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THE SUN. NEWBERRY. S. FRIDAY, AUGUST 18, 1939 Pretty for Afternoon Or to Wear at Home ' I ''HE dress with shirring on the shoulders and sleeve tops is a charming, soft fashion for after noons. No. 1795 gives you an un usually nice figure-line—rounded above and very slim at the waist line and hips, because the pan eled skirt is cut high and beauti fully fitted. This is very easy to make. Choose georgette, chiffon or silk crepe. For the Young Girl. No. 1793 is a perfect dream of a dress for slim young girls, who look especially sweet in high neck- CHILD OF EVIL By OCTAVUS ROY COHEN O OCTAVUS ROY COHRN WNU SERVICE lines, roundly puffed sleeves, a softly bloused bodice and very flaring skirt. Little bows and a sash add to its fluttery charm. Dimity, organdy, taffeta and dot ted swiss are especially pretty for this. Later on it will be lovely in foin wool. The Patterns. No. 1795 is designed for sizes 34, 26, 38, 40, 42, 44, 46 and 48. Size 86 requires, with short sleeves, 5 yards of 39-inch material; 5% yards with long sleeves. No. 1793 is designed for sizes 8, 10, 12, 14 and 16 years. Size 10 requires 3V4 yards of 35-inch ma terial; 2V4 yards of ribbon for sash fend 2% yards for little bows. Send your order to The Sewing Circle Pattern Dept., Room 1324, 611 W. Wacker Dr., Chicago, 111. Price of patterns, 15 cents (in coins) each. (Bell Syndicate—WNU Service.) SYNOPSIS Beautiful, young Kay Forrest has been Employed by Christine Maynard, photogra pher. te pose for a series of pictures, the background of which will be exquisite Cathedral Gardens, famous Southern resort. Unknown to them, one Jeff Butler, mean, unscrupulous “swamp angel," has led a Hend to spy on the two women. Kay, of necessity, is scantily clad while posing for he camera studies. CHAPTER I—Continued Jeff was pardonably triumphant. "Didn’t I tell you?” he whispered. "‘Nary stitch.” “She’s got a veil on,” chided Mr. Ross. “Shuh! Ain’t no thlcker’n mosqui- to-nettin’.” They watched eagerly. They saw the efficient Miss Maynard, though they were not interested in her. They saw the smooth white body of a young and beautiful girl against a background of breath-taking color. But theirs was not an artistic ap preciation. Their interest was lech erous . . . and tinctured with right eousness, though it was not until the sun rose higher over the cypress trees and Kay became apprehen sive; not until the girl had clothed herself again and paddled back through the Gardens with Miss May nard and the photographic equip ment—that this righteousness was put into words. Clem said, “It’s awful.” Then, “Me an’ you can come back some other mawnin’s, cain’t we, Jeff?” “ShoTy. But nobody ain’t to be told. Not now.” “How come not?” " ’cause then ev’body would start h-comin’. An’ she’d find out." Mr. Ross considered this judicial ly. “If we was ever to tell what’s goin’ on heah ...” Jeff Butler nodded grimly. “Some day we will,” he said. “It’ll be our bounden duty. An’ when we do ...” he gestured expressively “ . . .well, Beauregard County knows what to do with immoral females like her." Impregnable Vault A number of years ago in Lon don, the directors of the Bank of England, who had always boasted ■ of the impregnability of their ‘ vaults, were greatly shocked when i a workman, while repairing a i drain, crawled through the pipe j from the street, stepped through a trap door and found himself in the bullion room.—Collier’s. Double-checked to assure accurate dosage always. St.Josepli GENUINE PURE ASPIRIN Friends and Foes The easiest way to make a friend is to ask for help. The quickest way to make an enemy is to show the man that you know more than he does.—Stribling. Malaria "Chills "Fever T«U rcfiablt Oxidin*. Stops chifc and favor, daant blood of malaria. Famous for 50 yoars. Monay-back < The Sufferer The humble suffer when the powerful disagree.—Phaedrus. UIl 60C 3/wuis' CessedRetielL RHEUMATISM lumbago WATCH TuT’OU con depend on the special sales the merchants of our town announce in the columns of this paper. They mean money saving to our readers. It always pays to patronize the merchants who advertise. They are not afraid of their mer chandise or their prices. THE SPECIALS CHAPTER H Breakfast was over—a delicious breakfast of hominy grits and bacon and of thin, light biscuits and crisp, crumbly waffles; of grapefruit and coffee and of bright conversation and good-natured badinage. Kay Forrest was first from the ta ble. She ran upstairs to her room, touched her makeup lightly and somewhat carelessly, pulled a little rust-colored tarn over her soft brown hair, glanced at herself once more in the mirror over the ancient dress er and gave ear to the below-stairs summons from Barney Hamilton. Kay walked to the head of the stairs and looked down upon the tall, blond young man: the Barney Hamilton who was never serious for a moment, yet who was rapidly becoming the most serious thing in Kay’s life. Barney gestured from the foot of the stairs. “The chariot awaits. Will the Princess be so gracious as to hurry before the road commences to swarm with tourists?" Kay laughed as she walked down to meet him. He was so irrepressi bly boyish, so chronically good-hu mored, so attractive in his own way: a bit slouchy (so that he looked less than his six feet), a bit human so that he was not too handsome, a bit too assured in his acceptance of the good things of life. A young man free from care, worry and re sponsibility; friendly with every body, a young man who had set him self the task of enjoying life and, thus far, had made a very excel lent job of it. Kay said, “There’s no sense in you driving all the way to town, Barney.” He grinned. “Which is probably the reason I do it. Let’s travel.” Ruth Hamilton moved from the dining-room to join them. She was a striking-looking woman, slightly less blond than her tall son, and possessed of a poise and manner which was the despair of other Bev erly ladies. She was forty-four, and one could still see more than a sug gestion of the beauty which had once been hers. Kay was conscious now—as always—of the ambition to mature as Mrs. Hamilton had ma tured: with dignity and graciousness. Mrs. Hamilton said, “Must you go home this morning, Kay?” “Yes, ma’am. Really.” “And you’ll be back tomorrow?” “Yes’m. Miss Maynard wants me.” Margaret called in from the ve randa. “Take care of Barney. He’s been driving more crazily than usu al these past few days.” Barney backed ihe little car out of the shed and whirled it into position. Kay clambered in beside him, and for just a moment her eyes quested through avenues of blossoms, be yond the house and thence into the illimitable vista of graceful cypress and black water; of trees and shrubs and flowers. “It’s unbelievably beautiful,” she said. He caught her mood and held the car motionless for a moment. “Just finding that out, Kay?” “Yes.” Ha looked down at her. “You are a crazy kid. What do you mean: just finding it out?” “Because it’s always different.” She groped for words. “Each day I think I know just exactly how ex quisite it is . . . and then the next day I see something new.” She laughed awkwardly. “I sup pose,” she said, “that you’d have to be me to understand what I mean.” And in this she was right. From earliest childhood, Kay Forrest had met the world with fearless honesty and unwavering trust . . . though the straightforward simplicity of this trust had, it is true, often re acted in a manner which would have shaken a less devout convert. At the age of six Kay had returned from the woods with chubby hands red and swollen from too intimate contact with some poisonous wild flowers. Emma Forrest had band aged them to the accompaniment of a maternal tirade against Kay in particular and Nature in general, and Kay had submitted to both treatments in stoic silence. But it was later that day—when throbbing fingers had refused to be soothed by her father’s gentle, sympathetic caresses—that she had sobbed out her justification: “Oh! Daddy . . . they were so pretty.” Eveft through y'-ors which had brought disillusionment and unan swerable questions, she had man aged to retain her faith that some where there was a serenity, a beau ty, which was a justification for liv ing. And for this ideal, Kay fought gal lantly. She gratefully acknowledged Kay laughed as she walked down to meet him. her maternal inheritance: Fixed determination and unwavering strength of purpose. She knew what she wanted — not explicitly but vaguely—and rebuffs only tempora rily shadowed young hazel eyes. Today, at nineteen, Kay was the same courageous little girl, eager to accept the risk of throbbing fingers for a touch of beauty. Standards, she had discovered, were too varia ble to be depended upon. They were yard-sticks which merely measured the mentality of the user. And so she came to depend more upon her self and her own judgment. Where there was no wrong in her own mind, no evil could exist. She was strong physically and sensitive emo tionally, and until very recently her father had been her only real friend. It was difficult, even yet, for Kay to realize just what Cathedral Gar dens had meant to her. It was a fulfillment of nineteen years of struggle. To Christine Maynard she gave freely of her body because it was an outlet for the artistic urge within her . . . and in return, this communion with Nature had strengthened her faith. The Hamiltons had contributed more than they—or she—suspected. Kay Forrest had been raised in that deadly middle-class atmos phere which is happily regarded as the backbone of the body politic. Her family was looked up to and regarded highly. They were fine, respectable, honest folks—held In great esteem by all who knew them, but somehow (save fer her father) falling short of the ideal which she had created for herself. And it was not until Kay had found herself briefly a part of the Ham iltons’ family life that she had real ized how she had, for nineteen years, been compelled to accept the makeshift for the genuine. She brought her thoughts back to the present as Barney shifted into gear and rolled across the parking rpace which was already commenc ing to congest with the cars of ea ger tourists. He swung onto the hard-packed dirt road, touched the accelerator and headed toward town. Kay said, “Have you the faintest idea, Barney Hamilton, what a won derful thing your mother has done: creating those Gardens out of a sec tion of swamp?” He laughed. “Mother, two hun dred workmen and a landscape en gineer.” “Smart lad, aren’t you? What I’m driving at is that it had to be some one like your mother . . . some un usual person even to think of doing what she has done. Do you realize that piece of swamp was worth less?” “Do I realize it? My dear child, I know it! It was the only piece of property my revered maternal grandparents left which couldn’t be sold for love, money or mortgage.^ His eyes were focused on the road with its border of tall, straight pine trees. “Mother’s a pretty swell gal.’ r “She’s more than that.” Kay was very earnest. “She’s the most col orful person in Beauregard County. You don’t realize—” “I’m dumb. You explain.” “Oh! I don’t know . . . She’s been a tradition around here. All my life I’ve heard women talk about Ruth Hamilton. They all boast about the fact that they went to school with her in Beverly. They talk about what a lovely girl she was, and how sweet. They marvel at her life . . .” "From rags to riches,” said he. "Ruth Hamilton, only child of a poor but honest druggist . . .” The girl laughed and said sternly, “Nuts! She was the darned attrac tive child of an intelligent couple who adored her and gave her ad vantages which weren’t even thought of in Beverly in those days. College in the East. Europe . . . when to most folks here Europe meant nothing but a small section of the big globe in the little red school-house.” “Keep talking, Child. I love to hear you become enthusiastic.” His eyes were thoughtful. “Queer how things work out. It was in Europe . . . Villefranche, I think . . . that Mother met Dad.” He was silent for just a moment, “I wish you had known him. There was a grand guy.” “He must have been.” “I’m stating that he was. Had enough dough and enough family not to care about either. Fell for Moth er like a ton of bricks, and they played sweetheart until he died. It was a bump . . . but there’s one good thing about it.” “What?” “That he didn’t live to see the crash. That he never worried about what might happen to Mother and Sis and me. You see, when he did die he thought we were pretty well taken care of even unto the third or fourth generation.” Barney was try ing to shake off a momentary feel- irig of oppression. “Dad and I were mighty good pals. We played around together.” “It must have been pretty won derful . . .’’ Kay made an effort to lighten Barney’s mood. “You never will quite know what your mother has meant to this town. Growing up here . . . and then going away. Living in New York. Entertaining folks with names that are merely printed words to Beverly folks. It’s been right funny: before I could un derstand I used to hear the ladies talking about Ruth this and Ruth that . . . ‘My dear, did you read where Ruth Hamilton entertained the So-and-so’s at Southampton last week?’ And, ‘Ruth will be sailing for a season on the Riviera very soon with her family.’ I didn’t know who she was . . . and it didn’t matter. She was a Beverly girl—" “Home-town lady makes good.” “Exactly.” Kay Forrest was quite serious. “Perhaps that’s why she came to mean so much to me, even when I thought I’d never meet her. I’m preUy much of a small town girl myself.” “But with possibilities.” “Perhaps. You know, I wonder how your mother really likes being back in Beverly after all these years: after all the luxuries she’s been accustomed to?” “She likes it. Plenty.” “But where did she get the cour age to come back?” “Sacrifice for me. The Infant ter rible. I’ve been given to understand that her real motive was to save me from destruction and dry-rot.” “You’re crazy.” “Cross my heart. Do you real ize, young lady, that you are now enjoying the distinction of riding through nice, smelly, pine woods with a person who has been invited —politely, mind you, but firmly—to depart from more good schools than any other young man of similar age and lack of discretion?” “And you’re boasting about it!” “Why not? I’m All-American scho lastic resigner. Prep schools. Col leges.” “But, Barney . . . why? I know you’re dumb, but surely—” “Don’t ask questions that have no answers. Solution to this problem eludes me. Always has and always will. I suppose I’m just naturally kind-hearted and lazy. I might have learned Latin and Greek, but some how I never found a polo pony who could understand a word of either of those languages. Therefore, it all seemed useless. I made straight A’s on things which I did like and used to argue violently and valiant ly that since there were enough courses v r hich I enjoyed, I shouldn’t be afflicted with those which bored me And that was the constant de bate between myself and many fa®> | ulties. They always managed to win, and thus I—Barney Hamilton— became the world’s champion ma- triculator.” “A very charming young man with a definitely lopsided educa tion.” “But cheerful and smiling . . . and always at your service, my dar ling.” He chuckled. “And so, here I am. Mother had two ideas corn ing down here: first there was the thought that she could make a com mercial go of these Gardens—” “—Which she has certainly done. Beverly has been standing on its ear ever since they opened.” “And secondly,” he continued, “though she never was so crude as to put it into these words, she saw j me—in New York—becoming a so ciety bum. A chap raised in luxury and accustomed to something he could no longer afford. She had a lovely vision of the town of her girl hood ... of plain, honest people who would—by precept and exam ple—instill into me a consuming am bition to get down to earth.” “And it hasn’t worked?” “Maybe. I don’t know. I like It . . . but how much of that is Beau regard County and how much a very pretty girl named Kay Forrest, de ponent sayeth not. The point is, I’m here. So what? I can’t paddle those sea-going bateaus as well as the av erage ten-year-old Negro or sleepy swamp angel. As a gardener I am two hundred per cent lousy—with a capital Z. All I know about flowers is that they grow in corsages. And I haven’t observed that Beverly is filled with positions of importance which are seeking me out. To be frank and honest—which is a very terrible thing to be—I cannot see where Mother has gotten anywhere except that Cathedral Gardens are destined to be a financial, as well as an artistic, success.” “And you’re not ashamed?” “Of what?” „ ,, v | “Yourself.” “Why? I haven’t a bad habit. Not a major vice, anyway. I never kick. I enjoy what the moment offers. I like good weather and pretty flow ers and some of the folks in Beverly and all of the ones who live in Chi- cora. I enjoy hunting quail and deer, and I love fishing. The horseback- riding around here is pretty good . . . and I very definitely have fall en in love.” “Another pleasure of the mo ment?” He smiled down at her. "If you were younger, I’d spank you for that.” Then, after a pause, “It might be fun anyway.” Kay said, “You’re utterly lazy and worthless, Barney Hamilton. But I’m fond of you, just the same.” He grinned. “And I’m not to be lectured any more today?” “Not a time.” “Well then,” he announced stern ly, “You are.” “How come?” “Reasons.” He gestured. “With whom are you planning to trip the light fantastic tonight?” She said, “Kirk Reynolds.” “So I thought.” There was a hint of seriousness in his manner. “If I said that Mr. Reynolds was exceed ingly bad medicine for a young gal, would you think I was jealous?” “Perhaps.” “And maybe you’d be right. But, Sugarfoots — this lad is poison. Plumb naughty, I might say.” “Because he gambles?” “Nix. Because of lots of things. You can’t tie him down to specific offenses. He’s just naturally a bad citizen . . . and so you choose him as your dancing partner.” “He invited me.” “So what? You could have gone with me if you were just naturally set on edifying the tourists at the White Star Hotel.” “You didn’t ask me.” She hesitat ed for a moment. “Listen, Barney I don’t care three hoots about Kirk Reynolds. But he is a Beverly boy, and I looked up to him when I was a kid. Also, I think he’s pictur esque.” Barney said, “You win. But watch your step, honey. Kirk’s been places and seen things. The town’s going to talk about your going to the hotel dance with him.” “The town talks anyway. I’m used to it.” “Check. So have a good time and tomorrow afternoon when I come for you, you can tell me all about it.” The nightly dances at the White Star Hotel had been inaugurated for the purpose of relieving the noctur nal boredom of Cathedral Garden tourists. They had startled Beverly at first, and continued to startle the little town, even though—as social functions—they left much to be de sired. Visitors declared that the dances were good fun, or cute, or just simply amusing. The music was furnished by a lo cal organization which styled itself Bud Carter’s Jazz Hounds. It was heavy on traps and trumpet, and somewhat short on melody; but the shirt-sleeved members played with an enthusiasm which more than atoned for an obvious lack of genius. The dancers were recruited from hotel guests, visitors who were scat tered about town in the numerous private homes which had placarded their front lawns with signs an nouncing that tourists would be a» commodated . . . with always a tiny handful of natives, plus an o» casional couple from the aristocrat 1c little town of Chicora, six milas away. (TO BE CONTINVEDI Alex Finds It Smooth Going! Barrel jumpers usually play safe with papier mache dummies. But Alex Hurd, Olympic record holder and jumping star of the Sun Valley Ice Show at the New York World’s Fair, shows his self confi dence by leaping over steel drums full of Quaker State motor oil.—Adv. were looking rather shabby. The decorating committee reported that formal draperies would lend an air of distinction. The funds wouldn’t stretch and the commit tee wouldn’t give up.* Finally, ev ery cent was put into material. Sewing machines hummed and here is a sketch of the miracle that was wrought. Here also are the dimensions that were used for making patterns for the graceful valance sections which were fas tened over rods with snaps. For the looped section, cut pa per 18 inches deep and half as wide as the window measured over the frame. From the upper right corner to point A is half of the window width less two inches. Point B is 6 inches below the up per left corner. Draw a diagonal AROUND THE HOUSE Mending China.—Excellent for mending china is plaster of paris mixed to a paste with the beaten white of an egg. * • • Scorches on Linen.—To remove light scorches from linens, wet the stained area with cold water and expose it to the sun until the stain disappears. • • • When Milk Sours.—If your rec ipe calls for sweet milk and you find your milk has soured, you can use it by adding one-half tea spoon of soda to each cup called for. Follow your recipe otherwise. line from A to B, and a curva from B to the lower right cor ner. Place the edge marked C on a fold of the goods. The diagonal ends are pleated and stitched into a band as at D.' For the end pieces, cut paper 15 inches wide and 24 inches deep. E is 3 inches below the upper left corner. F is 9 inches in from the upper right comer. G is 6 inches down from the upper right corner. Finish the top as at H. The offer of the two 25-cent sew ing books containing 96 HOW TO SEW articles that have not ap peared in the paper will be with drawn soon. At present you can get both books for the price of one; but don’t delay; send 25 cents with name and address to Mrs. Spears, 210 S. Desplaines St., Chi cago, 111., and both books will be sent by return mail, postpaid. 100“ IN THE SHADE. BUT COMFORT IN YOUH SHOES WITH FAMOUS MEXICAN HEAT POWDER. Education s Refuge Education is an ornament in prosperity and a refuge in ad versity.—Aristotle. WHK 666 be miserable with MALARIA and COLDS -»« will check MALARIA fast and gives symptomatic cold relief. LIQUID. TABLETS, SALVE. NOSE DROPS Men and Causes Men are not always as good as the causes they lead. — Glenn Frank. r A GREAT BARGAIN VESPER TEA PURE ORANGE PEKOE 50 Cups for lO Cents | Ask Your Grocer X Purity and Truth Purity is the feminine, truth the masculine, of honor,—Hare. Cereals come andCereahqo!/ IXEILOGG’S toasted Corn * ^ Flakes remain, year after year, America’s favorite — the largest- selling ready-to-eat cereal in the worldl Copr. 1939 by Kellogg Company KELLOGGS grr nc 'nouR Toum-qouR stores i J Our community includes the farm homes surrounding the town. The town stores are there for the accommodation and to serve the >ple of our farm homes. The merchants who advertise “specials” are mer- mts who are sure they can meet all competition in both quality and price a.