Evening Star Newspaper, August 1, 1937, Page 89

Avgust 1, 1937 Drawn by J. Fremon ‘LET'S GET BUSY, BEFORE HE PUTS HIS WIG ONI!" One Assist, One Error Contipved from page nine On their third evening together he talked about himself. Not much, but a little. She encouraged him there, too. She even touched on the one thing * that was closest to her at the moment. She said, “But why so belligerent, Steve?”’ “They think I'm a hick.” “Nope. They think you're a ball- player and a darned good one. You don’t give them a chance to be friendly.” “I'm getting along all right.” “No, you're not, Steve. Not a bit of it. You're lonely and homesick — " “Not any more, I ain’t.”” Then Mr. Webb looked startled and hastened to amend:*‘Not so much, anyhow..."” Before the team left for its western - road jaunt, Linda had made a visible dent in the granite of Steve’s surface. He occasionally held brief conversa- tions with certain members of the team, and once he permitted one of them to say, ‘“‘Hi, Wildcat” without threatening immediate and permanent extermination. The club opened in Chicago. Steve pitched and won, and when Tim Riley made a pleasant remark in the showers after the game, Steve rewarded him 'with a slightly twisted grin and said: “Huh,” which was the ultimate in cordiality for him. Back in New York Linda rode with Buddy Morgan on the top of a River- side Drive bus. He said, ‘““Good going, kid. If they come back from this trip without general homicide, we can celebrate our victory.” “Ours?”’ ““Yeh. My brain and your charm.” She looked across to the lights on the opposite shore. Buddy asked, ‘“What are you look- g at?”’ ‘““New Jersey.” “Like it?"” “I love it. It’s got so many coun- ties.” “I'll buy it for you. Now — what else are you thinking about?”” “‘Steve. He’s just a big kid. Sensi- tive and homesick and afraid — . ‘““And overflowing with manslaugh- ter. Lovely lad.” “‘He’s intelligent, too.”” Buddy had the idea that Linda was talking to herself. ‘“He studied Latin for two years.” “That’ll be a help in the World's Series.” “Let’s talk about something else.” “Us,”” suggested Mr. Morgan promptly. “I just love to discuss us.” The team returned from the West without casualties—and two full games out in front. Steve's only pugilistic adventure had been with the caustic coach of another club, and the hundred-dollar fine had been paid cheerfully by the Cougar manage- ment. The afternoon of their return, Steve was waiting outside the Cougar offices when Linda knocked off work. He doffed his hat shyly and said hello and asked her — entirely of his own volition, though with a patness that indicated long rehearsal — whether she happened to be free that night. She said, ‘‘Sure — why?”’ “We-ell, I kinda been reflecting about something.” “What?"’ “Well, I been hearing all my life about Coney Island, and I haven’t ever seen it.” “Check!’ She was prompt and enthusiastic. “‘But we’ve got to go by boat.” It was a great night. The boat trip down was only slightly eventful and the young gentleman who tried to flirt with Linda regretted it exceedingly but Linda was too accustomed to violence to make serious objections. Once on the Island, she acted as a guide. They ate a shore dinner, al- though Steve found it difficult to pre- tend that he liked the steamed clams, and they danced once — once being enough for Linda — and then they did things. They did wild, crazy, hilarious things — all of the insane things for which Coney Island was created. They mounted to the skies and plum- meted deep in frantic roller coasters, they shot the chutes, they rode the merry-go-round, they whirled and spun on the Virginia Reel, and she shrieked when their Ferris wheel car lurched off into space on its sliding track and swung them violently back and forth, high above the half million merrymakers below. They rode in the Old Mill, sitting side by side and glid- ing quietly through a dark and some- what malodorous canal. At the conclucion of that journey THIS WEEK Steve produced two additional dimes and insisted that they ride again. On this trip, when the darkness was darkest, Steve groped awkwardly for Linda’s hand. She said, “This is so sudden,” but let him hold it. He con- tinued to hold it after they left the Old Mill and relinquished his grasp only long enough for each of theny to pur- chase and consume hot corn on the cob. On the homeward journey Linda’s hand quite naturally crept into Steve’s huge paw, and she relaxed against his shoulder. Once or twice she fancied that he was seriously considering putting his arm around her, but obvi- ously the problem was too grave to be decided hurriedly, as they achieved Forty-second street without anything occurring. When they reached the brownstone house where Linda had a room, Steve was still holding her hand. He looked down at her and said, “Gee! It was swell " “It sure was, Steve.” He blinked and then blurted, ‘‘Good night.” A half dozen paces and he turned. “Hey, Miss Linda.” ‘“Yes, Steve?”’ “I'm gettin’ to like New York.” Coney Island had done things to Steve. Chiefly, it had taught him to like Linda — and he talked to her. And she talked to him. She harped on the single theme: that the boys would like him if he’d give them half a chance. He found this difficult to believe, but consented to give it a trial. Then Linda reported to Buddy and Buddy relayed the information to Manager Davis, who called his players into conference. He said, “Listen, you mugs, this Webb is a good guy, see. He hasn’t been friendly because he didn’t know how. Chances are he’s gonna try now, and if any of you baboons fail to meet him nine-tenths of the way you'll find yourselves outta baseball. Get it?”’ They said they got it — and they did their best. Even at that, it was slow work. But at least the atmosphere in the locker room wasn’t so chock- full of dynamite. And the wisest among the players commenced to see that Mike had been right: Steve was willing to make friends, but hadn’t quite known where or how to begin. They were as nice as they dared be, and Steve warmed up. Buddy was radiant. He said, ‘‘Look Linda — I ‘think the guy has fallen for you. You’ve got him looping.” “What do you want me to do now, Buddy?”’ “Keep it up, sugarfoots. You got two strikes on the lad already. My thousand is in the bag.” He squeezed her hand. “Niagara Falls, here I come.” The Cougars were going strong. Nine games out in front, and not coasting. Steve was a bear for work and resented the fact that he was used only twice a week. He already had won sixteen games and lost one, and that one only because his teammates had neglected to score at all. His earned-run average was the best in either major league, he was hitting better than .300, and sport pages all over the circuit were plastered with his pictures together with personality stories. Down in Crinkle, Alabama, the company for which Steve had worked sank a new shaft and formally / ° 'y Heaven in Summer Continved from preceding page people who come are those who like you. And let me tell you this, it is a great mistake to think that people enjoy only fancy food at a party.” A dish which Helen Menken and her husband have very often and enjoy very much is a veal stew cooked with a well seasoned tomato sauce. Hot breads are important to them, also. “My husband adores discovering new kinds of hot breads whether they’re baked at home or bought in a bakery,” Miss Menken says. Viennese breads they think especially good, and often they frequent a Viennese bakery they ran across in New York. “It’s never been changed,” according to Miss Menken. ‘‘There’s an enormous, old-fashioned oven; everything is as clean as a whistle; the bread is piled up the way you find it in France; and the whole place is filled with that mouth-watering aroma of freshly baked bread.” To have bread like this it is not necessary to discover a Viennese bakery at your elbow. A clever cook can make marvelous bread at home, to serve to her husband warm from the oven. Besides the ice cream which Helen Menken ranks so high among desserts, she speaks with relish of layer cake, brown Betty, glacé apples and straw- berries. It is possible to combine these glacé fruit favorites of hers with ice cream, as we have done with excellent results. If there is nothing new or dif- ferent about the always popular ice cream, there are new and unusual ways of serving it, some of which we have illustrated on the preceding page. christened it the Stephen J. Webb. By mid-August the pennant race was a closed issue, and sports experts were interested chiefly in what club would oppose the Cougars in the World’s Series. Steve had learned to like his team- mates — most of them, anyway — and they liked him. So far as he was concerned, practice and play were just grand tea parties. Mr. Webb had also learned to enjoy steamed clams. After the Labor Day double-header, which made the pennant an almost mathematical certainty for the Cou- gars, Steve and Linda went to Coney Island for the tenth time. They went in a taxi this time, and made their way tortuously through Brooklyn holiday traffic. The next day Linda had lunch with Buddy — at her re- quest. Buddy was bubbling over, Linda was repressed. ‘“What's the matter, honey?’’ asked Mr. Morgan. “The wild man from Alabama been whipping you down?"’ “I suppose s0.” “‘Strenuous — wot? You're aces, Linda. What you’ve done for Mr. Morgan you'll never know. It's my secret.” ““Thanks, Buddy.” He stared at her for a moment. “Something eating on you, gorgeous?’’ She nodded, and he said, ‘“Out with it. Don’t hold out on the old man.” She leaned forward and impulsively covered his hand with hers. She said, “Buddy, I couldn’t help it.” “Of course you couldn’t. But what?”’ “Buddy,” she said, “I’'m in love with Steve.” She said it just that way. Quietly. Simply. As though she couldn’t quite believe it herself. She saw the little man opposite blink quickly two or three times and then saw a grotesque grin crease his lips. He said, ‘“‘Come again.” “I am, Buddy. I didn’t know it was happening. It just did.” He said, “I always was too smart for my own good. When did it hap- pen?” “I don’t know. Maybe that first day — when we watched him prac- tice. Or maybe not even until yester- day.” ‘““How does he feel about you?”’ “We-ell, he says — "’ “Skip it. The lad ain’t dumb.” Buddy grinned at her, a grin too bright, too cheerful. ‘“When's the happy event coming off?”’ “After the World’s Series. Oh, Buddy, you’re wonderful to take it this way. I was afraid I'd hurt you — and I didn’t want to do that.” “Of course not. Can you help it if you're a sucker for a fast ball?"’ She was silent for a moment. And then: “I can think of-a lot of things to say, but they all sound pretty hollow and stupid.” ‘“Then why say 'em? The important point is that it’ll make a grand pub- licity yarn.” Buddy called the waiter and paid the check. “‘I demand to be a witness. I think Mr. Webb ought to be warned that he’s marrying a lot of trouble.” He put her in a taxi and strutted down the street. Then he took another taxi and went to Cougar headquar- ters. Mike Davis was there. Buddy said, “Look, Chief, do I win or do I win?”’ “You win, and how! For a little guy you’\;e got more brains — *’ “That’s what you think. Can you let me have the check now?"” “I sure can. But why?”’ “I'll be back next week. I'm cele— brating.” “Your triumph?”’ “Call it that.” but That night Linda and Steve ate chop suey and held hands. He left her at her rooming house shortly before midnight. On her dressing table was an envelope which had been delivered by a special messenger. As she opened it, a check for a thousand dollars fluttered to the floor. It fell face down and she saw the endorsement on the back. It read: Linda Roberts — Arthur Morgan.” She read the note: A gal like you deserves a trousseau as is a trousseau. Here's what it lakes lo get one. And I don’t want any back- talk. You earned this. = BUDDY. P.S. It's hell to be a smart guy, ain’t st? 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