New Britain Herald Newspaper, July 21, 1927, Page 8

Love’s Embers Adele Garrison’s Absorbing Sequel to “Revelations of a Wife” Beginning a New Seri * Mdadge and Lillian Draw Closer To- | at last most reluctantly had placed | the prop and main: gother Through Bitter Memories It took all my courage to put the query to Lillian about her ten- dency %o wrap her young daughter in cotton-wool, and I quaked in- wardly as I waited for her answer. Yet it was a query which I knew I “should have put to her long before. For Lilllan, sanest and wisest of women in her conduct of her own life and her relations to all those coming in contact with her, was imitating the ostrich in regard to her young daughter, and with her | head buried in the sands of love | and fear for Marion, was refusing to see that the lovely child was fast growing into womanhood. No mother in the world could have given her daughter wiser or more loving training than she had . given Marion during the happy childhood following the enforce separation of Lillian from her bat “because of the villainous treachery of Marlon's father. From the mo- | Marion in a splendidly conducted school whose standards of admi sion were not based upon the purscs of the parents but upon their home standards. T Loped much for Marion from this experience, but Lillian's | objection to having Marion in the ame house with Mary, even though she herselt were present, had brought forth from me the protest, | the effect of which upon Lillian I now tremulo v watched. | Characteristicaily she said |ing at first, simply looked at with calm, considering eyes. noth- But 1 mouth etch themselves deeper, and a pulse throb more quickly in her throat, sure signs that she was | decply moved. | “Do you know what a dear you she sald at last. “I | know it cost you something to say that to m And it isn't as much a | Jolt as you think. T've been gradu- ally coming to that same viewpoint, | only T wasn't honest enough to face are, Madge?"” ment that the death of Tom orton | gave her child back to her, Lillian had lived only for her daughter. But though she had lavished on he everything for which a child could wish, she also had given her a cis ciplined, regular life, and the result ‘was as winsome and wholesome a child as any mother's heart could desire. But she was still a child, when all the other girls of her age were distinctly growing up. Marion had had few playmates, and had desired none, for her mother never was too “'busy to share all her childish j and sorrows, and when she was compelled to leave the cit upon some of her numerous commissions, she either took the child with her, »or left her at our house, where she was petted, indulged and happy, but where she found no companions of her own age. Lillian did not send her to school, %eeping her in the charge of the .'best tutors obtainable. Marion's ‘ quick mind, so like her mother's, expanded under this regime, but she learned nothing of other girls, nothing to prepare her for the ardu- . ous job of living outside the shelter ot her home. It had seemed to me, watching, yet mot daring to speak, that Lil- : llan never would send the girl to + school. But the Autumn before, she ‘The feast in the old pasture By Thornton W. Burgess Tet caution every movement grace, And of your presence leave no trace. —Old Man Coyote ‘When Old Man Coyote had caught that plump hen in Farmer Brown's dooryard, he had done it so quickly and quietly that the other hens had known nothing about it. You see that plump hen had been off by herself. So after leaving her hidden in the grass, Old Man Coyote ran back swittly but Just as cautiously as be- fore. This time he did not find a plump hen quite so handy. He had to erss the dooryard in order toget one. He didn’t hesitate. Like a gray flash he shot out into the midst of those surprised hens and seized one of ythem by the neck. Then while the iothers ran inall directions, making !a terrible racket Old Man Coyote ' dodged around the corner of the barn and once more headed for the Old Pasture. This time he kept straight on going. When he reached the Old Pas- .ture he headed straight for his old home—the one he had to give up ‘when Mrs. Coyote had chosen anoth- er home. Straight into his old home he went and there he left the plimp hen. Then, turning back he made | straight for the plump hen he had hidden in the grass—the first one he had caught. She was there just where he had left her. Picking her up he carried her up to his old home and put her with the other one. Then, grinning in a very pleased way, he trotted up to the hidden new home, of which Mrs. Coyote was so proud for him the You should have seen the look of disappointment on her face when she saw Old Man Coyote trotting up without that promised dinner. I thought,” she said, “you were going to bring a dinner that would be even better than a young Chuck dinner.” 014 Man Coyote grinned until his | tongue hung out of his mouth. “What kind of a dinner would be a better dinner than a young Chuck dinner?” ased he, Mrs. Coyote confessed that she dldn’t know. “But you promised me one,” she s “And I always keep my promise sald Old Man Coyote. and you shail have the best dinner you have had for long time.” “Why didn’t you bring it demanded Mrs. Coyote. “Because,” replied O11 Man Coy- ote, “it would be much wiscr to eat it somewhere else. Now, colne my dear.” Mrs. Covote went. She foll 01d Man Coyote down along the ol cowpaths untill came to old home. H: ppeared inside and in a moment out poped his head with a plump hen in his mouth “Oh!" cried Mrs. Coyots 011 Man Coyote said notling, hut coming out, laid the plump he yote feet. “This, my he said. “But aren’t you going fo share it with me?” Mrs. Coyofe asked. Itight down in her heart she hoped he wasn't. “No.” he replied, “you see +one too.” With this h the second plump hen. It wos = { feast O10 Man Coy ote and ) Coyote had on step therc. When they were throel feathers. were scattered all about Old Man Covote licked his chops. “Now, my dear, sald he, “you wes why I didn't bring this feast to here? his dear brought out door ‘ome with me | She locked her hands about her knees and'lifted a suddenly ravaged face to mine, “I know—I'm—not quite—sane— ahout Marion,” she said. “You who | were with me in those awful days hefore she was given back to me, | know why better than anyone else.” | T put out my hand and laid it | firmly, caressingly upon her locked fingers, while the camera of my mind flashed back to the day when I first had been given a glimpse of Lillian Underwood's soul. I could see again her wonderful brown-toned library, and the secrct wall safe from which she took the minfature of her baby daughter. With it in my hands, she had told me the story of her separation from her baby, a separation made neces- cary becanse of the flendish scheme of her hushand to make her choose | between giving up her child and blasting Dicky's career by a scan- dal in which she in all innocence and through her compassion had | involved him. It was a story which |7 had needed to know at that time, {and T was glad to remember that ever slace its anguished relation, nothing had ever come hetween my | best-loved friend, Lillian Underwood and me. Copyright, 1927, Feature Service, Newspaper Inc. “Why didn’t you bring it here?” demanded Mrs, Coyote, our home. Nobody knows where that home is but you and me. However, if there were a lot of feathers around it, it wouldn't be a secret any time at all. I wonder if Bowser the Hound has reached home yet, Mrs. Coyote sighed happily. are wonderful, my dear,” said shc “Little Miss Curi- by T. W. The next sto: osity Is Discove | (Copright 1927, Burgess) FLAPPER FANNY SAY ~—td REG U S PAT OFF. ©1927 BY NEA SE Nobody likes to shake hands 1 crab, vith 1 Aching Feet Quickly Soothed If you feet try Nathol quart. | softens corns [bunions. Banishes hody odors, W | derful for those who have to stand or walk a great deal. Get Sylpho- I Nathol at all dealers, fer from hurni batiing them in vou hi one 1 1 to Tnst me | saw the tiny little lines around her | rigidly | “You | NEW BRITAIN DAILY HERALD, THURSDAY, JULY 21, 1927. Sallys Shoulders /& by BEATRICE BURTON, Author READ THIS FIRST: Sally Jerome, pretty and clever, is ay of her fam- ily in the absence of her father, who has not liv for nine years. The family consists | of Mrs. Jerome, the twins, Beau, | the apple of his mother's eye Millie, a young siren, and Sally self. Mrs, Jereme enjoys poor hes so0 Sally ings and office work for Mr. vey downtown afternoons. In the flat below the Jeromes lives young Ted Sloan, an auto salesman, who wants Sally te marry him and keep on working. But the | only man in whom she is interested is John Nye, whose offices are cross the hall from Mr. Peeve ve hires the flirtatious Millie to work for him as his secretary, but leaves town unexpectedly the d she starts. Millie promises to wait until he returns, and adds that she needs a little res Pee- | this period, but horrows from & So does Beau who works In a for a small salary. Finally Sall “flat broke,” goes to her Aunt Em- ily Jerome for some money, but Aunt Emily to go into the tea house business and needs all has. Then Beau suddenly blossoms out with so many new things that Sally hegins to suspicion him, especially he has never been too honest. cd Sloan says he gave him a check for $10, but more than that, although he refused by his girl, Mabel Wilmot. Nyc returns and - Millle work for him. When she I¢ his father owns the huilding she begins to play | him, and he seems to fall in love with her. On a Saturday afternoon Millie leaves her mother, desperate- | 1y sick in the flat, and goes out to | meet him. Sally comes home and calls a doctor. | (NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY) o oa e CHAPTER XV Aunt Emil; came popping into the flat that night between § and starts rns that aylor ‘I just had a fecling that some- thing was wrong here,” she said to Sally when she heard about Mrs. Jerome's attack. Aunt Emily had a most uncanny way of suspecting when things were not going smoothly with the Je- from afar—the way some people can tell when a storm is coming. you weren't 5o lazy, and didn’t make such a pig of yourself at meals,” she snapped at her sister-in-law when she went in to see her. Mra Jerome only groaned { no match for Aunt Emily, and she | had sense enough to know it, e et moan and all but ask me to get nod of her head. “But I'm not go- ing until T've sald my say—and I tell you that one of these attacks some less vou stop over-cating the you do!” Mrs. Jerome rolled over in hed and turned up hesecching eves to Sally. she asked, helplessly. get her out and make her T'm too sick to listen to he “You hate to hear that's all that ails .you!" Emily’s parting shot. way 't you ay out? truth — was Aunt same thing that Aunt Emily had said. of acute indigestion—at least, that's Low it looks to me he told the anxious Sally. “I've been telling her for years that she eats too much and doesn't move around enough.” Mrs. Jerome gazed at him silently. | There was intense fury in her face and she did not say “Good-night” to him when he left. She hated to be told that she ate too much, the doctor told Sally |out, bag and hat in working, aren’t you?" Sully shook her head as she look- ed at him. Her blue ey wer clouded with the heat, her face white under the soft damp rings of her hair, Ind e, T only town. I'm just around Trest of the time.” He said nothing. But he went away with a vision of her tired face with lines of strain around the love- ly mouth, and of the small work- roughened hand that had held out on hand, his way iid. ay down home a4 I'm not,” she work a half- 1 with her mother | does the housework morn- | She takes no salary from Nye for | ly knows Beau had | to pay for a party given at the flat | up to | romes. She had a nose for misfort- | une, and she could scent bad luck | “You wouldn't he sick like this if | and | turned her face to the wall. She was | you can groan and | out!” went on Aunt Emily, with a | ou're going to dic in | un- | “Must I listen to all this?" | But later, when smart young Dr. | Amblerside came, he said much the | ¢ “She has enother of her attacks | “You don’t look so well yourself," | “Over- | “You | the | his five-dollar fee to him. He gucssed more about her than | she knew. P ‘ Once in his life, at least, every | man makes a fool of himself over |a woman. And that was exactly what John e was doing over little Millie Jerome. Sally knew it the minute she saw them enter the flat together that | Saturday night. She had been nodding over her mending basket and had not heard them come up the stairs and unlock the door. But suddenly they were in the room with her—Millie radiant in the lamp-light and John Nye, arkly handsome, looking at her as it she were the only thing in the world for him. Her heart scemed to glve a great throb in her breast and then stand still, as she caught that glance. But she gave no outward sign of what , it T'd known you were bringing Mr. Nye up I'd have | | changed my dress, Millie,” she said, | | looking at them both with her nat- ural sweetness of expression. “Won't you—would you like some lemon- ade? T'll make some.” She started up from her chair. Her whole impulse was to escape— to get away, in her old cap and | apron, to the kitchen where, she told herself fiercely, she belonged. . . . Millie, In airy white, with her | soft 1it*lc snowflake of a hand on | John Nye's coatsleeve, made her | feel like Cinderella, all at once. The familiar kitchen seemed to welcome her—to twinkle at her comfortingly—when she went out to crack fce and squecze lemons into the old glass pitcher. “You look a perfect sight” she told her reflection in the mirror | over the sink. “But what's the dif- ference. John Nye doesn’t know you're on earth tonight.” Millie was perched on the arm of | John Nye's chair when she returned to the lamp-lit living room. She was trying to make his cigaret lighter | work, and he was watching her with | that same intense look in his cyes. “Let me show you how to do it,” he was saying, and he covered her | little fingers with his hand, as he showed her how to strike a light to his cigaret. “Have a smoke?” he asked, offer- ing her his case. Millie smoked constantly, but now he shook her gleaming head. ttle Millie never smokes.” she said in her best baby-talk, and even that didn't scem to disgust John Nye. On the other hand, it seemed to charm and amuse him. “He's pretty | far gone” said Sally to herself, as | she watched him, and the thought as dull agony to her. | She picked up Millie's coat and hat and started out of the room | once more This time she was not | going to come back, she firmly | made up her mind. “Where's Momsie?” asked Millie, { who never spoke lovingly of her mother unless there was a man around to listen to her. Sally's eyes widened. “Why, she's bed, of course,” she answered. fou knew she was sick when you |1eft her this afternoon Millie shook her head. “Why, no, dariing. You've got your dates | | mixed. She was all right this after- noon,” she fibhied smoothly and con- { vincingly. “Oth: e I'd never have left the hous She smiled ight down into Not even with “Mother always first with. She always has.” And, leaving that brazen untruth | t in its work, she swayed out | of the room like a tall lily hlown in 4 brecze. John Nye's dark eyes followed her hungrily. Sally saw that before she got out | of the room—just how, she never knew. i Tiut presently she was in the rear | hall, on her way to the bedroom at the back. There was a light in it and Millie was standing before the dresser, carefully outlining her soft mouth with lipstick. “I thought you were going in to | see how Mother w Iy said to her, and her vaice was cold, | Millie looked hored. “Oh, don't he silly,” she answered calmly, “T know the nothing really the matter with her. She just stuffs her- self, and then her tummy aches. 1 told her so this afternoon when sh 1 yipping all over the place. Tell me lovey, have I too much red on | nouth?” | wung avound lightly, her skirts hillowing out from her slen- der hips, and softly closed the hed- room door. Then she dived into the | pockets of the white coat ana' | | | my GIRLY ETC. showed Sally what she had brought home from her evening with John Ny “Honey, his pockets are just full of galloping dollars,” she whispered Jjoyfully. “He just doesn't know how to spend enough money. I forgot my vanity case and he stopped in at a jewelry store and bought me this! isn't it lovely?” “It" was a silver vanity case. A square one with a compartment for cigarets and matches, and cunning little rouge and powder puffs. “Too bad I forgot my own, {isn't it?” drawled Millie, and she winked one of her heavenly blue eyes. “Too bad—yee weekum “Yee Weekum” was Millie's way of saying “Yes, indeed!” The next morning Sally held a family council at the breakfast table over the coffee and the chopped japple cake. “I've got to have some money from you two this week,” she said, looking gravely from Beau to Millie. They both looked back at her wordlessly. They always were sulky and ‘silent in the morning when they first got up. It was fully three minutes before Beau growled that there wasn't any use in asking him for money just then. “I owed most of my salary this week before I got it,” he explained. “And then I took Mabel out to eat last night—and she sure can murder the menu. That meal made a ten- dollar bill look like a postage stamp.” , He grinned suddenly, and took his fifth large plece of apple cake that Sally had bought with her own Then he nodded at Millle, cross- looking and rosy as a baby, on the other side of the table, “Why don’t you ask Jessie James, | the girl bandit, to lend you some?” he asked Sally. “She can borrow some from that new boss of hers who's got such a crush on her.” “Borrow!” repeated Sally. “Bor- row! Why, you and Millie don't | have to borrow from anybody. You make plenty—and all I ask you to do is to give me ten dollars every week. But I can’t get you to do it, somehow.” Millie set her mouth firmly. “T'll give you my ten when Beau gives you his,” she declared. “And not one minute sooner!” There was a long silence, broken by the drowsy buzz of a fly above the sunny table and the distant sound of church bells. Beau got up abruptly and went out ot the room. His voice came back to them, sharp and stained. “Oh, my lord, I wish you'd stop talking about money! If you don’t 'm going to go crazy!” Millie stared at Sally in astonish- ment. “Well, now what's the mean- ing of that!” she gasped. “Has he lost his blooming mind?” Sally shook her head. She had seen the look of anxiety on Beau's face, and she knew that he “hadn’t lost his blooming mind,” but was only at his wits' ¢nd about some- thing. . . . About money, of course. Money and love—they were the only things that really mattered to people, weren't they? Money—and love. She thought of | John Nye and Millle The three of them. (TO BE CONTINU! and herself. D) Menas for the Family Breakfast—Peaches, cereal, cook- ed with dates. cream, eggs poached in milk, graham toast, milk, coffee. Luncheon—Casserole of potatoes d carrots, cottage cheese with strawberry jam, baked cup custard, fruit punch. Diner—Vegetable plate dinner, jellica fruit salad, whole wheat rolls, iced chocolate. Casscrole of Potatoes and Carrots Three cups diced raw potatoes, 1 cups dicad raw carrots, 1 onfon, 4 tablespoons butter, 1 teaspoon salt 1 teaspoon sugar, 1 teaspoon pap- rika, 1-8 teaspoon pepper. Melt 2 tablespoons butter in sauce pan, add onion pecled and cut in thin slices.- Cover and simmer until onion is a pale straw color. Add one more tablespoon butter, carrots and potatoes. Shake well and saute for five minutes, shaking frequently. Add salt, pepper and paprika and turn into a buttered caserole. Add enough boiling water to come to top of vegetables but not enough to cover them. Cover and bake in 4 moderate oven for one hour. When vegetalles are tender remove cover, dot with remaining butter and brown on top. “She eats too much,” 5 aid the smart young doctor, Your Health How to Keep It— Causes BY DR. MORRIS FISHBEIN Two physiclans of the United States Navy, Drs. Wakefleld and Hall, have recently made available a survey of the various injurious ef- fects of heat that occur in the fire and engine rooms of ships, as well as other depths from heat in the naval service. Among the forms of disturbances they list heat cramps, heat exhaustion, sunstroke and ther- mic fever. Heat stroke was described by the most ancient physicians and is mentioned definitely in Biblical records. In 1789, Dr. Benjamin Rush called attention to the fact that the disorder was occasioned by drinking cold water {n warm weather and this view became so prevalent that it found place even in the readers used in the public schools. Highly moral ' stories were written relative to the boy who became overheated, drank cold water and promptly dled. It has been found more recently that cautious application of cold cloths or of ice may be helpful. Sometimes the person who re- covers from heat-stroke will have secondary symptoms of great.ser- iousness, indicating that the ef- fects on the hyman body are rela- tively permanent. One may also become accustomed gradually to greater degrees of heat. A ‘study of the conditions of heat stroke shows that it is far more common among those living in the north- ern parts than among those born and reared in the south. A scientific study made on ex- perimental animals by the physi- clans of the Navy indicated that the kidneys are injured by severe heat-stroke &0 that they are un- able to undertake properly the climination necessary to keep the body in health. Sometimes the amount -of sugar in the blood fis increased, but this varies. There is also a tendency toward the accumulation of acid, or rather a lowering of the alkaline reserva of the body. In other words, the main affects of heat stroke are to bring about a mas- sive increase in the acid material of the body and the symptoms as- sociated with this are assoclated with acidosis in general. Jabots For Fall An important detail in the coming fall mode will be the repeated use of the jabot. Agnes " uses a black satin collar with white jabor on a navy blue frock. ‘GOOD-MORNING! TRETCH, otretch!” went two reund arms. “Wiggle, lo!” went Somebody’s toes. wha b4 “I'm very glad to see you, Miss Tuesday,” said Rosesnary. “Step right in and I'll get dressed as ickly as I can. Then we'll go wn-stairs and have breakfast ....and THEN.... we'll LAY all day ‘until you have to go.” GULDENS ‘ Mustard . Prevent ire. At all drug and shes stores D Scholfl’s £, ' Zino-pads =iz Bite yourself an Alphabet Become a Pretzeleer There’s 2 new order—the Order of Pretzel- eers. Any man, woman or child, from 6 to 60 can join. All you need to belong is a set of teeth (first teeth, second teeth, or store teeth) and some O-So-Gud pretzels. You already have the teeth. Your grocer will supply the pretzels. You initiate your- self by biting out an A. It can be done in two bites, if you are a clever biter. Like this or this: Bite your A and you're a member—a full fledged pretzeleer privileged to wear a uni- form, if you can find one. After you bite your A, eat it. Then go as far as you like upto Z All of which is to show you that O-So- Gud pretzels are good to eat and good for those who eat them—with soup, salad, hors d’oeuvres, dessert, between meals and all the other times you like to eat. They’re baked brittle, baked crisp, baked crunchy. They’re easy to digest. They’re salty....... Crunch, crunch . . . smack, smack. For biting alphabets, and for eating, you'll like pretzels baked by Uneeda Bakers. 0-S0-GUD ALG. U6, PAT. oFF, | PRETZELS Bite right and you can spel! anything with the big 0-So- Guds. They're Sull of twists, turns and boles. SLIM JIM At v oAT, Called Slim Jim for & good reason. Ask your grocer. In bandy Packages bearing the N.B.C.Uneeda trade mark. NATIONAL BISCUIT COMPANY § * “Uneeds Bakers™