The Seattle Star Newspaper, August 26, 1921, Page 15

FRIDAY, AUGUST 26, 192 = “WINDS OF TH 1, By RUBY M. AYRES settst? Copyrieht by (Continved From Yesterday) “pon,” Jil said nervously A woman came from the bedroom ning: it was the landlady who jexed after Don when Jill war at] = the office. He's bad, poor wa" ashe ona thetically, “Been in pain all! aa he wanted me to send for you put there! I hadn't anyone to send, gs you know, Miss I've done ghat T could for him Jul threw her hat down onto the table, and went quickly into the Little | m; she had forgotten Tallen gyre for the moment; she had forgot- ten everything but the poor boy whom she could now hear moaning | Pieee—caring?” she was on her| by the bed; he was all that was | jeft to her tn the world now Kathy | pad gone; irritable and unjust as he was, she loved him. fe turned his head restlessly as ahe spok: face was very white; his upper lip. “You thight . . "he said; the words were proken with little stifled groans of wr ant know! I would have come ‘at once; I won't leave you now.” She went back to Tullentyre— | “He's i—please don’t stay . . Talientyre was iy in the middle of the room; he looked absurdly out of place, Jill thought, and a little hysterical desire Sto laugh selaed her in spite of her anxiety; she wondered savagely what he thought of her home, with its ugly, cheap furniture, and air of . might have epme “['m sorry, but it's no use stay- » she said again, rather curtly “Don can't seo anybody when he's m... he has such dreadful pain.” Her voice trembled a Little. “But isn't there anything I can @t—can't I fetch a doctor—or—do anything for you?” he asked. She bit her lip. “The doctor is quite close, but— but I don’t like to ask you to: go.” She knew how everybody would stare at Tallentyre in his dress qothes; it gave her a little feeling of hysteria to think of the excite- ment his presence would cause in the Poad. | “I will go—certainly I will go.” Pallentyre said at once. “If you will tell me his name . ©. “Baker—Dr. Baker . . the next street. She went back to Don. He was lying with closed eyes . It's only in now; his thin hands were clutching | Peads of perspiration stood on | standing rather | Bobbs-Merrill seegeetttas oT don't want youe—I don’t want to speak to you, Kathy ts in Paris it's @ cruel, wicked He to say that she is here—and that she never told me . The doctor came to the door divid: | ing the two rooms; he looked at Tal lentyre; he could not understand | what this man was doing here—he 80 obviously belonged to a different | world, but he was glad of his pres | ence all the same “If Mra. Hillyard ts in London he began diftidently Tallentyre turned to the door. | “T will fetch her at once.” | Jit followed him out onto the land ing; she was very white and her| breath came pantingly. “Mr. Tallentyre--" @he spoke his | name in qn agonixed whisper. “Oh, | please wait a moment... wait a moment.” He came back at once. “What is it? he asked gently, She put her hands to her eyes! she tried to remember what it was she wanted to say, but could not; she looked at him vaguely, and suddenly | at the sight of his immaculate dress, and the flashing diamond, she seemed to remember, “Kathy—waa it, . . was It to din- ner with them that you were going?” she asked In a whisper, He tried to deny it; tried not to look at ber; he began a stammering | evasion, but she cut him short; she leaned against the wall, laughing shakily, “Don waa right, then,” she said | duly, “Don waa right after all— }and she's done with us—she doesn't want us any more!” CHAPTER X When Tallentyre had gone, Jill went back to Don's room. She sat/ | down beside his bed. her hands; clasped tightly in her lap-—her eyes! | fixed on his face with a sort of | brooding flerceness. Her heart felt numbed and dead; for the moment, at least, she could realize nothing beyond the fact that Kathy had thrown them over-—that Kathy had done with them; that in [her new life, surrounded as she was/ | with her new happiness, she could | find no place for them. Don might die, and Kathy would | not care: she—Jill—might be utterly jalone in the world, but Kathy would ‘go on her way serenely, not troub- | Ung. It seemed impossible that it could be Kathy—their Kathy—of whom she was thinking these hard, crue! things. | They had loved each other so much, | they had hardly been separated for | the bedclothes: Jil] took them in her own. She had seen him lke this before, [hundreds of times, but each time it 5 ng her heart afresh—each time seemed to suffer each pain with it seemed an eternity before she Tallentyre back; he ‘had brought the doctor with him. | Jil tried to thank him; she said hoped he“would not stay any i'r; she said she was sorry for wing kept him—that he would be for his friends. shall not go now,” Tallentyre “I would rather stay, if I he had had a few moments’ tien with the doctor on the iy from his house, and there was hing very pitiful tn his eyes as fested on Jill's anxious face. She hardly answered, she turned tt into the bedroom, closing the | Tallentyre was left alone; he sat on the couch where Don spent of his time, and looked round Bittle room. fe this } ‘was her home, was !t! poor girlt—there was a pitying ten In bis lazy eyes as he looked ugly furniture and cheap win- curtains with which Jill lived day of her life. thought so much of things it could buy ‘her mercenary! small fire burning the window behind the nd out in the road he woman's raucous ery——come in, will "t ‘alf tell your father ‘ome... drew his shoulders to- with a little shiver of die he rose from the couch and d over to the fire. could hear voices behind the door across the room: he won- é d what they were saying. Pres | ily the door opened and Jill came } Ot. She walked «traight up to him, ‘fn4 laid both hands on his coat fleeve; her eyes were wild—almost ‘ipressioniess: he had the uncom- fortable feeling that she did not know hat she would have clung to arm of anyone who had been Manding there as he was: there was Mmething frightened and desperate fn the grasp of her fingers. “He's very ill,” she said; even her Wolee sounded changed and hoarse "Dr. Baker says I must send for yy... How can I, when she is im Paris?—how can 17—" suddenly the took her hands from his arm; he wrung them in agony. ‘What fn I do—what can I do?” Tallentyre put an arm around her; spoke soothingly. “It's all right—don’t get upset; TM see to everything—Kathy ia here “in London .. . I'll fetch her at ‘Mmee.” Bhe looked at him disbelievingly. “Here—she isn't—oh, you know the imn't; you're only saying it to ie fn ,comtort me... Oh, what bt puillentyre took her hands in a firm grasp. “Your sister ts here—in London,” one day until Ralph Hillyard came | into their lives; and now he had) finally parted them. Don moved restlessly and moaned | @ little: she lifted a hand and me chanically stroked his hair; it) crossed her mind ay @ sort of dull) emotion that perhaps, she would not have even him: that soon she would be alone here In these ugly rooms in the ugty street which she/| so hated. The cheap clock In the sitting room | struck nine wheezily; Tallentyre had only been gone half an hour—it) seemed an eternity; she wondered | how soon he could be back—if he would bring Kathy himself, or if she would come with Ralph. It would spoil their dinner party, she thought mechanically; she won- dered if it was the firet they had given since their return from Paris If anyone had told her yesterday that Kathy would want to give the first) party of her married life without her sister being there, Jill ®ould) have laughed with scorn; but now! she merely wondered dully why Kathy had so definitely excluded her. ‘The moments crept by: Don lay ; she could hear his breath- ing was mare even: she leaned for ward and drew the clothes more closely round hia shoulders. Half-past nine struck—Jill moist. ened her lips. Surely Kathy should be here now; surely she could not live so far away that it need take all this time to come; she remembered with bit- terness that she had never seen her sister’s new home; that she did not even know where ft was. It was nearly 10 when she heard @ taxi race up the street; her heart gave a great thump and seemed to stand still; she rose stiffly from her chair, and tiptoed into the other room, and to the door. She stood for a moment listening; then she remembered that neither | Kathy nor Tallentyre had a latch | key: she moved stiffly on and went down the narrow stairs to open the door. Tallentyre stood there alone... There was a morent's silence. | Jill's eyes went dully past him to tpe night beyond, and then came | to bis face. | “Kathy—hasn’t—hasn't she come?” He took ber hand and drew her) back Into the passage; he closed the DOINGS OF THE DU WHAT TIME WILL You BE HOME, Tom? MEET On, 1" EARLY ! THE FFS 1.1. BE HOME THESE. INGS DON'T LAST LONG ! yo GQ? T SAW WER EVERETT TRUE WLLO= MY NAMES” SEATTLE STAK Where Else Could It Be? ™ Goins! coop BYE! HELEN Lovist FLEMING. FRECKLES NEVER WHATS BORE, You'Lt FIND IN“ME ATTIC, —— ITS ONLY THREE WEEKS OLD, BuT IT HAS Hes INTSLLIGENCS OF 4 ON VESTER RAY HG ---- Hocp on, MR, PSMYUED G Chit A YEAR orp ! THs Witte INTRODVCS Yo TO A RICNO OF MING. =) KIND OF NUTTY, Too — | WS HAS JUST BOUGHT HS MAST AUVTOROTLGS LY Kathy himself, but Ralph had re fused. “I won't have her worried.” was all he would say, “She's nervous door against the cool night air. | and upset at the thought of meeting “It wasn’t her fault,” he said| so many strange people as it is. Don rapidly. “I saw Hillyard—I saw her| won't+ die tonight, and even if he husband: he would not let me see| does... " he had finished the brok her; he said he would not have her|en sentence with a careless shrug | worrled and disturbed tonight. They —they have a lot of people there . ++ What could I do? I couldn't insist — and after all — tomorrow mornirig—he has promised that she shall come first thing tomorrow morning..." Jill stared at him dully; she could | not rid herself of the feeling that| this was not really happening at all;| that it was only a sort of nightmare lat which she would presently laugh, having proved its unreality “Tomorrow—" she said slowly; the | leound of her own voice seemed to have awakened her to a more acute yense of feeling. ‘Tomorrow may be of his shoulders. It had been useless to argue; Tal- lentyre had only kept his temper with a supreme effort; he had fumed and fretted all the way back in the taxi; he had known how badly Jill would take it, What had come over Kathy, he anked himself irritably; Jill had been wo confident of her; so happy about the future; he was not able to under stand the great difference in the na ture of two sisters; tho Jill had told him a little, he had not realized that Kathy was weak enough to be en trely overruled by the man she had Presently she raised her head. “I am sorry—I suppose you think | I'm an awful baby I'm sorry. | Thank you very much: don't let me | keep you; I shalt be quite all right.” | Tallentyre came back to where she jsat; he leaned his elbow on the | mantelpiece, pushing aside the cheap vases, and the hideous collection of the landlady’s relatives painted glass frames, and looked down at Jill with agitated eyes. “[—1 can't tell you how sorry 1 am—I can't express myself—I never could—but if there is anything I can do—" Jill laughed wretchedly. “You had better go back to your fine friends and tell them how funny it's been,” she said harshly. “Tell | them how much I expected from my | sister when she married a man who | might.have helped us all—and then tell them what I have got—it will | amuse them very much, I dare say,” in CORN For a while Sprinkle-Blow was |very busy, for after Wally Wood- | chuck started on his vacation, every- one got the fever, and everyone wanted different kind of weather. Fotks going north wanted it warm, those going south wanted it cool, peo- ple going to sea wanted a breeze to help the sailing, fishermen wanted {it calm. Hunters wanted it damp so jthe leaves wouldn't crackle and give |‘em away, and sightseers like Wally | wanted it clear. | “1 se@ that other folks’ vacation. time is no time for me to be taking a vacation,” said Sprinkle-Biow to Nancy and Nick. “About the only thing for me to do is to wait until Christmas and take my vacation | thes ” |} “Christmast’ exelaimad Nick. "Why that’s the time we need the/| weather, no idea Mr. Sprinkle Blow. how we count on | most You Bad | “Well” sid SprinkleBlow houghtfully. “I won't take any va- ve “What do you want, Cobbie?” asked the little girl DANNY, DID You TAKE DADDY'S HAT ? “TWANK You. T WISH TIME cation then. After all, one may as well be doing something.” By ‘n’ by all the people were home again, all except Chris Crow and Cob Coon, for they hadn't gone at all. They were afraid of missing something. Corn! It was just com- | ing along fine. The hot, dry spell | that lasted thru harvest-time and | Wally’s vacation was fairly pulling | it out of the ground, it grew so fast. | |And ears! Really, if corp-ears could | hear, I'm sure there wouldn't have! |been any secrets left in the world, | | the field was so full! One day Mr. SprinkleBlow and Nancy and Nick (who had gone back | to the weatherman’s house on the/ star) heard the phone ring, and |Nancy answered it. It was Cob/ Coon, | } “What do you’ asked the little girl “I want Mr. Moon to mind his business tonight,” said Cob crisply, | “and stay away.” (To Be Continued) | (Copyright, 1921, by Seattle Star) want, Cobble?" BY ALLMAN Vou SAY WILBUR MUST HAVE LOST HIS HAT? How DO You WELL, MINE 1S GONE! YA COULD IF YoUD TELL AS BIG A LIE BUT JUDGE,I CANT 30 DAYS INJAIL* TM ONLY a * * Story Cleland £ “a + ° THE PLAID DRESS Page 452 “When Portland was a little clearing with a few log cabins and a few little wooden shacks; when Seattle was a silent wilder- ness with soft-footed Indians roaming the forests which cover- ed its hills; when Tacoma and Everett and Bellingham were not yet even dreamed of, Oregon City had a little settlement of Amer- ican white people. “People wno believed in the Great Oregon country ahd who brought to it their energy and pluck, their hopes and ambitions and thelr faith in God. “It was usually the men who made the decision to come, but it was the women who bore the hardest part of the trials of the trails and of the beginnings in the new land. So many things, so many kinds of things had to be done and no matter how tired they were, the women must do them. “Think of all the stores with their shelves and counters piled with goods, and the big, humming factories making hundreds and thousands of yards of stuff every day. Then think how hard it would be to live here in the West with neither factory nor store. “Mr. Himes told Peggy that his mother wore a hole thru the thick boards of the cabin floor, where © she walked back and forth in front of her spinning wheel. “And many of the pioneer mothers grew so tired with the anxious days and nights of danger to their little ones and the endless heavy work that God took them home to Himself, so that they might have rest. “It was so with the mother of little Clara, “And from the time she was a wee bit of a girl, Clara turned to sister for everything. And it was sister who carded the wool which was taken from the shee? and spun it into long threads and dyed it and wove it into cloth and last of all cut it and made it into dresses and petticoats for Clara and jackets and trousers for the boys. “When Clara was nearly 5 years old, sister said, ‘I'm going to make you a pretty dress, honey; a sure enough pretty one. I have lovely soft wool and the dye came out in the prettiest col- ors and I'm going to make you a truly pretty frock." “In and out flew the shuttle and Clara’s eager eyes watched the fabric grow, bread lines of vivid red and lines of narrow black, red and black, red and black. How beautiful it was! (To Be Continued) Pret) When 1 | questioning | husky, answered Grace's half remark my voice was married, and-—-incidentally-—by his| she added fiercely; she looked up at| (Copyright by Seattle Star) {ter of a minister in a little Indiana |town huddled down on the banks of the Wabash—it won't make any dif. #ald; he spoke slowly and deliber- Maly as if to force his words home Wher, “she came home last week | “1 thought you knew; I~” too late” she added sharply. Tallentyre looked away from the agony of her face. “I did my best,” he said. “I wish Wrenched her hands free—her $3 were blazing, in her heart she he was speaking the truth; and Wet she knew, too, that she must it, and must go on denying it. | thy would never have come without telling her; Kathy Mad never have allowed one single to pass before she came to her Was a cruel lie—a wicked lie. “I don’t believe you--I don’t be yOu,” whe sald hoarsely. “Kathy 't be eo cruel—she knows I love er Oh, let me go- let me Supreme tlena that crows Coftee 1 Ib, 400; 2 Ibs, 75e; the yery 3 lbs. $1.19, | ch with me—Best for Less. Quick Service MA uA NSEN—10 Kconomy Mkt. | I could have done more.” Jill leaned against the wall of the narrow passage; her body felt sore and aching as if it had been bruised all over; the pain at her heart seemed to have found an echo in her limbs: suddenly she turned away and hid ing her face on her arm she began) | to sob wildly. “Jil wald Tallentyre, with wud den emotion—Jill...” He put an arm around her shoulders. ‘Don't |, .. don’t, for God's sake, don't ery.” | He had never felt #0 sorry for lanyone in his life; hia heart burned | with dull anger against Kath nd | Hillyard; he thought of his friend | with a sort of rage—and of the mag nificent house from which he had | just come. He had tied to inwat on secing people, and her new environment. Jill did her best to check her sob bing; she broke away from Tallen tyre’s arm, and went on up the stairs in the darkness, sobbing as she went. She was tired, and worried about Don, but the hardest blow of all had been this cavaller treatment from the sister she loved. She and Kathy had been every- thing to each other; she could not be: Weve that such a little while had made #0 great a difference, Tallentyre followed; he put her into a chair by the fire and began to pace up and down the room; a fever ish unrest consumed him, He was longing to be able to com fort her; his heart was angry be cause of the many things he wished to say, and because they would not come to his lips; he had never been eloquent; he was tongue-tied now be: fore her grief. him with burning eyes, and suddenly before the pitying expression of his, her sobbing broke out again; she turned away from him, hiding her face. “Oh, go away—go away—I never want to see you any more.” She felt that Kathy's action had humiliated her in the eyes of this man, and she had #0 passionately wanted him to think well of her; she wished he would go away, she hated to see him there in the ugly room; she was sure that after tonight he would never come near her n; that this was the end of the friendship that had heen so wonderful, to her at least ‘Tallentyre did not move “You don't mean what you | saying,” he said quietly. “You know |better than 1 can tell you that I would rather be here with you--tha with Hillyard—or anyone else—a thousand times rather!” | (Continued Tomorrow) “I had never heard him," I sald. | ference if I tell you about it now | “Well, that was like him,” gently. /and if you know my real name, for| “1 didn’t want you to know he knew | my father died last year and it can't me—because knowing my kind of @\ hurt him any more. Like most girls girl is a reflection on him, or any|1 went away to college, normal are other man of his class, unless one understands. “He did something for me once— or tried to do it-—and I told him then that any time there was anything I could do for him I would do it. And this is the first time he's ever asked anything from me, and I've made a botch of it.” A rueful bit of a smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. “You haven't made a botch of it-- the thing can drop right here,” T sald. “But it can't drop here, because |t've got to leave here now! And, you see, I'll be put without any ref- erences aint’ “Again?” I echoed. “Yes, you know, Miss Sorensen, 1 started life as the respectable daugh school, for aqcording to my father’s wishes I was to be a_ school 1, there was a girl there at |school whom I went around with |quite a bit. Helen had some other friends, though, who were fast; she used to bring them to the room and they drank more than was’ good for them, The night of the day on which the summer term ended, Helen went out with the crowd for a fare well party and then brought “two of |the girls back to the room to stay all night. ‘They were drunk—all three of them, “I Intended to stay a few days longer and then ‘go right to the school which T would teach. So T was up early and out the next morning. 4 | diamond | WHEN A WOMAN TELLS By RUTH AGNES ABELING CHAPTER XIX—I LISTEN TO GRACE’S STORY “When I reached home at noon I found that Helen had gone home— she was’ going to be married that fall. There was a little note of fare- Well and a promise to write. “That afternoon in the corner of the stone where the fire escape was fastened on my window I found a ring—am I boring you?” She stopped. “No—go on," I urged, “I suspected that it belonged to one of the girls who had been in the room the night before, but I didn’t know who they were or where they lived, so I slipped the ring on, my finger and thought I'd keep it until one of them came and claimed it. “IT went along a few days and no one came for the ring. I found that no one in the house had lost it. Finally J put an ad in the paper— but no one, who could describe the ring, answered, “So, in September, I @et out for the town in which T was to teach. { liked the little place instantly and seemed to be making friends, “One day—I had been there abous a month—a strange man appearet in the doorway. . “1 bad an inkling of something impending as I asked him if there was something he wanted. “His gruff voice as he rephet frightened me still further, He said he was looking for the school at which Grace Cameron taught, Then 1 told him T was Grace Cameron; he looked at me insolently and said, ‘You her? “He! motioned to me then to come out of the building.” (To Be Conténued) For French Pastry look up Boldt's. —Advertisement. 99 | {1-Third Ave “COR UNIVERSITY