his family intended Jack’s father to be a priest, and his education was directed that way. But before he was grown, he de- cided that he had no vocation. Who was he to tell others how to live? So he thought he would be a doctor. and the family educated him for that, but just as he was graduated he lost confidence in his ability to make people well and decided he would take up music. “He was an excellent violinist and he could compose beautiful things, but he always lost confidence in himself and his compositions just before he might have succeeded. “He suffered over it himself, and every one else suffered. I feel I must guard Jack against Continued on Thirteenth Page if you don’t know what I mean . . . love is all mixed up these days with some kind of camouflage and I don't like it.” “There’s always a door, but we haven't the key,” she quoted. He sat suddenly upright. “I think I'll start seriously looking for & key for you.” “Can you find one, smart man.” “I can do & lot of things. I think I know——" The breceze carried to them the pungent odor of the hot dog stand down the beach. “I'm hungry. Are you?” “Not for that stuff.” She sniffed, sat up. “I don't like to eat, anyway, with dirt all over me.” “Don’t care for grit myself.” He helped her up, picked up robe, her bag and shade. “We'll dash back, clean up, and I'll take you to a new place.” The Hilltop paper, which Ben Hugh faith- fully sent Batola, was handed to her with the key. Mike trotted behind, carrying her things to her apartment. Idly she opened the paper in the elevator, scanned the first, second, and fiipped the third page just before they got to her floor. She stopped, gasped, read on, started to speak, changed her mind. The instant her apartment door closed behind them she turned to Mike angrily “Listen to this: ‘Hilltop is justly proud of her native scn—Philip Michael Cunningham— for his notable achievements.’ There is & Jot more, but that’s enough. You may be a gen- tleman, but you're also a liar.” “What?” throwing the things on the couch and making a grab for the paper. “You are,” she dodged, “a Hilltop man.” “I'm a registered voter of California.” “You were born in Hilltop.” “That's no disgrace,” he manufactured a yawn. “So were you. Be nonchalant,” he gaid in a stage whisper, “light a . . . .” He slowly lit a cigarette. “Don't be funny. You lied to m:.” “Or how are you bound? And why not be free?” he quoted from her pet poem. “You're as bad as any of the rest of Hilltop if ycu can't see that my . . . . lie, if you will, was justified. What would you have done, if I had told you vhen you first asked that I was born in Hilitop?” “Run away, I suppcse.” “Exactly,” he nodded, “that’'s just it. Don't ycu see? You are my goal, My Hickory Tree ....1if I hadn't the heart . . . . can't you see? That first day in the park at Chicago, I lost my hLeart. I couldn't very well let you run away again for a little twist of facts. I was born in Hilltop, yes; but I've been away from there for so lorg I don't even think of it as my hcme any more.” “I suppose,” she said slowly, “I ‘should come out of my rut, come out of my ditch.’ If it hadn’t been for Hilltop, I wouldn't have come ‘Five Pastures Away.” Anyway ....” - “Do you wacrt t> be free?” he interrupted. *No one is. If they are they aren't happy. We'll hunt our hickory trees together, darling. The ‘road may be rough, but the Summer—life—is long.’ Don’'t you love me at all?” He took her, rather fiercely, in his arms. Held her unnecessarily tight. The paper fell to the flcor. Her anger at Hilltop and Uncle Josiah. The break with Johnathan. The long, sometimes scary flight. Those few lonely days. The empty nights. The unquenchable urge to go on and up, while standing still. The last few days falling in love. With a Hilitop man, after all her brag. Scorn for herself. “Tighter,” she thought. “Hcld me tighter. I want to be hurt.” These wild thoughts and more mingled. surged. She had so much to say. After a few minutes listening to the steady, heady thump of his heart against hers: “My Hickory Tree,” she whispered. Three words said it all. (Copyright, 1932) Water on Oil Fires old belief that an oil fire cannot be fought with water has given way before the advance of the science of fire fighting and in these days, with proper procedure, oil fires may be ex- tinguished with water. The whole question is one of technique and the nature of the oil which may be burning. Oils which froth when burning, such as fuel oil, crude oil and lubricating oil, are the most easily extinguished with water. The Bureau of Mines has worked out a method which has proven satisfactory. ‘The water used is sprayed lightly and in small quantity on the burning surface in order to ac- celerate the forming of froth. This layer of froth serves to form a blanket which keeps oxygen from the oil and frequent intermittent applications of water gradually cools the oil below the flash pdint. Great care is necessary, of course, in extinguishing a fire in this manner, for too rapid and forceful application of the water would cause the oil to burn over the sides of whatever barriers were keeping the fire confined. In the case of distillates with low flash point, such as gasoline and kerosene, the procedure is quite different. When these petroleum products are burning, the water to be used is applied in a very fine spray or fog over the burning surface and so dilutes and cools the vapor-air mixture that it is brought below the flash point. Naturally these methods are limited to fires where trained oil fire fighters are available, .equipped with the proper type of apparatus and aided by some means of preventing the spread of the burning oil. : Rout Bovine Disease ORTH DAKOTA has the distinction of being the eighth State in the United States and the second west of the Mississippi to be de- clared free of bovine tuberculosis. For 15 years State and Federal officials have been carrying on the work and during that 2‘: nearly 3,000,000 cattle have been givem the