Newspaper Page Text
HJEa
IYI
he|
UN|
CHAPTER 1
The agent in the small, dingy sta
tion at Glendale was, obviously, a
little hard of hearing. Jim Fielding
repeated the question in tones
pitched to command attention.
“Can you tell me how to reach
the Vaughn place?” he asked, con
scious that the two or three strag
glers in the waiting - room were
listening with interest.
The agent lifted melancholy fea
tures.
“Three miles back country.” The
agent peered through the narrow
grating. “You expected?” he asked.
“No,” Jim answered. “They
aren't expecting me.”
“I was going to say,” the agent
continued, “there hasn’t been any
body from the Vaughn place in here
today.” He reached toward a tele
phone on the shelf beyond the win
dow. “If you should want to call—”
“No thank you,” Jim said hasti
ly, forestalling complications.
“Well, there’s a garage across the
street.” The agent was determined
to be helpful. “They run taxi serv
ice.” A wink lightened, grotesque
ly, the solemn cast of his features.
“Don’t let Joe Tanner overcharge
you,” he said. “He don’t read the
papers and nobody’s told him
there’s a depression.”
The stragglers laughed. Jim
smiled. The warning, he thought,
was an often repeated pleasantry.
It was a compliment, too, perhaps,
a compliment not entirely inspired
by his own prepossessing appear
ance. His destination, he surmised,
had something to do with the mat
ter. The agent was disposed to be
affable to a prospective guest at
“Meadowbrook.” If he knew the
facts of the situation—l Jim’s smile
deepened. He thanked the agent
again and walked out of the waiting
room.
The smile faded as the glare of
early afternoon struck him full in
the eyes.
Three miles back country! Jim
stood irresolutely on the narrow
plank platform. The prospect was
not encouraging. He glanced across
the street where, in a forest of gas
pumps, stood a sedan placarded
TAXI. But the garage would charge
him a dollar at least. He couldn’t
afford that extravagance.
A fool idea anyway! Jim leaned
dispiritedly against a post in the
shade of the jutting roof. Why had
he thought that to find the Mac
phersons would help him spiritually
or materially? There was an an
swer to that. The MacPhersons
were all that remained of the deb
onaire world of his early youth
which had vanished so completely.
He was fed-up with his present
existence, sick of trying to find a
job, of sponging on his brother-in
law, of making himself agreeable to
pay for his bed and board. The
week-end just past had been the
proverbial last straw. He'd thought
that to find the MacPhersons might
restore, in a measure, his confi
dence and self-esteem, might help
him, somehow, to carry out one or
another of the drastic decisions he
had made in the Callenders’ guest
room last night.
It wouldn’t of course. A damn-
11111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111111l
BLAKELY THEATRE
Thurs.-Fri., Jan. 7-8
“THE DEVIL IS A SISSY”
—with—
FREDDIE BARTHOLOMEW and JACKIE COOPER
Saturday, Jan. 9
“GHOST TOWN GOLD”
Also COMEDY and SERIAL
Show Starts at 11 A. M.—loc All Day
Man.-Tues., Jan. 11-12
“POLO JOE”
with JOE E. BROWN
Wednesday, Jan. 13
THE JONES FAMILY in
“BACK TO NATURE”
llllllllllllllllllllilllllllllllllilTlllllillllllllllH
fopl ideal Jim’s eyes glowered but
into dusty heat from under the brim
of his hat. He was as he was and
nothing could alter the facts of the
situation. There was no place for
him in this new world of post-panic
uncertainties. He was one of the
lost generation, the boys who had
left college in 1929. There were no
jobs. The contacts he’d made led
exactly nowhere. So what?
He was too mercurial, too impul
sive, too—what was the quality?
Well, too romantic, perhaps. Kay,
his sister, was a hard-headed ma
terialist. She’d stood by him like a
soldier. But she had no patience
with the vagrant impulses which led
him, from time to time, in varying
directions. Kay set her course and
steered by it with no deviations. She
lacked imagination. What of it?
She’d done very well for herself.
Kay was right, of course. A grim
smile touched Jim’s lips. Impulses
were luxuries. He hadn’t thought
of them in that light in the halcyon
days before the panic. Then im
pulses had been the cocktails of life
and had led to charming adven
tures. Or if following an inclination
resulted unfortunately, there had
been any number of people to res
cue him from difficulties, his un
cle’s lawyer, Aunt Emily, one of
his legion of friends. All that had
changed. Impulses were costly risks
in the new order of existence. There
was the impulse which had brought
him here in search of the Mac-
Phersons.
To Jim they were more than that.
The gardener’s cottage at “White
hall” had been, in his boyhood,
more friendly and exciting than the
great formal house set in acres of
velvet lawn. The memory of Mi's.
MacPherson’s spice cake gave him
a feeling of nostalgia. There was a
sort of preserve she used to make,
plum and orange together, spread
thickly on freshly baked bread. An
atmosphere of comfort and tart
good humor had been her natural
environment. She’d had the sharp
est tongue and the kindest heart in
the world.
MacPherson had taught him to
play an excellent game of chess.
He’d told rousing good stories, too,
and let him putter around the gar
dens with a wheelbarrow and a
spade. As he grew older, how often
MacPherson had helped him out of
scrapes and, outwitting his Presby
terian conscience, had whitewashed
the accusing evidence of some
youthful folly. The lectures the lean
sandy Scot had delivered privately!
Jim winced at recurring memories.
If he’d been spoiled, it wasn’t the
fault of the MacPhersons.
They’d been fond of him and
proud of him. He had parted from
them with sincere emotion when the
crash came, when Uncle James and
Aunt Emily had gone to California
and a mortgage company had taken
over “Whitehall.” He’d promised
to look them up. He hadn’t, of
course. Not that he had forgotten
them. He’d been occupied with
the business of trying to find a job,
with singing for his supper, with
rediscovering Lenore.
The MacPhersons had meant to
retire. He’d been surprised and a
little disturbed when, throueh his
EARLY COUNTY NEWS, BLAKELY, GEORGIA
uncle’sTawyer, he*had learned that
they were employed by people
named Vaughn T. H. Vaughn,
“Meadowbrook,” Glendale. A card
from Mrs. MacPherson last Christ
mas had confirmed the information.
“Dear Jamie,” she had written un
der a lavish sprinkling of holly
sprigs and tinsel, “Andy and I are
wishing you’d come to see us.”
Jamie! No one except the MacPher
sons called him that. The name
woke sleeping memories. If he
could be “Jamie” again—
Sentimental idiot! The half-smile
touching Jim’s lips widened into a
derisive grin. It was only that—
Well, the week-end had been hu
miliating. He’d been hurt and he
was running to the MacPhersons
for sympathy and comfort. A damn
fool idea! He was ashamed of him
self. To find them would be, at
best, only a temporary anesthetic,
scarcely worth the pains of walking
three dusty miles.
He was through with misleading
impulses. No more romantic whims.
He would take the first train back to
town, pick up his bags at the club
and go on to New York. Perhaps,
if he made close connections, he
would reach Roselyn in time for
Kay’s party. At any rate, at the
first opportune moment, he would
ask Lenore to marry him.
Jim lit a cigarette. Mental per
plexities lulled for the moment. He
was conscious of physical discom
fort. Hungry, that was it. He’d
had nothing to eat since breakfast.
There must be a restaurant, some
where in the village. He calculated
the depressing state of his finances.
Worse than he had anticipated. He’d
had no business to play red-dog
with the Callenders last night. Such
dissipation was for the opulent.
Well, he could manage a milk-shake,
at least, and a drug-store sandwich
or two.
The time-table gave him half an
hour for refreshments. Jim left the
station and strode off along the
main street of the village. Not much
of a town, he thought, chain-stores,
a fish-market, an expensive looking
grocery, a small brick bank with a
Colonial facade.
The village, Jim surmised, served
as a base of supplies for the outly
ing estates. A post office painted
olive green, a tailor shop, a bakery.
The latest movies, anyway.
The drug-store occupied a promi
nent corner location. Jim entered,
grateful at once for the dim light
after the glare of the street. The
soda - fountain looked pleasantly
cool. He seated himself and re
moved his hat. Food and something
cold to drink—Lord, he was hungry!
A head appeared at the level with
the counter, a head foaming with
yellow curls bound by a band of
narrow ribbon. It hovered there for
a moment and Jim heard from the
obscure region behind the fountain
a vexed exclamation. Presently s
face appeared and then the slight
rounded figure of a girl in a tea
room uniform of crisp yellow and
blue. She had flax-blue eyes and a
tilted nose and she looked across
the counter with so cross an expres
sion that Jim was amused.
“Hello,” he said and smiled.
Jim’s smile was very engaging.
The girl behind the counter re
sponded to it at once. Her lips
curved in a friendly grin:
“Hello,” she said. “Sorry to keep
you waiting.”
“That’s all right. What were you
doing, saying your prayers?”
“Chasing lemons—and oranges.”
Her apron, he saw, was filled with
them. She began to arrange the
fruit in a pyramid on the counter.
“The darn things topple over a
dozen times a day.” She breathed a
sigh of exasperation. “But we must
be decorated. The boss has fancy
ideas.”
Jim felt his depression lifting.
The girl behind the fountain
topped the pyramid with a bright
green lime, smoothed her apron and
1~~ i
z, ißjj
w] A
TO
“Sorry to Keep You Waiting.”
turned to Jim. “What will you
have?” she asked.
“A chocolate milk and a sand
wich.”
“Ham? Cheese? Or—?”
“Both,” he answered promptly.
“Hungry?”
“Starving.”
She smiled.
“Okay. In a jiffy.”
She busied herself behind the
counter. Jim watched her deft ma
ninulation of a knife with a razor-
blade. Cute, he thought, friend
ly, amusing. Her curls were syn
thetically blonde, of course. No
hair, he was sure, in its natural
state, was quite so glintingly gold
en. Her lashes were stiff with mas
cara and her mouth was a work of
art sketched in raspberry lip-salve
of an especially virulent shade.
Apparently unaware of his scruti
ny, she glanced at him, a knife
poised over open jars. Her eyes
narrowed and crinkled.
“As one blonde to another,” she
asked, “mustard or mayonnaise?”
Jim laughed. It was, he reflected,
the first natural laugh he’d enjoyed
since last Friday at noon. The at
mosphere at the Callenders had
been strained. He’d spent the week
end smiling stiffly at Myra’s acid
pleasantries, making loud noises of
appreciation, far beyond their mer
it, in response to Dick’s tepid
jokes. Singing for his supper . . .
“Well—?”
“I’m sorry,” Jim apologized.
“Mustard or mayonnaise? That’s an
important decision, isn’t it? I’ll
compromise. A little of both if you
please.”
His reply seemed to amuse her.
She returned to her task humming,
just audibly, a gay familiar tune.
Funny kid, Jim thought. Kid? Well,
eighteen or nineteen, perhaps. What
was her name? Gladys? Gertrude?
Geraldine? Not that it mattered.
Nothing mattered especially. He’d
give his right arm to be interested
in something again. Anything—a
girl, a job, a dog-fight. Life without
vital interests wasn’t much fun. One
might as well be a turnip—
There must be something that he
could do. He was confident, in spite
of repeated discouragements, of his
ability to get on in the world. He
had had an expensive education and
a fair amount of intelligence. He
made friends easily. People usually
liked him. He was healthy enough.
He’d been voted, during his last
year at college, the member of his
class most likely to succeed. That
was a laugh!
“Hell!” he muttered half aloud.
The girl placing a platter before
him, glanced up.
“Everything all right?”
“I beg your pardon—Oh, fine!”
Jim assured her. He contemplated
the platter. “The sandwiches are
beautiful. That’s a tasty arrange
ment of pickles and hard-boiled
egg.”
“I thought—” she hesitated. “You
looked sort of sunk.”
“I’m an actor,” Jim said. “Do
ing ‘Hamlet.’ That was a private
rehearsal.”
“Honest?” Her eyes opened wide,
then narrowed and crinkled. “It’s
Mr. Barrymore!” she exclaimed.
“Fancy my embarrassment! Can
you forgive me? I’m a little near
sighted without my opera-glasses.”
Jim laughed, a deep pleasant
laugh of genuine amusement. Sur
prisingly, he felt almost cheerful.
He applied himself to the sand
wiches.
“Anything else?”
Jim glanced up from the remain
ing segments of sandwich. She had
made things tidy behind the coun
ter and seemed about to disappear.
The idea was depressing. To de
tain her, he asked, though he had,
at present, no practical use for the
information, “Can you tell me how
to reach the Vaughn place? T. H.
Vaughn, ‘Meadowbrook’?”
Tne question caught and held her
attention. It was obvious, at once,
that she, too, was impressed by
the name.
The girl behind the fountain sup
plied detailed instructions.
“South Valley road,” she said, her
interest in Jim deepening percepti
bly. “Turn left here at the corner
and again at the cross-road just
past the first stretch of woods. You
can’t miss the place. It’s a white
house on a hill. Sort of old-fash
ioned—but pretty,” she conceded.
“There’s a brook through the mead
ow.”
“I assumed there would be a
brook,” Jim said, “and one mead
ow, at least.”
“Oh sure! That was silly, wasn’t
it?” She had apparently abandoned
any idea of disappearing. The
Vaughn estate seemed to be an
absorbing topic of conversation. She
perched on a stool behind the foun
tain and regarded Jim attentively,
her eyes glinting with secret amuse
ment. “You’re a friend of Cecily’s,
I suppose.”
Jim was unable to make an in
telligent reply. Who the devil was
Cecily? He had let himself in for ex
planations. Why had he asked the
question?
The girl, however expected no re
ply. That he and “Cecily” were
friends was an established fact, Jim
decided, so far as she was con
cerned.
“I know somebody who won’t set
off fire - works because you’ve
come,” she added with an air of
lively enjoyment.
“Do you?” Jim asked, slightly
startled. “That’s not a pleasant
prospect.”
“You needn’t worry,” she said
encouragingly. “You can handle
him.” Jim felt that she was meas
uring the ample breadth of his
shoulders, appraising, with admira
tion which she made no attempt to
conceal-, his six feet and an odd inch
or so of flexible muscles and lean
hard flesh. What in blazes? Who
was “him”? A potential rival, per
haps. Jim was intrigued.
“Are you sure?” he asked smil
ing.
“Dollars to doughnuts. That
guy!” Her expression was scorn
ful. “What Cecily sees in him—”
Sh" broke off, her denouncement of
If You Want-
Fresh Vegetables, Fruits and the tenderest
Steak in town, call 180, and you’ll get just
what you order. We know good steak, and
too, the cut you like best.
EVERYTHING GOING GOOD!
WHY IS THAT?
Because our stock is complete, our clerks
are polite and courteous, our prices are
right—one price to all. So that is why our
business is growing better and better.
WWW
FRYER’S MARKET
the unknown ' rival apparently
checked by an idea. “When you get
there,” she said, “you can do some
thing for me.”
“Out there” meant “Meadow
brook” of course. Now for explana
tions.
“Can I?” Jim asked, stalling for
time, curious to discover her real
interest in the Vaughn estate.
“You can tell Tommy—” She
paused to find fitting words in which
to phrase her message. The scorn
ful expression was gone. Again Jim
observed her former air of secret
amusement, the mischief glinting
like dancing imps in her eyes. “Tell
Tommy not to come in tonight. Pri
vately, if you know what I mean.
You look like a pretty good egg.”
Tommy! Complications were in
creasing. Jim realized the advisa
bility of clearing himself at once.
“I’d be glad to take your message,”
he said, “and you could rely on my
discretion. But I’m not going to
‘Meadowbrook.’ ”
The blue eyes widened. Jim
thought he detected about her
mouth a return of the scornful ex
pression.
“You aren’t afraid of him, are
you?” she asked.
The words implied a compliment.
Jim felt a little embarrassed. He
shouldn’t have let her assume that
he was on his way to the Vaughn
estate. He shouldn’t have encour
aged her to talk of the family there.
She’d probably be offended.
“Oh no,” he said, smiling a shade
uneasily. merely that—Well,
it’s too hot to walk three miles.”
“Walk!” she echoed. Jim read
in her incredulous expression the
thought running through her mind.
She probably presumed that he had
a fleet of Daimlers anchored at the
curbing outside. Or a Packard, at
least —a roadster, perhaps, with
leather upholstery and a flock of
tricky gadgets.
“I came out on the train,” he
said. “They weren’t expecting me.”
He hoped she wouldn’t refer to the
garage or the sedan placarded
TAXI.
She mentioned neither the taxi nor
the garage. After a moment of
thought she produced instead, an
original suggestion.
“I know!” Her voice was warm
with enthusiasm. “We have some
things to send to Clarke’s. Their
place is a mile this side of ‘Meadow
brook.’ You can ride out with Her
bert.”
“No, thank you,” Jim said hasti
ly. “I’m taking the first train back
into town.” He glanced at his
watch. “No, I’m not,” he added in
an altered voice. “I’ve missed that
one by 15 minutes.”
“Herb won’t mind you riding with
him.” She slipped down from the
stool and glanced at Jim with a
mischievous expression. “You could
walk a mile, couldn’t you?” she
asked. “You look as though you
could, I mean you aren’t a cripple!”
“I might manage a mile.” Jim
hesitated. “But I don’t like to im
pose.”
“Forget it! Herb likes company.
Wait just a second.”
She disappeared through an open
ing in the rear partition of the
store and Jim heard, indistinctly, a
murmured conversation. His new
acquaintance, he thought, was a
capable young lady. He couldn’t,
with decency, refuse her friendly
suggestion. Whatever his personal
inclinations might be, he was about
to visit “Meadowbrook.”
(Continued on page 5)
Why Continue
Suffering?
—SEE—
Dr. W. C. Hardy
Naturopath
BLAKELY—MON.,
WED., FRI.
SHERIFF’S TAX SALES
There will be sold by the under
signed on the first Tuesday in Feb
ruary, 1937, at public outcry, to
the highest bidder for cash, before
the Court House door of Early
County, Ga., in the city of Blakely,
Ga., within the legal hours of sale,
the following described property,
for the purpose of satisfying several
tax executions issued by J. L.
Houston, Tax Commissioner of Ear
ly County, Georgia, for unpaid State,
County and School taxes for the
year 1929:
All of lot of land Number 194
in the 6th land district of Early
County, Georgia, containing 250
acres. Levied on as the property of
Mr. J. B. Daniels and Mrs. J. B.
Daniels. This the 29th day of Oc
tober, 1936.
Also at the same time and place:
20.01 acres of land, being and ly
ing in lot of land number 279 in
the 6th land district of Early Coun
ty, Georgia, described as follows:
Beginning at a point on the South
margin of the Arlington & Newton
Road 10 chains East of the inter
section of the West boundary line
of said lot 279 with said road and
running due South 5.5 chains, thence
due East 6 chains, thence due South
16 chains, thence due East 4 chains,
thence due North 20 chains to the
South margin of said Arlington
and Newton road, thence West
along south margin of said road a
distance of 11.5 chains to point of
beginning. Levied on as the prop
erty of E. B. Chafin. This the 29th
day of October, 1936.
Also at the same time and place:
Ten acres off of the East end of a
rectangular tract containing 97
acres on the North side of lot No.
42 in the 28th land district of Ear
ly county, Georgia. Levied on as
the property of V. R. Alexander, C.
D. Alexander, M. L. Alexander,
Mrs. P. C. Black, Mrs. Vallie Singer
and Mrs. Jetta Weaver. This the
19th day of December, 1936.
Also at the same time and place:
31 1-4 acres of land lying in the
South West corner of lot of land
number 212 in the 26th land dis
trict of Early County, Georgia.
Levied on as the property of Mrs.
Joe H. Sheffield, Mrs. J. A. How
ard, Mrs. Ellie J. Clark, S. E. New
berry and Vester C. Newberry. This
the 29th day of October, 1936.
Also at the same time and place
a certain town lot in Jakin, Ga.. de
scribed as follows: Beginning at a
point on the North side of Mulberry
St. in town of Jakin, Ga., 100 feet
West of Pearl St., running thence
North 188 feet, thence West 87 feet,
thence South to Mulberry Street a
distance of 180 feet, thence East
along Mulberry Street 89 feet to
point of beginning. Said tract be
ing formerly known as the T. S.
Minter Livery Stable lot, later
known as the Merchants and Farm
ers Warehouse lot. Levied on as
the property of Merchants and
Farmers Warehouse, this the 29th
day of October, 1936.
Also at the same time and place,
25 acres of land in the shape of a
square in the South West corner of
lot of land number 141 in the 28th
land district of Early County, Geor
gia. Levied on as the property of
H. C. White, this the 29th day of
October, 1936.
S. W. HOWELL,
Sheriff Early County, Georgia.
Try the News for Job Printing.