The sun. [volume] (Newberry, S.C.) 1937-1972, August 18, 1939, Image 6
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.