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THE SUN, NEWBERRY, S. C„ FRIDAY, AUGUST 19, 1938 t ' BANNER SERIAL FICTION- — She Painted Her Face - A sloty of love and utiugue ... tty DORNFORD TATES O Domford Yates WNU Service CHAPTER I —1— I became a beggar when I was twenty-two. The blow was as heavy as swift, for till then I had always been given the best that money could buy. From the day I was born I had wanted for nothing at all, and, though my parents were dead, I had never been led to expect any other estate. And then, one fair June morning, when the sills of the windows of Oxford were gay with flowers, I learned that my sole trus tee had gambled my fortune away. By the help of the Head of my College, I soon obtained work in London for which I was paid just 35 shillings a week, and though I believe that I might have done bet ter than that, in my efforts to rise I met with so much unkindness that I presently withdrew from a battle for which I was ill equipped. I had another reason for staying in Red Lead Lane. I had a companion in misfortune —a man of some fifty summers, who, too, had seen better days. His name was Matthew Gering—or so he said: for though he looked Eng lish enough, his speech sometimes betrayed an alien blood. That he was of gentle birth was unmistak able and I think that he may have been gifted—till misery dulled his wits. He seemed the better for my coming to share his lot, and after two or three months I moved to the humble lodging at which he had lived by himself for 13 years. It was soon after this that I knew that I could not leave him, if only for pity’s sake. This was the way of it. The manager of the warehouse at which we were used as clerks was a man upon whose vitals class ha tred seemed to feed. Disappointed of bigger game, he preyed with a bitter fury on what he had. For 15 years poor Gering had been his butt, enduring “the slings and arrows” of what I can only describe as “a mind diseased”: but my arrival did something to take the strain, for he had to divide his attentions if I was to have my share of inhumanity. And so I stayed where I was for nearly two years, when two things happened together, to set me free. One gusty, April morning poor Gering could not rise, and when I had brought him a doctor, against his will, the latter told me plainly that he was a dying man. “He has no resistance,” he said. “A chill could have put him out— and this is congestion of the lungs.” Of course I did what I could, but when I came back from my work on the following day, I knew at once that Gering had seen his last dawn. And so did he. “Not very long now, Exon,” he said quietly . . . It. must have been near ten o’clock, and we had spoken no .word for nearly an hour, when he put a hand under the blankets and drew out a sheet of foolscap, folded in four. “I would like you to read this,” he said. “I wrote it down years ago. But no one has ever read it. It—it would not have been well received. I have even considered all day whether I should show it to you—you who have done so much for a bro ken man. You see, I am like a dog that has been ill used for so long that he is suspicious of kindness and ready to bite the hand that makes to caress his head.” With his words he began to cough, and the paroxysm which followed frightened me out of my life. At least five minutes went by before the seizure had passed, and this left him so weak and shaken that even a child would have known that the end was at hand. Indeed, I had for gotten the paper, when his trem bling fingers thrust it against my sleeve. i I sat back on -my heels and Tead the following words. My true name la Rudolf Elbert Virgil and I am the ninth Count of Brief—an ancient Austrian House. My mother died when I was three. Her only other child was my twin-brother, bom an hour after myself. He was, as they say, a bad hat. In 1910 I married an English girl and a daughter was born to us In 1912. We lived with my father at Brief, which stands to the east of Innsbruck, from which it is distant a hundred and twenty miles. In the spring of 1914 my fathet received some news from the English police. My twin-brother was under ar rest on a charge of forgery. I left for England that night to see what could be done. Arrived in London. I sought a solicitor, and. on my going surety, my brother was admitted to bail. The case was unanswerable. And from what the solicitor said it was perfectly clear that if Ferdinand stood his trial, he would be sent to prison for several years. When we were at last alone, my brother fell on his knees and begged me in the name of our mother to help him to make his escape. Like a fool. I agreed to do so. The day was Thursday. Early on Fri day I left my brother in my rooms and went out to make arrangements for him to leave. All I did, I did surreptitiously. A ship was to sail for South America at noon on the following day. I booked his passage in an assumed name. I pro cured him an outfit and had the things sent on board. That evening I returned to my rooms to tell him that all was well. A telegram from Brief was awaiting me. My father and wife were both dead. They had been killed that day ... In a car ... on the Innsbruck road. The news stunned me As a man in a dream, I did as my brother said, for now it was I that was helpless and he that took charge. All I knew was that I must get back . . . That night he packed for me and told me what he had done. I was to leave the next day by the two-o'clock train. He had arranged everything. All that I had to do was to go to the Bank the next morning and draw for him the money which he was to have. That he dared not do, though I gave him my check. And when I had drawn the money—500 pounds—I was to bring It to the station from which bis train would be leaving at half-past ten. As he said, so I did. I had no brain to argue. The only thing I could see was the Innsbruck road. They arrested me on the platform . . . They thought I was Ferdinand. I do not blame them at all. You see, he was my twin-brothCr. Only my wife and my father could tell us apart. And they were dead. When they searched me, they found the money—and Ferdinand's ticket for the ing your steps. And when you have ...” . And that was as far as he got. For a moment the poor jaws worked. And then the head fell sideways and the body went slack in my arms. So died the ninth Count of Brief. And the secret of his House with him. Two days later I learned that an uncle of whose existence I had been hardly aware had recently died in Australia, leaving me all he had. And he was a very rich man. Though my adversity lasted no more than a short two years, it would have been strange indeed if it I Saw Upon My Table an Envelope. boat. Unknown to me, he had put this into my pocket—to gain his terrible ends. And he had left for Innsbruck whilst I was still at the Bank. By an earlier train, of course. He was across the Channel before I went to my cell. So he and I changed places. ' He took my father's UUe and all that was mine, and I was sent to prison for seven years. My daughter became his daughter, my life became his life. You see. it was so easy. Only my wife and my father had known why I went to England. For the rest. I had gone away and now had oome back. If my manner seemed in any way strange, the double loss I bad suffered was blamed for that. And Fer dinand was careful. He even denied my check for 900 pounds. He said that I had forged it . . . Seven years is seven years. By the time I came out of jail, my cause, which had always been hopeless, was dead and burled as though it had never been. So I changed my name and sought work—I had to have bread. That is my story. I cannot prove it, of course. I can only say it is true. M. G. As I folded the paper, the dying man caught at my arm. “Do you believe it?” he whis pered. “Every word, sir,” said I. *T wish you had told me before.” "Listen. I say in that statement that I have no proof. But I have. I have always had it—a proof that I could not use.” Shaking with excitement, poor Gering raised himself up, and, since it seemed best not to thwart him, I put my arm about him to lehd him strength. “The House of Brief has a secret —which has passed from time im memorial from father to son. Only two persons know this: and they are the Count and his heir. Ferdi nand cannot know it: but I who was the first-born—I know the secret of our House. And to you, who have been my son, I will pass it on. It may be that you can use it, but I cannot see so far. My rights, Eliz abeth—that was my daughter’s name . . . Listen. The great tower of Brief—the great tower. There is a doorway there which no one would ever find. You must go up, count- had not altered my outlook for good and all. I had settled down in a very pleasant manor, which had been a famous seat, but was now a hotel. It must not be thought that I had forgotten Gering or the statement of his which I held. I remembered him constantly, and more than once I wondered if it was not for me to take action upon the facts which I knew. And then it always seemed best to let sleeping dogs lie. I had looked up the House of Brief and had found two things—first, that the pseudo-Count was still a widower and, secondly, that on his death the London Glassworks Three Centuries Old, Uses the Same Methods as Before Christ Just outside London is a factory where glass is blown in substantial ly *the same way as it was 3,000 or 4,000 years before Christ, writes a London correspondent in the Bos- ten Globe. Until 15 yearrf ago the Whitefriars Works, so-called because of the dis trict in which they operated, were in Tudor street, a narrow thorough fare running parallel to Fleet street. They had been there since the year after the Great fire of 1666. February 23, 1669, Samuel Pepys on his birthday went to fhe duke of York’s playhouse, “and there, find ing the play begun went homeward to the Glass house, and there showed my cousins the making of glass and had several things made with great content, and, among others, I had one or two singing- glasses made, which make an echo to the voice, the first that ever I saw; but so thin that the very breath broke one or two of them.” The same firm will still blow you such glasses today. The new prem ises resemble those described in Sixteenth and Seventeenth century treatises on glass blowing, and in He stormed her castle ... and won her heart! Knights of old had nothing on dashing Richard Exon, the British adventurer who invaded the Count of Brief’s castle, toppled the impostor from his throne and wooed his niece, the real title holder ! That’s the story of “She Painted Her Face,” Dornford Yates’ romantic new serial starting in this issue. You’ll enjoy the romance between Richard and Lady Elizabeth, you’ll laugh at the Duchess of Whelp and jovial John Herrick . . . you’ll think it’s the best story you’ve ever read. Start reading “She Painted Her Face" today! Pretty Frocks Easy to Sew title would pass to his daughter, the Lady Elizabeth Virgil, now twenty- four years old. The dreadful in justice, therefore, was over and done: it had in fact come to an end with Gering’s death: and though the wicked flourished, the good was beyond his reach. And then a strange thing hap pened. Summer was coming in, and I had been out in my car for the whole of the day. I entered my rooms in the evening, to bathe and chang*. when I saw upon my table an envtt* lope covering something, but not ad dressed. Opening this, I found a passport within—and knew at once that some servant had made a mis take. A guest had arrived from abroad and the office had asked for his passport, from which to fill up the form which the police required. And now it had been returned—to me, instead of to him. The passport was that of Percy Elbert Virgil, born in London in 1910, and domiciled at Brief. And the face was the face of a clever, unscrupulous blackguard, with as close-set a pair of eyes as ever I saw. I sent the passport back to the office, lighted a cigarette and sat down to think things out. Unknown to Gering, before he had been arrested, his brother had had a son. That son was now twenty- six and dwelled in his father’s house. And father and son were both evil. How did the Lady Eliza beth fare between two such wolves? Her position was ugly. I mean, she stood in the way. I began to feel ill at ease. It was, of course, none of my busi ness. I happened to know the truth, but that was all. Gering had made no request: he had simply told me his tale. But then he had not been aware that his brother had a child of his own: and he had not expected that I should ever be free. For all that, it was none of my business. I put out my cigarette and began to change. Even if I made it my business, what could I do? It had never en tered my head to doubt the truth of the statement which Gering had made. But how on earth could I prove it? By declaring the existence of some secret I did not know? By alleging the existence of a doorway “which no one would ever find”? The thing was absurd. I had no proof. Gering himself had done nothing, because he had known very well that there was nothing to be done. And yet . . . (TO BE CONTINUED) IF YOU’RE one of those women I who so often say “Dear me, I wish I could sew!”, then by all means try your hand on these smart designs, and like many, many others, just as inexperi enced as you are, you’ll find that you can sew, and enjoy it! Our patterns include detailed sew charts that show you just what to do, step by step, and you’ll get a real thrill out of seeing how easy it is. The Woman’s Dress. Here we have a diagram de sign, which means you can finish it successfully in a few hours. And you’ll find it one of the most be coming and comfortable you ever wore round the house. It’s made on easy, unhampering lines, with darts that make it slim, but not tight, at the waistline. The short sleeves are slashed, which makes them easier to work in, and prettier to look at. Sleeves, neck line and pointed closing are trimmed with ricrac. Make this dress of gingham, seersucker, per cale or calico. The Little Girl’s Dress. This dress will make your small daughter look even more ador able, with its high, snug waist, square neck, puff sleeves and full skirt. You’ll probably want to make her half a dozen dresses just like this! And she’ll certainly beg for at least one little sweet heart apron, to wear when she is helping you—or thinking she is! For the dress, choose dimity, dot ted Swiss, gingham or percale. For the apron, organdy, dirqity or lawn. The Patterns. No. 1559 is designed for sizes 34, 36, 38, 40, 42, 44, 46 and 48. Size 36 requires 4% yards of 35-inch material; 2% yards of ricrac to trim as pictured. No. 1468 is designed for sizes 2, 4, 6 and 8 years. Size 4 requires IVs yards of 35-inch material for the dress; % yard for the apron. Six yards of ribbon or braid to trim dress; 1 yard for belt. Two and one-half yards of ruffling to trim apron. Success in Sewing. Success in sewing, like in any other field, depends upon how you approach the task in hand. To help you turn out clothes profes sional looking in every detail, we have a book which plainly sets forth the simple rules of home dressmaking. The beginner will find every step in making a dress clearly outlined and illustrated within its covers. For the ex perienced sewer there are many helpful hints and suggestions for sewing short cuts. Send 15 cents (in coins) today for your copy of SUCCESS IN SEWING, a book every home dressmaker will find of value. Send your order to The Sewing Circle Pattern Dept., Room 1020, 211 W. Wacker Dr., Chicago, 111. Price of patterns, 15 cents (in coins) each. © Bell Syndicate.—WNU Service. Jlsk Me Another © A General Quiz The Questions 1. Is there an active volcano in the United States? 2. Which of our Presidents coined the phrase “benevolent as similation”? 3. What does the term neologism mean? 4. In what year did our govern ment under the Constitution be gin? 5. What is considered a perfect game in baseball? * The Answers 1. Yes, Mount Lassen in Cali fornia. 2. President McKinley. 3. A new word or phrase which has not yet been accepted as good usage. 4. In 1789. 5. One in which there sue no runs, no hits and none reaching first base. AROUND «h. HOUSE Items of Interest to the Housewife Beautifying Wash Stand.—Rub berized cretonne if pasted around an unsightly wash stand will cov er ugly plumbing and make a bathroom attractive. a • • Don’t Soak Brushes.—If clothes and hair brushes become very dirty wash with water in which a little borax has been mixed. Dip brushes into water and wash with another brush covered with a light coating of soap. Never soak in water. a a a Onion Absorbs Paint Odor.—If an onion is cut in halves and placed in a room that has been newly painted it will absorb the odor of paint in a few hours. For Privacy.—If you live so close to the highway that passers- by can look into your home, try painting the screen doors with a very thin coat of white paint and you can look out, but people pass ing cannot see into your living room. a a a FrtUt Juice Ice Cubes.—If you have a gas or electric refrigera tor, try using fruit juices for ice cubes instead of water. They are very pretty in fruit beverages. Lemon cubes are lovely in iced tea. . a a a Coffee for Ginger Cookies.—Try mixing ginger cookies with cold coffee instead of water. for a NEW kind of vacation This year, try a new vaca tion—where it’a cool, when there'a golf, yachting, beach or pool bathing and every conceivable recreation plut military and marine pageantry at history’a birthplace! The building and grounds are beautiful—the aea view mag nificent There'a dancing nightly —Only a few hour* away. Write for rates. £ Headquarters for f WILLIAMSBURG u e CHAMBERLIN Sidney Bantu, President . ■ front of them flourishes a fig tree grown from a cutting taken from outside the Tudor street building. The finest English glass, which in the Eighteenth century was the envy of all Europe, is flint glass. The ingredients are sand, red lead, potash and saltpeter, with smaller quantities of borax and arsenic. For hand-blown glass, only sand from the forest of Fontainbleau is used, as it has been used for generations. 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