Indianapolis Times, Indianapolis, Marion County, 3 February 1938 — Page 18

Joe Love

By RACHEL MACK

CAST OF CHARACTERS POLLY CHELSEY, heroine; stranded in London when war breaks out. JERRY WHITFIELD, hero; the Yankee who sees her through. CABELL BANKS, privateer captain.

Yesterday — Polly Chelsey arrives in London, where her hopes of a share in her relative’s estate are dashed. She is hungry and needs a shelter in her greatunele’s house.

CHAPTER TWO OLLY tried to make conversation while she supped with old Oliver Dart, but it was hard going. To call him “Uncle Oliver” was out of the question, for he was addressing her as Miss Chelsey and so repudiating their kinship. His cold pale eyes watched her furtively. “As if I might slip the silver salt dishes into my pocket!” she thought irritably. “Or is it my manners hes critical of?” Her table manners were beyond reproach, however, which must have caused surprise to a man who believed all Americans to be savages. But old Oliver Dart was finding her annoying in other ways. “An American village girl!” he told him-

self distastefully. He saw she lacked | *

the graces that elegant English girls were trained to have. She was strongly outspoken, and she laughed like a boy. When she walked, it was with long swinging steps. Seeing a portrait that interested her she got up and crossed the room to look at it. “Is that my Grandfather Dart?” she asked.

“It's nobody that concerns you,” answered Oliver Dart, though it was her great-uncle, his brother and her grandfather's, now dead . . . Wherever she tried to make contact, he thwarted her, so that she had nothing to which to cling. His hostility penetrated, as a frost penetrates the marrow of the bones on a cold day, and eventually she fell silent, hoping in this way to escape his displeasure. “He's a terribly cross old man,” she decided in bewilderment. She had told Mrs. Broggs she knew many such at home. She saw that she was mistaken. There was some=thing baffling in old Oliver Darts behavior. She did not know that it sprang from a mind bordering on madness, = = »

HILE Polly was at supper Mrs. Broggs ordered her helper, the porter, to carry the little doeskin trunk to a bedroom on the floor above. Presently she came for the girl and took her there. As the door closed on Polly Chelsey, Oliver Dart shut his eyes and put his finger tips together. It was thus that he could think of America most effectively, letting the venomous current of his hatred make the circuit of his withered body while his warped mind plotted. The coming of this girl had fired his memory. He recalled afresh how he had lost a fortune when Yankee rebels had thrown British tea into Boston harbor before the last rebeilion. Wounded in the purse, he had become a little “touched,” living more and more for the day when he would see the insolent American colonies (for so he still spoke of them) restored and punished. . Strange that this girl should come walking into his house tonight!—A kinswoman? “Bah!” Polly, meantime, was relaxing under the chatter of Mrs. Broggs and marveling over being so high in the air. “Are all London houses so tall and thin?” she asked. “Mostly the fine ones be. The drawing-room floor’s 12 steps above ground, with kitchen and scullery beneath. Then the bedroom floors above. . Tell me, did you get that bonnet in Americky?” “Of course,” Polly replied, stepping out of her petticoats and standing in her shift. “Didn't you know we had milliners and mantuamakers in all our towns?” She was thinking: American and English people look alike, but after all, aren't we of one blood? Mrs. Broggs, now, reminded her of pompous Mrs. Pell of Lyme village who had a nose for gossip. . “Why are you looking at me so hard, Mrs. Broggs? Is there something wrong with me?” “I see you've got no Indian blood,” said Mrs. Broggs in dismay. “It fair surprises me. Your bosom, now, it's as white as can be, and your legs the same.” » ” » OLLY CHELSEY laughed so hard that the old man below frowned toward the ceiling. She explained to Mrs. Broggs, “My exposed parts are dark from the sun and wind of the sea. I'm freckled, too. But I never thought you'd teke me for an Indian! . .. Tell me! Will I, maybe, see the King riding by in his coach tomorrow?” “Along this street? Lud, Miss! He'd not bother, He takes his ease at first one palace and then another with friends of his—ladies and gentlemen of rank. Very sprightly, all of 'em.” “Well,” said Polly, “I'll go out tomorrow and see the town. I've a brother just turned 20; he'll be asking me about the River Thames and Parliament House and Piccadilly—places our mother used to talk about.” “Be your brother a farmer, Miss, or a sailor?” “Neither,” answered Polly. “Dick’s lame and a scholar. He's learned all the Greek and Latin he can learn in Lyme, our village. He's pining to go to Yale College at New Haven where they're about to start a medical school. He wants to be a doctor of medicine. That's why I came after our share of Grandfather Dart's money, “Small chance of getting it, Miss! Get in bed now and I'll blow out your candle. And tomorrow stay out of the old one’s way!”

Pur remembered to stay out of the old one’s way, but she did not keep to her room. After a breakfast of porridge and tea in the kitchen she put on her street clothes and set out for a walk, impatient of Mrs. Broggs' advice to “be careful and keep your bearings!” It was a foggy morning as if last night's rain had not finished, and yet could not keep on, either. The result was a yellow-gray mist that obscured objects 50 feet away and gave a dreamlike aspect to the streets, Gigs, chaises and carts moved at snail's pace over the cobbled streets, and there was a deal of and shouting from drivers. Polly Chelsey liked it, because a London fog was something she'd often heard about and it would be an adventure to recount to Dick.

It helped her forget, too, that she'd

‘| ways have 12-cylinder cars,”

street. “I'll go back,” she decided “and wait for fair weather.”

farms thereabouts. Only he

a bold chin. . ..

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ison’s declared war?”

bore ce rats in a trap!”

way. “Then so am I! So am I!”

come on a scatter-brained errand to a place where she was not wanted. Yet as the fog thickened instead of lifting she began to lose her enthusiasm for it. She could no longer see the houses she was passing, much less the sights across the

And it was then that she came on two Americans talking earnestly together before a decent-looking public house, standing beneath a creaking sign that pictured a unicorn lifting & paw toward a great yellow crown. She knew the men were Americans even before she heard their New England voices, for the elder wore chin-whiskers and clothes exactly like her father’s, and the younger one was like the young men who went to sea in ships from Lyme, or who kept store or tilled was handsomer. He had a devil-may-care manner and fine dark eyes and

AID the elder, “Is it true, Jerry Whitfield, that President Mad-

Polly moved closer, her heart contracting, her ears sharp to hear. . “It's true,” the younger man answered. “I got the news inside, where I'm stopping. We're caught

Polly cried, laying her hand 0... his arm in her swift, impetuous

The young man looked from her face, so near to his own, to her hand

on his arm. His incredulous look brought her to her senses and she thought wildly, “This is & bold thing I've done!” She turned on her heels and made off through the fog in the direction she believed Oliver Dart’s house to be.

’ The young man named Jerry

Whitfield wondered if London ale was too strong for him, He said to the older man, Chet Wheeler, carpenter off the Eliza Ann, out of Newburyport: “Did you see her too?” Old Chet nodded vigorously. “Yes, I did, lad! A pretty gal, and no mistake. But she don’t know her own mind, seems like. Why—" Jerry Whitfield was no longer listening. He was running in pursuit. In his haste he took the wrong turn, and so lost her. . . . “American girl!” he said to himself, panting as he ran. “Needs me!—Got to find her!” There were not many women abroad, and whenever he saw one in the fog Jerry approached her hopefully. There was a flower seller on the corner, further on a tipsy woman from a grog shop and finally a charwoman dragging weary feet into a courtyard. None of these had seen “a girl running away,” they told him. . Perhaps each wondered why any girl would run away from a young man that looked like this one, so handsome and earnest and distressed.

(To Be Continued)

(All events, names and characters In this story are wholly fictitious.)

HOLIDAY—By

Daily Short Story

Frank Kern Levin

HEY'RE having a carnival! We've been driving so much, let's put over in the town for the day!” The bright, eager vitality with which she spoke transferred to him a thrilling sensation of pleasure. That in the beginning had attracted him. He was twice as old as she, but he was youthful. A man like him, he told himself, used to power, wealth and activity did not grow old at 50.

“We've been making good time,” he hesitated. “I wanted to make Frisco by Friday.” “It doesn't really make any difference, does it, Andrew?” Though she had known him for three months before—and they were married now almost a week—she still oddly hesitated calling him by his first name. She kept thinking of him as Mr. Andrew J. Benson, industrial executive. She had been

| working in one of the departments

for a year before she had even seen him. He hadn't even noticed her then, not until the company gave a party, and he had startled her by asking her to dance. “Of course it doesn't make any difference.” The brightness he saw had gone from her eyes. They again had caught that listless expression that had worried him during the last day or two. “It was just that I wanted to keep up our good record. But it doesn't matter. Certainly, we'll stop. There should be one decent hotel in a town this size.” ® a =» 1 =x found the hotel, nothing, of course, like those Margaret had become used to in the larger cities, but they took the best suite available and it was comfortable, Andrew was amused. “Reminds me of my early days when I was on the road. You know, I didn't alhe laughed. He made remarks like those to suggest they had something common in their backProus, really the same sort of people. It was only true to a small ex-

Mind Your Manners

your knowledge of correct social usage by answering the following questions, then checking against ie authoritative answers beow: 1. Is it courteous for a man to say to a girl, “What night next week can you have dinner with me?” 2. Should a girl refuse a date just by saying, “No, I can't go?” 3. Is it a good idea to write anonymous letters? 4 If one writes to an unknown person and asks for an answer to his letter, should he enclose an addressed and stamped envelope? 5. Is “Thanking you in advance” a proper phrase tc use in a business letter?

What would you do if— You are writing to a woman and do not know whether or not she is married, would you begin the letter— A. Dear Miss Smith? B. Dear Mrs. Smith? C. My dear Jane Smith?

= » Answers

1. Not unless they are old friends. Otherwise he should ask for one night so that she can give a ready excuse if she doesn’t want to go. 2. She should at least add, ‘I'm sorry.” 3. No. If you can't siga your name it usually is better not to write. : 4. Yes. Unless the matter is part of the person's business routine. 5. No, it is to

thank a person before he has consented to a favor.

Best “What Would You Do”

" Margaret turned her head quickly.

tent. Her father was a bookkeeper and her life had been typically middle-class. Even from the beginning Andrew had known wealth. The business he had inherited from his father had already grown to a large organization while he was still young. Andrew had always had what he wanted and he paid for it. The fair grounds were located at the edge of town and were jammed with people. Those who were older stood mostly to one side or played games at the booths. Younger ones danced or were on the amusement rides. The merry-go-round was crowded with brightly dressed children. Laughter and brightness, and color and youth were everywhere. ® » ” T was fun. As Margaret strolled along with Andrew she laughed at the little, red-faced man who snorted angrily as he continued to miss shots at the rifle gallery.

“I think that I can do even better than that,” Andrew said quietly. He chose the smallest of the moving targets, those most difficult to hit, and didn’t miss a shot. “How good you are!” Margaret exclaimed. She was quick to be proud of Andrew's excellent marksmanship. “From hunting up in the Canadian woods. You'll go along if you'd like next time I go.” He saw the pride in her eyes and it exhilarated him. “Suppose we dance. Rather crowded, but—-" “Oh, there's room for us!” A wooden rail ran around the edge of the large dance floor. Margaret was sorry now, She had forgotten how heavily Andrew moved when he danced. One wouldn't expect it, because he walked with so quick and light a step. Margaret felt sure it was only her imagination, nothing more; but so many of the older people standing at the rail seemed to be looking at her and Andrew. She glanced around at the other dancers. A young man with amazing blue eyes was whirling a girl with curly brown hair like Margaret's around the dance floor. They were all young. There wasn't another person on the entire floor old as Andrew.

“YT is crowded, isn't it?” Margaret said as they moved around the floor. Andrew didn't seem to make any attempt to keep time with the music. He was perspiring slightly. “Warm too,” he said, and they smiled and walked off the floor. Margaret glanced back. Some of those who stood at the railing were following them with their ‘eyes. Margaret turned her hand quickly. They were rude. “Those kids certainly have a great time on the merry-go-round,” Andrew said. There was a bench. They sat down and watched the children go their hilarious ride, with shouting and laughter. They were S0 very young, So very far away from her, Margaret thought. The little red faced man they had seen at the shooting gallery shuffled up to the ticket booth. “He wants to buy a ticket to the merry-go-round!” Margaret laughed and clapped her hands. The little fellow was in heated

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ride on the merry-go-round. After a few more minutes the red faced man had his way. He grabbed his ticket, and when the merry-go-round stopped, scrambled upon one of the horses that bobbed up and down when things were set in motion. When the merry-go-round started to turn, the old fellow let out a gleeful howl, waved in delight to the children sitting around him, and a happy childish expression came on his face. Most in the crowd laughed,. but others looked on with disgust. As for the children, their fun seemed to be spoiled. The little old man rode round and round, bobbing up and down on his horse, the childish, foolish expression fixed on his face. “Little old fool,” said Andrew. “Thinks he's still a kid. Doesn't know yet he’s an old man—there’s a lot of people like that. Trying always to keep young, making themselves look ridiculous. No sense, no manner about them at all.” “Yes,” said Margaret. “Say,” | Andrew looked up brightly, “that’s one of your favorite tunes they're playing. You're rested aren't you—would you like to dance for a bit again?” Margaret kept her face away. She hesitated for a moment, controlling her voice. “It's so much more fun sitting here,” she said lightly. “We Sin always dance when we get back ome.”

THE END. ' (All events, names d characters in this story a wholly fetitions.)

SO THEY SAY

I always felt that I could do what any man could do.—Mrs. W. Ulsh, Springfield, Ill, who claims she is the nation’s only woman “tuck pointer” (replacing mortar between bricks).

People eat too much and exercise too little; by a judicious reversal of this process ,/. . a correction of the condition could be attained.— Dr. Reginald Fitz, Boston University Medical School.

One has to get away from Hollywood to get new ideas. — Grace Moore, movie star visiting New York.

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ASK THE TIMES

Inclose a 3-cent stamp for reply when addressing any question of fact or information to The Indianapolis Times Washington Service Bureau, 1013 13th St, N. W., Washington, D. C. Legal and medical advice cannot be given, nor can extended research be undertaken,

Q-—Can I make blue paint by mixing green and yellow paints? A—Blue is a primary pigment color and cannot be made by mixing the secondary pigment colors green and yellow. A mixture of blue and yellow pigments produces green.

Q—How much have Americans invested in China and Japan? A—In China, $125,000,000; in Japan, $60,000,000. Philanthropic institutions have $40,000,000 invested in China and Japan.

Q—Was Joseph L. Steinmetz electrocuted for killing his young bride and a priest in New York City a few years ago? A—He was sentenced June 15, 1035, to eight years imprisonment, and is now in Sing Sing Prison.

Q—What is a keystone cop? A—The term, “Keystone Kop,” refers to the police characters featured in Keystone film comedies, which were popular in the early days of motion pictures.

Q—What is the name of the Hamburg-American Line steamship, Which docked in New York May 29,

A—President Grant. Q—What is the strain on a piano string when in tune?

A—It ranges from 100 to 275 pounds, with an average of about 150 to 160 pounds per string.

Q—How old is the radio star, Kenny Baker? A-In his early twenties. Q—Give the addresses of some genealogical magazines. A—New England Historical and

Genealogical Register, published by

New England Historic Genealogical Society, Boston, Mass.; National Virginia Magazine, 707 E. Franklin St., Richmond, Va.

Q—How much did the United States Philatelic Agency receive for stamps sold to collectors in September, 1937? A—The receipts amounted to $311,687.13.

YOUR HEALTH

By DR. MORRIS FISHBEIN ; American Medicar Journal Editor HE mechanism of the ear is not like anything else in ordinary human experience. For that reason, persons who are gradually

becoming hard of hearing have difficulty in understanding what is wrong. The outside ear is not really very important in hearing. It is not always ornamental. It is hard to keep clean. It forms a mark for the boxer and perhaps in some future evolution will disappear altogether, The child has little hair in the opening of the ear, but in the adult these hairs multiply considerably. It has been asserted that the hair has value in keeping things out of the ear. If so, why should there not be just as many hairs in the ears of children? From the external opening there is a short passage which goes down to the eardrum, technically called the tympanic membrane. This membrane catches up the sound waves which come from the air.

UCHING the eardrum is a small bone known as the hammer. It touches another small bone known as the anvil and that, in turn, touches a third small bone known as the stirrup. The stirrup, in turn, is adjacent to an organ known as the cochlea. This cochlea is one of the finest mechanisms in all of the human body. It is shaped like the shell of the snail, and contains delicate hairs which are like the wires on a harp, each responding to a different’ wave length of sound. From the ear there is an open

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into the throat. When sounds strike on the eardrum, it must ‘move back and forth. It would not do this unless there was an opening on the other side which would permit it to vibrate. ” ” #” HERE are many different causes of difficulty in hearing. Sometimes the bones of the ear become inflamed and harden together so that they cannot make the delicate movements that are necessary for

the transmission of sound. Sometimes the nerves which

POLK'S BUTTERM

transmit the sensations from the cochlea to the brain become affected by disease. Sometimes the eardrum itself and the cavity behind: the eardrum become infected so that pus forms and the eardrum becomes immensely thickened. When a person has an inflammae tion of the ear or when he begins to have difficulty in hearing, the doctor who investigates the case must study the situation from every possible point of view. Not until the cause is localized is it possible to apply specific treatment.

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