Evening Star Newspaper, September 15, 1935, Page 106

[ Magazine Section Christophine i CHAPTER XI HAD expected to see Niagara Falls at Buffalo, but I hadn't expected a private deluge like this. So Clive Harding's outfit had condemned me without a hearing, and all my excellent work had .counted as nothing in the face of my having skipped one city! The more I thought of it, the more the injustice of it rankled. How did they know I wasn't taking care of Pitts- !)urgh in my own fashion? I had been in- structed to use my own judgment when faced with an emergency, and that I had done so primarily with the idea of saving my personal skin was something the head office was not vet in a position even to guess. As for the unfortunate publicity angle, that seemed equally unfair. Why women should hesitate to cream their faces with an Althea product just because I'd tried to be good to Marcia was beyond me. Perhaps, I thought hopefully, I could clear matters up with the Boston manager when I met him. That Clive himself was responsible for my being fired seemed too fantastic. In my room, I left my bags packed and the rest of my mail unopened, while I stared out of the window up Delaware Avenue, which gradually became a tree-sheltered bower as it stretched into the older residential district. Buffalo, despite its many industries — per- haps indeed because of them — is the City of Homes. Perhaps nowhere else in the country are there so many lovely dwellings spread over so wide a territory. Everybody seems to have a garden and to be proud of it. Since the days of the Exposition, with its tragic ending for a great president and the simple inauguration of our *Teddy R.” in the Wilcox homestead on Delaware Avenue, Buffalo has grown amazingly both in pros- perity and in beauty. One of the best art schools in the country, especially for por- traitures, is situated there, presided over by another Wilcox, a splendid painter. The Museum is full of lovely things. And there is a blending here of the Old Frontier and the THIS WEEK ] L September 15, 1935 Discovers America Her problems reach a climax in Buffalo; will she find a solution in Boston? (oncluding a new serial by NINA WILCOX PUTNAM new Middle West which is unique and worth examining. Yet the list in my hand of places to go and persons to see meant nothing now — the shops, the managers' names, the smart ad- dresses in the shopping center —all were useless to me. In addition to everything else, it was a tough break to have my job taken away just as I hit the city whose average buying power is the third largest in the country. I had counted on making a fine show- ing here, and now of course all that had to go into the discard, along with, for my purely personal edification, a glimpse of Niagara and at least one of the three great airplane fac- tories. Well, I sighed to myself, that would have to wait. Unquestionably, my best move was to obey orders and get the whole business straightened out as quickly as possible one way or another. With a glance at my wrist-watch, I discovered I could easily cover a hundred miles before nightfall, and be that much nearer to the showdown which would mean so much to me. I telephoned for a porter, ordered my car brought around and then remembered the rest of my mail. There were the usual cheery ads which seem to creep into all hotel letter boxes while " the clerk isn't looking, a much forwarded letter from Olga, and caught between the pages of a local theatre guide, another tele- gram! I tore it open, hoping for some word about Marcia, but the 51gnature was the last one I expected. HAVE JUST READ NEWSPAPERS ABOUT YOUR PREDICAMENT STOP BOTH YOUR UNCLE AND I FEEL YOU SHOULD BE WITH US IN CASE OF UNPLEASANTNESS ARISING. CAN YOU COME IMMEDIATELY WIRE AUNT EMILY I could have cried from relief. Bless her dear old heart, and her instantaneous helping hand! Now I had someone to whom I could run for refuge, and what a run it was going to be! My one obsession became the reaching of her sedate, old white cottage before any- one could catch me. Witha family behind me, I could face anything. I felt like a little girl running to hide from the bogeyman in the folds of her mother’s skirts. Within half an hour, I was on my way to the grand old lady who, I rashly decided, could stop my playing cards on Sunday, make me give up alcohol and stay away from the movies from now on, if it would give her any pleasure! She could be as rigidly New England as she liked so long as she went on being rigidly loyal, too! " That tripacross northern New York seemed endless. When fear is at your heels, even a yard can become a mile. When at last I drew up at my aunt’s garden gate on a quiet side street in Cambridge, I felt like David Copper- field, Oliver Twist and Orphan Annie all rolled into one. Aunt Emily opened the door herself — a delicate lady, whose eyes mois- tened when she saw me, but who put her welcome into very simple words. “So you're John's little girl!” she said. “I’ve had it since I left New Orleans,” [ said chokingly, “but I didn’t steal it” lllustration by Frank Bensing “Come in, my dear, and mind the floor, it's just been waxed."” I checked the sentimental flow of speech which had been working up in me, and minced into the cool, prim hall. “I'll be careful, Aunt,” 1 said. “It's good to be here.” “It was our duty to ask you,” she said. “You're all the family I have left, and we are glad you came. Supper will be at seven!” My room had dormer windows with frilled curtains and looked out onto an old-fashioned flower garden, heavy with early spring flowers. As I tidied up, the blessed peace of the old house descended upon me like a benediction, easing out my taut nerves, reassuring me about the substantiality of life and the er- during kindness of people. Even this upper chamber was filled with treasures — treasures of the simple kind whose value lies in long association. Warm old maple deep in patina formed most of the furnishings. Soft ol;l rugs with dimly bright flowers lay upon tne broad boards of the sagging floor, and from the walls a pair of mottoes, stitched by long-dead hands, proclaimed the still living truths that God is Love and that the home should be blessed. It was all as fragrant of tradition and right- ful pride, as if the ancient house had been a giant tree. It bore the hallmark of a com- munity which took for granted that ideals and aspirations have a definite relation to every- day living and made no apology for its intel- lectual preferences. This house was old Boston reduced toa symbol, and I was grateful for its - lesson. Aunt Emily’'s husband, the genealogist, proved to be a drily humorous gentleman, who welcomed me with the same deep, but veiled cordiality with which his wife had greeted me. Rather a splendid hab, I decided, this re- straint, as it gave one time to think before speaking. So, as no one mentioned the real reason for my visit, I waited until after the simple meal to approach the subject. In the drawing-room, Aunt Emily scived the coffee. When she had done so, she went to where a row of periodicals and papers were (Continued on next page)