New Britain Herald Newspaper, January 18, 1929, Page 20

g Y Jack Lol = 'Handsome Harry Looks Over Matter---How They Click! F all the senses given to human- O kind, sight is the most sen- sitive, the most decisive and the most precarious. Since physical attraction is the chiet urge in the mating of the sexes, and therefore chief element in bringing about our very lives (and nothing in life is more important than4ife, itself, no matter what the poetic scribblers may tell you!), and since looks are the primal and preponderant factor in nat- ural selection, we are in truth largely the creatures of a glance from an eye and what that eye saw. This is, indeed, & pity. For physiog- nomy is & joke. Well-turned noses, small and shapely ears, inviting mouths, attractive contours of face, all are congenital chemical accidents, There is no such thing as a set of fea- tures reflecting character. A tall man looks manlier than a little fellow. but it doesn’t at all follow that he is. A hard-faced girl may be a pudding- hearted angel. We all know that. And yet— What man falls in love with a girl that doesn’t appeal to his sense cf beauty? What girl feels cardiac pal- pitation at the discovery that a fat, bald, squidy-nosed man is kind—or virtuous—or even intelligent? Men follow the neat ankle, the feminine charms; girls weaken for the collar-ad heroes, sigh over the nincompoop matinee and film idols, and dream of a tall, broad-shouldered, square- chinned Ajax—and she'll take a chance on what's inside her big boy- dolL. Later she often wishes she hadn't. But primary impulse is eternal, end experience, logic, the great flaming light of truth, can’t civilize it out of us children of Adam and Eve, the only couple in history that didn’t click first via the iris—at least on one side. When a rich old freak lands a beau- tiful young girl, he buys her because she feeds his eye and she lets herself be bought because the price is high enough to blind her. No two people ever married one another, mutually, for position, of their own free will— always one of them had the physical appeal, the other some powerful per- suader to offset the lack of it. Pretty girls hook millionaires, nabobs, gen- iuses; handsome men thrill and cap- ture whom they want, while less sight- ly eompetitors, irrespective of any possession except almighty dough or lofty station, can pack their futile brains, their souls and their spirits in mothballs. Not only in the contacts of opposite sexes does this obtain. Men—in busi- ness, in politics, in every social and commercial and other walk, give preference to good-looking men. They admire “a good appearance”—they place value en what they call “clean- cut” men—and that means as to form and features. Lucky, indeed, is he and she, born on a Monday—for Monday’s child is fair of facel Take, now, the case of Harry Frall: From earliest childhood he had been indulged, petted, pampered and prefer- red because he was unusually good- looking. Teachers, strangers, girls, other boys—all gave him the inside run as though he had been anointed by some divine hand with some gift from above —as though he were a Shelley, or & Napoleon, or an Edison, or a Hoover— instead of being a commonplace, con- ceited, spoiled, lazy loafer who early recognized that for him were not most of the hardships and griefs to which the rest of us ere born. His escapades with young women soon made him notorious after he grew to adolescence. His trespasses were forgiven him—he was so handsome! He tried job after job. He got them more easily than anyone else and was fired with more reluctance than any- one else after he had proven and re- proven that he had no personality, efficiency, fidelity or dependability. Yet he lived along, and he was loved and he was pursued and he was pitied. Lenore Umley, of whom Handsome Harry had never even heard, wasn't a bad looker, herself. And they were destined to meet. Lenore had breeding, which Harry didn’t. Her father was a high public official, a widower, who had lived a useful and important life, and had reached that sappy age when he was receptive to pretty girls. And no one could gainsay that Maybelle Strahn was pretty, “At worst it would be one of those un- solved crimes —‘The Studio Murder'— how romantic- sounding, eh?” A Maybelle, who had met Harry when she was back of a cigar counter in the lobby of the best hotel that gypped the national pilgrims to a recreation resort, was now working with him, racketeering. Umley could not afford a scandal. So, being fallible, gullible and more than amicable, he was trapped, ham- merlocked and nailed. He was not a rich man. The de- mands made on him by Harry and Maybelle were o him a tremendous item. It staggered him. He didn't have it in ready cash. Harry and the woman held their threat over him to give him three days’ time to raise the difference. He had already parted with several thousands to stave off the greater disaster. Harry was to come to the Umley office at a stipulated time for the re- mainder. Lenore noted the furtive, hunted look in her father's face for several days. She adored him, and she watched him eagerly and intensely, al- ways. She could read him. And she sensed trouble, worry and mischief, As his sccretary, confidante and companion, she was intimately in touch with all his financial affairs. And when he called for certain gilt- edged bonds which were a nest-egg to be preserved and clipped and treas- ured, she raised her eyebrows. But said nothing—for she was not bossy nor meddlesome. But when she found him nervously fingering her jewels— the family heirlooms and ancestral gifts which were hers by right of in- heritance from her mother, she wanted to know. The graying Umley choked, quivered, reddened. Then he sat down with her and confessed the whole shameful, humiliating situation, Lenore burned. She was not entire- ly ignorant of her beloved father’s weakness. And she had not blamed him too bitterly, for he had been wid- owed for more than a dozen years. While she did not fancy him in the role of a Lothario or even a Romeo, she surely could not enjoy his playing the part of a boob to a couple of clumsy thieves aiming at his vulnerable purse through his softencd heart and his hardened arteries, with the archaic ar- rows of the oldest and st come-on. She talked it out with him. Ter- rorized, he spurned any suggestion of resistance. But she said: “Father, your good name means as much to me as it does to you—maybe opyright, 1929, Internationa) Feature Servics, Ins. Grest Britain Rights Beserred. even more, since I have to be identified with it more years than you do, in the expected run of life. But I cannot stand by and see you ruin yourself— and me—to pay blood money to these hyenas. Let me handle this. 1 will save your money and your reputation, both.” He wanted to know how—what she proposed to do. But she went into no detail. She only reiterated that he must have faith in her, leave the whole thing in her hands—leave town and not return until she telegraphed him. It took almost the night for her to per- suade him. And when he left it was with 8 heavy heart, doubting, fear some. Lenore did not go to sleep. 8he got out her flashiest frock, painted her cheeks, her lips and her eyebrows with more than usual care and more than usual makeup, and went forth. Her father had told her enough of the movements of Maybelle and Harry to help locate them. She found Harry shortly after noon, having made an in- tricate if discreet hunt of it. He was going to'his breakfast. She watched him enter the little cafe, alone. And she followed and sat at a table where he could observe her. Harry was used to having strange women give him & second look. And he could in a glance divine the candle- power. In Lenore he saw an unusually lovely young thing, giddy and gettable, apparently consumed with the thrill of his charms. He knew just how to cross the next step. Sure of himself, the surer be- cause she had bridged the hiatus of an approach, he was at her table before the eggs were served. She giggled and gurgled, put on some obvious embarrassment recog- nizable to his practised judgment as the manifestation of a girl who has been hooked but wants to struggle and be reeled in for the sport of the game, and he went right through his routine. She told him she had to go to her classes—she was a junior at the university—but {f he would come to her home that evening she would ses that the decks were cleared. And she gave him an address. He squeezed her hand—and she squeezed back. With a smile of ro- mantic anticipation, she tripped away and he watched his newest capture, saying to himself: “I just can’t get by with women— not a little bit, what?” Lenore hurried to the home of her crony, Lottie. There were no secrets between them. Lottie was an artist, and had a studio—a duplex, cosy nest where she lived and where she and Lenore had many pleasant hours to- gether. Lenore afked her for the loan of the place that evening, and gave her the key to her own home in return, with & request that Lottie await her there. Lottie whistled—what was this rendezvous that her friend was fram- ing? But this time Lenore firmly de- clined details. She repeated her wish. Lottie, with a shrug, told her she was welcome, of course, but it was systeri- ous—very. Lenore admitted that; but she added this trick would have to re- main that way. Promptly at the appointed time, Handsome Harry arrived. He rang the bell. Lenore buszed the button from the balecony. Harry entered, a smirk on his face, hat in hand. But the ex- pression fled when he saw at the head of the short flight, his latest vietim— and in her hand an ugly, snub-nosed, blued-steel revolver. His mouth opened with astonishment and shock. ~ “Sit down,” commanded Lenore. “You aren't going to rush me—either way . . . I want to say something to you and then I want you to do some- thing for me.” He saw a glint of determination in the eyes which that afternoon had been high-lighted with other flashing facets, and he limply sank to a step. “First,” said Lenore, “I think you're 8 dirty rat. I'd have as much com- punction about shooting you as I would any other rat. My name is Lenore Umley. You robbed my father. And you will get no moresfrom him. “No one knows I am here. This is not my home. If I kill you where you eit, I doubt if anyone can ever trace it to me. The owner of this studio has an alibi so sound nothing could shake it. She's been gone and with other people continuously for hours. I would slip out. No one would see me—I would make certain of that. At worst, it would be one of those unsolved crimes —'The Studio Murder'—very romantic- sounding, eh? “But I bope that will not be neces- sary. Idon't want any violence. But I swear to you on my dead mother's honor that there will be bullets if you don’t come clean. I believe that is more or less your own method, so it should appeal to you. Now—what's the answer?” ‘“Wh-what d-do you w-want of me?” “I want you to sign this piece of paper . . . I'll throw it down to you « « o with 8 fountain pen . . . and when you've signed it with your full name (and | got it correct when 1 was tracing you this morning—it's \Harry Frall) you throw it back to me—and don’t forget my fountain pen!” She tossed down a type- written, folded paper, and the pen. With shaky hands, Harry opened it and read: « “Miss Lenore Umley— “This s t6~ confirm your understanding that I, with & woman accom- plice, conspired to rob you by threatening to cause a scandal in your family, based on lies. Be- ing & thief by profession, I make this statement in consideration of your not -prosecuting me it I drop further attempts to black- mail you and your father. I know nothing fnerim. inating against either of you, and any charges 1 should make would be fabrications in toto. Te this I take an oath on my immortal soul.” “Sign!"commanded Lenore. ) Harry looked up. The muzzle was pointed at his head. With trembling hand he signed, started to his feet, but was set down again by & stern “No!” and a threaten. ing look and gesture from the girl. He tossed up the paper. “Now, get out,” she ordered. “And I'll watch you leave. And have this in my hand, under my coat when I leave. So no double-crossing, Mr. Rat!” He did as he commanded. She stood at the win- dow and saw him g0, his shoulders slumped. As he turned the corner he straightened and looked back over his shouider. Lenore put the paper and the re. volver in her purse, reached for her hat, glanced again toward the window, and smiled. “Whew—he was a handsome devil,” she sighed.