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•V* A Tfct Baniwll PtopMkailafl, Barmwell S. C. Thursday, J«Iy 29, 1987 WITH BANNERS I SYNOPSIS / Brook* Rpyburn Tlstts the offico of lad Stewart, a lawyer, to diaeuat the terma of an estate aha has Inherited from Mra. Mary Amanda Dana. Unwlttlnsly aba overbears Jed talking to Mark Trent, a nephew of Mra. Dana who has bean disinherited. Mrs. Dana had lived at Lookout House, a huge structure on the sea, built by her father and divided Into two, for her and Mark’s father. Brooke had been a fashion expert, and Mrs. Dana, a “shut-in,” hearing her on the radio, had Invited her to call and de veloped a deep affection for her. Mark dis closes that Mrs. Dan* had threatened to disinherit him U ha married Lola, from whom he is now Alvaroad. Be says ha does net trust Henri and ClotUd* Jacques, Mrs. Dana's servants. He says he Is not Inter- eetad In an offer of Braaha's to share the estate with him. Leaving her department store Job. Brooke rafuaas an offer to carefree Plaid, a young man who wants to marry her. At a family conference she loams she must live at Lookout House alone, sine* Lucetta, her younger sister who Is taking her Jon. her brother, Sam, a young playwright, and her mother plan to stay In the city. Jed and Mark are astounded whan they hear from Mrs. Gregory, a family friend, that she bad witnessed a hitherto unknown will with Henri and Clotllde two weeks before Mrs. Dan* died. Brook* had arrived Just as she was leaving. “Thank you for everything, Mrs. Mary Amanda. Thanks billions.” She swallowed the lump which rose in her throat whenever she thought of the woman’s incredible kindness. Hardly the time to go sentimental when at any moment the family might burst in on her. They were on their way to spend Thanksgiving. For ^ the first time they would see the changes in the house; she had postponed their com- pa-jJng until it showld be in perfect or- der. CHAPTER HI—Continued “Destroyed it? But how could Brooke Reyburn have known what was in the first will? Perhaps your aunt had told her that she was to be residuary legatee—it doesn't seem probable, but women do fool things.” He grinned. “Of course men never do. We’ve got to get busy. If it isn’t destroyed, that will may be at Lookout House; you’ve never liked the Jacques and you say that they hate you. I have an idea. Open your house. Live ’here. Get friendly with the girl.” “I would feel like a sneak to go there to spy on her.” “You suspect that she may have influenced your aunt to make a will in her favor, don’t you?” “I do.* “Then give her a chance to prove that she didn’t. Take a couple of Japs and go down and live next door.” “I won’t commit myself to that proposition in a hurry. If I decide to do it, will you come with me?” “Sure, I've been hoping you'd ask me. Philo Vance is my middle name.” Stewart picked up the note lying on the desk. “You’d better •pen the investigation by accept ing this.” "The Reyburn girl’s invitation to dine on Thanksgiving day? I would tool like a spy, a traitor. The tur key would choka me.” “Do you want the truth about this will?” , “You bet I do.” “Then go. Don’t write. We never •end a letter when we can send a man. Phone the night before that you are coming. She'll have less time in which to think why you are Accepting." Brooke Reyburn stood in the door way of the living room at Lookout House Behind her in the hall a graceful circular stairway wound up and up. She nodded approval. The room was the perfect setting she had visualised for the duchess of Argyle since the day the had known that her father had willed her the portrait. The green of the walls and trim repeated the color of the satin gown of the woman in the dull gold frame which hung above the mantel of carved black Italian mar ble. repeated also the shade of the feathers of the dosing parrot in a gilded cage, threw into relief dark polished surfaces of mahogany. She had had everything that she Fraught belonged to his family stored in the apartment over the garage. Curious that she had found so little silver. She looked at the door which Mary Amanda Dane had told her opened into the twin house. Some thing uncanny about it. Whenever she was in the room it drew her eyes like a magnet. Mark Trent’s house was on the other side. It had not been lived in for years. What a waste. Had his wife refused to live there? His wife? She couldn't think of him as having had a wife. Why think of him at all? She resolutely switched her thoughts to her surroundings. This was the same room in which she had first seen Mrs. Dane in her wheel chair, but how different. Then it had been drab and heavy; now it glowed with soft color. She would never forget the pathos In the wom an’s eyes as they had met hers, nor the eagerness of her greeting. She had registered a passionate vow to make her lovely and attrac tive in appropriate clothes. That had been her job—then—and a thrilling job, too, to help women make the most of their good points. How Mary Amanda Dane had fooled her about money. The crip pled woman had kept her feet firmly on the ground when it came to •pending. Planning inexpensive, at tractive clothes for her had been an exciting challenge. She had suc ceeded. The frocks had been charm ing, and with her drab wardrobe the invalid had shed much of her crabbedness. Lovely clothes did that for a woman. Pity that more husbands didn’t realize the fact How she was gone and had left a small fortune behind her. Why had she denied* herself so many of the luxuries of life? Brooke blinked long wet lashes and said aloud, as she had said many times since she By Emilie Loring • Emilia Lorlns. WNU Service. The honk-honk of an automobile horn outside was followed by voices singing lustily: “ ‘Over the river and through the wood, Trot fast, my dapple-gray I Spring over the ground. Like a hunting hound For this is Thanksgiving day/ “ The gay chorus was followed by laughter and vociferous cries: “Whoa there I Stand still. Light ning! Whoa!” 1 Laughing, Brooke dashed for the front door. It was so like the Rey burn family to dramatize its arrival. In a rush of cold air and excited greetings she piloted iher mother had la live at Lookout Ba for the Front and sister to the library. The star tled parrot shrieked, “Stop! Look! Listen!” “Boy, you don’t need a burglar alarm with that announcer. You ought to loan him to a bank.” Lucette mada a gamin face at the parrot as aha slipped out of her ocelot coat. She dragged off her hat and patted the swirl of her dark hair. Brooke hugged her mother. “It’s wonderful to have you here, Celia Reyburn, and aren't you devastat ing in that eel-gray ensemble!” “Not as devastating as you art in that ahimmery white, daughter. It brings out the copper lights in your hair.” Brooke laughed. “We are like two diplomats exchanging compli ments, the difference is that ours come from the heart Where's Sam? Don’t tell re* Sam isn't com ing!” Lucette held a lighter to a ciga rette with a faint hint of bravado. “Don’t cry, darling. Sam came. Didn’t you recognize his voice sing ing as if his little heart would burst from joy as w* approached this baronial hall? Doubtless he is kiss ing hit peachy convertible good night in your garage. He’s crazy about that coupe you gave him, Brooke. He has named it Light ning. And can it go! Who’s the tall gent with the undertaker expression who pulled our bags from the car as if he were extracting upper and low er molars?” “Henri. He and his wife, Clotilde, worked for years for Mrs. Dane. I kept them on to help me settle. They take a lot of handling, believe it or not.” “I believe it. This room looks like part of a House Beautiful exhib it. It’s corking.” “Wait till you see the rest of the house, Lucette. Here’s Sam. I would recognize his bang of a door if I heard it in Timbuctoo. Wel come to Lookout House, Sammy! It’s wonderful that the theater closed just at this time.” “Yeah! It’s all in the point of view. There are them who think otherwise. However, I’m not kick ing.” He caught Brooke in a bearlike hug. He kept his arm about her as he looked around the room. “Swell joint you’ve got here. I like the greenhousey smell from those plants. Say listen, we’ve missed you like the dickens, haven’t we, Mother?” “We have, Sam.” Celia Reyburn steadied her voice. “We’d better stop emotionalizing and get ready for dinner. I have kept house years enough to know that promptness at meals helps to keep the home maker’s life’s walk easy.” “You would think of that. Moth er. It isn’t dinner to night I planned • buffet supper, not being sure at my relatives treat the big town would arrive. Come upstairs and I’ll show you your rooms.” A family might get on each oth er’s nerves, as of course it did at times, but there was nothing like it, Brooke concluded fervently, as after supper on a floor cushion in front of the library fire she leaned against her mother’s knees. Lucette burst out nervously: “If Sam can stop that nut-munch ing marathon, perhaps he’ll an nounce the latest Reyburn news flash.” Brooke sat erect. “What news?” Sam took careful aim at the par rot’s perch. The nutshell struck its bullaeye and mneert Am ringing bird “HelTs bells!” he croaked, and ruffled his feathers. “Looks as if he were caught in a typhoon, doesn’t he?” The laughter in Sam’s voice vanished. “Mother has been invited to spend the winter in England with her friend Lady Jaffrey.” “Sam!” With the exclamation Brooke was on her feet. “Do you mean it? How perfectly grand! She lives in an old castle, doesn’t she?” “Hey, pipe down, Brooke. There’s a nigger in the woodpile. Wait till you hear the condition.” “A condition in Lady Jaffrey’s in vitation, Sam? I can’t believe it.” “Be quiet, children. Let me talk.” Arms crossed on the back of the wing chair in which she had been sitting, Celia Reyburn faced her family. Her cheeks were pink; her eyes, as blue as her son’s, were brilliant with excitement. She clasped her hands tightly as if to steady them. “The chair recognizes the lady from the big city,” Sam encouraged with a grin. “What’s the condition, Mother? Don’t you want to go?” “Very, very much, Brooke, but I shouldn’t enjoy a moment of the visit if I left your brother and sister in that apartment alone. Perhaps I’m a selfish woman, but I would like to and will go, if my mind is perfectly at ease about Lucette and Sam. If they will come here to you, and if you will have them—” “Have them! Mother, don’t be foolish! I have been rattling around in this big house like a dried coco nut in a shell. Of course I want them—but will they come?” “Who’s being foolish now?” Lu cette flung her cigarette into the fire. Her cheeks were almost as red as her painted lips. “Of course we’ll come, Brooke Reyburn. Of course we’ll play ball Mother’s way. Sam and I aren’t cold-blooded fish. If taking to the sticks to be chap eroned by big sister will make Mother’s visit happier, we'll settle down here with bells on. She's earned all the fun the can get. She’ll have one grand time and mow those stiff Britishers down in swaths and come home Countess Whoosit, or I miss my guess.” “Lucette!” Celia Reyburn pro tested indignantly. “Don’t mind her Mother,” Broke reassured. “By the time you re turn your younger daughter will have acquired all the social graces—’* “Just a minute! Now I make a condition. I come only if I keep on with my job.” “It would mean early and late commuting, Lucette.” 'Tv* thought that out. In Sam’s convertible we can make it” “But you and Sam won’t be com ing down at the same time, and—” “Don't be so sure, Brooke.” Sam aimed a nutshell at the parrot. “The theater has closed permanently and I’m up against one of those simple economic problems, where’s the next job coming from? I’ll go to New York to see off Mother and take my play. Now that producers have begun to sniff around for bar gains, I may get my chance.” “Sam—dear—” Brooke attempted to lighten her dismayed voice. Bad enough for him to be out of work without having her turn sob-sister. “You’ll find something. I read the other day that the theater is on the up-grade. If you don’t—oh, Sam my, what a chance for you to write! Why not give your play a try-out here? We’ll do it for the town’s welfare fund, in the Club House the ater. What a chance to try 'Is lands Arise’ on the dog!” “News flash! The Reyburns stag* a play!” Lucette cut in. “Why not?” Brooke persisted ea gerly. “Most of the slimmer homes are to be kept open during the win ter and—Answer the phone, will you, Sam? Take the message for me. I’ve been pestered to death by tradespeople and insurance agents wanting to sell me something. Tell them I’m out of town for the eve ning—anything.” The silence of the room was broken only by the snap and hiss of the fire as Sam Reyburn put the receiver of the handset to his ear. “Hulloa.—Yes.—Miss Rayburn is out of town for the evening.—Sure, she’ll be back tomorrow.—Oh, it is I —Yes, I’ll give her your message. She’ll be pleased purple.—I get you. I’U tell her. ’Byet” He laid the phone on the stand. “Who was it, Sam? What will please me purple?” Brooke de manded uneasily. “A party by the name of Trent" “What did he want?” “Not much. Only to say that hi accepted your inviUUoo for Thanks giving dinner with pleasure.” (To u co/mmtm IMPROVED UNIFORM INTERNATIONAL chool Lesson By HI Dean REV. HAROLD L. LUNDQUIST. of the Moody Bible Institute of Chicago, v • Western Newepaper Union. Lesson for August 1 ' LESSON TEXT—Exodus 13:17-21; 14:10 IS. GOLDEN TEXT—And too Lord Shall fnlde thee continually.—Isaiah 88:11. PRIMARY TOPIC—A Shining Cloud. JUNIOR TOPIC—Forward March! INTERMEDIATE AND SENIOR TOPIC- How God I-b»bHb Todjiv. YOUNG PEOPLE AND ADULT TOPIC— A Nation Following God's Leadership. The destinies of the nations are in the hands of God. Mighty are the warriors, learned are the advisors, clever are the diplomats, and when they have exercised all their human ingenuity and have only brought themselves and their nations to “Wits’ End Corner,” God must lay hold and bring order out of chaos. Happy is that people where rulers recognize God and seek his guid ance. Israel through the human instru mentality of Moses was ruled by God. He had prepared for them a leader and had prepared the people to follow that leader. Now he brings them forth out of their bondage. l. ''God Led Them” (Exod. 13:17- 22). It is significant that he did not lead them by the easy way to Ca naan, by the short route through Philistia but rather led them south into the wilderness. How often it seems to us that we could improve on God’s ways. Suf fering, sorrow, affliction, we would shun and would go the quick easy road, where all is bright and happy. But God’s way is the best way, even though it leads through the wilderness. His purpose for Israel was that they might not be disheartened by the warlike Philistines (v. 17). Thus it was really his loving-kindness that sent them the long way. See Prov. 14:12, and Prov. 10:29. Another and equally important purpose of God was that the un disciplined multitude might in the trials and responsibilities of their journey through the wilderness be prepared to enter the promised land. The miraculous pillar of cloud and fire was God’s constant assurance of his presence with them. Hardly had Israel withdrawn, and the wail over the death of the first born in Egypt ceased when Pharaoh regretted that he had permitted his slaves to escape, and set out in pursuit He represents the world, the flesh, and the Devil in their re lentless efforts to hold back those who would follow the Lord. Making a decision for Christ and experienc ing his redemptive power does not mean that the enemy has given up. Temptations, doubts, trials, will come. When you come up out of Egypt do not be surprised if Pha raoh pursues you. The situation could not have been more difficult. Hemmed In by the flower of Egypt's army, with the Red sea before them—a group of men not trained in warfare—with women and children to care for, and God forgotten in their disbelief and discouragement Moses, who was their great leader in the hour of triumph, tastes the bitterness of their hatred and un belief in the hour of trial A leader of men for God must know that God has called him and have faith in his almighty power, for in the time of crises he will And those whom he leads ready to condemn him What is the solution? m. “Stead Still” (w. 13,14). Sublime in his confidence in God, Moses bids the people to cease their petty complaining, to abandon their plans for saving themselves. “Stand still, and see the salvation of the Lord” (v. 13). Perhaps these lines will be read by some Christian who is fretting and fussing, bearing all the burdens of the universe on his shoulders. Be still, my friend. God is able to care for you, and for all the burdens which you are needlessly trying to bear. Trusting God will result in real spiritual progress. IV. “Go Forward” (v. 15). Humanly it was impossible, but “with God all things are possible” (Mark 10:27). When every circum stance says “Stop,” when the coun sel of men is against attempting anything, when human leadership seems to be lacking—just at that hour God may say, “go forward.” If every true Christian who reads these words will respond to the Lord’s command, “Go forward,” hundreds of locked church doors will be opened, new Sunday schools will gather children to hear God’s Word, men and women will be won for Christ. Let us “go forward.” The God who brought Israel dry- shod through the Red sea is just the same today! Enjoyments and Troubles . I make the most of my enjoy ments. As for my troubles, I peck them in as little compass as I can for myself end never let them annoy others.—Southey. Faith Given a man at faith, and the heavenly powers behind him, and you have untold possihilitles. AH v . ' lv I ; *•-. , . “ ! Railroads Burrow Under New York City. Travelers Rarely Realize Whirlwind ol Activity in Pennsylvania Station Frepared by National Geographic Society, Washington, D. C.—WNU Service. ALTHOUGH it celebrated its -in. twenty-fifth anniversary in 1935, the Pennsylvania station in New York still is the largest in the world. Walk around it and you have tramped half a mile, with no more sight of train or track than you would encounter about the Vatican or the Louvre. The station really is an eight-acre platform, with a mammoth super structure, bridging the Manhattan mouths of two tunnels. Some trains run through these tunnels for seven miles, from New Jersey to Long Island, under the Hudson and East rivers, pausing beneath the station, but never emerging into the day light or night glow of New York city. Northbound trains pass the most complex traffic corner in the world, for above the train tunnel, at Her ald square, in the order named, are the Sixth avenue subway, the Hud- son-Manhattan tubes, the street-lev el bus lines and the Sixth avenue elevated. Imagine an airplane over head, and it would be perfectly feasible for six vehicles to pass that intersection at one time. Half Million Tickets a Month. It takes a staff of 76 men to sell tickets at Pennsylvania station. In a normal month they sold 553,204 tickets for $1,595,280.60. The months of Easter, Christmas and Labor day raise that volume by n third or more. Printed tickets ready for sale, 150,000,000 of them, are stored in a room where they are guarded like notes in the United States treasury. Some of these tinted, water marked slips are worth a hundred dollars and more when stamped. Beside each seller’s grilled win dow is a rack from which he flicks out tickets with faimliar noncha lance. These racks are mounted on wheels and have folding fronts and locks. Each seller has his own rack and key. When he goes off duty, he rolls his rack back of the line, locks it, end deposits the key in the cashier’s safe. The tickets are charged out to him and ha must return the unsold quota and the money for those he sold. Selling Tickets Is Final Step. The station cashier’s office is like • bank. You may have noticed that when you pay for meals on a dining car you always receive crisp, new bills in change. The cashier must have on hand these “fresh” bills for stewards. Some $3,000 in “ones’’ are enough five days of the week, but on Saturdays, Sundays, and holidays he must have a stock of $7,000 or $8,000 in ones alone. Selling tickets, however, is only the final step in • series of events. “When does the next train leave for Topeka. Kan.?” “What connec tions do I make for Chicago?” “What is the fare?” Only a' small fraction of such questions are asked in person at the conspicuous information booths. Normally 20 clerks are on duty at a time answering some 700 tele phone calls an hour. The peak of this year’s inquiries exceeded 1,100 in one hour before Labor day. Forty-four clerks work in shifts to dispense information. If you watch the smooth operation of the soundproof telephone room not once will you see a clerk con sult a timetable. They are too cum bersome and tell too little. Foolish Questions Come Often. Instead, the information chief works with card-index experts to compile all information about sched ules of all railroad, airpiane, and bus lines and all fares on visible card files. One file gives name of all im portant golf clubs on Long Island and the nearest railroad station to each club. It takes poise, tact, resourceful ness, to answer some questions. As examples: “Do I have a berth all to myself or do I have to share it?” "What hotels in Washington have swimming pools?” “My husband left last night on the B. and O. Where is he going?” “Have you any hay fever fares to New Hampshire?” These ’Phones ABE Busy. “What time do I get e train to go to Mr. Abrem Welker’s funeral at Toms Ferry?” “Should I drees end undress in my berth or in the men’s room?” When you resorvo a ticket by you call one of tho buns- est telephone numbers in New York, city. In addition to outside lines, i 130 branch ticket offices in Manhat tan, Brooklyn and Newark are con-; nected with the central reservation! bureau by private wires. In a spacious gallery from 15 to 20 clerks sit before a series of aper tures like old-time village post-office boxes, except that these cases are mounted to move along a track from clerk to clerk. In the boxes are piled the reser vation cards, the kind the Pullman conductor always is fingering just before the train leaves; in each pigeonhole are marked-up cards for 60 days ahead. Lights Govern Conversation. Before each clerk is a series of ten red lights and ten green lights. The green lights denote a ticket office call; the red lights an outside call direct from a passenger. A green light flashes. “Lower ten, K7, 3 p. m. Chicago. Today. Ticket 7,492. Right.” In very different tone and tempo is the next response to a red light, an individual who must have expla nation of price, type of accommoda tion, daylight time in summer, and a “thank you.” No switchboard operator inter venes in the 10,000 or sometimes many more calls that come in daily. An automatic selector, worked out with the New York Telephone com pany engineers, routes these calls from ten lines out of the selector room to ten “positions” at the “card tables’’ in the reservation bureau. If one operator is busy, the “se lector” shunts the call to another, lighting the red or green signal to denote its origin. In an average 24 hours 63 clerks are employed in shifts to make some 6,000 reser vations for berths, chairs, compart ments or drawing rooms. What They Leave *• Trains. Perhaps the high light of “human interest” in the station is the lost and found storeroom. There are stored and ticketed some several hundred different items, enough stock for an East Sidt second-hand store. The articles recently included a basket of spectacles, skis, two cats, a bootblack’s outfit, books in six languages, a pair of crutches, three sets of false teeth, a restive terrier, dozens of umbrellas, tennis racquets, more than twoacore wom en's coats, piles of gloves, a fresh sirloin steak (tad harbinger of do mestic recrimination) and $20,000 worth of bonds about to be returned by special messenger. In subterranean corridors, far below the station tracks, may b* piled hundreds of pigeon crates. As many as 3,200 crates of homers have been shipped in a month, as far as a thousand miles, to be re leased by baggagemasters for races back to home lofts. Other strange shipments coma through the station for baggage or express cars—baby alligators, pedi greed chicks, honeybees, game, thousands of crates of “mail order eggs’’ and bullion cargoes accom panied by 25 or 30 armed men. Saturday nights from 75 to 80 trucks race with their loads of Sun day papers to catch the baggage cars attached to the “paper trains.” One newspaper’s early Sunday edi tion goes to press at 9:10 p. m. and is loaded on a train leaving at 9:50. If the driver gets held up by a single traffic light the stationmaster must hold the train. Handling the MaiL Some 150 carloads of mail are handled in and out of this station ev ery day. If the sacks were piled and hauled along platforms passen gers would not have space to board trains. They are dropped through trap doors beside mail cars where conveyer belts carry them to huge separating tables. There men assort the bags as they pour in and pitch them into chutes for other belts that run be neath the street to the city post office adjoining, or to belts that connect with outgoing trains. Around special tracks, to which passengers are not admitted, where mail cars await loading, are spy galleries from which postal inspec tors, unseen by the workers, may watch the operation. Nearly 150,000 tacks of mail a day, about 1,500 trunks and other checked baggage. 2,200 pieces of hand baggage checked in parcel rooms and a thousand mors pieces in parcel lockers, from 20,000 to 30,000 pieces of parcel post—these are some at the operations that (