New Britain Herald Newspaper, January 26, 1927, Page 14

Quicksands of Love Adele Garrison’ Revelations of a Wife—— Watchers Polse to Spring Upon the Mysterious Mrs. Baker “I got in touch with one of the most capable little sleuths who ever helped me on a case,” Lillian said as she went on with her story of her attempts to prove her theory that Mary was the mysterious masked dancer of the night club. “He work- ed on the thing with me today and tonight with the results that we had these facts fully established: “Every detail of the masked dan- ter's appearance tallies with Mary's. “Jack Leslie brings her to the club | each night in a taxi at an hour which would give her just about time for the journey from this build- | ing It she were masquerading as Mrs. Baker, as I thought The re- turn journey fits in with Baker's time of coming back. “On both these journeys she is muffled from head to heels in along | black velvet cloak with only the! mask and a bit of her curly bob visible." 1 drew a long breath. “No won- der you thought your hunch cor- rect,” I said. “That dosen’t alter the fact that it wasn't,” she returned. a trifle shortly, and I saw that the failure| of her theory would be a thorn in| her side for some time to come. “But I was so sure of it that Ista-| tioned my helper at the club tonight with Instructions to telephone me as | soon a8 the masked dancer made| her appearance. You heard my end of the conversation, so you don't need me to tell you that he estab- lished her arrival there a few min- | utes after midnight. He sald it was| undoubtedly the same girl who had been appearing each night, and I| accordingly rushed upstairs with you. “I don’t mind telling you," she — By Thornton W. Burgess A tantrum’s more than temper lost. Before you have one, count the cost. —OIld Mother Nature Just as soon as Chatterer the Red Squirrel left the stump where he kad found Whitefoot the Wood- mouse living, and from which he had driven Whitefoot, the latter re- turned. The Black Shadows were creeping through the Green Forest and Whitefoot knew that Chatterer would not return that day. He knew that Chatterer does not want to be out after dark. But Whitefoot him- self likes the dark. He feels safer then. He knows that there is noth- ing, not the least, teeniest-weeniest thing, about darkness itself to be afrald of. He knows that in darkness there are fewer eyes to see him. So ‘Whitefoot is always glad when the Black S8hadows come. “It will be just like Chatterer to come back here tomorrow to see if I am here,” sald Whitefoot to himselt as he ate his supper of pine seeds. *“He just loves to make trouble for other people. He couldn’t possibly pass up such a chance as this. No, sir, he couldn’t pass up such a chance as this, As surely as jolly, round, red Mr. Sun will go climbing | up in the blue, blue sky tomorrow morning, Chatterer will come over here some time during the day. He says these seeds are his, Perhaps y. . 8 She Could Never Have Done It With Piles! Bless the American gicl who has She makes a pretty pic wotet,and e a plicky swimmer, (00 Sathislgble for active women You ought to know A any hour of mome: s or_discomiort Eycamid pile turpo yourwayl - The wor B : the soothing suppository appli privacy. Bt beat the parae bvm ons ebery druggiet bas, os e will sell his patrons. Pyra W s noiiee sl bl bous i o P Sixty cents the box, the world around, or fr box to try, if you mail c lorified all PYRAMID DRUG CO. 1800 Pyramid Bid, EHTNGRASHES, away by a few applications of esinol Mrs. | | peared. s New Phase of finished, “that I never was so sur-| | prised in my life as when you found Mary sound sleep in that bed. Ihad | been sure the bed was empty save for some cleverly constructed dummy made out of plilows and | quilts. But it was no dummy whose face you touched and whose voice you heard.” “No, indeed,” T replied, Mary, very much alive.”” | “So that's an end of my hunch,” | she said with an alr of finality. “But I don't mind owning to you that I havé an unholy bump of curiosity concerning Mrs. Baker. I found out | | incidentally that she and Jack Leslie | have been pals for at least a year.” | *“Then,” I said, startled, “she knew him at the time she fainted at Mary's feat in the park, and he cama | | to the rescue. But she gave no indi- cation that she ever had seen him before.” “That faint was a bluff of course,” Lillian returned, “put up in order to give Leslie an opportunity to | meet Mary. I tell you, Madge, that ladys needs watching.” fhe telephone punctuated her de- | | etsive ittle sentence, and she went swiftly toward it. | “My little sleuth!” she sald. | told him to telephone me when Les- lie took the dancer away from the club.” That her guess was correct T gleaned from the short, crisp ques- | tlons she put as to the time of leay- ing. Then she hung up the receiver | and looked at her watch. | “They left five minutes ago,” she | sald. “A tax! under ordinary cir- cumstances would take—yes—that would figure out just about the time Mrs. Baker rolls 1in each night. | | Would you mind staying up and ac- cldentally meeting her in the hall?” Copyright, 1927, by Newspaper Feature Service, Inc, “It was | He hadn’t been there long when he saw Chatterer the Red Squirrel they were once, but they are mine now. He doesn't want them; he| won't use them; I do want them and I will use them. He's going to have a surprise party when he gets over here.” Now Whitefot hadn't wasted his time since he had come into the old stump to live. No, indeed, he | badn’t wasted his time. He knew all | about that old stump and everything around it. He knew that a certain root of that old stump was hollow for nearly its whole length. He knew that the entrance to that hol- low root was so small that it was a tight squeeze for him to get | through and was altogether to small for Chatterer to get through. | Also, that the entrance was well hid- den. Now there isn't a lazy bone in Whitefoot the Woodmouse when | there 13 any reason for him to keep | with all his might, carrying those | seeds down into that hollow and storing them away. Once in a while he would stop and rest for a minute or two. Then he would go to work | again. But the time jolly round Mr. Sun started his daily climb up in the blue, blue sky, there wasn't a pine seed left in the old storeroom in that stump. No, sir, not one seed was left. They were all stored away in that hollow root. Whitefoot was | | vears she has been dreaming of go- NEW BR +#HOLLYWOQD GIRL READ THIS FIRST: Bobble Ransom, a demure little smool teacher, s anything but the sort of girl you would expect to be “movie mad.” However, she is. For ing to Hollywood to “break into” pictures. The only drawback to her ambi- tion ig that, owing to her extrav- agance, she has not money to finance such an adventure, al- though she makes plenty of money it has a way of slipping through her fingers. Tinally, one summer just before school opens, she makes up her mind that somehow or ‘other she must go to Hollywooll. She asks her father to lend her the money. But both he and his old-maid ais- ter, who is Bobbie's Aunt Gertrude, tell her they'd never think of let- ting her go to such a place. Their idea of a perfectly dreadful thing for a woman to be is a movie ac- tress, Then Bobble asks Andrew Jer- rold, who's in love with her, for the loan of the money. But Andy refuses to give her money that will | carry her out of his life, He wants her to settle down and marry him. On a Sunday morning Aunt Ger- trude comes home from church with the news that a certain Mrs. Burrage has been ordered to California for the winter, by her doctors, and that she needs a governess for her little daughter, Jean. She adds that Mrs. Burrage has spoken about asking | Bobbie to take the position, and later Bobbie goes to see Mrs. Bur- rage who asks her to do it. Bobbie, when she hears that Mrs. Burrage is going to Hollywood, is delighted | and accepts. Just the thought that she can perhaps visit the studlos and | be an “extra” thrills her. | Andy Jerrold is blue abow it when she breaks the news to him, and she tells him she hopes that as soon as she is gone, he will find | some other girl and fall in love with her. She means it, too, Her feeling for Andy is one of warm friendship and nothing more, NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER V By the end of that first week the Ransom family was used to the | idea of Bobble's golng away. Mr. Ransom stopped talking against it atter little Mrs. Burrage dropped in at the Locust street house one evening. She was such a nice gentle woman, and she looked 8o pathetic when she talked about her little daughter, Jean, that he began to feel that Bobbie would be safe and happy with her. He was the kind of old-fashioned man who thought well of the “cling- ing vine” type of women, and there was no doubt that Mrs. Burrage knew just how to cling. She spoke of “my husband” as if he were a king among men, and she shud- dered a little when she spoke of going away from home so long. Tears came into her soft eyes, too. “As long as you feel that you'll be happier away from home, Bob- ble,” he sald to his wilful daughter, when Mrs, Burrage was gone, “you couldn’t be In better hands than in_Mrs. Burrage's, I feel sure.” Bobble smiled to herself. A bad little secret smile, She didn't in- tend to be in anyone's hands out in Hollywood. She had things all planned for herself. On the days when she was not taking care of little Jean, she was | going to make her rounds of the studios, offering hersclf as an ex- | Bobble |thing to say to me, ITAIN DAILY HERALD ’ WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 26, 1927. Beatrice by Burtor. < -author of *LOVE BOUND®| “HER MAN*® *HONEY LOU"eTc | SHE COULD SCARCELY BELIEVE HER EARS 4 put his arms around her. ou've got to stay her He did not try to kiss her. He just looked down at her, and if had ever concerning his feelings for her, they were gone from that moment on. “Andy, I'm sorry,” she answered. She was. She saw what she meant to him, and what her golng away meant to him—and she felt warm tears pity flooding up to her throat and her eyes. She pushed him away. “I've got to go, Apdy,” she sald | in & matter-of-fact voice. “I'd never be happy again if I didn't take this chance to go out to Hol# - wood. Maybe I'm no good for pic- tures, Maybe I'll never even the chance to see the Inside of a movie studlo—but I've got to find | out for myself.” In his arms, she smiled up at him |and an imp of mischief danced into | her brown eyes. “You know, Andy, they used to | say that ‘men must work and wom- | she sald with a | en must wait,” funny little laugh that caught in her throat like a sob, “but times have changed. Now it's the men who have to do the waiting!” Andy let her go. “That's a fine fsn't 12" he asked. “Just because I haven't got the right to stop you from going. Because I stay here, where it's good enough for anybody, and sell cars for a living. You make me teel like 30 cent tra girl, or hurrying from one cast- ing office to another looking for | work. “And by the end of the winter, when Mrs. Burrage s ready to go | home and won't need me any more,” | she decided, “I'll stay on in Holly- | wood.” i Even Aunt Gertrude began to see | the bright side of things. She had | happened to pick up a magazine | article that told of the home-life of | the screen stars, and it began to | dawn on her that perhaps Holly- wood was no worsd than other citles of the world, after all. | “But I hope, all the same, that you won't go ahead with that silly notlon of yours to get into the movies,” she told Bobble one after- noon, as the two of them sat mak- busy. He promptly ‘went to work | ing violet sachet h'\gs for Bobbie's | Bobbie trunk, “I hope you've put that wild idea out of your head, once and for all.” Bobble set her soft lips and sald nothing. But even while her aunt was epeaking, visions of Holly- wood and all that it meant to her, danced through her head. Klieg lights blazing In the center of a great shadowy plcture studio. Grease paint. Famous faces cov- ered with pinkish-yellow grease tired, but he was very happy also. He washed his face and hands, for Whitefoot is very neat. You know, his hands are white and he has to wash them often to keep them clean. | Then he left the old stump and | skipped across the snow to a little round hole which led down through | the snow to a certain hollow log buried under the snow. Down this he disappeared. He was going to take a nap. After he had had & good nap, | Whitefoot climbed out and sat le- | neath a snow-covered hemlock | branch where he couldn’t be seen, but where he could peep out and watch that old stump. He hadn't been there long when he saw Chat- terer the Red Squirrel. Strange to say, Chatterer making no noise. Chatterer was planning to take him by surprise if he should be in that | old stump. He watched Chatterer pop in. | In just ahout one-half a minute Chatterer was making noise enough to make up for all his silence. My my, , my, how his tongue wa flying! He knew what it meant. He | knew that Chatterer had discovered | that all those pine seeds had disap- In a moment Chatterer ap- peared on the top of the old stump. 80 angry that he falrly up and down. He jerked | his tail until Whitefoot's own tail {ached in sympathy; and all the time his tongue was flying, as he called Whitefoot a thief and all the bad things he could think of. Chat- terer was having a tantrum and it wasn't getting him anything. (Copyright, 1927, by T. W. Burgess) The | next story: Tongue Is Stilled," “Chatterer’s | stead of a grown | school teacher, at that! | paint. Beaded eyelashes and white- | hennaed hair. A wide white sunny | i street known to the world as Holly- | wood boulevard. Blue skies, palm trees. Freedom! The nine-letter word stood for all these things in Bobbie's excited | brain, Hollywood! At the very thought of it, she became breath- less with excitement. It was her tirst thought in the morning when she wakened —.and her last one when she closed her eyes at night. She was like a five-year-old child looking forward to Christmas in- womun, and a Andy Jerrold alone remained de- | pressed and stunned by the news that his girl was going away from | him for six or seven months, Per- | haps for always. On the last Sunday night in Au- gust he came over to the Locust street house at supper time, He came not fn one of his sec- ond-hand cars, but In his own old blue roadster—a car that he sald got better the older it became. It stopped in front of the house with a snort and a jerk, and Andy jumped out and came rushir ) the front stairs as If ha had a train to catch in about ten seconds Bobhie him from the win dow of her hedroom, where she had | just finished dressing. She ran down the stairs and opened the screen door for him. | He stepped fnto the hall. “Hello, Bob,” he sald, careless. | ly. He was smiling his crooked boyish young smile as he said it. But all at once it vanished, and a | look of haggard misery came into | it. “Xou can't go away,” | er “I'm sorry,’ Then suddenly she sat down on | the bottom step of the stairs. “Let me ask you something, Andy Jerrold,” she said solemnly, “Sup- pose I dld stay here and marry you the way you want me to—what kind of a life would I have, any- way? What's your idea of a wife?"” Andy looked down at her from his six feet of helght, measuring his wort “Well,” he sald slowly and de- ! berately, “I suppose my ldea of & wife is llke any other man's 1dea of one. A woman who'd make a home for me, and have my chil- dren. She'd have her friends and her clubs and her card partles, and—"" d just die IHving interrupted in clear voice. It was a caressing voice but the words cut. “I'd rath- be dead than live like that! Stuffy isn't the word for it!" She jumped up, and her wide white organdle skirts around her like blown clou The fresh fragrance of violets came from her—the fragrance that always went to Andy's head just like that! as Bobble's beauty always went to | his head. “Living like that is the best and finest thing in the world {f two people care for each other,” he sald stubbornly, and even though his senses swam he kept his voice steady. “Mayhe you don't!” Bobbie declared. “Only one thing matters to me, and that's my ambition! Why, 1 girls in the world who can’t think of anything to do but let some man | support 'em! Who never think of anything but getting married and settling down from the time they go to kindercarten until they march down the aisle with a veil floating from their hobs! No, sir-ee! I'm not that kind of a baby!! “I wish you were,” was all An- drew id, and he said that very q ¥ “I'm see you again before you go. Tut he: broke that promise very next day He stopped first th SN oyish the in at the house the in the morni er trunk tags that 1sked him for, in the afternoon he came with a little dressing tortoise shell brushes nd boxes inside of it My mother sent it to you,” he told Bobbie, who knew t Andy himself had bought it most likel At nine that night he came again, Late again with with case and | the very plcture of misery. “Let's go for a ride. T want to talk to you." he begged her. she shook her head. No, 1t'll just make you and me unhappy 1f I go, Andy, dear,” she said sensibly. had any doubts | of | get | Bobble sald again. | her sweet | think s0 — but I| fust wouldn't ! give you 10 cents for all the stodgy | bungalow apron. golng now—I won't | But | “You just can't see | he sal!, | things my way, and I can't see any- | the ideas thing but Hollywood. So there's no use in our quarreling and argu- | | ing any more. After he was gone, she began to feel very lonely and blue although both Mr. Ransom and Aunt Ger- trude were at home, and the radio | | was going. On Tuesday Bobbie's trunks were | all packed—both of them. All of ' her clothes were in them except | the things she would need on the trip and a green afternoon dress. She was going to wear the green dress the next day, when Aunt Gertrude was having a tea for her. A tea when all the ladies of the church and all the teachers from T.ocust street school—all who were back from their summer holiday— couid come to bid her farewell. “I begin to feel very trembly and funny about going, now that the | time is coming to an end,” she said |to Aunt Gertrude, on Tuesday morning. They were together in her room, putting some finishing touches to | the luggage. “Well, it's too late to change | your mind now,” Aunt Gertrudc | answered briskly. She had been ' making her plans for her secretar- | ial course and she didn't want any- thing to upset them now. “You've got to go now whether you want to or not.” “I do want to go but—isn’t that | the telephone ringing?” Bobble [ looked up from ono of her trunks. | They listened. Yes, it was the phone, It rang again, and - Aunt Gertrude went heavily down the stairs to answer it. It was fully five minutes before she came back, and her face wore a queer expression. “Well, of all things!” He volce | was a thin thread of sound. “Well, of all queer things—just when we were talking about it, too! Mrs. | Burrage fsn't going to Hollywood | after all!” Bobble blinked up at her without a word. She wondered if she had really heard what she thought she had heard Aunt Gertrude say. Mrs, Burrage not going to Holly- | wood! She couldn't believe her ears! CHAPTER VI “She's not going to Hollywood!"” Bobbie gasped again. Her eyes were almost blank. | Her llips parted with astonishment. “But, of course, she is! You must have misunderstood her, Aunt Gertrude!” she went on im- patiently after a minute. “Why, I was just talking to her this morn- |ing about having my trunks | checked on her tickets! She | couldn't have changed her mind! | | And besides her doctor says she's GOT to go—"" “All right, way!" snapped “but I know the telephone She say to Hol | place where, | the 1tne.” | “Bobble scgambled floor and began have it your own Aunt Gertrude, what she said over | just a second ago. | she's decided not to go wood, but to some other I couldn't understand There was a buzzing on up from the to unbutton her | “You must have heard the whole thing wrong, Aunt!" she said, tak- ing her navy serge dress out of | the closet. “No matter where she's going, she'd still t me to go with her to look ter Jean, wouldn't she. T think I'll run over | to her house and find out what's what.” | Mrs. Burrage's Fitzgerald street, blocks away. In the long living room that ran across the front of it, Mrs. Burrage was lying on a flowered chintz sofa with pillows behind her head ind a new novel in her slender house only was a on fow he looked very helpless and she e Bobbie a faint helpless little she came in. you must think terrible—to change my mind like * she said, “but when Mr. Bur- pointed out to me that T could go to southern Fran go into a wonderful sanitarium there that cures people by sunlight—and put | Jean into a French convent, I just made up my mind that's where I'd go. It won't cost a cent mors than Hollywood, and it will be so won- derful to have Jean hear her | French from the French people!™ She seemed quite thrilled with 'm ! going too!” | ing thad ' sutomobile honked her horn loudly. | and who knows how to dress, “And then, of course, I've never been to Europe myseli—and 8o it's to be wonderful for me, she went on, and spots of real color came into her cheeKs under the mauve-rose rouge that she wore. “I'm sorry about you, Miss Ran- som,” she added sweetly. She was as sweet as a peach about the whole thing, but that didn't help Bobbie a bit. 1 hope you haven't spent a lot of money getting ready | to go. I hate to tell you I won't| need you after all, but you can see for yourself that T won't."” And therg she left it. Bobble wondered if she realized how carelessly cruel she was. She had left Bobbie high and dry, with- out a job in sight, at a moment’s notice. And she hadn’'t even offered to pay her a week’s salary. “Goodby, Miss Ransom,’ 'she sald lightly, “I know you can get your old position at Locust school back, so I'm not worrying about you.” Her old job back! That was not very likely, with the first day of school only a week away! Bobble was sure that some other teacher had been given her old position by this time. She was very blue and bitter as she started away from Mrs. Bur- rage's house. She began to figure up what it had cost her to get ready to go to Hollywood — Sixty dollars for a new wardrobe’ trunk. Twelve dol- larg for a plain black tin one from the Army and Navy store. About fifty for the new underthings she needed. In short, most of the money she had in the bank had gone In getting ready to go away with Mrs. Burrage. “And now I'm not going,” she said to herself, kicking at the side- walks as she went along under the blazing sun. Then, all of a sudden, another thought struck her. All those peo- ple coming to the house tomorrow to Aunt Gertrude's farewell tea! How dreadfully foolish she would feel, telling them all that she wasn't golng away, after all! She could imagine them coming. one by one, each with a little going- away gift for her, She could see herself telling them, with oolish apologetic smile, that they heedn’t say goodby to her after all! She blushed painfully at the thought, and then went on think- even more unpleasant ones. How she would probably have to do substitute teaching for the next few months, until she could get a regular school once more—and substituting was such a thankless job! Children were always just as Lad as they could be when their own teacher was away and a “sub” was over them. Bobble knew all about that. She “subbed” for six months right after her graduation from normal school. She still looked back upon those six months with horror — traipsing all over town from one school to another, whcre\el‘ a sub- stitute was needed. As she went along the hot side- walks, thinking these dark thoughts, a woman in a passing At first she paid no attention to ft. She was so wrapped up in; her own gloom that the outer world was like a dream. But when the car turned in the street and drove right up alongside of her, she jerked back into reality in an instant. “Hello!"” she sald, stammering & little in her surprise, and she went over to the bright and shin- ing little car and held out her hand to the woman in it. She was a plump bright-cheeked little woman in the most becoming mourning you ever saw in all your life—thin black voile with delicate white chiffon collar and cuffs, and a darling little black hat lined with more of the white chiffon Around her plump white neck was a neat little row of pearls, and on her hands were more pearls set in platinum, On the seat beside half dozen parcels. Square boxes of the kind that plea and rolls come in. A long package with yel- low-green cclery tops fluttering from one end. Aunother package with roses spraying from it. A smaller one that looked as if it might contain cottage cheese or thousand-island dressing. "I've been to market,” sald the woman in the kind of voice that matched her eyes—a bright tender voice that was very friendly. She was the woman whom Aunt Gertrude feared was going to be Bobble's step-mother - some day — the Widow Parkins, with whom Mr. Ransom was having a middle- aged, but exciting love affair, You could see at one glance that the Widow Parkins was cxactly the kind of woman that any man would be glad to have for a wife—any man over forty, that {s. She was the kind of wom- how to amuse, how to cook, and above all, how to make a man comfort- able. Not only that, but she had a nice fat little income of her own. “My goodness, you look as if you'd lost your last friend, Bob- ble,” she sald with her chirping voice, making room for the girl on the seat of the little car. “Jump in and "Il drive you home.” “I've done worse than lose my best friend,” Bobbie told her as they started off down the street. ‘I've lost my chance to go to Hollywood.” And then, before she knew it, she had told, Mrs, Parkins the whole story. She was the sort of woman it was easy to tell troubles to—sympathetic and understand- ing. Her dark eyes softened and clouded as she listened to Bob- bie'’s tale of woe. “I see,” she sald at the end of it. “L sce. The thing you're really upset about {s not getting to Hollywood, isn't it? You weren't really happy about the work you were going to do with Jean Bur- rage — but about your chance to get into the movies out there. Isn't that 1t?" Bobbie nodded, laughed. “It seems 80 funny for you to be s0 scrious about such a thing, Bobbie,” she saild. “You seem so sensible. I can't imagine ycur being & movie quesn — I can’t even imagine your wanting to go into the movies. You're not the type.” Bobbie tossed her yellow head. “Half the people we know would glve their right hands to break into the movies—only they're ashamed her were & and the widow think of any work cause I'm wood!"” o Her voice ended in a wail, not going to Holly- that sprang to her eyes. see them. 8he knew they were there, without looking at Bobble. And she lifted one of her hands trom the wheel and laild it com- fortingly over Bobbie's hand. “Now, look here.” she said, - “NOW, IOOK HERE, you want to go, why can’t you do this?" And Bobbhle ly, as she unfolded a scheme. . s e That night after supper Hobbie went into the llving room where her father was smoking and read- ing his paper. He laid the paper down when she came into the lamplit room. “So you're not going with Mrs. Burrage after all,” he remarked drily, flicking some gray ash from the knee of his trouser. “Well, I must say I'm glad to hear ft. There's only one place for young women, and that place is at home. They shouldn’t be fiiiting around the world. It's no place for them.” “Is that 802" “However, you may be interested to know that I AM going to Holly- wood, after all. I'm going all by myself.” The silence in the room was llke the stillness before & deafening clap of thunder. “What for?” Mr. Ransom asked. in a terrible voice. Bobble raised her straight black startlingly lovely under her gold-colored hair. “Haven't I told you about & thousand times that I'm going to get into the movies, if I have to move heaven and earth to do {t?" she asked patiently. “And that's why get into the movies.” Mr. Ransom chewed viclously on his clgar, He spat out some of for a girl to do—acting is art and | beauty and — Oh, I'm just sick be- | just wonderfully! she turned her head away 80 that the bright-eyed little woman beside | said at that moment. her could not see the sudden tears | g | listened breathless- | asked Bobbie. | eyebrows—the eyebrows that were | s0 I'm going to Holly‘wood——lni that's 8o fine | the tobacco. reglstering anger 1" Bobbie giggled suddenly as she watched him do it. “You wouldr’t be so bad in pie “Dad, you're and | tures, yourself!” It was the wrong thing to have For if there was one thing that Mr. Ransom |could not ' stand, it was to be But the widow did not have to!lt\uzhed at. His fury broke over her like a | cloud-burst. “Never mind what I'm register- | ing, young lady!” he roared at her. She had never heard so0 much sound coming from her usually YOU'RE NOT GOING!” HE DECLARED mild parent. “We're talking about YOU, not me! And I say you're NOT going to Hollywood. So that's the end of it. Do you hear me?"” She just went on looking at him with a faint little smile turning up the ends of her mouth and twinkling far back in her eyes, “You seem to forget that I'm twenty-two years old, and a per- fectly free agent,” she sald calmly to him. *So don’t raise your voice and tell me what I'm going to do —and what I'm not going to do! , Because I'm going to do what I ant to do from now on. For years I've done what you and Aunt Ger- trude have wanted me to do—and I'm through now, I think I've grown up at last.” There was another silence. Then Mr. Ransom asked: “Where did you get the money? From Andy Jerrold ?” Bobbie shook her she did not answer. “I'll tell you where she got it!" Aunt Gertrude's volce came from the doorway that led to the hall. “She got it from the lady you're going to put in poor Elsie’s place! That's where she got {t!" “Poor Elsie,” was the way in which Aunt Gertrude always spoke of Bobble's dead mother. (To Be Continued) the next installment of this story Dobble scts out for her great adventure. She joins the great ever-moving army of girls who pour into—and out of—Holly- wood every year, head. But In Your Health How to Keep It— Causes of Iliness BY DR. MORRIS FISHBEIN Editor Journal of the American Medical Association and of Hy- geia, the Health Magazine The washing of clothes in house, or kitchenet inevitably creates sanitary problems of importance. A kitchen is a place for preparation of food. of any sanitary questions, it is distasteful to think of the wash- ing of solled clothes in a kitchen when steam from the tubs, the boilers and the chemicals used mingles with the foods be prepared. Avolding Tnfection the The rles little danger of the laundry worker, but freshly eolled handkerchiefs, or under- clothing should be boiled sepa- rately before being put with the rest of the clothes. Most germs are readily killed by exposure to heat or sunlight. Moreover, soap, washing soda, borax and ammonia have the power of killing germs in various strengths. In the case of persons with seri- ous contakious diseascs, the soiled clothes should be kept separately | and all linen thoroughly bolled before being allowed to come im contact with clothing worn by others. Public Laundries The development of kitchenet and about the development of commer- clal laundries which undertake the washing of all of the clothing as well as of stiff shirts, collars and special materials to which they were for- merly limited. In the modern commercial laun- dry the clothing for each family is sorted and Kept separately 80 of another. The davelopment laundry machinery practically size, of has led, to say s0l” she declared. "I can't a | crowded home, a modern apartment | Regardless | that may | ordinary family wash car- | infection to | apartment houses hae also brought | that there Is little danger of con- tamination of the laundry of one family by the materials from that modern in all communities of any to the gradual disappearance of the home laundress and has been a distinct ald to hyglene and |sanltavion in the home. Menus for the Family (By Sister Mary) ; Breakfast—California. grapes or bottled grape juice, whole twheat cooked cereal, thin cream, egg and tomato toast, crisp rye toast, milk, coffee. Luncheon — Bisque of salmon croutons, spinnach loaf with pickled beets, spice cake, milk, tea. Dinner—Roast beef with York- shire pudding, browned potatoes, brussels sprouts * in Hollandaize sauce, canned pear and cream cheese salad, banana sponge, graham rolls, | milk, coffee. It brussels sprouts are not procur- | able boiled diced turnips scrved in a cream sauce made piquant with | lemon juice will provide'an appetiz- |Ing and attractive substitute. A ju- diclous change in vegetables often makes it possible to practice econ- omy without ‘“unbalancing” the | menu. Bisque of Salmon One large can of salmon, 2 table- spoons butter, 2 tablespoons flour, 1 tablespoon minced parsley, 1 tea- spoon salt, 1-8 teaspoon pepper, 1-2 il(‘usp(mn paprika, 1 cup milk, 1 cup | cream, 1 tablespoon lemon juice. Remove skin and bones from salmon and foroe through a coarse | colander. Add 1 cup cold water and | lemon julce and let stand while pre- }parlng bisque. Melt butter without | bubbling. Stir in flour, salt, parsley, pepper and paprika and when per- fectly blended add milk and cream, | Bring to the bolling point stirring constantly. Add prepared fish, with- out draining, and brings again to the boiling point. If too thick add hot water to make the right creaminess | and if too thin stir in some fine sifted | cracker or bread crumbs. Serve in puree cups. If all milk is used in making, a spoonful of \\'hipped cream may top each cup Qulckulleflrumpunful comns, tender toes and pressure of tight shoes. J; DrScholl’s Zino-p -AA-'h‘:c ory . everywhers 5