The Seattle Star Newspaper, June 22, 1921, Page 11

A } o ’ vd. _WEDNESDA : in i ts Should Be Fina 5» Needed, Says Man Who Has Passed 50th Mile- y yore. What Are Your Dear Miss Grey: In looking over your column in today’s My thoughts seemed to call for ha ay on the ques- on of the child being expected to reim! \\tar | This question touched me ii ncident. Once my father, in a burst of temper, perhaps when @ Was very provoking, told me that I had “never paid for my and probably never would.” This caused me to think n and deeply on the subject. Leaving out of the discus- ion my personal experience along those lines, let us analyze ji the question a little. Why the child in the first place? The ; | e man before marriage woman he loves; moved & measure also to ‘ > derh in om 7 2b the man and husband think or feel the hopes and Abitions of parenthood, until the visible result of the mar- ge is seen—until the babe is born: phe woman has given all and thru ving has come into the beauty rhood. She smiles, presses Precious gift of love to peo, Proceeds to nourish and care At, and ts content. j father looks on and beams i h pride, struts around and im- jjzines that he is the real creator of New life. Yet he possesses not a of the creative force even in Physical. The creative and sus ning functions are feminine. Just BO, the rooster of the barnyard struts hout and crows loudly; yet !t is the \ hen who lays the ee and iru patient sitting brings forth the ffy little chick. The germ of the is in the body of the hen. You I have come in the physical ly thru a similar process of cre) So much for bringing the child into world. How many of us who © Not at some times felt that if had had our choice we would | £ have been born. We are born ru no volition of qur own. ‘There are parents who would care the child, simply do their duty, | d charge the expense account up n the child to be repaid at ne time in some way. Yes, the ts should be repaid for what yearn. If the parent's donation just what the custom calls for d what the law demands, then not refund is coming. thru satisfaction of the pas-| is and the pride of fatherhood the 4 assumes the responsibility, hy look for financial reward? Un- r certain conditions or where un- ual sacrifices may have been made r the child has hed near ma ity, this may be expected. | But aside from all the financial ob- jons ~Ynvolved, how about the er? Never yet have I met a fem who did not have a tender for his mother. Why? we all feel the swpreme - she has made for us. As the is most nearly akin to God in ative and_ sustaining so is the mother in her (Continued From Page 6) ler’s winegiass. “What are you going to do?” Ferrier looked out toward the sea. 4t looks inviting,” he said with « ort laugh. He was rather surprised at the D with which Hastings 4 him to go and bathe As walked down to the seashore he ondered if it was only his own dis that had made the other man ppear fo eager. But he understood when he hed the sands. They were near deserted, save for a few children ying about; but under the cliff, Mooking out over the sea, a girl sat one, her back to some weed-grown Hocks, a book lying idly open in the p of her white frock. * Ferrier stood still. He felt sudden. as weak as a child, as if he could have dragged himself another Joan had not seen him; she had " ofice glanced his way. Her hands ere folded over the open book, she lwore no hat, and the breeze ruffled Ver fair hair. Her delicate profile ; silhouetted against the dark background of rock. © Ferrier strode forward, his steps Imuffied in the loose, dry sand. He ‘ 4 forgotten everything in the (Grorid but the girl who sat there, aring out over the sea £0 listlessly. byerything was wiped from his) mory save the fact that he loved that she was the one woman in world for him. He felt as he had | Fone that day—before he knew the | ruth—-when he had spoken with her Min the hotel drawing-room, when he bad longed to take her in his arms He was quite close to het before RK ghe seemed aware of his presence, an she looked round with @ little art. ' “Joan! she sprang to her feet th a stifled cry, the book falling to the sand; the blood rushed to her) ce, and then receded, leaving her i WBeadly white. “Joan! said Ferrier again, hoarse- She stumbled toward him then, nd Ferrier’s arms closed around jer, as if he could never let her go gain; there was a fierce triumph in| is eyes; he would not have cared if ¢ whole world had come trooping the sands to stare. She could feel heart thumping beneath her ik; presently she lifted her face Und tried to push him away “Oh, let me go!’ She spoke breath Jessiy, she could not meet bis eyes. Ferrier loosened his clasp still held her. He looked down at ber and laughed shakily “I have come back, you see, Joan! Peathia Grey: her! but he} ncially Reimbursed When Views? urse the parent. in a peculiar way. I recall one is impelled to court and marry largely by a desire to possess, express the love he feels. Sel- ald, but I began that morning to realize how much she had needed more of my love and loving associa. tions—more fervent responses to her jyearnings for her boy 2,000 miles away, Yet, thru her passing I first learned that there is no death, She is often with me, comforting, lov ing, spiritually sustaining me. Altho | L have passed the 50th milestone, yet hen she visits me I am just her i boy again, and content to We should always reimburse the parent financially when needed, and | |may anyway, no sentiment against | it, I believe. But we can never re pay mother for her love and sub | stance given to us out of the sweet | sacredness of the motherhood and | divine womanhood, The trouble is we do not think in time. The boy gr girl, the man or woman, may bé/ jeareless of the love manifestations | | we owe mother, and continue to give her heartaches. But we will) pay, Pay, pay, some time, some way; it is the divine rule of reimburse | | ment Let us honor dad for his| manhood and love and protection to | mother. But let us guard her tender |ly—tove her now-—do not wait to place flowers on her grave. (iss her now, and mean it. Let us pay jas we go, and there will be no debts to pay when its too late to pay them. Sincerely, UNCLE LONESOME. eee eee Any Work for This Manf aby 5y ised BH % 3 ett if i You wanted me to come back?” She gave bim no answer: she stood with head drooped, as if some bitter weight of shame erushed her. “Joan!”—he put a hand gently beneath her chin, his honest, pas stonate eyes swept her face jealously —“look at me,” She raised her eyes: they were full of tears; her lips quivered pite- ously. Ferrier bent his head and kissed them. She put up her hands te her eyes. “Oh™ she said—the word was half a laugh—"“sore one will see us.” He looked round carelessly. “There is nobody to see" his voice told her that he should not have cared if there had beén. He put an arm about her; he drew her down to the rock beside him—he had so much to say to her, and yet he | could find no words. He looked at her, and found it impossible to be Neve that he had kissed her—that he had kissed the lips that had so often mocked, and defied, and tor. tured him, den fierceness. He asked her a strained question— “Joan, do you love me? She turned her face away. “Do you love me?” she said. Ferrier pressed her head back against his shoulder. He bent and kissed her lips. “I love you more than anything in the world,” he said. “I have al ways loved you. The day I went away, when I saw you in that man’s arms, I could have killed myself-ror you.” She gave a little protesting “I couldn't help ft. I tried to keep him from going to London with you. I was afraid,” her voice sank to a whisper. Ferrier held her closety. “Why were you afraid? he asked her. His voice was rather hard; he was beginning to remember things. His heart throbbed with the longing for her to tell him everything; the truth from her lips would have been as sweet music to him as the words “I love you.” She shivered tn his arma. “You know,” she said fainfty. |"You—oh, how you must have hated |me when—when you first knew?” | Ferrier did not answer for a mo- |ment. In her faltering words he jread the confession for which he jlonged. When he spoke, it was | with the whole noble generosity of |his heart—the ggnerosity of a man who, knowing aff, forgives all. At |that moment everything was wiped jout—forgotten. Joan stood once agajn on the pedestal where he had He drew her to him with a sud. | She SAY, Tom, DID BAILEY’S DOG YES AND EVERY OTHER MORNING FOR THE PAST ‘TWO WEEKS! sHE SEATTLE STAR Nk ooOR Qos ngoe: ey worshiped her when they first met. “Joan, when will you marry me?” She was suddenly still He felt the stiffening of her whole slender body against him. Her cheek, which was all he could see of her averted face, blanched. When she laughed, it was high-pitched, unnatural. “Oh, you take my breath away.” laid her trembling hand above the one that clasped her. “You— "t talk like that yet! Why she broke off breathless “I will marry you, and take you away, and teach you to forget all that has ever happened,” he said. His voice was full of determination. “Nothing matters — nothing — if only you love me.” She freed herself from him; a smile quivered about her lips. “I can't—not yet. You don’t un- derstand. My brother—and—and the others—" “Leave me to deal with them” She laid soft fingers against his mouth, He caught them and kissed them passionately. “Oh, my love, my love he said. His voice was broken. “Let me take you away. If you knew how I have longed to take you away.” She broke into piteous sobbing: she looked round fearfully, as if she dreaded some one was listening. “You mustn't,” she maid. “You mustn't. Oh, believe me, I know best. You must wait a little while, if you love me—just a little while, ‘They mustn't know yet. Promise me, promise me—" they have threatened you~ frightened you" “No—no! How could they—how could they?” His eyes darkened. “One night, I heard you sobbing. Joan—if I knew that any one had hurt you"—he drew a deep breath;| his hands clenched. She brushed away her tears. “You will promise me," she en treated. “You will not tell them— yet4-not any of them. They will not hurt me—they would not dare. ) am quite safe, now you are here. Promise me that you will wait— just a little while.” He hesitated. She broke out petulantly— “You don’t trust ma I suppose I can't expect you to.” “I do net believe that,” he said gently. “I have not asked you a single question, I never shall, Some day you will tell me everything, Joan, I do trust you; and because I trust you, I will do as you ask me.” He released her hands—he rose to his feet, looking down at her with a smile; half whimsical, half tendeg. ‘Il was sent down to bathe; may I walk back to the house with you? Or must I go another way?” She forced a smile. “You must not look at me Mke that.” Tears swam suddenly tn her eyes; she bit a quivering lip. “If you look at me like that everybody will know that—that—" “We love each other,” said Fer. rier, He spoke the words trium- phantly. “Oh, little Joan, you don't know what a hard task you have given me.” He turned her to him suddenly, “Kiss me, Joan,” he said; “you have not once kissed me.” He took off the big slouch hat he wore because she had once said she liked it; the sea breeze fluttered his thick brown hair. He looked some- how oddly like a big, bashful boy as he stooped toward her. Joan stood twisting her fingers to- gether, Suddenly she raised her face with a reckless gesture. “Remember that you—you asked me—to—kiss you,” said; her soft Ips touched h then she turned and fled from him across the sand. An bour Mater, Ferrier went back I'M GLAD You REMINDED) ME OF THAT Doc! I'M GOING OVER AND MAKE A Kick! Good News and Bad News NOW, You BE CAREFUL WHAT You SAY! Soars TO LET MRS. BAILEY, | CAME ABOUT THE WAY DOG BARKS IN THE OW, MR BAILEY OVER To SPEAK ‘To You | GOT RID OF THE pos TODAY! SELL HIM? mete Wm LIU /C ¢ UNUM h “HOw OLD Do WE WAVE To BE? ALS You 3+ “Ou HAVE TWAT FAR- AWAY-LOOK PS ed gis OF GENEL WIN “Yea,” mid Sprinkle Blow, the Weatherman, to the twins, “our course is plain. In order to please all the creatures, we must first get) Jack Frost out of the way, then fit | our watering pots and ride the near. est cloud over to Farmer Smith's sass-patch garden. We can then send @ gentle shower to make the carrot and lettuce seeds grow. That ought to please our friend Ben Bunny.” “But how can we get Jack Frost out of the way?” asked Nick. “He/ told us once that when it was tii tor spring to come, he wouldn't get out if he could help it.” “Very true!” nodded Sprinkle-Blow, “But 1 think I know of a pretty good | plan to get him out of the way. to the cottage. He had walked about feoling as if his happiness were too | great for the house, too great to share with anything but the sea and the sky. His eyes sparkled, there| was a new buoyancy in his stride. Joan was pouring tea for the othef men tn the little sunny room. Ben- nett hauled himself off a couch to shake hands with Ferrier. Ferrier looked hesitatingly at Joan. “I met Mr. Ferrier on the sands an hour ago,” she said casually. “Why didn’t any one tell me you two were coming back?” She smiled at Major. “I suppose you all thought it would be a pleasant surprise, ene “And wasn’t it? asked Major lazily. He watebed her from half- closed sleepy eyes. She laughed. “Why, of course™ She seemed to avoid looking toward Ferrier. He knew it, and his heart swelled with @ sort of pride. She loved him. He had held her im his arms and kissed her. It was their secret—something shared with him from all the world. He tried not to look at her, but his eyes turned always to where she sat. There was a curious tenderness in their depths, Already he was wondering when he would be alone with her again. There was no mention made of cards that night: in his newly-found happiness Ferrier forgot to wonder why. They sat in the porch of the little oottage, talking and smoking. Joan, in her white frock, was close to him-—a fold of her dress brushed his foot—once, he brushed her hand with his lips under cover of the darkness, When he went to his room that night, he stood at the window for a long time looking out across the sea where the moonlight made a fairy path of gold to the sand. “God bless her! God bless my wife that is to bef" “Nancy, do ‘you know how to telephone?” Later on, when I have more time, I will have to bring him up to the sky again and lock him up with the other ‘Nuisance Fairies, Nancy, do you know how to telephone?” “Yes, Mr. Sprinkle-Blow,” swered Nancy. “I often do.” “Good! answered the fatryman. “Then suppose you go into my house and call Mr. Sun. His number is one million and one, Universe. And tel him to make Jack Frost go North Up there the seals, and wal- ruses, and polar bears just laugh at Jack's pranks, so he may as well be entertaining them. Tell Mr.“Sun to be very firm with him and to watch | him until he is gone, for Jack’s a tricky chap.” “Yes, sir, I'll tell him,” said Nancy, going into the house at once. “There's Just this about it,” Sprtn- kle-Blow sald to Nick when Nancy had gone, “as long as Jack Frost is down on the earth, those old nuis- ances, Thunder and Lightning, will stay where they belong. They won't go where Jack is.” (To Be Continued) (Copyright 1921 by Newspaper Enterprise) UA eS DID MR BAILEY PAGE 11 _ BY ALLMAN NO, HE TRADED HiM FoR A CorNeET ! BY BLOSSER . WELL, HE'S NINE AN’ TM SEVEN<THAT NOSE Bec He || THE SCENTER! MIDDLE oF Te FACE 2 , *. a He Mant think such a little pile of gunpowder could make such an awful lot of fire, or that any fre could burn so cruelly. All over his face and neck and ears and eyelids, his ps and bands, he was terribly burned. Of course they called the doctor and be did what he could to stop the pain, but for a long, long time, day after day, the little boy lay on the hot feather bed, and he had plenty of time to think how foolish he had been and how he would warn all little boys never, never to try te play with anything as dangerous as powder! ‘Well, ene day the whole wagon train had stopped and made a camp, and all the people had gone away except the doctor (who was quite well and strong by that time) and the little boy with the burned face. As the doctor sat resting and watching, he saw coming toward the camp a long line of Indians on horseback; naked, yelling sav- ages in war paint, which meant that they were out for war. “Now, what shall I do?” he thought, “Here's my gun, but * - By Mabel Cleland _% Page 396 POOR, LITTLE, SILLY, NAUGHTY BOT that wil be no good against 60 savages.” a ‘The Indians came up and the Jeader got off his horse and spoke to the doctor. They talked for some time, but the Indians woukin’t listen to reason, and they couldn't be bribed. They look- ed angry, and determined, and@ kept drawing fn their line closer and closer about the camp. Suddenly the doctor thought of something. “I know,” he said te himself, “how afraid these Indians are ef smafpox. IT] just see if I can sive them @ scare.” “You will have to go,” he told the Indian chief, “you must net let your men come nearer, you must not! Come, I will shew you” And he fifted the wagon sheet and showed him the boy with the dreadful burns. The Indian gaye one look, and seeing the swollen face and the great gore blotches, he gave a mighty yell, and that was the last they ever saw of thaé band of Im dians, FERRE Confessions of a Husband (Copyright, 1921, by N, B.A) 41. THE A NO. 1 WORKS OVERTIME In the instant between the time when the motorcycle cop growled his command for us to stop and when Edith managed to bring the car to @ halt, she had flicked away her cig- aret. As she now turned her eyes upon the policeman she looked as de mure as a boarding school miss. “You were doing 48 an hour,” sald the policeman gruffiy. “That'll mean & summons and @ fine tomorrow.” “Oh, officer,” and Edith gave him one of her A No. 1 Carefully Selected smiles, “was it as fast as all that? I had no tdea—” “Tell that to the judge tomorrow, miss,” returned the policeman grimly. “Oh, dear, of course I don’t blame you for @oing your duty. Where would wé be without brave men like you on the force?” The A No. 1 wag working overtime in the dim re- flection of the car's lights, and I could see that she was vainly rack- ing her brains for an excuse, “Sorry, miss, but—" “And of course you can’t guess how frightened I was, If I had only |, known it was you!" “It don't make any difference about me. I gotta give you a sum- mons like any other traffic officer.” “Oh, certainly you do, but you see, I didn't know ft was a policeman. There’'ve been so many hold-ups along here, and when I saw a man pursuing us—and such @ great big man he was, too—I was afraid we were going to be held up, so I made the car go just as fast as it could.” It was the thinnest kind of an ex- cuse, and the policeman tried to in- terrupt, but Edith went right on: “1 suppose it was very wicked of me to disregard the traffic rules, but, officer, you don’t know how frightened I was. It was such a relief to see you draw up to the machine in your handsome uniform and to feel that I was perfectly; safe.” | The policeman’s face broke into a broad grin. “You win, miss,” he said simply. | “but don't let me ever catch you going at that rate again. You'll have! to have @ better excuse the next} time.” “ | We rode off at a more moderate pace. “It's certainty convenient to have as efficient a vamp as Edith for your wife,” I told George. “sie vamps every man she sees,” he told me. “She'd even vamp me— ig I'd let her.” “Well, it’s lucky thet her smile was working in such good order to night.” “I'l say it was. Otherwise, it'd probably have cost me about $50 when she saw the judge tomorrow.” “['m not thinking of you,” I re- turned. “I mean if was mighty lucky, for the judge.” (To Be Continued) _ WE HAVE RECENTLY ADDED 1,500 NEW BOXES TO OUR MODERN SAFETY DEPOSIT VAULTS. Come and examine our equipment for tho safekeeping of bonds and other valuable papers. 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