New Britain Herald Newspaper, December 1, 1928, Page 18

LT R READ THIS FIRST: ' Over the poverty and discontent | in the little yellow house broods & | mother’s love, which transmutes the dingy home to 8 palace of love and | beauty. Emmy, the only daughter, | is disappointed with her surround- J inge, envious of her wealthy Grand- | mother Pentland und Cousin Mari- | anna, eager to try her wings. She | goes to work at her first job. And | there @ new man, Wells Harb| -un_f enters her life, very different ! quiet, hardworking Robb, who loves her, but who represents to her nnlyi | 1 ] | a moneyless, boring future. She de- cides to get away from dingy Flow- er street and live her own life in a little apartment of her own, where «he can entertain as she likes. So that Emmy wili not leave, the little |is vellow house is glven up, and the famlly goes to live in Grandmother | Pentland’s big house, where M. | Milburn 1s to do the housework, the | servants having left. Grandmother has never liked Charlie Milburn, | her. Why, she didn’t know. Emmy's father, believing him to be | en if a thing is perfect, ll‘ shiftless, Charlie Milburn is ordercd | doesn’t last.” she said. She was| out of the house by Grandmother Jnttle Yellow House =~ RELBASED BY CENTRAL in a glass bowl. She pushed two chairs up beside it—a little straigit one for herself, a roomy armchair ter Harbison. Outside the sky was saffron and apricot with sunset, and the room was enchanted by its rich, warm glow. The radio sen the haunting music of “The Song of India” into the air and under his breath Har- bison whistled the melody. “1 love music—but it doesn't tell the truth always,” Emmy said, when | there was anxiety in her voice ana they were sitting at the windows, | it her face, t00. with the little table between them. “Sssh! He'll hear you!" Emmy “Nothing ever is quite beautiful | whispered. “He's the man I work as music says it is, 1s it for—Mr. Harbison, Don't look at on leaned across the table. © asked. “Isn’t this mo- itirul to you, Emmy? It w that he meant what he was saying. He reached over and| 0 ®0 T ; Ja30] $ilsTand | oubrihens, dhii anal, dic sl mithoul dopking AL ek T e eh rs ™™ ik | that he couldn't feel any better ana 5 L e live. His dark, serious eyes were him, she did not want him to touch thinking, as she spoke, of the mo- ter Emmy to Wells Harbison. “There's my mother this min |ute!™ Emmy cried out, excitedly | |“Do stop, and I'll run and speak to her.” | The car glided to a noiseless stop !at the side door of Mr. Bash's gre- cery store, and she jumped out ana | ran across the road to the struggle- | buggy. 5 “Who Is that man?" were the first | words her mother said to her, and him Mke that, please, Mother. You're | just staring a hole through him!" | She laid her hand on the sleeve |ot Robb's Sunday suit. *“How are {you, old kid?" she asked him. fixed on the face of the man in the | splendid automobile on the othw | side of the street. They scemed to carch and study and measure him. taking me to church. | “Robbs Pentland when he turns up late |ment under the sycamore tree that| *I Sunday morning, lnvoxu-mea.‘\ Mrs, | night so many months ugo. And as| W're Koing to stop at the ccllnelery Milburn tries to save him. Charlte she thousht of it th ance ot | With these.” Mrs. Milburn glanced Milbarn 1a Willed by an auto down | Mrs. Milburn's little garden of fan |down at the blue and white flowers town, and after the funeral Mrs, | tlowers came o her again, and she | that she held, and her volce sank a Milburn decides to g0 back to the | remembered how Robb had tossed | little, then rose "'""0";““ she e little yellow house, Emmy _decides | away his cigarette and taken her in | on. “The roast is in the oven, an his arms. There never had | Dan has promised to watch it, buy not to go back to Flower street with | her mother. She wants to be inde- | pendent. She tells Robb he has no | place in her life now. In the mean- | time Emmy has seen lots of Wells | Harbison, and he has taken her to | lunch. Emmy selects her apartment. | NOW GO ON WITH THE STOI’.Y! CHAPTER XLII “Isn't it lovely? I like it up here above the tree tops, after all!” said Emmy, breathlessly. | 8he opened the windows. The air | seemed very fresh and clean, ws it | swept up from the lake less than a mile away. “I know I'm going to like it here!” she declared. *“I can hardly wait to | get Into this place — bag and bag- | gage! Just see, there's even an ash | tray and an alarm clock.” *“The folks that was here last loft the clock,” wheezed the fat man- | ager, picking it up. “They had a radlo, t0o, but they took it with bison telephoned to ask her if she | Stcagan DiE] 3 them, | iin o foris rive it Him Ane | ok Miwve know :"d@“ Tohi o “Oh, T wish they'd forgotten the |she did not think of her mothers | IN&." She tried to hi B ] radiol” sighed Emmy. I detest | invitation again until she was climn- | Pointment in a smile. But Ebove FAe alarm clocks, but I should have | ing into his big roadster that panted | 5'(‘"”‘3 h;rd?fi ‘)”‘Zh“: w‘(‘,k i loved the radio!"” | and throbbed as if it were cager to| "ni,h“_:’“":‘; ;’:xu“:'“ o e S pncel up ot Harhison, and e joft on s Feall other side of the street, and the her eyes were deep and with happiness. “Isn’t this j lovellest place that ever was she | asked him again, as the manages left them with the clock clasped in | shining | | much for t the | foot on the step. heen so beautiful and wonderful a moment as that one, but it hadn't lasted. Only the memory of it was still real—real enough to stab her with a dull pain as she sat with Harbison in the little flat above the park ‘m just as tired as can be," she said presently. “I'm gong to do a very dreadful thing. I'm going to ask you to go home—I haven't slept the last three or four nignts, you know." She was glad when he was gone, and yet she looked forward to see- ing him the next morning. « v s not go down to the Emmy did little yellow house for dinner on Sunday after all. For at nine o'clock, while she sitting in the sunny window seat drinking her morning | coffee and looking over the Sunday papers in great comfort, Wells Har- “‘ she cried, her can't go with you! I'm supposed to go home for iminy cricki | dinner today. I promised my mother that T would — Oh, what's this? fingers that made Emmy think of | Something for me?" tive pork sausages, f He nodded, smiling down at her | with amusement in his face. “You're | like a child with a birthday cake— | and all the candles lighted,” he told ker. “You wouldn't let me get you that hat on Saturday. You wouldn't let, me do you a favor. Now I'm Roing to ask you if you'll do me one?” Emmy nodded. “Of course.” “Well, I have a radio down town in my rooms” he explained. "I never turn it on because I never go | back to my rooms until bedtime if 1 | Chris can help it. Livind in a hotel, the way I do, is pretty lonely. . And 1 wondered if you'd keep that radw | of mine out here and let me come to listen to the music sometimes. Would you do that fer me?"” Emmy was silent, her troubled gaze on the sunlit green distances of the park. She had her own ideas about accepting presents from men —ideas that her mother had given her, “The first valuable gift a girl | should ever take from a man is her | engagement ring” Mrs. Milburn ! had always told her. “Before that, she ought never to accept anything | but flowers or a box of candy — | some simple, inexpensive thing.' “I shouldn't take it—-" Emmy began, remembering what her moth- | er had impressed upon her. i 'Please.” Harbison was i tent. “I want only to lend it to you. It' not a present, you understand.” “Well—all right, then,” Emmy answered, feeling that she was do- ing something that wasn't just the | thing to do. “Don’t bother to come the office any more today,” the man went on. Fou'll be busy getting your things from your grandmoth- er's house and getting settled here. | I'll send the man out with the radio late this afternoon, if you'll be s, At four o'clock the mian arrived with it, and by five o'clock Emmy was listening to music from a hote tea room across the lake in Detroit. At half past five the telephone back to It He had picked up a square white box tied with silver ribbon from the seat of the ear and was holding 1t out to her, smiling at her and nor saying a word. mmy opened it. It was filled with white violets that fluttered like the wings of white butterflics when she lifted them from their paper wrappings and held their freshness and coolness against her face. There were three books on the seat of the roadster, too. The three thick volumes of Romain Rolland’s Jean ophe. “The flowers are for you to wear, and the books are for you to read Lecause they tell about a man who loved music the ‘way you love it Emmy,” Harbison said, still smiling down at her with his eves. “I do love it Emmy and dropped down into The car started awa Somewhere across the sunny gre spaces of the park church b be rvice. Six months ago,” sa my, “1 was singing in ‘he choir at our church every Sunday morning, It breaks my mo T've given it up. But it w. nswered, the Is Pateliiempi 2 s | Harbison gave a bark of laughter. Sunday this wi anyhow | 7BY the way he looked at me, of Harbison gave her a sidewise 100K. | .o\ /vce v o gaid: “as if he coula “You couldn’t possibly give as mucw pleasure to the people in church by inging to them as you give me by king to me, * he said. T love to listen to you, and—" He scemed to be on the verge of saying omething serions and important to Ler. Taen, apparently, he changed his min, ps we'd better stop some 0 you can ‘phone your moth er and let her know won't b there for dinner matter-of-fact I hope you won't be th . T hope you're coming with me.” do 1" # LA b ’ mmy shook her head. “Oh, no Emmy glanced at him, and say 3 it s, tadrtly, OB, 5 in that he was watching hee closely s St coridnd | imagine Ak DR m If. married fo Robb and rid- red ind me down, are you?" he day was made for you | for the whole day. | added, | you know how he Is, 50 you'd bettes | put a little water in the pan yous | se1f, every now and then, just to be | on the safe side. Unless, maybe | you'd like to go to church with | Robb and me. Would you, Emmy? | You haven't been in months, you | know.” Emmy shook her head. “No, I | don’t want to go to church, Mother. There are lots ot rainy days when J |can go to church if I feel like it. | And T won't be home for dinner today, incidentally.” That's what 1 |came to tell you. Mr. Harbison's asked me to go for a drive with him. | We're going out into the countrq | We're going out into the country She began to back away from the struggle-buggy. “I'm sorry, “Good-bye." “We had strawberry shortcake for ou,” Mrs. Milburn saW, “but we an have it again some night next sear. | handsome blond man behind the wheel. *“T'll telephone you at your | office and you'll come, won't you? Tuesday—or Wednesday?"” Emmy promised that she would, | and ran back to Wells Harbison. “Have a good time!" she heard | her mother call to her, above the | road of the poor old struggle-buggy, as it started away with enough noise I to wake the dead. | “Some boat!” Harbison grinned | broadly, looking after it. Instantly Emmy was up in arms. | “Well, it goes and that's the main thing!” she defended it. “It may not look like this wonderful machine of yours, but it goes like the wind.” She knew that it did not go like |the wind at all—smoothly, swiftly, | and almost without a sound. But it hurt her feelings, somehow or other, to have him laugh at Robb's little automobile. It made him seem as if he were laughing at her, too—at her people and thetr poverty and their ridiculous make- shifts, orgive me, Emmy” he said | quickly, as he saw her eyes darken | and her mouth tighten at the cor- ners: “I guess 1 must be jealous. { Who was the young scout driving |it? Some sweetheart of yours, I'll bet {a nat!” Emmy shot him a bright glance. “How do you know he isn't one of my brothers?” cheerfully have burncd me alive. He was just as jealous of me as I was of him—and that was plenty.” Emmy thought that over. *“TYes, he probably was jealous” she ed- mitted. “He wants to marry me.” was just as well, she said to herselt, to let Harbison know that another man was in love with her and want- ed to marrs It never did any her. liarm to make a man a bit jealous, 1id it? “I don’t blame him,” said Har- | hison's voice close heside her. “But I hope you're not going to let him around with him in that odd. looking contraption that Wells Har- ' rang. i Why, of course, I'm not:” M- | Lison had called “some boat!" She “Jiminy. T forgot T owned a tele. | my replied, instantly. “But I ooulq just see herself! | plione,” she thought, picking it up atraid we'll have to drive down to S5 o it eerat anel from the window seat, where it my mother's house. She hasn't a finishe. d she said the words' stood concealed by the curtains. T olemnly and slowly, as if she were | certainly 1@ve all the comforts of thought or ni g hersclf something. liome in this place.” Harbison was on the wire. “Please | Flower street hou that Sun. | But all that long and sunny 1y, while she and Wells Harbison may 1 come up” he asked. “I'm A after all, whit flew over the smooth dusty roads of downstairs in the lobby. ! i it make? She had 10l ake County and Cuyahoga County His arms were filled with bundles, lim all about | fanuly and et gonping for luncheon at the tavern and he was grinning like a younz circumstances, he knew just Unionville and for tea at Canars | fresh-colored school boy when he what to expect she kept thinking of Robn | came running up the sta two However, oy had locked that morning. Un- steps at a time IR 15 things ! smiling and hurt, with that bafflea “Here are some flowers for you.” | they started 1o b puesled look in his nice eyes | e said, laying a box of pale yellcw 'corner of Floy and Cedar could not get him out of he. | Jonquils and ¢ willows on the avenue, Emmy h ur ak nd the thought that she han | tahle. “And 1 brought soms want to stay food. May 1?7 I'm so sick of ho'el cooking.™ | for supper. n by let'ing him see tha, was anvions to he with Wells | Harbison robbed the day of some He had brought a tin of English 710 1 e e et of noliday hiscuits, smok-d salmon, Chede r| jolting spint I cheese, olives, pearl onions in a .at!the rough : ol S ! . ;mt'] ? v‘mhln ,um—.h,v [\iv;. [down and it The soft. expectant spring twilight great help around the ' b lay over the town he ey ca kitchen.” he told Emmy. “All T need 1 ik oo »u" r‘ ;r:i “v»:vl,‘r 7 ,:i:(:nve! fs an apron and a can opener, and o in it, and the The yellow lights of the strests I'll get supper for you.” as a pair of giants above it ind Touses shone like fallen stars | He got it while Emmy went out | little fram ind the air was warm as the air of to & near-by delicatessen for ercam | in Mrs. | Milhui's in evening in the middls of sum. and loaf sugar. She never had seen hands was a bouguet of 1 er: A Kim in this voung, light-hearted valley and violuts ¥ Crowds stood outside the doors o mood before. He might have been | along 1 of her & the moving-picture theaters, ana Dan as he set to work with a red- garden.” « rouna | lovers—the Immortal Two since the and-white tea towsl pinned ‘around was cocked up on her|world began—walked arm in arm his waist and a fec o style made populac onee | through the darkness of the park as | Hin hand. on a by Queen Aloxagdria | Harbison and Emmy swept into it He pull-d the England, and under it her eyes|on their way 1o the flat. To the fore the windows, re full of wide, hlue curiosity as|“sky parlor,” as Harbison had the jonquils and p went quickly from her daugh-lnamed it i He stopped at a little delicatessen sort of things that Mr. Milburn haa brought home house on ‘feast nights.” Pate de fois gras, Camembert cheese, English water crackers, marmalade, ana pickled walnuts, Emmy laid them all out upon the little table by the window and It the tall candles. She pulled up the chairs and turned on the radio while Harbison puffed away at his pipv and stared up at the celling as if he were in deep thought that took him miles away from her and the flat, But when he did speak, he spoke of her. “Emmy,” he said, quietly, “I've never felt so much at home anywhere as I feel here—with you." There seemed to be an undercur: rent of sadness in his alow voice. He stood up suddenly and laid his pipe down upon the window sill. CHAPTER XLIV He turned, and Emmy could feel his steady gaze on her in the misty gold light from the candles. Some woman-sense told her that he was going to come close to her and put his arms around her, and & queer panic seized her. . . . She did not want him to! Why, she didn't know, but she was sure—oh, very, very sure!—that she did not want him to make love to her. Not then, at any rate. The thought of it did not frighten her in the least, but it seemed to chill her. S8he drew away from him as he caught both of her hands and held them, small and quivering, against his face for just an instant. She found that she did not want him to do even that. 8he switched on every light in the room, ana dropped down into her chair at the little table. “Let's eat—I'm famished,” she said, in a bright, cheerful, unsenti- mental way, and then suddenly her voice deepened and softened. Her eyes grew dreamy. “Listen, Wells, they're playing ‘Sunset and Evening Star.’ It's my mother's favorite song,” she mur- mured. As the waves of radio muste rolled out inte the room, filling it with beauty and the sadness that always comes with beauty, she be- gan to sing: “Sunset and evening star And one clear call for me, And may there be no moaning of the bar When I put out to sea. . « .* For a minute cr two she forgot the room she was in — the candle light, the swaying tops of trees out- side against the night sky, the mau who watched her from the othes side of the table. For that minute or two she was back in the little yellow house. Back in the si%wg room, with the Dying Gladiater lamp pouring its radiance over the old plano, over the gera- niums and the snowy muslin cur- tains, over the ihreagbare carpex and the threadbare chairs, oOves the smooth, brown head of hes mother sitting beside the table, ana over Robb, with a book in his hands. . . . 8he was home once more while the music lasted. Then it stopped, and the voice of the radio announcer swept out into the room, mysterious as the voice of the oracle of Delphi. “Emmy, you have a very beautl- ful singing voice,” Harbison salq, presently, picking up his form. “What was the name of the teacher you said you used to have?” “Madame Hartgell,” Emmy an- swered. “She’s really just plain Mra. Hartzell, but she calls herself ‘Madame.” 8he thinks it sounds spiffy, 1 reckon.” 5 “How much does she charge for lessons?"” Harbison asked, and Ewm- my told him. He shook his head over ijt. . To think that the lack of five paltry dollars & week had kept her from having a volce like her trained as 't should have been trained. It was, he sald, enough to make the angels weep. Listening to him, all of Emm old belief in her voice came back to her. All the limitless faith she had had in it agcs ago, gvhen she had dreamed of the Chamber Music 8o- ciety, the Friday morning musicales at the Statler Hotel, stage! “But you're certainly going to start taking lessons again, now that , you're earning your own money, aren’t you?” he wanted to know. “I can't afford them—and keep . up this apartment. too,” Emmy said, promptly “And this apart- ment means more to me than even the singing lessons, 1 think, although you may think that sounds silly.” She smiled at him across the flowers on the table, and said as lightly as she could: “Maybe I'm temperamental or super-sensitive or scmething foolish like that, but I've ot to live in a nice place. That's more important to me than any- thing els 8he would have gone on to tell all Established and home tasks easier. the concert | about her plana for the ipflmonu shop on St. Clair strest and bought |the house warming and the little all sorts of good things to eat—the |teas and suppers, but he frowned and began to talk about the singing to the little yellow |lessons and Madame Hartzell once more, “Look here, you'd better call her up and arrange for some more les- sons right away, Emmy,” he said, and swept the room with a quick look. “You haven't any plano here, have you? You'll have to rent one, but it will be worth it.” Emmy, thrilled and glowing from his praise and his interest in her, smiled at him, and her deep eyes shone like gray-green stars. But she shook her heud. Didn't he realize that she could not begin to rent a piano on her salary? Why, it would cost almost as much to rent a fairly sood plano as it would cost to take the singing leasons themselves! ‘Of course, I can understand why you want to live in & nice, com- fortable place like this'™ he was saying, as he knocked the ashes out of his pipe and tucked it away be- hind the curtains on the window sill. “1 wonder it he does understand. really,” Emmy mused to herself. 8he doubted that he, or anyone else who had not lived in. a place like Flower street, could understand what it meant to get out of it— what joy and relief it was to live In a fine, clean street above the park. “You're so lovely, yourself, that naturally you demand a lovely set- ting,” Harbison's voice rang ow. “And I think you ought to have it + 8he waited for him to go on, and | once more she had that feeling thav But I want you to have those sing- ing lessons, too, Emmy. I want to see you make something of yourself. Something fine. I want to help you get somewhere with that voice of yours—" Then he broke off talk- ing, and stood looking down at her, wtih his hands thrust into his pock- ets, for a long moment. he was going to say somethin, vitally important to her. But all at once he turned on his heel, sala “Good-night,” abruptly and gruffly, and went, And when he was gone, Emmy did not know whether she was glaa or sorry, ° o 0 The next morning, to her amaze- ment, he sent for Lucille Ingham and dictated all of his letters to her. Emmy did not catch so much as u glimpse of him or hear the sound ot his voice all day long, and all day long she went about her work in the outer office, baffled and crestfallen. But when she reached home that night at six o'clock, there was a big box of déwy purple-and-blue pas sics on the square table in the mid- dle of the living room, and she knew that he had sent them to her. Who elso was there to send flowers to her? Every other day that week more flowers were waiting for her when she got home at night, but Harbison, | himself, did not come near the flat or even telecphone to her. All eve- ning she would sit at her table, pre- tending to herself that she was reading, but really waiting, with €very nerve on édge, for the ringing of the telephone or the front door- bell. Waiting for Wells Harbison. “I must be in love with him,” she told herself on Friday night, when it suddenly \came to her that she had even forgotten to go down to Flower street on Tuesday or Wed- nesday for the strawherry shortcake that her mother had promised to make for her, On Baturday noon there was un extra ten-dollar bill in her salary envelope. At first she thought that the cashier had made a mistake iIn | counting out her wages, but he| Genuine “Old Company’s Lehigh Coal” THE SHURBERG COAL CO0. 23% 9 55 Frankiin St o Stove Repairs Complete line of stove repai parts carried in stock, NEW BRITAIN STOVE REPAIR (0. 66 Lafayette St, Tel. 772 Your Xmas Photographs TAKEN RAIN OR SHINE NO FANCY PRICES AT THE PLUMBIING ano HEA 1 e wirn HOT WATER, STEAN. Distinctive Home Utensils In our retail department you will find many appliances which make the home more attractive Just now we are featuring articles for dining room and kitchen use—ideal Christmas gifts. Come in and examine the Stainless Steel Carving Sets, Cutlery, Elec- tric Table Appliances, Aluminum and Enamel Kitchen Ware in the latest colors and assortments. Arcade Studio or WARM AIR. OIL BURNERS 73 ARCH ST. Opporite South Church. , NEW BRITAIN DATTY HERALD. SATURDAY, DECEMBER 1, 1928 jshook his head and mid that Mr. Harblson had ordered a raise for her. “That's what you get for bejng a good speller,” he safll, good-naturcd- ly to her, but Emmy colored up ana turned away with her chin in the air. “He doean’t even let me take his dictation any move,” she threw over her shoulder, “so T dou't quite un- derstand this extra money——"" Tut she did understand why it had heen put into her envelope. 8he kniw that Harbison wak giving her the mouey for the piano and the singing lessons, and the knowledge was hu- miliating to her. although she was thankful for the ten dollars. “I'm not worth anything like that wuch money.” she said to herselr. “Rut he I8 good to give it to me." She wrote him a nice little note of thanks and waited for an answer. But none came, #0dd.” thought Emmy. “Perhaps he's just waiting to see if 1 have gumption enough to go ahead with the lessons on my own. (TO BE CONTINUED) rooms on Clark St. Im- provements. For Sale . 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