The Key West Citizen Newspaper, November 26, 1952, Page 8

THE KEY WEST CITIZEN Wednesday, November 26, 1952 Page 8 FLASH GORDON | HAL — | BOYLE ‘TOUGH COP _ By JOHN ROEBURT _ HERE IS PASTURIA, THRIVING AND HEALTHY! We USE THE POWERS OF LIFE RATHER THAN AP Newsfeatures MISUSE THEM! WE HAVE KEPT THE CONTAGION OF SELFISHNESS ON THE OUTSIDE! GREED, HATRED. MANDRAKE THE MAGICIAN LL THOSE PEOPLE ARE GOING TO THE 4ING*S’ BIG SHOW. 1*VE A HUNCH BARNEY GOOGLE AND SN TO MOSEY DOWN TO TH’ SETTLEMINT WIF ME, RIDDLES ? THE IMPOSTOR'S SOLDIERS’ WILL BE LOOKING FOR ME TOO! 1°0 BETTER WEAR A DISGUISE. TALK WITH AR’ BLON'S GOING TO ME SICK OF DISGUISE --ME ME IMPOSTOR--ME GOING SHOW MYSELF. | | LOTHAR, AT LOOK AT THIS CROWD,SOCKY. ALL A ABUCK AHEAD! WE'LL MAKE A REAL HAUL-- THEN SCRAM ATLAST. By John Cullen Murphy | RY AND ASSASSINATE +0 SM U MY POOR SORE FOOT ISN'T SAFE ANYWHERE NV THIS HOUSE - aa HERE'S YOUR CHANCE TO RETIRE, CHIPS... UNDEFEATED! OVER MY DEAD BODY !..HEY ! MAYBE T_AIN’T aioe UFFY SMITH By Fred Lasswel. By Paul Robinson SAYS By HAL BOYLE NEW YORK i® — Every man’s life is a long war between the ‘angle of neatness and the devil o/ disorder. In my case the devil has had a hammerlock on the angel as long as 1 can remember, I like it that way. My two great est heroes of the Twentieth Century are the Collyers, elderly brother: who spent a lifetime filling their olc brownstone mansion with fabulous unk, Whenever I speak longingly o! wilding a home, my wife, Frances, Where do you want to build it ‘n the center of the city dump?” She has this attitude Lecause sh ag spent 15 hopeless years tryin o cure me of the incurable habi f collecting trash and holding on o things that perhaps were better hrown away. “You have never learned the art of letting go of things,” she says. “Don’t you know that is a sign o. nsecurity? You save everythin but your fingernail clippings, and wouldn’t be surprised to find yo were storing them away some place.” Well, I’m not that bad. But J have my own pet theory, too, abou people who throw everything awa; —they are afraid of the past. | By Lee Falk and Wilson McCoy know a man who has such a pas sion for neatness that as soon as h unwraps one issue of a magazine he throws the previous issue away read or unread, “I like to feel I start my life afresh every morning,” he boasts proudly. And all I can feel about him is that he must have a terrible ex- istance. The love of old things is a warm- ing and sustaining thing, assuring a man of the silent company of } many inanimate friendships. | Any man’s mind is invariably a | warehouse of the past. His home ought to be that, too. And so should | , his clothing. I am against the new vestless suits because they give a | man four fewer pockets in which | | to store the souvenirs of his daily | life—theater stubs, the cards of a quaintances, broken pencils, spare shoestrings, and unanswered let- | ters. The future home I daydream of will have, first of all, a tremendous | basement and a mighty attic. The basement is for my wife to keep | | as bare and clean as she chooses. | “But the attic is for me to mess | up anyway I want to,” I tell her. | | “It will be locked and there will be” ja sign on the door saying, ‘no ad- | mission—this means you.” | “Tf you do I'll call the fire depart- | ment, and they'll break down the | door with an ax, Rover,” she says “You can’t create a fire hazard even on your own property. That’s the law.” | | Law or not I am going to fix, that attic against the rainy day of retirement. It is going to have 26 |] | big storage trunks in it, each one j initialed with a letter of the alpha- bet. Each trunk will be a treasure | box of the things along the way I have worn, or gathered, or saved—| the little leftover souvenirs of living that helped or hurt. Old magazines will go in the trunk marked “M,” old shoes in, the one labeled old letters in the one that say: ’ and miscel- | laneous objects will be stored un- ae “x.” { “What are you going to put in the ” trunk—apparel or apple cores?” jeers Frances. | “Never mind,” I tell her. “When! I’m old and grey I'll have a won- | derful time pawing through the | Chapter 34 | started in the center t ng her ally some cold corner of his} ain, “Johnny, 1 wrong?” “The B Devereaux hard and| sud- | T cottage The State} was hat he sum- oopers r ywned by mered thi s nean nothing to showed her puz- io _Rest,” Devereaux ‘When you came in ked you s had a-sanctuary re he could to hide.” emotion 1 run out and er the questi n't know.” She looked away. “I wanted him dead, for what he'd done.” “And Buloff. Did you want him ead for what he'd done?” at me and answer the question!” She turned back, but her eyes lowered. “Yes.” “And the others,” Devereaux said slowly, frightened at the di- rection he was inexorably movi in. “Longo, Castle, Latimer, Dit you want them dead for what they'd done?” Devereaux wet his lips, waiting for her reply. He had an impulse to close his ears, pull a switch and stop the machinery of his mind, “I wanted them dead for what they'd done,” she said in the grotesque refrain that had be- come the motive of the interroga- tion. “For what they'd done,” Deve- reaux echoed nonsensically. There were gargoyles in his head doing an idiotic, whirling dance to the refrain I wané 7m dead for what they’d done, “They murdered my father,” he heard her say from some distant dreamlike void. Her voice was different. The young-girl accent was gone. It was a voice with a new, harsh quality. It was the voice of fever. “A man you never knew.” Dev- ereaux sought to regain his bal- ance. She was facing him now, her eyes boring into him steadily, f through some subtle trans- the in- “ow could you feel vengeful, or hate? You never saw your jfather or knew him.” “I did know him,” she said e starkly, “I knew him and loved him.” “you never saw your father or knew him” Devereaux re- peate.. but now unsurely. The ony in her face was a live thing. impossible to simulate. “I knew my father, Johnny,” she sai, and Devereaux listened, tk. “Since my sixteenth birth. day, I knew him as closely as I could Better than I knew anyone else in the world. I visited him, often, posing as a_ niece. We talked, a vast world of talk. About ethics, religion. sports, the dance, science. He was brilliant. Selt-educated, but brilliant. A man of great gifts. A man with love and deep sincerity. In prison, he had read more than two thou- Rabbit Hunters | Nabbed As Spies | BERLIN \® — Three American | | soldiers picked up by the Russians while rabbit hunting were released here after two days in Soviet captivity. They said they were questioned sharply about military matters ‘but otherwise “very well tre - | The trio was nabbed while hunt- ing in a wooded area on the out- | skirts of Berlin Sunday. A German girl, Ingeborg Rickens, who was | arrested with them, also was! turned loose today. | The s rs, all enlisted men} with a transportation truck com- | pany of the Sixth Regiment, are | Cpl. James H. Higgs of Toone, | Tenn., Pvt. Gene W. Adden of | Nokomis, Ill., and Pvt. Clifford D. Michael of Middleport, 0. | The Russians gave back their | shotguns and other personal pos- sessions when they released them before dawn today, | In most places the deeper parts of the ocean are colder than the surface, but in the Arctic, ocean water is warmer far below the sur! | memories in those trunks. What'll you do then?” “Ll just put a rock: chair in the attic,” says Frances, “‘and sit there and watch you, Rover.” | I'm not she’s altogether | the idea, It sounds like a} fine age | OZARK IKE O'WILL BE ALL Sie UP INH FusT 'THE CISCO KID Crossword Pu ACROSS: |. Frightens . Hackneyed . Metric land measure . Allude Solid water 22. Kind of hum- ming-bird . Symbol for samarium . Lift | . pu . Fairy . Annoy bown 30. Out of style 1. Not plentiful NEVER TOOK MUCH STOCK IN FORTUNE BUT BELEVE ME, GYPSY JOE ARE GONS TO MARRY sand books. He wanted to write someday, he sid. He “ca = tb the eyes of the world Parle es “ug! irs. Je letters were magnificent You woShe ad stopped for teers, but e r tears, the tears didn’t come. “His letters were thirty, fifty pages long. One letter that came a month before he was murdered was ninety-six Rifietters’ Beautifully. phrased, letters. auti Tich in thought. And full of not despair, Johnny! Not the nat- ural despair of a mature and wise man shut away because of a sin- e folly of youth, but full of hope. Full of hope for man, faith in his future and the future of the world.” Her face shone with fierce pride. “T took his letters, more than two hundred of them, to a famous editor. I didn’t reveal my father’s identity. I just submitted the let- ters. The editor was impressed with my father, with his work. He wanted to publish them!” Devereaux stared at her heated face numbly, his strength sapped by the intensity of her fire. He had the feeling of having been overpowered; his agreement with the virtue of her motive was a condition of surrender. “What made your father decide to go before the court and tell the truth?” “My unhappiness.” Her eyes - glinted. “My father was a man who could endure He?! for the sake of someone else. Think of his decision to live al! of hie life in je. so that others might have a chance at freedom, a chance at life. Think of the kind of man he had to be!” Devereaux nodded mechanical- ly, compelled. “It was my unhap- piness that changed his mind, but not at once. I pleaded with him for years. I told him I him, and he weighed my need against the needs of the others. In the end it was Phillips that de- cided him. My father began to understand Phillips’ der: and PAG gan worry al it it unt couldn't eat, read, think. father came to know that Phillips could do no less than destroy me.”