The Barnwell people-sentinel. (Barnwell, S.C.) 1925-current, July 29, 1937, Image 6
•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
(