New Britain Herald Newspaper, September 10, 1928, Page 16

SWEETHEARTS By IDAH McGLONE GIBSON Author of “My Son’s Sweethearts,” “Confessions of.a Wife,” Etc. Copyright, 1938, by Central Press Association, Inc. CHAPTER LXIV PLANS AND DETAILS A week had passed since Lynda told Ralph that she would go with him. She had been to the office only long enough to tell Ralph's father that she would work for him no more, and to hint to him the de- cision she had made. Now Ralph was back home—in the big house, where the white vio- lets grew in teeming beds about the lawn, and where weeks before she had kissed him in sympathy for his bruises. 1t was there he had first told her that he loved her. She phoned to him to say that she was coming. She knew that Ralph would send Wilson with the car. And while she waited, her whole past life came charging back to her, Now, as never before, she wished that her mother had not de- serted her. In the midst of all these thoughts she heard the car stop at the curb. She hurried off to Ralph. Lynds was surprised to find Ralph very quiet and solemn when she arrived. £ He kissed her grgvely, and whis- pered: “I will never let you re- gret this, my darling.” Then he seat- ed himself on the big divan, and pulled her down beside him, “Tell me all your plans, dear really have none, Ralph™ she answered, “The only thing that I n mind is that I must have some clothes for a long sea voyage.” #he blushed a litte. “You see, 1 have very few dresses.’ “Let me buy them for you, Lyn- da" “No, Ralph, I'll buy my own clothes until—" She stopped, and her eyes grew misty. She could not ray “until we are married,” and she did not know what to call these ar- rangements they were making. Ralph had never been so quiet. Although his eyes were very tender when they rested on Lynda, he did not offer to take her into his arms. She observed, however, that his hands were clutching the end of the . divan until the nails were white. Lynda wondered why she, herself, seemed so calm. She told Ralph that she was going to put her little home into the hands of the attorney who had been advising her. ‘“After 1 leave it, I never want to agal she found herself saying, bitterly, “Claire is going abroad with Fred, and David Kenmore has gone out of my life.” “I hope after we are gone, Lynda, ‘that young Kenmore will go back to my father. I wish he had had a won like him instead of a ne'er-do- well like me.” “David is a good man, Ralph. I do not know what I will do without his friendship.” “You don’t have to give him up, Lynda.” ! has given me up, Ralph.” The tears were coursing down her cheeks now. Unashamed, she let them drop, one by one, into her lap. “You will have to be awfully good to me make up for David, Ralph.” “I hope fate will treat me as I treat you, my darling. When will you be ready to start foy New York, Lynda?" “I think I can go tomorrow night.” ave you ever been there?” “No, Ralph, but I will make out.” “I'll give you the name of a dress- maker, Lynda, who has made all the gowns for a friend of mine for years. She i1s not expensive,” he told her, smiling. " He told her that to calm her fears, For himself he planned to call ‘up Madame Milltleur, and tell her that when Lynda came, to cut any- ‘thing she might desire a third, and ‘bill the difference to. him. “f will come to New York the last of mext week, and we will sail on the first steamship on which reser- vations can be had. You had better stop at the Waldorf, It is old, staid, and deadly respectable, I will tele- graph and get rooms; also I'll wire Madame Millfleur that you will be there directly after lunch on Thurs- day. Ask the room clerk at the Waldort for your reservation, and Tl have a car at your disposal whenever you want to go shopping.’ “Thank you, Ralph. That will make it very easy for me.” “I want to make your life easy and joyous from now on.” Ralph Armitage hesitated a mo- ment, and his face fell into graver lines, “Lynda,” he said, “I feel very sor- ry for my father. He has been aw- fully good to me, always. Although he rather got me inta a hole with my marriage, yet he thought he was doing the very best thing for me, and at that time he settled a half million dollars on me, This he doub- led when my wife developed insan- ity, and he has made a will in my favor, although, heaven knows, 1 hope father will live until after I am gone. I'll turn over to you, half of what he has given me—" 1t stung her soul, those words. Like a wounded bird, fluttering to a haven, she battled poignant recol- lections. Her price! She had told Ralph's father s0, And now that Ralph had mentioned it, it seared her youthful pride, and caused her to consider, and to wonder. “Stop, Ralph!"” she said, peremp- torily. “Don't make me more eshamed than T am. I would rather come to you without all this talk of money.” “But, my dear, I want to safe- guard you in every way and, for- tunately, such mercenary things must be talked about.” “Well, don't talk to me about it. I must leave you now, for 1 have & thousand things to do.” Ralph Armitage arose to his feet twined her arms about his neck then kissed her lips, softy, tenderly, more as though he were bidding her good-bye forever than as though he expected to see her again in a few hours and would soon be with her for always. ‘Wilson drove Lynda back to town, and left her there. She went directly to the bank, and closed out her modest account, then to her lawyer. where she arranged disposition of her cottage. | Good-bye, | down. | pert voice, 1 Lered he On her way homg she met Emily Andrews, who seemed to wish to pass her without speaking; but Lyn- da was determined to send some kind of a message to David. “Wait a minute, Emily,” Lynda said, placing a restraining hand up- on her arm. “Is David Kenmore in town?” Emily's head went high, her jaws set firm. Then they loosened. “Why, do you know, Lynda, that boy had the nerve to tell me that he thought 1 had tried to put one over on him, But I came back, good and Well, didn't 17" " T asked your | Davie. “I was so mad that I didn't care what he thought.” “ ‘At tirst you did. But I soon caught on, and from now on I wouldn't believe you under oath.’ “That's what he said! Now, what do you think of that, Lynda, for Da- vid Kenmore to say to me?" “I think he was just right,” Lyn- da told her, curtly. Emily Andrews looked at Lynda in astonishment, and then, without a word, she turned and left her. CHAPTER LXV THE NEW ADVENTURE i Lynda was intensely disappointed when she found that Claire was not at the cottage when she arrived, In- stead, she found a note on her mir- ror saying that she and Fred Blaque had gone to the country, and that she would sec her Monday. “I wonder whether she will ever see me again,” said Lynda, as she began to pack up the few posses- sions she wished to take with her. She heltated a long time over Da- vid's photograph. He had had it tak- en at the time of his graduation, The honest eyes seemed to look at her very sadly from out of the pic- ture. She felt her own filling with tears. “Davie, T don't see how I am go- ing to live without you. Why did you believe Emily Andrews instead of me? David, I am sure if you trusted me as I trusted you, love would have come, and we would be plan- ning to live here right together.” She bent to look closer at the pictured face. “David,” she whispered, ‘“won't you miss the shabby old hammock and the moon and me? David, dear, now I believe I loved you as I will never love another, and I'll never cease longing for the smile in your eves and the clasp of your hand. David, don't hate me, Ralph is kind- ness itself, He is not bad. He is just aesperately loncsome. He cannot make himself understand that his money cannot buy him everything. He trusts and believes in me, David, and he really asks so little of me. Oh, David, David, I am so unhap- " The picture now was clasped above Lynda's heart as she again turned resolutely to her packing. In the midst of all these medita- tions, the telephone bell tinkled. It was Ralph. “Madam Millfleur will se you at two on Thursday,” he said. To Lynda it didn't seem like the same old Ralph. “What is the matter, Ralph?” 'What makes you think anything is the matter with me?” Ne coun- tered from the other end of the wire. “Your voice sounds so strange. I scarceiy recognized it.” “Lynda, you will not let anyone make you take back your promise to me, will you, dear?” he said, in tones that seemed 5o far away. “Why Ralph, what makes you ask world who would try to do it. No one cares enough for me and my af- fairs.” “What did you say?” “Nothing, dear, nothing.” “Ralph, are you in pain? thought I heard you groan.” 0, I am not in pain, my darling. Be sure and cali me up by telephone after you have seen Madam Mill- tleur."” “Of course I will, Ralph, dear, but I don't like to leave you like this. Send Wilson, and I'll see you to- morrow if you want me.” “Want you! If you only knew how I want you! But Dad is coming in an hour to take me out to the shore. Lynda, now that I am leaving Dad, I am heginning to appreciate what a brick he has always been to me. “I'll fix it up with him some way before ! come to you in New York. dear. It 1 did not know | the greatest happiness of your life was coming to you, I do not think 1 would let you go even to New York without me—'" There was a rattle as though the recciver had dropped from a nerveless hand. “Ralph, Ralph,” Lynda called, jerking the receiver holder up and 1 “What number, please?” asked a “I was talking,” said Lynda, mis- | scrably. “I think someone cut us {ofe.” “There is no one now.” | Lynda vainly tried to get Ralph’s | house; but finally she gave it up. And all through that lonely night, she wondered wiat had happened to | Ralph. In the morning, she thought, | «he would go to him, then remem- gone. The next afterncon on your line. after tele- r company to phoning to a transf left the send for her baggage. house, turning her liead at the g 1o bid the littic home good-bye. | The old hammock creaked in a sighing wind that blew across the | porch. she d | the gate, almost expecting to never him hear . She or and broke into unrestramed sob: At last she straighte lant little head, and a characteristic pose with had met so many heart breaks. she walked away, without ever 100k- ing back. cd her gal umed 1he that? Surely there is no one in the| For a moment Lynda hung over | David come down the street with his | | chieery whistle, when it came to her | | that she would and pulled Lynda up beside him. He | Sesinet | that I am going away from it all.” The remainder of the afternoon was spent in her simple grooming. A facial, a shampoo, a manicure, a new hat and gloves, and Lynda was ready for the new adventure, She went down to the station quite early, altbough the train did not leave until nearly eleven o'clock. Here she found Ralph's man with the tickets and reservations, “I hope you have not been wait- ing around iong, Wilson,” she said. “I just came, Miss Fenton. Mr. Armitage said to come down about seven and wait for you, I'll get your trunk checked and put your bags in your stateroom.” In a little while everything was arranged, and Lynda Fenton board- ed the train. and waited almost in a state of coma for the third act of her life's drama. As the train began to move, she got into her berth, but it was nearly morning before her eyelids drooped over her tired eyes, and she sank into a troubled sleep, with David's name, instead of Ralph's, upon her lips, CHAPTER LXVI As soon as Lynda got settled at her hotel, she called down to the desk to order a taxi, “Your car is waiting at the door, Miss I"enton. It was then she remembered that Ralph had told her he would have a car always ready for her while she was in New York, Going down, she found a perfectly appointed town car, with a uniform- ed chauffeur, standing at the curb. Lynda stepped into the waiting car, and sank back into the gor- geous cushions with delight. Never again would she trudge along with hands full of unwieldy bundles. Never again the need to count pen- nies. Never again to eat the cheap- est things at the counter lunchroom. “If T could only have this with Davie, how happy I would be,” she said to herself, as she remembered how he would come, bringing her a piece of taffy, or a chocolate drop, tand how she would insist upon his sharing it with her, She wondered whether whoever lived in the little cottage next would sit in the creaky old hammock, and watch the moon peep under the steeple while munch- ing half a piece of candy, as she and Davie so often had done. She was brought back to the pres- ent by screeching brakes. “This 18 Madam Milfleur's, Miss,” sald the chauffeur, respectfully, when the car had stopped. Lynda brought her head up with a little sigh. She surreptitiously brushed her powder puff over her nose, got out, and entered the estab- lishment. For the first time since she had told Ralph that she would go away with him, she felt embarrassed. She knew that Madam Millfleur knew Ralph, and she shrewdly surmised that “the friend who had her ciothes from there” was Pamilla Sheston, and that probably Pamilla had often been accompanied by Ralph when making her purchases. Would Madam Milifleur think she was one of “Ralph’s fifty-seven va- rieties,” as Emily Andrews had al- ways referred to the women upon whom he showered attentions? Was she really any different from any of the others? Perhaps some cther women had even loved Ralph better than she did. ‘The door was opened by a maid, who iooked as though she might have stepped out of a society come- y. “I am Miss Fenton. T had an ap- pointment with Madam Millfleur,” Lynda sald. “Yes, Miss. Madam has just tele- phoned that she was detained, and she hoped you would pardon her un- avoidable delay. She told me to take OF ASHS’ 7O GET THE PORTE! Y'GOTTA BE IT! LAD -, “poor Dad,” she sighed, as she turned the corner. “He mnever was appy in the little house, and he never let anyone else be happy there. I think it is all for the best ST you into her own drawing room, and that she would be with you very soon.” As soon as she was alone, Lynda took off her hat, laid it aside, and looked about her curiously. A pic- ture in an obacure corner caught her eye, Bhe went over to examine it more closely. 1t startled her. It was a sketch of a corner and the steeple of an old church. The whole thing was done in gray. It scemed to be drenched in silver from a moon that was sailing over head, “There can’t be two such scenes,” Lynda said to herself, “It is the old church at home, as seen from the porch of my little cottage. That's our moon.” “Who is our?” asked a soft, sweet voice from the doorway behind. Before Lynda thought, the words came quickly: “Why, Davie's and my moon.” Then she whirled about to greet one of the most beautiful women she thought she had ever seen. Her beautiful white hair was shingled, so that it fell like a child’s about her face, and it gleamed like satin, It had the same silken sheen as her own black tresses. “You are Miss Fenton?" asked the older woman. “Yes, Madam. I am much inter- csted in this little sketch, It looks as though it were taken from a point in my home town. Indeed, I would have said that someone sat upon my porch and drew it on & moonlight night. Where you ever in the textile town of Rigeville, Ma- dam?" The older woman did not answer. She did not scem to have heard what the girl had been saying. S8he was walking toward Lynda as though {rresistibly darwn to her, In the mirror that filled almost all of one end of the room, the like- ness between the two women stand- ing there was uncanny, Lynda, her black satiny hair about her face, was vivid with color. Here cheeks and lips were of dif- ferent shades of coral. Her eyes were shining in their shimmery blackness. 8he never had looked so beautiful before. In that same mirror Madam Mill- fleur scemed to be almost look{ng over her shoulder—a ghost of the living, breathing presence. Her eyes were seen as through a grayish mist. Her cheeks were white, and her mouth was slightly tinged with col- er. The older woman gave a stran- gling little cry. “My baby! My baby! Don’t you know your mother, Lynda?” The plea of the mother was di- rected at the image of the girl in the glass. She gaw the younger face grow cold and stiff, and ashen, Then she rectified her poise. “Are you Madam Millfleur?” Lyn- da asked, wondering tremblingly. “Lynda, I am your mother!” With a sudden rush she reached the girl and, throwing her arms about her, she pressed her to her breast. The strands of satiny black and white hair touched and mingled in that moment of suspense, Lynda found herself being kissed by lips that were cold, and then grew hot. She drew away. 8he could not understand. ut my mother—* my darling child. Your father lied to you. He told you that T had deserted you. That's what you were about to say, was it not?” “Father sald that you deserted us, Mother, and went away with anoth- er man.” Lynda was utterly devoid of com- prehension. 8he could not under- stand. Out of the maze of trans piring events of the past few months came this last unlooked-for se- quence. It left her stupefied. Her newly-found mother made it clear to her. “Your fathor came home one night soon after you were born, in- sane with drink, and accusing me of horrible things, as he always did threw me out into the terrific snow- storm that was raging at that time. “Weeks later I woke up in a hos- pital, and when I had recovered, and returned for you, your father told me that you were dead. Thea I lelt for good. “l came to New York and, after unspeakable hardships, Madam Mill- fleur hired me to do some menial work, Later I became her personal maid, and later still, she came to lean upon me as she would a daugh ter. When she died she left me everything ' that was hers, with the understanding that I should carry on the business and the name. “Here, child, let me look at you. I little thought that Ralph Armitage would send you to me.” Lynda was suddenly brought back to the prescpt by that name. “Did Raiph tell you who I was she asked. “He told me you were a Miss Fen- ton, but something else he said made me think that you might be my baby—" Again Lynda felt herself almost smothered in tense arms. Again she felt her face covered with kisses, Suddenly she knew it was all true. She had a mother that had wanted her as other mothers had wanted their daughters. Her mother's arms were about her—her head was pil- lowed on her mother's breast. A mother's tears of joy were drenching her swest face. With all this came the conscious- ness that she could not go with Ralph now. 8he knew how the thought of being deserted hurt. 8he knew that the coming years would not be enough to love her mother in. Slowly the words came out, how- evér, and Lynda told her mother her whole story, With each bruised heart string she felt a tighter cling- ing of her mother’s arms., At last, when the story was fin- fshed, she turned and asked: “What shall I do now? Poor Ralph will be heart broken, and in his way he has been very good to me. Before I found you, darling mother, I felt that it would not mat- ter greatly if I followed the path 1 thought you had trod, I imagined that no one would care. No one but Davie,” she added, softly, but not #0 low that her mother did not hear. “Who is David?" her mother ask- ed. “David Kenmore, mother. You re- member Cyrus Kenmore's son.” Then her mother knew and un- derstood. “Lynda, do you love David?" she asked, “Yes, mother, but he does not love me." “He could not help it, my beauti- ful one,” sald Mrs. Fenton, with conviction, They were iInterrupted by a gentle tapping at the door. “Madam, tea is served,” said a maid, Bhe looked astonished to see how much mother and daughter looked alike, but being well trained, she said nothing. The two women went {nto the other room for luncheon, and while they were there, a telegram came for Lynda, forwarded from the Wal- dorf. With trembling fingers, Lynda tore the envelope open. Bhe glanced hurriedly at the signature, “From David!” she exclaimed, and her voice betrayed the joy it gave her. “How in the world did he ever find out where I wi she said. Then she read the messa “Have just learned, dear Lynda, that you are planning to sail with Ralph Armitage, Don't do it, I beg of you. I am coming on, to prove that you are courting an unhappi- ness that will be worse than death. I love you, Lynda, and will be with you before the boat sails. Lynda handed the telegram to her mother, “What will T do?” she asked. 'Ralph will be here at that time, and David, too.” Again came the maid, other telegram for Lynd. “You read it, mother,” she mald, handing the message, unopened, to her mother. “I am unstrung. The mother read, and then she answered her daughter's question. “Ralph will not be here, my dear. This telegram tells you why, His father has persuaded him to give you up to me—and David. He is lhl? minute on his way to Californ- fa." ¥ And Lynda was glad, and she sent and an- 7 WHILE I'M MAKIN' YOU INTO' A GOOD AMERICAN = PAT =1 GOTYA | L \T WAS A MEAN TRICK HIGH HAT AND THROW 25" J08. UY, WE GOTTA HAVE ONE. AROUND HERE AN'IF Y DONT GET ASH BACK To WORK, cation, back at the place of/her sor- rows, but mow her joy. And the moon peeked around the old church steeple, and saw not two, but three. Their moon—mother and daugh- ter's, and David's, too. (THE END) ON FOURTH WEEK OF PHILA, DRIVE Start Campaign Against Boot- leggers in Pean. Gy Philadelphia, Sept. 10 UP—With a number of important developments over the week-end, including the finding of a “bootleggers’ blue book,” District Attorney John Mon- aghan was prepared today to start with renewed vigor the fourth week of his drive against bootleggers, hi- jackers and gungsters, who, lie de- clares, have operated in this city on an enormous scale through the al- leged connivance of the police. Beveral witnesses who Mr. Mona- ghan sald he expected would strengthen his charges of police bribery were under subpoena to ap- pear before the special grand jury when it resumes its investigation. The “blue book” alleged to con- tain the names of bootleggers, their wives and lawyers, together with the names of certain City hall de- tectives and their telephone num- bers, was also expected to play an important part ip the investigation. Some of the names were of persons lving in New York, Pennsylvania and middle western and Pacific coast cities. The book was found in one of the raids by county de- tectives last week. In it the pros- ecutor said he had discovered a “frank connection between the un- derworld and police circles.” Another development was the re- ported disappearance from the Rogues’ gallery of the picture of an alleged wealthy bootlegger whose name has been mentioned in this and other liquor inquiries involving huge sums of money. Remeval of this and other pictures from the eriminal files will be the subject of a thorough investigation, Mr. Monoghan said. REV. 6. E. PIHL T0 TELL OF MISSIONARY WORK Former Pastor of Bethany Church Expected to Speak Mere on Sept. 33 Rev. G. E. Pihl, former pastor of the S8wedish Bethany church of this city, who has been in forelgn mis- sionary work for the past two years will return to his home in New Brit- ain for a short stay next.week, Rev. Mr, Pihl resigned his posi- tion here in 1926 and on August 1, 1926, entered the foreign mission- ary fleld in connection with the Scandinavian Missionary Alliance of America. He was sent on a tour of inspection to China, Japan, In- dia, Turkey and the Holy Lands. La- ter he went to Sweden. Beptember 8 he salled from Swe- den for New York. He is expected to arrive in New York on Septem- ber 18 and to come direct to his home on Park Drive, New Britain. Bunday, Beptember 23, he will preside in his former pulpit and in the evening he will deliver a lecture on his trip. 22 Year Old Mother Drops 13,000 Feet Tulsa, Okla, Sept. 10 (M—Mrs. Patricla Moore, 22 year old mother, dropped from an airplane 13,000 feet above the earth here yesterday —_—— GEN'RAL SHER sAD SOMMN'V% “L ABOUT WHAT| WAR I8 — PAT .~ ~— =" \§ g 4 e Nt to celebratd birthday and wset|for which ticket what she bolu'v'- s & world record parachute jump for women. The descent required 38 minutes, A barograph recording the height of the plame was sealed by govern- ment officlals and will be forwarded to Washington for checking. ARMY-HARVARD TICKETS Cambridge, Mass., Sept. 10 UP— Tickets for the Army-Harvard foot- | ball game here October 20 can be procured only by formal application according to revised ticket regula- tions issued by the Harvard Ath- letic association today. Season tick- ets which in the past were good for five games will admit to only four this year, with the inclusion of the Army game in the group of those e el LIMITATION OF CLAIMS At & Court of Probate holden at New Britain, within and for the Dimtrict of Berlin in the County of Hartford and State of Connecticut, on the §th day of September, A. D. 1928. Trus Company of said New Brissin Administrator on the Estate of Agnes E. Henderson, late of New Britain within sald district deceased. This Court doth decres that aix monthe be allowed and limited for the creditors of said estate to exhibit their claims against the same to the Admin- iatrator and directs that public notice be given of this order by advertising in a newspaper publighed In said New Britain, and having a circulation in said district, and by posting & copy thereof on the public sign post in seid Town of New Britain, nearest the place where the de- led from Record, BERNARD F. GAFFNEY, Jud, applloations must ‘e made, The others in that group are the Dartmouth, Penna and Yale games. Season tickets will ad- mit to the Springfield, North Caro- lina, Lehigh and Holy Cross games. GEORGE D. NORTHROP * ~Panbury, Bept. 10 M—George D. Northrop, a retired achoo} teacher, who completed 51 years of service in the achools in 1926, and for more than 30 years was pripcipal of New street achool in this city, died at his home here yesterday at the age of 12 years. 1 READ HERALD CLASSIFIED ADS THE HERALD CLASSIFIED ADS Minimum Book tharge, 38 cemts Closing time 13:30 dally o Vhavine e > m (R} Telephene 935, Ask for sl time rate. The Herald will not be respensible ‘or errors after the first insertios. “ USED CARS LATE MODEL GUARANTEED BUICKS These cars have many of the improvements of present models, The previous owners have paid for the “big” part of the depreciation. 'This means you can buy an up- to-the-minute automobile at an attractive figure. 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