Evening Star Newspaper, March 17, 1935, Page 86

l___ 12 Coming MARGARET CULKIN BANNING *““*No Right to Marry”’ In Love; Caught by the Depression LiAM O’FLAHERTY “Chimney Pot™ A Racing Fai: Plays a Hunch “DizziE” DEAN King of the Diamond Can He Win Another Pennant? P. G. WODEHOUSE A New WODEHOUSE Serial To make people laugh and forget their troubles has been the chief occupation in life for P. G. Wodehouse. His many amusing characters have made the readers of two continents rock with mirth. “Laughing Gas,”” a new issue, is by all odds one of the most hilarious novels “P.G.” has ever written. (Reggie to you) goes to Holly- wood and mixes it up in cellu- loid circles. In the very first chapter he meets that little blister, Teddy Flower, the Ann Bannister, who has most regrettably spurned his ad- vances in Cannes. Then things begin to happen, and never | stop happening till the end. | Next Issue. Don't Miss It t THIS WEEK March 17, 1935 Fly High Mr. Buzzard! NEXT ISSUE' “Huh — somethin’ done spile, Crashy,” said Aesop, smfling deeply. “Somethin’ spile an’ double spile, Soppy,”’ amended Crassus. They followed their noses until they wneuponanutdmgybhckuppnn tion which beat its wide damaged wings frantically, and gagged, and choked, and beiched defensively, and struggled up from the weedy turf only to be yanked back down again. The brothers ventured closer and per- ceived it to be a full-grown North American vulture, and then they saw the reason for the creature’s frenzied conduct. One of its legs was shackled. Steel jaws were clamped to the squeezed ankle and a tether of steel links was wedged fast by its pendant clog in a gin of tangied sapling stalks. “Well, 1 be dog-gone!”’ exclaimed Crassus. ““Now us knows who 'tis been robbin’ our mushrat traps an’ our mink traps fur de longes’! Come on, Soppy, iet’s tek an’ chuck de ever- lastin’ daylights out of him.” “‘Hole on,”” counseled Aesop. "“W’ite folks got a fool law ag’inst killin’ ary buzzard. Mebbe it’s in de Bible. Whut do that sayin’ say? . . . Oh, yes.” He appeared to quote. ““No matter whut he doeth, thou shalt not taketh no bumrd"g'lik in vain, whutsoever, fur- e s “But look how that iron done fray his shank all up!” protested Crassus. “Puttin’ him outen his misery’d be a pussonal favor to him, ’sides teachin’ de pestifyin’ black raskil a good lesson.” ‘“Tha's so, that sho’ would be a good deed. An’ de Word say him which is kind to de dumb beastes he gits blessed. But wait, I got a real croppy notion, Crashy, you run back to that stump whar us left them diggin’ hoes an’ things an’ bring me that gunny- bag wid de dynamite an’ whut-all in it.” In half a minute the younger brother had returned. Having care- fully removed its touchy contents, Aesop handed the crocus-sack to the puzzled Crassus. ““Spread this over Inm so he can’t claw you,” he ordered. “Then git that trap unwedged. But don’t let him ' off on you.” “An’ then whut? You win’t aimin’ mak no pet out of a turkey buzzard, you, Soppy?”’ : “Yeres whut I’'m goin’ do.” This agile-witted genius illustrated his words by .wm co-incidental action. “We' goin’ tektlnsyerempol bindin’ tape an’ we goin’ tek this yere whole stick of dynamite; an’ then we goin’ tek an’ tie the dynamite close’t an’ snug up under his tail-feathers. An’ we goin’ hitch on a cap an’ a good long piece o’ fuse to de stick an’ then we goin’ turn him aloose — an’ let nature tek its course. Natchelly, ef jes’ 'fo’ we lets him go I should be wavin’ a lighted match ‘round sorter acci- dental-lak, an’ de fuse should happen ketch on fire an’ a sudden ’splosion should sorter seem to occur whilst de old ’s way up in de air, why, that ain’t nary bit of our lookout; is it, 1 ast you?” “It sho’ ain’t — whee!” shouted Crassus, enraptured by the sheer beautyo(adevmeoomu:rly simple, so philan and yet ahoundm; in prospects of so sparkling and so a finale. As he fell — literally — to his share of the under- taking, he crooned the opening of a familiar folk-song: “Fly high, Mister Buazard, You bound to light some day!"’ Freed from his entangling manacle, the scavenger-bird proceeded to light out for other parts, doubtless being stimulated by a persistent crackling and spitting immediately behind him. “Golly, but ain’t he joteein' out this neighborhood in a somewhut hurry!”’ proclaimed Crassus, and watched a black shape which traveled down the wind like the wind. ‘““Hope an’ trust he don’t git hisse’f begone plum’ out of si;ht 'fo’ de big rookus come to pass.’ That was the one threat of dis- appointment for the young humani- tarians. Zooning eastward like a homing Junebug, their late captive was already a speck on the horizon. On beyond the encroaching timber- line, the diminished dot vanished. Still, if they couldn’t behold the grand culmination, at least they could hear it. Those two charitable-minded brothers stood in rapt silence, fairly smacking their eager ears. The Most High Rev'n’ Moses Pomeroy stood on a lofty place with his clerical tall collar wilted down flat perspirati . unctuous oils on polished ebony, his splendid voice grown only slightly hoarse. He looked out over the faith- ful hundred assembled in front of him Continued from page six and saw their heads sway in unison to the spell of the preachment like ripened pods of wheat before a gentle breeze. Under his shrewd guidance the fourteenth consecutive day of the revival had been launched brilliantly and was nearing a brilliant close. Conducting the obsequies of one Levi Postlewaite, a recent convert, who had been killed by a bolt of lightning, the evangelist was at his best. Through the afterncon he had poured the quickening fire into them, pointing out the uncertainties of mortal life and the certainty of the grave; the reliable assurance of bliss for the godly, the absolute guarantee of eternal punishment for the wicked. He came finally to his peroration, and here the Rev’'n’ Pomeroy reached into an abundant vocabulary for a word and got out the wrong word, and yet on reflection, the circumstances of the case considered, who but would say that he had chosen the aptest, the properest, the most summing-up word the language yields? He said this: “The call for our poor deceased brother was sudden. He did not linger, like some does, for months on the bed of pain and affliction. No, suh, the Lawd in His infinite wisdom jes’ tetched an’ ’lectric button in the sky — and summarized Levi!” The Bishop was too practiced an orator to prolong a masterpiece by tacking on an anti-climax; as likewise was he too crafty a stage technician to give one of the supporting cast any but a hard spot on the program. With a gesture which was at once semi- paternal and half-way patronizing, the wily veteran indicated his confrére, where the latter sat on the same raised dias with him, but somewhat to the rear, as befitting the player of a sub- ardinate rdle, and with a subtle, rasp- ing play of the syllables, he “My brethren and my tern. the main task of a fruitful day is done. For you and for his grievin’ fambly, I has understandin’ I has Gospelized and I has Testamented unto you. I has ex- horted you and I has expounded you, and above all I has showed you where- in, which that is the most difficult job there is. And now you will hear briefly from your own minister, who will, in the few concludin’ minutes alloted to him, do the humblest best he can. “Remember, my friends, he is young and lately ordained. He is sappy with the green juices of his youthfulness; he is saturated to over- flowin’ with the raw essences of unexperience. But I can say this to help him along now as he strives for to follow in the tracks of one — Aum — who knows the way full well. His onwary feet may stumble. His falterin’ tongue may cleave to the roof of his mouth, who can say? Even so, dearly beloveds, I begs you, bear with him. Bear with him — briefly.” You'd scarcely call it an auspicious introduction now, would you? Having gouen on his slim long legs, the Rev’'n’ Simms fumbled badly over the launching sentence. “Brethren!” He hemmed and hawed and, span-ing for time, dawdled it along: “Brethren, I brings you a short message. And the message is that old Satan slips up on us in many’s the befoolin’ shape. Sometimes he comes down like a ravelin’ wolf on the fold, :)ut ;)llener than not he’s wearin’ the alsifyin’ habil'mints of sheepses’ clothin’. And sometimes, sometimes, he steals upon us like a wrigglin’ snake in the grass, comin’ with smooth words for to undermine some strugglin’ new 'postle of the faith. “‘So who can tell but whut that old Devil already has done stole in amongst you-all this very day or is even now fixin’ to do so; either maybe so he’s crawlin’ up out of the ground — where 1 is lookin now — and strivin’ for to hide the stink of the nethermost pit, which is so heavy on him, with strong perfume and cin- mmondropo or else maybe so he is swoopin’ down on them coal-black pinions of his out of the shes — whue 1 is lookin’ now — where 1 — His straying gaze caught somelhmg blottingly outlined like a shifting ink- splash against the red flush in the West —a remote something, but approaching with amazing swiftness; a something which yielded him needed inspiration and which, in- stantly, he decided might furnish him terminal facilities before he ran out of metaphors. Being a good actor, he stepped darkly forward and dramat- ically threw back his head as though deeply startled, and aimed an arm that was as rigid as a crowbar. “Yea, verily | say unto you, some- times he comes even like unto that raggedy old spew-buzzard off yonder- ways a piece, that’s humpin’ along this way fast as the arrow from the bow. Maybe — oh, Lawd Alniighty, please suh, hear my invokin’ cries! — maybe it’s old Satan hisse’f, dressed up in foul plumage of the most foulest thing which flies. ‘Cause, look! Look how he ain’t flappin’ his wings and then sailin’ ‘round in circles like a regulation buzzard does when he's lookin’ for a feed. Naw suhs, he’s slidin’ right at us, scootin’ for us like he’s aimin’ to vomick his stainin’ wickedness down upon these Children of Israel and mark some poor lost soul as his infernal meat forevermore. In another minute he’s goin’ to be right on top of us; and it’s up to you, Lawd, 'cause we is penned in and can’t get away!’ ““But you can’t give me a ticket, officer—I haven’t any license” Drawing by F. Strothmann He poised on tiptoe, dominant above the spellbound flock, while they crouched in their seats and cowered, some of them, on their knees; the Rev'n” F. Douglas Simms warmed to it! “Oh Lawd, if indeed that is your old-timey enemy, Satan, fixin’ for to do his devilment, then, oh Lawd, please Suh, give us a sign! Oh Lawd, shower down Your wrath, not on us, Lawd. but on him! Open wide the skies, Lawd, and shoot forth a cracklin’ thunderbolt for to save Thy distressful people where they squats. Split the floors of the Heavens wide open, Lawd, and onloosen Your dead- liest lightnin’ —"* BULDOOIE! Had a dozen hapless buzzards been used up in rehearsals, the thing could not have been more exquisitely timed. As the racketing, shattering deton- ations of that earsplitting crash died away on the riven air, a few bolder ones dared raise their panic-stricken heads, inch by inch, but ready to duck some more; they saw what the ter- rorized rest missed, to wit: A small compact puffball of sulphurous-look- ing smoke which shredded away even as their seared eyes fixed on it; but of that turkey-buzzard neither bones nor skins nor so much as one scorched feather-end drifting down. Loss, total. But with flesh crawling and with nostrils twitching, everybody could smell the fearsome brimstony reek which lingered on. From a front row, the pale Birdie May Rucker jumped up and, like a startled filly, took the platform in one leap, being moved to throw herself into the protecting embrace of her hero and press her quivering form against his bosom. She missed him though, or perhaps it was that he side- stepped her. The arms which she had hoped might snuggle her up were folded in triumph on a proudly ex- panded breast, as he moved back a pace and, through his own inward agi- tation, pleasantly contemplated the curiously shrunken figure of the Mos’ High Rev'n’ Bishop who, with chagrin, was still on all fours, trying to get out from under the pulpit. On the top step of the log stile fronting the paternal estate sat the great plotter, laved and lapped in happiness. High in the vault, like a golden bon-bon, rode the Planting Moon of the Red Indians. and scrooged up close beside him was his just-pledged bride, Birdie May Ruck- er. Birdie May was hugging her knees and he was hugging Birdie May. And with all the visible world, all was radiantly well. “An’ s0,” Birdie May was contin- uing a sequence of confessions, ‘“‘an’ so wid him gittin' above hisse’f that sudden way, natchelly 1 wouldn’t be de one to jine in wid no Do Righters a-tall. ‘*Sides, | never did sho’-nuff keer ary single smidgin fur him,” went on his fiancée, betraying a lingering bitterness. ‘Mo’ 'specially I didn't keer fur him after he go an’ git so pop-skulled wid vanity. Still, he done right well by his skinny se’f. Come lopin’ myu'c to run a back-district church an’ inside two months gits a call frum de bigges' congergation them ole Do Righters got — de one in Bummin’ham. ““An’ even befo’ then they starts in callin’ him Sin-Rasslin’ Simms, w’en de fanciest entitlemint that pompious big Elder Pomeroy ever got all de yeahs he been preachifyin’ is Ole Santify. Seem lak after that happen he ain’t got no eyes fur anybody ‘ceptin’ 'tis only hisself.” “I got a kinder feelin’ he ain’t goin’ last so awful long in that new charge of his’'n.” “Howcome he ain’t?"” she de- manded. “'Ain’t he already haul off an’ th’ow one miracle right down yonder on de banks of Tupelo Creek, an’ me sittin’ there testifyin’ to it wid my own eyes?"”’ “Tha’s the p'int,” he elucidated. “He th'ow one, but kin he th'ow ‘em to order? I got a pursentiment that puny soon them Bummmham folks goin’ call fur a miracle, an’ then I seems to see a little upstart frum de high grass gittin’ his walkin’ papers.” *You sho’ do figger onlathmgs keen, Soppy,”’ purred Birdie May. "G);l." he told her, ‘I wisht I could tell you right this minute how keen- thinkin’ I is an’ lately has been. But some day soon I will tell you.” “Ween?” ' : “Le’ssee,”” he said. **Us gits married next Monday night. Well, ‘long "bout breakfast time Tuesday mornin’, ef you promises to keep yore mouf shut 'bout it, you goin’ learn, by de chapter an’ by de verse, jes' how keen a hushand you has took unto yore ever-lovin’ se’f.”