Evening Star Newspaper, March 10, 1935, Page 83

Coming NEXT ISSUE MICHAEL ARLEN *“The Locked Door"’ What Lay Behind It? IrvIN S, CosB “Fly High, Mr. Bussard™ Chooolate Love and Laughter SINCLAIR LEWIS *‘Seven Million Dollars’* Chapter IV of a Now Serial HONORE MORROW ‘*Bandog: A Pilgrim™ Historical Short Short Rurus KiNnG **Night Without Moon"* Mourder on Tropic Seas WALTER DURANTY “In the Elevator’ A Story of Spring Madness THIS WEEK Seven N illion “Dollars Continued from page ten At 9:30 things seemed to Cordwood alittle confused. He would have sworn that a newspaper correspondent, a canned-cornbeef salesman, and two congressmen who were successfully investigating the Evils of Drink in Europe had been at the table with them, but they seemed, though he looked all over for them, to have gone away. At 4:30 a.m. he awoke, abed in his | room at the hotel, completely un- dressed except perhaps for his hat and shoes and socks. He stared around the ! room. There was, apparently, no Les, no newspaperman, no canned-beef salesman, not even a congressman in sight, nor anything reminiscent of a party except a large wrapping-paper sign on which was written, apparently with lipstick, “Thanks for the Shet- land pony — Les and Lily.” Never in his life to the present date — March 10, 1935 — has Cordwood learned anything more about Lily or the Shetland pony. By a judicious regimen of bromides, ice water — the one English phrase which the night floor-waiter com- pletely understood — and walking two hours before breakfast, Cordwood was in reasonably good shape when May- belle joined him, for what he now realized would be a nerve-wrenching attack on the Louvre. She led him rapidly past a bewilder- ing World’s Fair of sculpture, of mosaics, of enamels, to the Grande Galerie, and he flinched as he guessed that he was expected to enjoy the paintings of Carpaccio, Bugiardini, Mantegna, Cosimo. He peered at them cautiously. Nobody was going to catch kim saying the wrong thing. Then he was shocked. He actually liked them! They weren’t as slick as magazine covers maybe or as the silkken ankles which, for unknown reasons, advertise motor-car bodies, but they were — oh — homelike, these kind-faced madonnas and saints in gold and scarlet robes — just such old | boys, really, as he had known and | yarned with in lumbercamps and | workshops and farmhouses. He had a second's dreadful sus- | picion. Maybe, since he actually liked them, they weren't the real goods, and Maybelle had led him in here as a practical joke, so that he’'d show his ignorance. But no, she too — he cautiously sneaked in a look over his | shoulder — seemed to appreciate ‘em. Gosh! Suppose he, Cordwood McGash of Jackrabbit Creek, really was all okay on this good taste and highbrow stuff. Wouldn’t that knock Perce’s eye out, if he ever learned it! Wouldn't Reverend Mitch have a fit if that happened to be true. Gee! In half an hour Maybelle said, as | though she were forgiving him for something, ‘“Well, shall we go on to another room?"’ ‘““Heh? Oh. Oh, no, let's see some | more of these."” And it was she, not Cordwood, who | finally shifted tired feet and rubbed smarting eyes, and squeaked in a small exhausted voice, “Let’s go now and come back another day. Ido love these { Old Masters — well, 1 guess I do — but an hour and a half, that’s all I ! can stand at a time.” “Heh? Oh —oh, all right. Let's come back this afternoon.”’ He could not understand it but it seemed to him that Maybelle Benner was looking at him with an admiration she had never exhibited before. In the Tuileries he hesitated, “Lookit — uh — we may never be in Paris again and — uh — take achance for once and come sit with me at one of these sidewalk cafés. You know. Interesting to watch the crowds and —"' “Well, uh,” she said intelligently. She seemed to like the small marble- topped tables, the blue siphons, the early July sun through the striped yellow awnings. She sighed, not un- happily, and she almost made Cord- wood blush by boldly taking off her eye-glasses, when suddenly her naked eyes seemed quite human. To the waiter she murmured, Cordwood ventured, “Say I'd kind of —got a little indigestion this morning and —"’ “Oh, have your brandy and soda.” She sounded a little weary. “You'll have it sooner or later, anyway, so you might as well indulge your carnal tastes openly.” “You bet your life I'm going to indulge my carnal tastes! Waiter!" ““Yessir.” “Brandy and soda, and make it carnal!” ‘““Yessir, carnal brandysoda — three star carnal, sir?”’ **Cordwood!"” “Yessum.” ' “You would be an atrocious person to try to handle. You'd be so meek and so conscious of your general plumb low-down worthlessness nine- tenths of the time, and then just when some one had your feet all nicely planted on the straight and narrow, you'd jump off it and go scooting off through the sagebrush, snickering. I don’'t know what I'm going to do with you!” He could hear it — no doubt about it, no illusion at all — he could hear his own voice saying, with a ghastly hollow mirth, ‘“Well, you might marry me.” But he didn’t quite say it, though he knew that he was probably doing a dirty trick in failing to do what was s0 clearly expected. He choked it down. He stopped his mouth with revivifying brandy and soda and when he had done coughing, he said hastily : “Didn’t know if I'd like those old pictures or not but, by golly, they're kind of interesting. Don’t suppose the French Government would sell some of ‘em, do you? Be nice to take ‘'em back to Jackrabbit. 7hat would cer'nly make Blizzard Junction jealous!” “Yes, I should think they'd be about as willing to sell them as to sell Napoleon’s tomb.” “Oh, now, rats, Maybelle, you're kidding me. They'd never sell Napo- leon’s tomb. . . Or would they? That would be something to have in Jack- rabbit!"’ As they trudged back ‘to the hotel, he felt that the trusting companion- ship in which they had sat down at the café had somehow been frosted over. (To Be Concluded Next Week) The Butterfly in the Death (hamber Continued from page five I would rather have it from you. I borrowed a boat and I rowed out here, and then — I lost my courage. The night was so beautiful, death did not seem so ugly a thing as the other, so 1 thought I would die.” ‘“Just one or two more questions,”’ he begged. “Is the other man, Ros- tard, anything to you?"’ “Nothing,”’ the g'u-l'answered, “‘ex- cept the man who has saved my soul as you saved my life to-night. We love | one another, it is true. After to-night { he will hate me!"” “You will have to stay where you are until morning.,” he said. “Auguste will dry your clothes upon the stove.” “I must stay here,”” she repeated, and her voice sounded like the flut- tering of the sad wind amongst the wet leaves of the elms. ““Where the mischief else can you stay?” Besserley demanded, with a touch of irritation. *“Your clothes are wet through and I don’t keep a stock of ladies’ apparel on board. You need not be afraid of inconveniencing me,” he went on in a slightly milder tone. “‘Auguste,” he called, “‘the dinghy.” “You mean — that I am to stay here alone?” she faltered. *‘Sorry, but there is no help for it,” he answered. “You have not explored my boat or you would not ask such a question. Now listen to me. I shall be back to-morrow morning and I shall bring with me that fellow Ray- mond, unless I can deal with him first, probably your friend, the musician, and a lawyer. You need not ask your- self how miracles come about, but there is one brooding over your head. As for the morning, Auguste will bring you coffee and whatever else you want.” ; “But I have not thanked you,” she sobbed. “Come back!” “Well, as I am old enough to be your father,” he smiled, “I am not afraid of coming back.” She raised herself from the tumbled mass. He took her face in his hands and kissed her on the cheeks. “Forget everything except that to- morrow’s going to bring you happi- ness,” he begged her. Nevertheless he left her sobbing. The end of it all was very much as Besserley had planned it. Raymond, with twenty-five mille in his pocket and a new dancing partner, enjoyed quite as much success as he deserved and remained the typical interpreter of the semi-acrobatic type of dancing popular in the cabarets of the Riviera. Josephine and her husband passed on to shine in very different circles. Jose- phine, as the mystical exponent of what was in reality a new art, shared with her husband a unique place in the inner circle of hedonistic culture. Besserley was one of a motley troop of pilgrims who traveled over to Rome for the first night of one of their pro- ductions in Italy. It was afterwards, in one of the stately salons of the Palazzo which had been lent them for their brief visit, that Besserley told her the final truth. The three — Rostard, Jose- phine and himself — were seated at a table after an exquisite repast. Besserley drew an ancient miniature set with diamonds from his waistcoat pocket and placed it in her hand. ““That is the picture of your grand- mother — Josephine, Marquise de Vaucluse St. Pierre,” he told her gently. “It was sent to me by the Marquis soon after her death. It is the answer to the question you have so often asked me. You should have no hard feelings about her, child, or shrink from accepting her as your benefactress. She sinned once in her life, perhaps, and she had a proud husband to protect. If you have ever felt, my dear,” he added, *‘that you have anything in your heart against her, for your mother’s sake, forgive.” Josephine’s eyes were soft with gathering tears. She leaned forward > 13 Flying Trapeze Continued from page 8 heard they had three rings. He was glad that here in Barcelona there was only one. He liked to be looked at. Tonight, he liked it more than ever. He wanted everyone to see it was only an accident. And they always watched him, the crowds. Four measures of music and then the cue for his somersault in mid air would come. He saw Clarita far below looking up at him. His hand touched the red rose in his girdle. He wrenched it free and threw it straight at Clarita's feet just as his cue came. He leaped in space where his wife's sure hands should meet and clasp him. But her eyes followed the rose she had given him, down, down, down. As the rose fell, a dozen, a hundred little pictures of Suavecito and Clarita came back to her; frozen, with a new, a sick understanding, she stood. she leaped — one beat too late. But Suavecito’s beautiful body was al- ready rushing through unprotected space. As he plunged to the earth in an awful, dying flash, he knew that his wife swung safely above. This amazing offer is open to you, too! Start this one-tube test today! O many millions of people have had their smiles made brighter by this famous tooth- paste that we gusransee it todo as much for you. Read this: Ge? one tune of Colgate's Den- tal Cream. Brush your teoth with it for wo minutes at least twice @ doy untll it is all vsod up. Then look in your mirrer. If you do not honestly admit that your teeth are cleaner, brighter than ever before, sim- ply send the empty tube to Celgate's, Jersey City, N.J., and we will gladly send you @ check for twice what you paid! 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