Evening Star Newspaper, March 10, 1935, Page 85

- Jorkens Retires From Business Continued from page two “Not in the least,”” said Jorkens. “Just watching the very thing we were speaking of a little while ago, the difficulty men find in stopping the acquisition of gold. “Well, I stripped and the fellow in the shack by the temple strapped the bathing kit on to me; it fastened from behind. In front there were two large bags to carry the nuggets, with the opening below, so that you had to close them when filled, to prevent everything falling out. They closed with padlocks and, as the man who took my ticket kept the key, there was no opening them till one brought them back to the temple. ““Well, he told me one or two things about the lake; told me the depth of it was five miles; said that sometimes there were storms, local storms when no wind was blowing. And he told me about the nuggets on the island and said that I could take as many as | liked; any man might do that who bought the two-rupee ticket, but he could only go once. There is a rather similar arrangement in the Sudan, where you buy a license to shoot (amongst other things) two Mrs. Gray's Cob: you can never go back again for the rest of your life to shoot any more of that animal, when once you have got your two.” *I wonder you didn’t go across in a boat,” said Terbut, “and get the whole lot.” “That's just what one couldn’t do,"” said Jorkens. **To begin with, it would be stealing; for the gold on that island legally belongs to the idol they keep in that temple; not a very nice idol either; and the ownership is respected by the Government of India. Your two-rupee ticket only entitles you to bring away what you can swim with. More than that the idol does not grant. As for boats, they are contrary to the religion of the people whose little temple is there. Bringing a beat there would be just like taking a bicycle into St. Paul’s cathedral; it isn’t done, and it can’t be. ““Well, 1 walked down to the shore and into the warm water, and found the queer kit they had fastened on me hampered me very little. A swim of four hundred yards or so didn’t tire me much in those days, and whenever 1 felt in the least need of a rest 1 turned over and floated. And so I came to the island in under ten minutes. “And there the nuggets were, in enormous numbers, lying like flints in the stoniest field that anyone ever set eyes on; and an old man sitting upon the ground outside a little temple was watching, without raising his eyes at my arrival, as though he only cared to see which of the nuggets 1'd take. They were lying all over like big potatoes. I began to calculate how many I should be able to carry, after a good rest hefore swimming back. I picked up several and felt the weight of them. I found out how to get them into the sacks which had the openings below. I did it by lying down and tilting myself a little up from my heels. And then I looked at the old man again. And a look at his eyes made me think again about the whole business. He looked too much like Destiny watching a village that was going to get an avalanche or some other dis- aster; children and chickens running about, and men singing, and nobody guessing that all that wouldn’t go on year after year for ages; and only Destiny knowing. “I began to think of the other two men, and the man who had sold me the ticket. I began to get the idea that whoever took one nugget would take one or two more, and that those men might not be so ready as they appeared to give all that gold away to any stranger at the price of half-a-crown. And gradually from that, looking every now and then at the eyes of the old man sitting there without speaking 1 very luckily came upon the idea that the only way to get safe from that place at all was to acquire the idea about gold that they evidently had themselves in the two little temples; to ignore it, that is to say, altogether, and to leave it alone as one would leave alone cobras. You see, you wouldn’t much think of swimming with leaden belts strapped on to you, belts that you couldn’t get off; yet there’s this advantage in lead, there’s no temptation to take just a little bit more, and a little bit more again, beyond the amount you are sure you can safely carrv. For a moment I thought of taking just one fair-sized nugget; but I see now that, if I had, I should never have stopped at one; and, just as I was making up my mind, I took one more look at the old man sitting there, who never had spoken yet. And somehow that look was enough. “I ran down to the water, butting my toe on a horribly large nugget, and dived in and swam back for the shore; and a very nasty storm was coming up from beneath, but I reached the shore before it got to its worst. There are thousands of men that have kept away from acquiring gold, and many no doubt have been as near as I, but any nearer is impossible; any nearer than that and it drags you down.” And Jorkens uttered a sigh. The sigh of a man who has barely escaped a great peril? The sigh of a man who has lost incomparable riches? I don’t know which it was. The M agic String Continued from page three he asked. “I'm sure that you could.” “] — well — one in the family is enough. 1 am not looking around much,” she excused herself. She wasn't. She worried from the moment he left their bungalow until his return. Whenever he changed his clothes, she had to manipulate the transference of the bit of yarn, though she hated to believe that Bob’s success was due to the gypsy spell, and not to his own ability. Success hadn’t turned his head. Three months after their arrival in Hollywood, the Westons were the most sought-after couple for dinners and suppers, and were called ‘‘the kids"” by everyone. Bob began to worry about Margaret. She wasn't happy. She wasn’t trying t;)“ find a job. And she looked pale and thin. “What is the matter with you, Margaret?"’ he asked her one evening when they were returning from a party. ‘“Have you left someone behind?"” “Bob Weston, how can you say such things?"” she cried, pressing her- self against him “Then what? 1 must know. Some- thing worries you. I get so worried’at the studio that I want to go home in the midst of work to see how you feel. I told Lester (Lester was the star) and he said you could come to the studio with me every day.” “I won’t do that!” Margaret cried. “I won't make a fool of you.” And putting her hand to his sleeve button, she unwound the piece of yarn and showed it to him. “And what's this®>”’ Bob queried. And then Margaret told him all, and ;)f her fear that the thing might get ost. Bob laughed and laughed. He lit a match to burn the colored strands. Margaret screamed. “0. K., baby,” he pacified her. *I shall watch over it from now on. You needn’t worry any more.” The following morning Bob trans- ferred the thing himself to his new coat. “See, the magic web is on,” he laughed. That night he came home at the end of a long working day, threw his hat in a corner, kissed Margaret per- functorily, and sat down to eat dinner with her as if it were some punishment devised by an angry god. “Has anything happened?’ Mar- garet asked timidly. ““No,” he said angrily. And throwing the napkin on the table, he said, ‘“The boss asked me to lunch and promised me a better contract for the third picture. The gypsy spell is working. Bob Weston doesn’t exist.” They spent the rest of the evening in sullen silence. In the morning he ate his breakfast in his shirt sleeves, He hated to put the coat on. When he did put it on, the last moment before leaving, he made a gesture as if to tear the piece of yarn to shreds. But after a moment’s hesitation, he patted it down and walked out of the house like one resigned to the fates. This sort of thing went on for a week. When the picture was shown in the studio projection room, the boss called Bob to the office. “Mr. Weston,” he began, *‘we think that talent and good work should be rewarded.” Bob didn’t hear more than that. At the end of the long speech the boss, who had just mentioned the salary in the new contract, noticed the lack of * Weston, THIS WEEK enthusiasm in this new protégeé of his. “Isn’t everything satisfactory, Mr. Weston?" “Of course, of course,” Bob said, signing the new contract. Having shoved the paper aside, Mr. Sherman, sitting on the edge of the table, put a hand on the young man’s shoulder and said familiarly and con- fidentially, “I may tell you, Bob, that there is an extraordinary quality in your face and voice that will attract attention. It isn't there when I look at you or talk to you, but it shows up on the screen, and that's what we want.” “What is the matter with you, darling?”’ Margaret asked when Bob came home. ‘“Anything wrong?”’ ““Just that,” he answered, throwing the new contract on the table with the same gesture he would have thrown a notice of dismissal. ‘“‘Happy? Satis- fied? The piece of string has done its work again. And oh! I forgot to tell you that the boss told me my face and my voice have an extraordinary quality on the screen, a quality not seen and heard when one sees me or hears me in the flesh!” “Oh Bob!” Margaret cried. ‘“‘What have I done?”’ She threw herself into his arms. He pushed her away from him and sobbed with his head in his hands. She looked at him. She hadn’t believed it possible that he would ever treat her so. “Why don’t you burn the thing?"’ she asked. “Because I am afraid,” he sobbed. During the following days Margaret regained her good spirits. The more miserable Bob was made by his rapid advancement, the more Margaret seemed to be pleased. The night the finished picture was shown at a pre- view, Margaret made Bob transfer the piece of yarn from the sleeve of his day coat to that of his swallow-tails. “But I don’t want the damn thing on me,” he said angrily. ‘“You must have it on,” she insisted. “I suppose you'd make love to it too if it gave you a car and some jewels once in a while.” She felt as if every one of his words had stabbed her separately in the heart. But she said nothing. He reached for her hands and apologized to her mutely. The picture was wonderful. Every- body who was anybody in Hollywood was there and congratulated Bob. But he acted like an automaton. “Thank you.” “Much obliged to you, old man.” “Very nice of you to say so.”” The boss gave a party after the picture. Bob refused to go. If only Margaret hadn’t made him put on the piece of string that night! He felt like a thief. Those people, all of them so nice and kind to him, didn’t know what he knew, what Margaret knew. Bob Weston, a great actor! Bob an extraordinary screen personality! Indeed! “I have a great surprise for you, Bob,” Margaret told him. Bob's heart sank. Some more good luck for the piece of string! “Of course we are coming,”” Mar- garet said to Mr. Sherman. “We’'ll go in your car and send ours home."”’ In the car, just when Bob had about forgotten himself for a moment, Margaret touched his sleeve. It was there. ‘“‘Ladies and gentlemen,” the boss called out when they had all been seated at a long table laden with food and wine. “‘Ladies and gentlemen, I want to announce to all of you that the salary of Mr. Robert Weston has been doubled for the next picture and that he will be featured from now on, despite the existing contract between the company and our friend Bob. To the Kids!” he cried, raising his glass. Bob, purple with rage and stut- tering, jumped to his feet. “That’s enough,” he shouted. “That's enough. I won’t have it. [ won'’t go on like this. I'm not as you think I am.” He was about to say more when Margaret touched him. She turned his head to face her. His eyes opened. His mouth fell. He reeled, shook himself and looked and looked. Margaret was unwinding a long piece of colored woolen yarn from a spool in her hand. Fascinated, the guests looked on with- out understanding. “Where did you get it?” asked. ““Ten cent store.” OOWhm?" “A month ago.” “And that thing on my sleeve?”’ Margaret unwound the piece of string and matched it against the yarn in her hands. “What did you mean, Bob,” Mr Sherman asked, ‘“when you said that you were not as I think you are?’” “I mean I am a lot better,”” Bob rejoined quickly Then he forgot everything and hid his face on Margaret's breast. Bob Winner Lose All Continued from preceding page moment, he forgot that, too, and sank into a chair, breathing rapidly and scarcely conscious of what was about him. ‘“You were asleep,” Mrs Daventry said, coming into the room through the French window. ‘““Is that the way for a man to act when he's waiting for a feminine visitor?” “I wasn't asleep,” Geofirey insisted, dully. “You're not awake now. You haven’t even kissed me "’ She laid her arm lightly across his shoulder, and bent to his lips. Geoffrey rose, clinging to her. “Kiss me again,” he said. “Kiss me—and turn out those damned lights. They hurt my eyes” At the St. George, dinner was over, and Althea was sitting alone in the hotel garden. Dr. Carmichael had stopped, on the way out, to speak toa friend. He was gone a long time, and returned without an apology. *1 wish you'd join the Harrises for a while,” he declared. “I've got to make a hurried call. I'll come back for you.” “A call — where?” “In the town.” “All right,”” Althea said. “You can drop me on the way. I'm very uneasy about Geoff.”” “I'd rather you stayed here.”” “It’s nearly midnight. I want to go home, Jamey."” *All right,”” the doctor said shortly, “I'll stop with you.” They turned into the Rue D’Isly and coasted down the hill. When the car reached the private road to the villa, the engine had stopped running. Dr. Carmichael put his foot on the brake, and shut off the ignition. *“The house is dark as a pocket,” he re- marked. “Geoffrey’s probably asleep.” ‘“Probably,” Althea agreed. ‘He was going to take luminal.” “I’ll have a look at him, anyway,” the doctor said. *“I wish you would.”” They opened the front door. Althea switched on the lights. ““This way, Jamey,” she said. “I know the way,” Dr. Carmichael answered. “Wait for me here.” Althea looked at him, wide-cyed, and let him pass up the stairs. In the dim light of the upper hall, Dr. Car- michael encountered a native boy. The Arab seemed frightened. “Mr. Hill is asleep,” he said. **All right — I want to see him.” As the doctor laid his hand on the knob, he distinctly heard someone move in the room. There was a closet in the corner, and Jamison Car- michael could have sworn that its door closed silently as he shut the outer door behind him. He touched the switch, and, a moment later, had forgotten everything but the man in the bed. “Geoffrey,” he asked, scarcely above a whisper, *‘can you hear me?” ‘There was no answer. Geoffrey lay on top of the coverlet, clad only in the blue silk trousers of his pajamas. In the bright light, newly DO YOU SUFFER READ THIS “FREE BOOKLET THE GUARANTEED RELIEF Name. City. Siroil, the new relief for psoriasis has brought expressions of gratitude from men and women throughout the country. You owe it to yourself to try it. 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Quickly he turned, and strode out of the room, closing the door behind h“n Althea had come up the stairs. “What’s the matter?”” she asked. “Is Geoffrey ill?”” “Very ill.” “I must go in.” “You can't.” “But I must, Jamey.” “You can't.” Dr. Carmichael’s voice was almost strident. “Listen, Althea, the man I talked to in the hotel garden — he’s a clerk in the Marine Bureau. They've quarantined the boat Geoffrey was on the day before yesterday — the boat frem Bombay. Three of its men are down with bubonic plague.” Althea didn’t move. “When did you see Geoffrey last?"” “To-night.” “I know — across the room. But you haven’t been nearer him than that — since when?”’ “Not for dfl“-" within twenty-four hours would have meant certain death.” “And Geofire She moved toward the bedroom door. “Nothing can save him.” Althea took another step forward. Dr. Carmichael clasped her arm with the key. “No one must go in,” he s3id. “Neither you nor servants. Where’s the phone? I've got to notify the authorities.” Together, they stumbled down the stairs. Neither of them heard Mrs. Dav- entry’s hand on the knob of the locked door, nor the sound of her body falling against it and slipping gently down to the floor. | URYINE, | EYES State.