New Britain Herald Newspaper, July 28, 1927, Page 12

Love’s Embers Adele Garrison’s Absorbing Sequel to “Revelations of a Wife” Beginning a New Serial————————’/ Harry Underwood Seems To Draw Closer To Lillian Though it was but two or three minutes before Lillian raised her face from my hands clasping hers, vet it seemed hours to me, waiting tensely to hear the rest of the story she was telling me. Never in all the years of our friendship had opened her heart to me, and wished to miss no word of the reve- lation she was making. I did not yet know how I could help the perplex- ity of soul which appeared to be he but if T could not help her, at least it would not be because of my inattention. en are queerly alik at last, lifting her f: with the memories W aging her. “For instance, not imagine two more vergent types than Robert Savarir gentle, high-minded, with delic perceptions and lofty ideal Harry Underwood, bluff, masterful, brilliant — unscrupulou: Yet the same vein of jealous poss she said and worn ich were rav- ou could ely di- loved him to the extent of childishly that I marry hi her ‘a real father. “But I realized all too soon that Robert was not only fcally jeal- ous of my work and the professional contact with other men it bro me, but that if I married him, th some time would come the clash be tween his interests and Marion's, and that he wou ment of her, which I inevitably would make. So I sent Robert aw and though it was a cruel wrench, the shattering of a beautiful dream, vet T have not heen unh How could I be, with Marion Her lifted face w illumined with the maternal love which Is the all- pervading emotion of her being. My spirit howed reverently before it, yet I could not help a cynical query, which, of course, I was careful to utter, " What will happen when Marion marries, and Lillian Is left alone, an ageing woman? ppY. Another and more disturbing ques- | tion pushed its way into my thoughts rollicking, { 1 resent the prefer- | although its asking seemed almost blasphemous treachery to winsome, sweet-souled Marion Morton. Sup- pose the child should inherit some of the ruthless selfishness of her father, and that in years to come, the trait should triumph over Lillian's care- ful training in altruism! She stirred restlessly, and 1 caught my breath in panic-stricken remem- brance of the almost psychic powers | which I had observed in her at dif- fe it times. must be honest with you, Even if Marion should— disappoint—me In years to come, I regret the decision I made The years of his itself has set him m the progress of the 1d modern living conditions ould be impossible for me him ha For myself, I ot care. But I could not bear to see him unhappy because of my failure to meet his ideal of me.” As it it were the voice of a mock- ing little devil, I semed to hear again Philip Veritzen's voice speak- ing scornfully of “that aged, archaic Robert Savarin.” Was it pos that subconsciously ultra-modern self was lonely for the bizarre, joyous, tempestuous com- radeship which had been hers with Harry Underwood? There was one test to which the apparently irresponsible boulevard- ier always had measured up. He a “man’s man” He had Dicky's best friend, and twenty-four hours I had Philip Veritzen, a man utterly similar to my husband, yet ssed of the qualities w deem admirable, praise I | cannot | concerning sible been within heard dis- enthusiastic for so reserved and cri- tical a man. With a voice that T vainly strove to keep even, I spoke hurriedly: “Do you know it secrs almost un- canny that you should be telling me this just now. I have the opportunity to give vou some news of Harry, which Mr. Veritzen shed me to give you.” ight, 1927, Newspaper Feature Service, Inc, Sammy Jay Isn't Believed By Thorrton W. Burgess s hard to tell the truth and find to the facts your friends are blind. That —Sammy Jay What is the use of having news to spread if robedy will believe 11 news? Sammy Jay fairly ached to tell of what he had seen up in Farmer Brown's dooryard. Yes, sir, he fairly acled to tell it. “But what will be the use?” said Sammy. “Nobody will believe me. Everybody will laugh at me.” Sammy just couldn't keep it to himself. He saw Happy Jack Squirrel. “Hello, Happy Jack!” id he. “Have you heard that Polly Chuck has lost the smallest mem- ber of her family?"” “No, I hadn't heard it,” replied Happy Jack. “What of it? I don't care if she loses her whole family.” “Well,” said Sammy, “I thought you might be intefested in what I saw in Farmer Brown's dooryard.” “What did you see?” demanded Happy Jack. “I saw that young Chuck eating dinner with Bowser the Hound,” said Sammy. Happy Jack fI d his great big handsome tail “ly along, Sammy, fly along.” said he. “Do you think T was born yesterday to belicve any such tale as that?" “But it's tr protested Sammy. “Ha, ha, " laughed Happy Jack. “You tell it as if you really believed it."” “I tell vou it’s the truth!” storm- mmy. growing angry. st then Chatterer the Squirrel appeared. You know, nd Sammy rot the best friend “What's the manded Cha “There i cousin Happy | been telling me a because T won't hel “It isn't a story: stormed Nevertheles ha of are fuss about?" and perl ips Tl bel atterer, So Sammy told Cha had told Happy just 1ar Jack meant fo 1 tainly Jo. ought to 1 But th Johnny an more ¢ lieve that h him he lieve it Looking ahrad Chuck sitting up. as v. Off a litt i wnd to or ne his mouth to do it and t better of it. He a laughed at and he didn't be laughed at again. (Copyright, 1927, want “Fly along, Sammy: fly along,” said he next st Difference of | Opinion.” | Menas for the Family BY SISTER MARY Breakfast — G 1 bacon, s ffins, milk, coffee. Luncheon — Timbales of ham toasted muffins, fruit sal- 1t crisps, milk, tea. am and rice suggest to use up bits of often real econ- ham and it fruit, ed egg crisp bran left-over omy to buy every bit, scraps around | the bone Red | need Drs. B, cale Timbales of Ham and Rice 1 cold cook teaspoon pepper, im ten DEEDC Mix but on ty min a hot platter crisp not at hand iffin pans can be NEA dip in and spread Ready to use L. & H. Protass DENTISTS Main Street . Main Street by T. W. Burgess) |\ Lilliag’s | § reant husband in terms surprisingly | been waiting | NEW BRITAIN DAILY HERALD, THURSDAY, JULY 28, 1927. Read This First: Sally Jerome, pretty and clever, is the prop and mainstay of her family in the absence of her father who has not lived with her mother for 9 years. The family consists of Mrs. Jerome; the twins, Beau and Millie; and Sally herself. Mrs. Jer- ome enjoys poor health, so Sally does the housework mornings and office-work for Mr. Peevey down- town afternoons. In the flat below the Jeromes lives young Ted Sloan, an automobile salesman who wants her to marry him and keep on working. But the only man in whom she is interested is John Nye whose real estate of- fice is across the hall from Mr. Peevey's in the Nye lor building. Nye hires Millie as his secretary hen Sally refuses the job, and as soon as Millie learns that he has money she begins to “shine up” to him. He becomes blindly infatuated with h and Sally is heartsick and Jjealous. Beau and Mabel spend most of their money on themselves, and rarely give Sally anything towards the support of the home. Her only real financial help is an occasional check from her absent father, and metimes a loan from Aunt Emily Jerome, her spinster aunt. Beau suddenly blossoms out with so many new clothes and other lux- uries that Sally becomes suspicious of him, for Beau was not only light- tingered as a little boy but works in a bank where he is constantly sur- rounded by money. The crisis comes when Ted Sloan, angry with Sally hecause of her coldn towards him, tells her that Beau got more than $100 from him by means of two bad | checks. Bally, terrified lest Ted turn Beau over to the police borrows §100 from Mr, Peevey. She gives it to Beau to pay Ted. But instead of | giving Ted the money, Beau uses it | to elope with his girl, Mabel Wil- mot, according to a note that he leaves behind. Next morning when Millie tells Mrs. Jerome of his run- .way marriage, she promptly faints. he two girls bring her to conscious- s, and she starts to get dressed to go to spend the day Wwith Aunt IEmily at the old Jerome homestead in which Aunt Emily a former school | teacher, is planning to serve chicken dinners to the public. | (NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY) 1 Chapter XXI Jerome lumbered away to zet dressed, and Millie went back to Ihed. she always stayed in bed until | noon on Sunda “I'll have my coffee fn my room it you don’t mind, Honey Chile,” she called to Sally in a voice that drip- ped with sweetness, “and bring along | the Sunday paper, too, when you get | it picked up.” “My soul! You aren’t really going | to do it for her, are you?" Aunt Emily gasped in astonishment as Sally bent to pick up the pages that Mrs. Jerome had scattered all over the carpet. “She’s able to do a few | {things for herseif, I should think! | Why do you wait on her, hand, foot and finger? “Why not?” asked Sally with a {shrug of her pretty shoulders, “the | | paper's got to be picked up sooner | lor later, anyway. And it's just as | | easy to carry the coffce-pot into the | bedroom as it is to set it on the | dining room table." Miss Jerome gave her searching look with her thatemoved so quickl many things they wWere not sup- posed to see. ally, you're a fool to wof these people the way you do, said finally. “I did it for my family all my life, and what thanks did I get for it, I'd like to know? Not one Lit, and you won't either! They'll just work you to pieces and when you're worn out they'll find some- body else they can treat the same | way!"” 1 She stopped for a second to let | that sink in, and then went briskly P Mrs. a long k< for I suppose now that Beau's | ried, voull have one more pe to fetch and carry for around here. He'll bring his wife home to live, won't he?"” Sally shot a terrified glance at her aunt. . . . There was a thought! | Suppose Beau did hring Mabel here | to the flat at the end of their hone moon? . . .Beau, who never had paid his own way at home, and certainly rever would pay Mabel's way either. “Oh, you don't think they expect | to come here, do you?" she asked anxiously, and Aunt Emily gave a short bark of laughter. “Of course, they'll come here!” do anything else do you? What ther place have they to go to?— | I come here sure as fate, 5o | | laughed lumps of sugar into her coffee and | said she, “You don't expect them to |« {you'd better get ready for them! irl shook her head and she | Sallys Shoulder by BEATRICE BURTON, Aufhor began to pick up the bits of broken cup and saucer from the -carpet under her mother's chair. “They can’t come here," she mur- mured, more to herself than to her sharp eyed, sharp-tongued aunt. It was not because of the extra work that they couldn’'t come she told herself. She would do that willingly. It was because of the extra ex- pense their coming would mean. Sally knew that she never would be able to pay for the meals, the laundry, the thousands and one little extras for Beau and his bride. With the load of Beau's debts on her shoulders, she was going to have hard enough sledding, as it was, for a long time. “Aunt Em,” she said again, and this time she said 1t more firmly, “I just can't have Beau and Mabel here—" “How are you going to keep them away?" asked Aunt Emily who had a way of hitting the nail on the head, even when she asked a ques- tion. Sally had no answer for her. Long after Aunt Emily had van- ished, with Mrs. Jerome clinging to her arm, Sally pondered that ques- tion. How could she keep Beau and Mabel from coming to the flat to live? It was Millie who finally answer- ed it for her, when she carried her coffee into the bedroom. ‘“Here's your breakfa: she sald, setting the tray with its snowy nap- kin and its steaming coffee pot down on the side of her bed. “What's today’'s news?” She began to look through the newspaper, standing there by the sunny win- dow. Outside the sky was blue and the alr was full of the first tang of autumn. From the yard below came the cheerful whistle of Ted Sloan as he washed his car, muddy from last night's storm. “Well, there's nothing in the paper about Beau's elopement,” Millie, dropping three adding a half cupful of cream. “Mayhe they didn' t get married after all—although Beau's been carrying a marriage-license around with him for a week.” “Has he?” asked Sally, surprised. | She never was in on Beau's affairs the way his twin was. Millie nodded, smacking her lips daintily over the coffee. “Ye weekum! But that coffee's good!” she fluted, “T sure do wish we were rich enough to have cream every day instead of just on Sun- day!” “We could it we had a little more sighed Sally, her thought- ful eyes on the sky outside the win- dow. How the whole world tevolved around money! She swung around suddenly, and faced her sister. “Millie, what are we going to do labout Beau and Mabel?” she asked, her bright face drawn with worry. Millie laughed again. Her laugh & light-hearted happy sound, as as the purring of a brook against pebbles. Millie's worrics were few and far between. So long as there was cream for her coffee, hats and high-heeled slippers and knee-high dresses to adorn her lit- tle body, a man to go down to his knees to her and lay gifts at her fect, life was good—so far as she was concerned. 1t was perfect. “What are we going to do about | Reau and Mabel?” she repeated air- ily, “Why give them the cheapest wedding-present we can find, of course; and do it up with white- satin ribbon and silver-paper so it will look like something grand!— AtA least that's what I'M going to do, helieve you me"—her words ended in.another shower of laugh- te No, no, I didn't mean that,” said Sally grav “Aunt Emily says they'll surely come here to live— and, Millie, we just can't take care of them. You know, Beau hardly ever gives us any money for the house, not even when Mabel's here.” “That's perfectly true” agreed Millie, suddenly sober. “And now that Beau's given that worthless check to Ted Sloan, I'm not going to have as much money | as usual. For that's got to be tak- en care of whether an g else gets paid or not,” Sally went on, thinking out loud. thought there were s, began Beau's twin, bhut v cut her short with a brisk ke of her head. She never, nev- going to let anyone—not n Millie—know about that other check. The one that Beau had raised from £10 to a hundred and ten. “Besides that, I think Beau ought two % *MER MAN" * HONEY LOU *TUE HOLLYWOOD" GIRLY ETC. to have a home of his own right from the start—a place to put his money into,” she said seriously and gently. “I think it would be a great mistake for him to bring Mabel here at all.” “Me to Millie spoke quickly and excitedly now. “It would be just terrible to have them here! — Why every time I had a man here to see me, they'd be sitting right there in the living-room all eve- ning!—Why it would be just too awful—No, they can't come here if I have to tel! them so, myself!” Her.little blond face darkened she spoke. For Millle always had insisted upon having the living-room all to] herself on the evenings when men came to coll upon her. She drew the curtains then, and shut the rest of the family out. “No, I'll not have those two living here!” she declared again, and Sally could tell, from the set of her chin, that she meant business. ‘I'll move all my clothes and things right into Mr. Beau's room right now, this very morning. 80 there won't be any place for them if they DO come!” “Oh, we might keep them for two or three days until they find & place of thelr own,” said Sally, “that iooks so cruel, Millie. Turning Beau out of his own room—" “They can go and live in Mabel's old boarding house!"” broke in Mil- lie stubbornly. That's the place for them until they get a flat or some- thing. We may just as well let them know that they can't sponge on us! —They'll be here for meals most of the time anyway, you can just bet!” As Sally picked up the coffee tray and started down the hall with it, she called her back. She was leaning back against her plllows, her face radiant, her eyes shining, and her hair catching the light in the sun-flooded room. “Sally,” she said in her deliclous drawl, “Speaking of weddings and iove affairs, I've asked John Nye to supper tonight. He's been want- ing to meet mother for a long time, so I asked him up for tonight—Tix ! up something fussy, and get some flowers for the table, Ted's mother will give you some of her asters if you ask her for them—Will you? And make your chocolate cake with the white icing.” “But mother won't be here to meet him if she stays out at Aunt Emily's to go to church with her,” Sally reminded her. “I hope she does stay!"” Millle re- plied pertly, “I hope she doesn't come home. She'll talk a lung out of him #4f she's here, telling him about her headaches, and how her teet go to sleep, and how cucumbers give her heart-burn!—I'd like to have him to myself tonight. I may as well tell you frankly, with a lit- tle encouragement, I think he'd ask me to be Mrs. John Nye, darling.” Sally could only stare at her, dumb with hurt and jealousy. “So* if you'll straighten up the Ilving-room, and put some flowers in it it Old Lady Sloan will give you some,” Millie's voice ran cn, “I'll ba very grateful to you—And then after supper, just beat it, and let me have my sweetie to myself, will you?" Sally nodded. To save her life she could not have said a word in an- swer just then. Her heart seemed to him, cate that the chlorophyl, or coloring matter of the plant, some definite relationship to vitamin A that was present. ever, proved. have come up into her throat, suf- focating her, choking her. “Hello, anybody home?” she heard Ted Sloan calling from the back porch as she started out to the kitchen. She set down the coffee tray and unhooked the screen door, letting him in. He smiled down at her, gripping his pipe between his teeth. His hands were in his pockets and she wondered if the checks were in one of them, too. Curiously enough, he did not mention them now. “Be nice to me,” he said, coming close to her, “will you—just because it's Sunday?” She nodded. “I will if you'll do two things for me,” she answered and she managed to smile back at him although she never had felt less like it in her life, “Com'e to supper tonight, and take me to a movie afterward?" (TO BE CONTINUED) Your Health How to Keep [t— Causes of lll_ness BY. DR. MORRIS FISHBEIN Editor Journal of the American Medical Association and of Hy- gela, the Health Magazine. It has been realized from the very first that the leafy vegetables contain large amounts of vitamin. Unfortunately the methods of study have not been very accurate determination of the amounts of vitamin specimen or as to the relative values of various this purpose. such as to permit in any single portions of plants for Investigators in the division of home economics of Michigan State College have recently been studying the relative vitamin. A head lettuce, as compared with leat lettuce, and of the leaves of lettuce from the inside as compared with the outside of the head, and of leaf content of lettuce as grewn in hot-houses with that grown out of doors. As is usual with experiments of this type, ani- mals were fed on diets containing large amounts of the various types of lettuce that were being investi- gated and their growth was studied in this relationship. It was found that the leaf let- tuce is better - for the promotibn of growth on a diet deficlent in vitamin A than was the head thermore, leaves of the head lettuce were far superior leaves In-door as beneficial tuce in producing growth. in rats that had been fed lettuce. outside Fur- the green to the inside yellow in furnishing vitamin A. leaf lettuce proved to be as out-door leaf let- The evidence seemed to green had the How- this was not especially Of course, the relationship af the sunlight to the growing plant is also involved in this considera- tion. It is not possible to know how much sunlight penetrates from outside of the head of let- tuce to the inner regions, nor {s it possible to know the amount of vitamin in the leaves at varlous times in the course of the growth. Certainly, however, it is impor- tant to know that these factors do play a part and that all kinds of lettuce are not equally efficlent in their content of the growth-pro- ducing factor known as vitamin A. Checked Mates VLR N A hat of white linen with applique | of mauve checked linen completes a | sports costume consisting of a white linen frock with jacket of the con- trasting material. l. “I've asked him to supper,” Millie 5 sald. REG.U. S, PAT. GFF. ©1927 BY NEA SERVICE, INC. Never put off 'till tomorrow what yof can take off today. TREE-TOP STORIES BROWNIE TRICKS ONE evening when Marjorie was getting réady for bed she saw a tiny “dent” in her pil- low. “It looks as though a Brownie’s head had been lying there,” said Marjorie. “Well, there has!” answered a small voice. And there sat a Brownie! He was perched on a bed-post. His bit of a face w stretched into a wide smile. “Why, how long have you been here?” Marjorie asked. “Oh!” laughed the Brownie, “ever since you were a baby. | used to play with your little nose to make you laugh.” “Oh! T'm SO GLAD you let me see you,” said Marjorie. “And I'm glad you sleep on my pillow,” indi- | How to bite a good B B has been bitten in one bite by old, experienced pretzeleers. But it takes skill. You've got to hold your teeth just right. Every O-So-Gud is so blessed crisp and crunchy. Be careful on B. Use a sharp deci- sive_bite on the wide turn and you should get a B something like this or this: % The rewards of pretzeleering are two- fold. (1) Food. (2) Fun. O-80-Gud Pretzels are baked brown, baked brittle, baked crisp, baked easy to digest. They’re salty and crunchy and quite the thing with soup, salad, hors d’oeuvres, dessert, between meals and all the other times you like to eat, Children like them a lot—and they like children. Both professional and amateur pretzeleers like O-So-Guds, the twisty pretzels made by the Uneeda Bakers, Taste better, they say. Biteyour letters out of great, gross twisty O- So-Guds. Yom eat everything except the open sbaces. &50. Us. PAT. OrR Slim Jimsareeasier for the amateur pretxeleer to eat be- cause smaller. In bandy packages.