New Britain Herald Newspaper, November 30, 1928, Page 30

" Over the poverty and discontent u-the lttle yellow house broods a Mother’s love, which transmutes the dingy home to a palace of love and ‘Deauty. Emmy, the only daughter, is disappointed with her surround- inga, envious of her wealthy Grand- mother Pentland and Cousin Mari- anna, eager to try her wings. She #oes to work at her first job. And there a new man, Wells Harbison, enters her life, very different from quiet, hardworking Robb, who loves her, but who represents to her cnly a moneyless, boring future. She de- cldes to get away from dingy Flow- sr atreet and live her own life in a little apartment of her own, where she can entertain as she likes. So that Emmy will not leave, the little yellow house is given up, and the family goes to live in Grandmoth- “Of course, we're friends,” Mrs. | Milburn said, with all her gentle. | ness in her voice. “But it's a mis- take for two families to try to live under one roof, that's all. And 1 hope vou've forgiven me for the hard things I said on Sunday. I was beside myself, T suppose, or 1| wouldn't have said them. It wasn't | your fault that you couldn't like Charlie." Her face was wet in the darkness | of the side porch when she laid it against Emmy’s face and held her | tight in her arms as if she never could let her go. “Good-bye, my | chick,” she whispered, tremulously. “I don’t know what you're going to do without me to look after you. Let me know where you are as soon as you leave here, won't you? linner on Sunda; tled by that time.” NEW BRITAIN DAILY HERALD, FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 80, 1928, missed nothing, when he was gone. my pretended not to hear. he banged the drawers of her | desk as she closed them and loudly hummed “Love Sends a Little Gift of Roses.” “Bye, Lucille, Tm going lunch,” she said, casually, as started for the door. Lucille shot her a sharp look. “You heard what I said, Emmy Mil- burn!” she said, crisply. “It's noth- ing to me what you do, only—-"" Emmy impolitely shut the doos upon her advice. Wells Harbison was marble-and-mahogan quict old hotel. Emmy saw him the minute she came in from the street, He was leaning on his cane, and in one hand ke held a New York newspaper., to she waiting in the lobby of the As she started toward him some- his eye for ten minutes. We think he's keen!"™ She kissed Emmy good-byc and gave her a little push betwcen the shoulder blades. “Go on and get him,” she said, “and bring him over here so we can be inlr(»i duced. Maybe he'll ask us to lunch, | | CHAPTER XLI | But Emmy shook her head at these two wives who took their wifehood so lightly, She wanted Wells Harbison to herself. Shej| wanted to find out what he had meant on Saturday when he said to her: *“We'll talk about this again. There are some things I've got to think out Whatever those things were, he probably had thought them out now and wanted to talk to her about them. Her heart came fluttering up | into her throat with excitement as | she stood before him. But all through the meal he talk- | ¢d about the most ordinary things, | heaping Emmy’s plate with galantine | and a vegetable called | that she never had tasted or heard of. A waiter hov their glass: ercd over them, fill- s with cubes of ice, | making 1 coftee that w ck | and sweet and tasted like licorice, seem simple and natural. When they were in his ly. “What are you doing, time? house? Going on your own?” mmy blushed with pleasure at s lovely nickname for her. Y¢s. I'm going on my own,” she id. But she told him nothing more. Flower street, the yellow house, and her own family seemed v, very far away as she lolled against the soft leather cushions of Wells Harbison's automobile., They left. wide, busy Superor avenue and ‘swung down into the park. There were buds on the trees, and the cool, sunny air smelled of of April. The windows of the flat T want overlook this heavenly park,” Em- my said. “That’s why I want it. All my life I've seen nothing but- - She stopped herself suddenly. She had almost told him about the wool- en mill, the P. & C. railroad tracks, and Flower street! “All my life I've wanted to live in a beautiful place,” she said, *and have everything — just the way it ought to be. You know what I mean. with court ladies in powdered wigs great, |and hoop skirts on the walls, and | powerfw motor, that seemed to hum | the windows looked out over the | to itselt with joy of its own effort- | the gray and green of Gordon Park. { less speed, he glanced at her sharp-|The boulevard wound through it like Spring- | a wide, gray river, and beyond it tne Leaving your grandmother’s | chimneys and smokestacks of th. city flew flags of pearl-gray smoke. (TO BE CONTINUED) BRAZIL ATTEMPTS 10 MEET DEMAND FOR WHEAT Campaign Bei~ Conducted By Gov- ernor ard Other Officlals to Stimulate Interest Porto Alegre, Brdzil, Nov. 30 P —Within a few years Brazil will be able to produce all the wheat need- el for home consumption, in the opinion of Senor Getulio Vargas, governor of the state of Rio Grande do Sul. It is pointed out that this section possesses the proper soil and cli- mate for successful wheat farming, and that as an exporter of wheat it gained considerable importance more than & century ago. Even in 1770 R.» Grande exported wheat and flour to both Portugal and Argen- tina, as much as 24,000 tons of wheat and several thousand barrels of flour going to the mother country. As a result of a campaign con- ducted by the go ernor and other officlals, the state produced 68 per | cent of the wheat needed for local | consumption last year. The area of available wheat land is large. Seed lection, together with larger culti- | tion, is expected to make Rio| Grande again an exporter. | New England Phones Outnumber England’s Boston, Nov. 30 UP—New Englana has more telephones that old Eng- land; more, in fact, than Grem | Britain and the Irish Free Stats combined. A survey by the bureau of scom:- | mercial and industrial affairs of the oston Chamber of Commerce show- ed that these six northeastern Amer- ican states had more telephones than any foreign nation in the woria except Germany. With 1,546,678 telephones in these states at the end of 1927, they haa an increase of more than 36% per cent since 1921, VISIT OUR Used Car Dept. 8 Arch St Fords — Fords — Fords 1927 TUDOR ....... $200 1926 TUDOR 1925 TUDOR 1924 TUDOR 1925 COUPE 1924 COUPE These and many other good guaranteed Used Cars may be seen at our Used Car salesroom. Automotive Sales & Service Co New Britain'’s Only Ford Dealer 86 ARCH STREET | A place that had a lovely view, and lifting steaming silver covers from |cverything new and shiny and nice steaming silver dishes. in it——"" And then, just as she had “Ah!" said Emmy to herself with [made up her mind never to let him genuine delight; “this surely is the | know about Flower street, she began Perry and Robb helped her into Tel. 2700—2701 soline chariot. Toodle-00!" Dan, with his cryptic you all of a sudden!” er Pentland's big house, where Mrs. Milburn is to do the housework, the servants having left. Grandmother has never liked Charles Milburn, Emmy's father, believing him to be one seized her arm above the clbow and swung her around. Marianna's % bright, dark face smiled at her. Em Just behind her was Perry’s Lovey. T o “Hello, Beautiful!” cried Mari- crslidn A2 S et shiftless. Charlie Milburn is ordered out of the house by Grandmother Pentland when he turns up late Sunday morning, intoxicated. Mrs. Milburn tries to save him. Charlle Milburn is killed by an auto down town, and after the funeral Mrs. Milburn decides to go back to the little yellow house. Emmy decides not to go back to Flower strect ‘with her mother. She wants to be independent. She tells Robb he has na place in her life now. NOW GO ON WITH THE STORY CHAPTER XL Robb did not answer. He just #tood, hands in pockets, looking up | at the sickle moon above the house | tops, and she saw his throat move as he gulped. He was always silent like that when he was hurt or un- happy. “Robb, T wish you didn’t like me the least bit,” she told him, laying her hand on his coat sleeve. “I'm sorry you do, I'm sorry for so man: things, . . . I'm sorry I can’t care for you the way you want me to, but I can’t. I love you just the way | I'd love you if you were my own brother, I think.” . He looked at her then. He shook his head. “That wasn’t the way you kissed me that night last fall—as if .1 were your brother,” he said, with huskiness in his voice. “You've changed since then. . . . Go and see if your mother's ready, will you? And tell Perry not to tackle those trunks alone. I'll come up anid help him when they're strapped.” “Better come along now,” Emmy said, and he followed her into the Rouse. As they started up the stairs Grandmother Pentland opened the door of the cardroom, where she had taken refuge behind a table or solitaire, She saw Robb, but pre- tended not to know who he was. “Tell the trunk man to use the back stairs, Emmy,” she rapped out sharply, but Robb went on up the front stairs with a humorous look for her. “Good evening, he called, pleagantly. you?" He was nobody’s man! Grandmother Pentland did not re- turn his greeting. She glared, pursed up her proud old mouth, and went quickly back into the card room. Its baize-covered door swung softly to behind her. ‘The struggle-buggy looked like a Sypsy van with the tin trunks, the old-fashioned “telescope” bags, the pasteboard hat boxes, and the bun- dles that the three boys loaded upon it. “Thank fortune that it's too dark for the neighbors to see it!” Grana- mother Pentland snapped when Mrs. Milburn went into the card room to bid her good-bye. She had been looking at it from behind the heavy lace curtains. “Well, Rosy,” she said, bitterly, “we're no better friends tonight than we were the first time you left here to go to the little yellow house twenty-six years ago! Are wel” Mrs. Pentland.” “How are baggage POOR PA BY CLAUDE CALLAN “When I wound the clock I thought Betty's beau would take it as a hint to leave, but he acted like he || thought I was givin' him || more time.” | (Copyright. 1928, Puchewers Syndicate) e A OWN YOUR HOME WVHILE YOU CAN STILL ENJOY IT | elaborate game of | back over the year: | there. this place any longer. For a while I There was not a word from Robb. He started his car. It choked and chattered all the drive. Then, as it rea it back-fired mighti cannon giving a farewell salute. The gloomy old house seemed more gloomy than usual when Em- my went back into it that night. he door of the cardroom stood open, and Grandmother Pentland called to her as she went down the hall “Emmy, come here! talk to you.” I want to itting on the the grate, red plush | playing an read ard Behind her an old mirror pool of green water. mmy,” she said, “were you in- | tending to stay on here with me?” And then, before the girl had time | to answer her, she went on: “Be- cause I'm not going to be here very long. I'm going to put this old place up for sale. . . . I've never had a happy moment in it, now that I look Nobody's ever Leen happy in it, somehow, Emmy.” She looked around the shadowy little Toom as if all the unhappy memories of the house were hiding sofa beside solitaire “I'm going to take a suite of rooms in a hotel, or tr: y or two," “There’s no use in my keeping up thought that Maybe Marianna would leave that nit-wit husband of hers and come back o me, but T reckon she's getting along with him better than I ever expected her to, And it's foolish to think of Iliving alone here. Miss Bunts has a four- | room suite fn the Ardsley Manor, | and she’s twice as comfortable as I am.” She rambled on rents and elevator scrvice and man service in apartment hotels, and forgot to ask Emmy what her own plans were. Emmy, her brain busy with thos~ plans, listened to her with only Falf an ear. At ten o'clock she went to bed to lie awake for another hour, still thinking of the little flat over- looking the park, the new life ahcad of her, the new fric .o Emmy, with her apple-blossom face and her sunny hair, had never been so lovely as she was in her and narrow white and on about the office on Wednesday morning. She did not sce Wells Harbison until noon, when he came up to her desk and asked her to have lunch with him, “I'd rather you didn't say any- thing about it to anyone,” he told | her, fn a voice so low that Lucille Tngham could not hear it possibly. “I detest office gossip, don't you?” Emmy supposed she did. *Me Hollenden at twelve-thirty, , and she nodded. “The Big Boss made a date with you, didn't he?” asked Lucille, who AUNT HET BY ROBERT QUILLEN “A wife can get right without m The r lected is because her hus- band can get along without it, too.” (Copyright. 1928, Pubiis THE COMMERCIAL COMPANY INSURANCE REAL ESTATE Commercial Tras Compaay Ruilding Tel. 6000 *|you have lunch | been shopping | we're famished, and |such a way of nna, in her breathless, eager way. Where are you bound for Can't with us We've all morning, and ready to drop, Lesides. umy shook her head, n Black turban. “I'd love to lunch with you, but I can’t.” its have a man. What do vou think of that “I think you are stepping, that's what I think!” Marignna giggle nd then suddenly sobered. “How's ndmother?" Emmy told her that she was all alone in the big house once more, and a shadow d lovely made-up face. “I'll run around some day and patch up our quarrcl” she said, thoughtfully. “I would have done it before this—but, you know, Em- my, I'm almost afraid to. She has oiling things m and I ha 9 far. . . . And r and gone back everybody, and Leen pretty happy so you've all left | to Flower “I haven' my answered “I'm going to live alone. I'll call you girls up in a day or two and |let you know where I am. I want you to come to see me as soon as 1| get settled.” Oh, we will,” they said together. “We'd love to.” And then Marianna went on to explain just why she had not gone to her Uncle Charlie Milbugn's funeral. “I'd have been blse and miser- abel for a weck if 1'd gone,” she said. “I knew your mother and understood that you had my pathy and love and all that—" frowned, as if she suddenly remem- bered that she had not so much as sent flowers or even a little note to them, “How's Perry? Still trying to be Whistler or Sargent?” asked Lovey, who doubtless had picked up the names of a few artists from Perry, She spoke lightly, but her blue eycs were wistful, “He's fine. He's going back home for a while and do the pictures thay he's been wanting to do for so long—the Cleveland pictures, you know,” Emmy said, and Lovey nodded. “I ought to know.” Her voice was laden with sarcasm. “They're all he thought about and talked about for weeks and’ wecks and wecks, till 1 thought I'd lose my mind. But I do miss him, Tell him so for me, will you? Emmy promised that she would. “I've got to go now, girls”” she said. “The man I'm lunching with is waiting for me over here. 'Bye.” he man with the canc?” asked Marianna. “Crikey, but he's gooa- looking! Lovey and T may as well tell you we've been trying to catch she | |sald. “I'm going to have lunch with her cousin's for i life!” It was like magic to he the mirrors that line the Crystal oom | of the old hotel, the flowers on the table, the blue flame buring under the silver coffee urn, and Wells Harbisoa’s narrow blue eyes watch- her from the other side of the table. i I feel like an elderly uncle giving | his niec a birthday treat,” he| laughed. “Do you enjoy all this so | much, Emmy? She nodded gaily. “Do 1. | Through the wide arch that led into the small dining room beyond | she could see Lovey and Marianna | t their little table. Mariarna was ing her and every now and then she sent her an evious glance from above her cigarette smoke, No mat- ter how happily married Marianna might be, she was the type of wo- man who always envies other wo- | n their lovers and their love af- “She wishes that &he were here vith Wells Harbison this minute,” thought Emmy, comfortably. “For the first time in her life she wishes that she were in my shoes.” And then she remembered that Marianna |liad wished herself in Emmy’s shoes | ! during the time when she was half | in love with Robb. With Robb, who | had scarcely noticed her. With | Robb, who never really noticed any- one but Emmy and her family. “A penny for your far-away | thoughts,” sald Harbison, and laid a | | cent upon the tablecloth, | “I was thinking of someboly I| | want to forget,” answered Emmy, | and picked it up. | “It's hard for me to remember | people whom T ought to remember— | when I'm with you,” Harbison said, and Emmy was silent for a moment | or two, trying to figure out what he |meant by that. She gave it up finally. | “We'd have time to go for a drive, i wouldn't we?” Harbison asked when | they were out in the street before | the hotel. “It scems a pity to waste | all this sunshine. Let's run up to| the garage for my car.” He hailed a | taxicab. “But T must be back at the office at one-thirty, and it's twenty min- utes past one now,” Emmy told him, | Harbison laughed. “I've an ap- | pointment at three o'clock,” he said. “I don’t have to be at the office un- | til then, and you don’t eithes. | You're working for me, Emmy. And ides, T want to talk to you | mmy got into the cab. T was tod though. | y about four apartment out z to leave ear! I wanted to get a o'clock to see an near Gordon Park.” “Why don't you go to see it now? | No time like the present, Emmy. | I'll drive you out to it If you lik He had such an casy way of man- | aging things. He made everything| |to tell him about it. “You see, all my life I've been a | poor relation,” she sald, and before she realized what she was doing she wag telling him all about the Pent- lands and the Parkses — and about the Milburns who had eaten the crumbs from a rich family's table all their lives, Sho was telling him about Mari- anna’s cast-off clothes, and about Uncle Bill Parks' promise to give her mother the little yellow house, and about Grandmother Pentland, and Madame Hartzell, and the singing lessons that she still wanted to take from Madame Hartzell. She had not thought about those singing lessons for a long time, but now it seemed to her that she must take some more of them at once. “I's a crime not to use a voice, if you happen to have one, isn't it?” she asked Harbison, and he nodded, solemnl, * he agreed, *“and you'll have to take some more lessons very soon. I'm going to see to it that you do it, too. . . . I think I'll have to be u sort of self-appointed Dutch uncle to you, Emmy."” He turned his facg to her with a quick smile, his eyes gleaming, his blond hair shining like a gold helmet in the sun. “Poor little kid.” he said, and laid his hand on hers for just a second. shouldn’t have told you all these things” Emmy said, after a minute. “I've always carcfully kept them from everybody.” 3 She never could explain to herself just why she had told them to Wells Harbison—not even years afterward. It was just one of the puzzling things that all people do from time to time, in moments of weakness or enthusiasm, The car stopped before the apart- ment building. One suite only was for rent in it this time, and it was on the top floor. lsut that's where you want to be, isn't it Harbison asked, As he and Emmy stood in the lobby, with its near-Oriental rugs and its piliars of gilded wood. “Do I want to he up as high as that?"* asked Emmy, thinking of midnight fires and earthquakes. The manager of the building was an enormously stout man who had worn a black derby hat every time ¥mmy had seen him, and chewed on an unlighted black cigar. He ' was decorated with beth of these things now, as he led the way up three flights of stairs to the top floor. He unlocked the daor of the emp- ty suite and ushered them into it. It was simply a large living room with a tiny dressing closet and a tinier Kitchenette, The.furniture was dull blue velvet, and there was a gray velvet rug on the floor. 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