Houston home journal. (Perry, Houston County, Ga.) 1924-1994, July 11, 1940, Image 2

Houston home journal., July 11, 1940, Image 2

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Newspaper Page TextThe Honorable Uncle Lancy By ETHEL HUESTON O Bobbi- Merrill Co. S*" l '* THE STORY THUS FAR Left orphan* by a tragic automobile accident which clilmed the live* o( their mother and father, three sisters, Helen, Adcle and "Llmpy," are visited by their Aunt Olympia, politically minded wife of Senator Alencon Delaporte Slopshire. She Insists that the girls return with her to Washington, to make their home with them. In addition to loving the girls. Aunt Olympia know* they will be a terrific political asset. Senator Slopshire has as hi* political opponent one Brother Wilkie, a minister, whose political campaign 1* furthered by seven “unspeakable brats” who sit on the rostrum with him while he makes speeches. Aunt Olympia and the Senator, kind and loving, nevertheless know that their three nieces will mean votes for the Senator. Senator Slopshire, a pleasantly foggy Individual who depend* on the astuteness of his wife, prepares for their coming. Though Llmpy, the youngest, la 16, and Helen, the oldest, is 21, the Senator buy* them all the toy* and gift* he can find, feeling that “children” should be occupied. CHAPTER lll—Continued — 4 — “An apartment is part of a house ■nd home is what you make it,” Olympia contradicted the Senator. “And an apartment is closer togeth er, more intimate. I want them to be intimate. I want them to get used to seeing you around and being with you and—if possible—to like you as If you were their very own . . . Before the campaign starts,” she added significantly. It must be said for the Senator that never once had he remotely thought of the children as latent campaign material. “Oh, they’ve got plenty of time to get used to me,” he said mildly. “Well, it took me a good many years to get used to you and even row sometimes I’m surprised. Very much surprised! Besides, a hotel apartment is more accessible. Ac cessible to newspapermen and pho tographers as well as constituents . . . Fortunately, they photograph well . . . Yes, you’re right, Del. We’d better take a larger apartment and stay where we are. This year at least. Next year is another year.” Their talk during those interven ing days was all of the children. The Senator wiped his glasses with out intermission during a full hour while Olympia told him the sad de tails of the tragedy and the fu neral. He did not brighten until she added thoughtfully: “As Limpy says, it’s just terrify ing the way things happen so out of a clear sky. But as I said to Limpy, there’s always something to look forward to. I was all cut up—l was terribly cut up—about this hor rible tragedy.” Her chin quivered a little and tears flooded her eyes. “And yet just look! Nothing else in the world could have given us those children.” “We’ll be very good to them,” said the Senator. “I’ll buy them anything they want.” The Senator’s sole idea of being good to children was to buy them things. “Del,” Olympia said, almost pleadingly, “I want you to help me about something.” That shocked the Senator. He was used to having his advice asked when Olympia had her mind made up. He was used to receiving orders for co-operation or for the carrying out of plans. For Olympia to ask his help, ask it pleadingly, was something new. “Helen,” she explained, tearfully, “is going home next winter and mar ry a grocery store. She doesn’t know 1 know it, so kindly do not make any comments about it. She’s of age and it’s nobody’s business but her own. Adcle is so beautiful that she’s bound to be gobbled up immediately and that's an end of her. But Del,” Olympia began to cry softly, which so distressed the Senator that he set at once to wip ing his glasses though he had no idea what she was crying about, “Del, there’s Limpy! If we work this thing right, we can have Limpy! She’s only sixteen; she calls it sev enteen minus, but she's only sixteen. If we make her happy and she learns to like us, we can have her. I—Del, I never wanted anything so much in my life.” And she fell to crying again. The Senator didn’t even cough. “Ollie,” he said firmly, “if you want that child, you can have her. You deserve her, Ollie. If she turns out to be a nice child and you want her, you can have her.” “She’s a grand child, Del. She’s Just grand! And named after me, too . . . You’d think she might like me all right, wouldn't you? . . . They’re all nice children,” she ad mitted, rather grudgingly. “Helen is a little pig-headed. You wouldn’t think a person as angelic as Helen could be so pig-headed about a de livery boy. Adele's nice, too. I wouldn’t have believed such a beau ty could be so nice if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes . . . But Limpy—Del, Limpy is the cockiest, bravest little thing you ever saw. She’s —well, it made me sick to have to come away and leave her even for three weeks. 1 kept wanting all the time to pick her up and start running with her.” “Do you want her as much as that, Ollie?” he asked, rather awk wardly. They had been married a long time and sweet speeches be tween them had come to seem arti ficial and affected, but he really thought a great deal of Olympia; he was actually fond of her. “Ollie, you’re all right! And anything you want as much as that, I’m going to see that you get!” “It’s not as simple as that,” she said ruefully. “But Del, I give you my word, I—l want Limpy so much that I’d rather have her than have you lick that damn preacher. I’d rather have her than the whole Sen ate and the House thrown in. I’d rather have her than the White House I” That settled it lor the Senator. Limpy was virtually their child. Aunt Olympia occupied herself un til the girls’ arrival by a systematic procedure which she called “build ing them up.” There were details to be attended to, of course; taking a larger apartment, for instance; laying in additional household sup plies; sending back almost daily the curious assortment of gifts the Senator sent up in advance of their coming. But in the main, she de voted herself to “building them up.” She saw everyone, she accepted ev ery invitation, she resumed attend ance at all her neglected clubs. She gave a large luncheon. She even went calling on just the right people. She talked constantly of “my poor dear children.” She showed pictures of them, the most flattering ones. She apologized for her constant rush by saying she wanted to get every thing of a social nature off her cal endar before the poor dear children arrived. “Naturally, then, my place will be with them. They are very sad. Such a tragedy! But their uncle and I will do what we can to comfort them.” Every word, every gesture, was deliberately planned to whet inter She wrote letters to her friends at home, voters, every one! est, to arouse sympathy, to insure a profusion of polite courtesies with attendant publicity. She wrote letters to her friends at home—voters, every one!—recount ing the tragedy and invariably add ed, “We shall have our three dear little nieces with us this summer. Naturally, they will make their home with us. I do want them to find new interest in life and come gradually out from this terrible shadow that has so darkened their beautiful youth. I know you will help me.” Due largely to these tireless and effectual preliminaries, the Senator got a very good press on his be nign adoption of the three young or phans. He, along with Olympia and a crowd of newspapermen and pho tographers, met them on their ar rival at Union Station. Uncle Lancy was photographed with them in many interesting poses; kissing Limpy, the youngest; patting the grave Helen paternally on the shoul der; chucking the beautiful Adele under her highly photographic chin. He was photographed, too, wiping the moisture from his glasses with a very large, very white handker chief. It was genuine moisture. The picture was appropriately captioned “Senator Weeps Over Pretty, Pa thetic Young Wards.” Even Aunt Olympia pronounced the arrival a complete success. Senator Slopshire was neither large, nor tall, nor handsome, be ing instead rather jauntily rotund with a ruddy pink skin. He was slightly bald and the top of his head was of a ruddy pinkness. He was definitely dapper, punctilious in ev ery detail of dress, manner and speech. The girls found, to their delighted relief, that, for all her robust en ergy, Aunt Olympia was easy to live with. She was always alert, always humorously sarcastic, even bitter, but her pleasure in the girls’ presence was obvious and she was flattered to rosy flushes by their spontaneous laughter at her re marks. She gave them almost un limited freedom. She said that, in her opinion, “people should do as they pleased.” If they wanted to get up for breakfast, they could. If they didn’t, they could stay abed. If they wanted to come in when there were callers, she was glad to have them; if they were disinclined, she made voluble excuse for them. Best of she wan not snoopy HOUSTON HOME JOURNAL, PERRY, GEORGIA and she never pried. Anything that came naturally within range of her eyes or ears went immediately into her storehouse of knowledge and was used to telling effect. But she nev er snooped, Helen sometimes wondered uneas ily if all this ‘‘doing as she pleased” was quite the best training for Lim py, at such a tender age. After all, she was only a child. One eve ning, as they sat together before the fireplace in the big living room, part of Olympia’s persistent cam paign to ‘‘make them intimate,” Helen said: ‘‘Auntie, have you inquired about a school for Limpy? The second se mester should begin very soon now, I think.” “Yes,” said Olympia promptly. “I have a list of all the girls’ schools in the District and I know just what they’re good for. All Limpy has to do is to decide whether she wants to educate herself up to society, to the night clubs, to get married, or go into business.” The Senator took of! his glasses, wiped them thoroughly and coughed deprecatingly. “My dear, do you think it’s wise starting the child into school in the middle of the year, and such a very hard year? In my opinion, she needs a rest and a change and a little va cation. She looks thin and pale to me!” The girls and Olympia turned shocked eyes to inspect the aston ished Limpy, whose face turned a deep rose from delighted excitement at thought of escaping school. “Limpy, don’t you feel well? You do look feverish!” ejaculated Aunt Olympia, in a panic of alarm. “Of course she’s feverish,” said the Senator. “And pale, too, for that matter. Why shouldn’t she be pale and feverish? Look at all she’s gone through! Too much study doesn’t do a young mind any good. I say let her come around with me and see the sights and get a good rest. She can get enough schooling next year.” Aunt Olympia was more than dis tressed ; she was terrified. This was Limpy 1 "‘Limpy, do you feel sick? Have you any pain?” she quavered. And her alarm was for Limpy alone. She never once thought of the dan ger to her campaign. “Limpy, I don’t believe you do look very healthy. We’ll have the doctor in, right away. Maybe the Senator is right, girls. Maybe she’d better rest and take things easy this year.” “Of course I’m right,” said the Senator, well pleased with himself. "Certainly she’d better rest and have a good time. She can read good books when she feels like it. There’s real education in books. She can come up with me and listen to the Senate—though it is not usually very educational.” “I could coach her in trigonome try,” said Helen. “She’s going to have trouble with that when she goes to college.” “Of course!” said the Senator. “A few minutes a day won’t hurt her, but don’t run it into the ground.” And then suddenly Limpy came to life. She bounded out of her low chair, crossed the room in two lithe leaps and landed in a heap on the Senator’s rigid, unaccustomed knees. She clasped him in both arms, seriously deranging his two dollar tie and knocking off his glasses. “Oh, Uncle Lancy, you darling!” she cried. “You perfect old peach! What a simply swell ideal . . . Aunt Olympia, he’s right! I swear I’m beginning to think maybe I very nearly do feel sick!” There was no further trouble about being intimate with Uncle Lancy. Limpy had taken him to their united bosom and he was theirs. But Helen took pains to se lect good books for her to read for educational purposes and gave her an hour’s grilling in trigonometry every day. After all, a child that age should spend some time learn ing something! On an afternoon in March, when all official Washington was beginning to fret at the unconscionable delay of adjournment, Aunt Olympia sat quietly, at peace with the world, reading the Congressional Record. Adele stood between the deep blue curtains at the window looking down into the hotel park. All outdoor things made her think of home and of old days and of that low mound in the cemetery back in Iowa; made her a little sad. She wore a grace ful ankle-length gown of white crepe, with wide loose sleeves band ed with soft black fur. Aunt Olym pia had picked it out. A narrow band of black velvet confined Adele’s fair curls—that was her own idea. Hilda, the sour Swede, appeared suddenly at the door, prefacing her appearance with a suggestive cough. “I wish you wouldn’t cough," said Aunt Olympia irritably. “You sound like the Senator about to take the edge off something good. If you’ve got anything to say, take a cough drop and say it.” “Mr. Len Hardesty is downstairs and craves a few minutes,” said Hilda. Aunt Olympia flung the Record halfway across the room. She bounded out of her chair. She pal pitated all over. Adele, turning be tween the curtains, regarded her with amazement. Aunt Olympia had never before shown temper, except verbally. “Len Hardesty! That louse! That snake-in-the-grass! I won’t see him! Don’t you let him cross my thresh old! Tell him I’m not at home.” “Sure you’re home, Ollie Slop, old top,” drawled a low voice, and Len Hardesty stood in the door. “I was afraid you’d be in one of your little pre-campaign moods, so I told them to announce me in five min utes and I came right on up and tapped at the side door and a very nice young lady at the telephone let me in and motioned me down here, and here I am.” “Oh, hello, Len,” said Aunt Olym pia, not at all unpleasantly but rath er cordially. “How lovely and serene you are today, with the Record at your feet,” he went on coolly. “Where’s Sloppy?” “If you mean the Senator, he is where he should be, trying to bring some order out of a chaotic Con gress.” Her eyes went unconsciously to the motionless figure in black and white between the blue curtains. Quite naturally Len Hardesty’s gaze followed hers. Swiftly his eyes widened. Inele gantly, his jaw dropped. Wordless for once he gaped at the vision be tween the curtains. Then he flung his hat to the floor and clutched his head in both hands. “My little niece, Adele, the Sen ator’s middle ward,” announced Olympia, with s smirk of smug com placency. “Not one cf the orphans! Ollie, you wouldn’t do that to an old pall You couldn’t be that low—not even you could be as low as that! You wouldn’t sick your old buddy onto seven brats and a tin trumpet and then double-cross me with—heaven on-earth! Would you do that?” “Oh, that’s only one of them,” said Aunt Olympia happily. “We have three! They adore the Sena tor!” “You couldn’t have three! There couldn’t be three. There are no mir acles, not even in politics. She’s not flesh and blood anyhow. She’s wax. She’s an automaton you’ve rigged up to throw a scare into me —and successfully, I admit that, most successfully!” Adele, being stared at, dropped a very slight curtsey and smiled. “You pulled a wire!” Len Har desty accused Aunt Olympia. “You know you pulled a wire. She’s a female Charlie McCarthy, that’s what she is; but much better-look ing.” “Well, what of it? Charlie seems to be doing all right for himself. And so’s Adele, if you ask me! . . . Sit down, darling.” The warmth of of her smile for Adele was beatific. “Ollie, I want to make a deal with you,” said Len Hardesty earnestly. “I’ll swap you the brats, all seven of ’em, and the bellwether too, for this one; just this one. You can keep the others.” “Not interested. Definitely not in terested,” said Aunt Olympia. “You admit, then, that when I pick cam paign material, I pick it.” “I’ll throw in two of Brother Wil kie’s best sermons and the tin trum pet. I’ll throw in the cane, too.” Aunt Olympia waved the idea from her with a happy gesture. Len Hardesty took another look at the smiling Adele. “To tell you the truth, Ollie,” he said, humbly, “I’m not sure but I’ll throw in the Gov ernor . . , Yes, come to think of it, I will! I’ll throw in the Governor.” “I wouldn’t have him for fish bait,” she said contemptuously. “You made your political bed, now lie in it. If you can find room among the brats and the tin horn.” “I’d better have a drink, Ollie. I'd better have two drinks. I feel very badly. Low! Very low. She” —he nodded his head dolorously to ward Adele—“wouldn’t know what we are talking about, Ollie, but you and I know. Well, I feel vary bad in the pit of my stomach.” “Oh, I know about the pit of the stomach," said Adele brightly. “It’s where you feel the most all-gone when you feel all-gone.” “I’ll probably need three drink*. Ring, Ollie,” he said dully. Aunt Olympia, quivering with pleasure, rang for Hilda. “Since this snake-in-the grass is bent on drinking himself to death, we may as well do what we can to help along the good cause. Scotch and soda, Hilda, and a plain lemon ade for Miss Adele.” Len Hardesty, still holding his head in both hands, stared uninter ruptedly at Adele. “Can’t I do something for you? Can’t I be helpful? May I offer you a cigarette?” “Not now, thanks,” said Adele po litely, “What do you mean, ‘Not now, thanks’? Don’t you smoke?” he asked moodily. “Oh, Aunt Olympia!” Adele cried reproachfully. “You said no one would ever suspect w r e don’t smoke if we just say, ‘Not now, thanks.’ ” “So she’s teaching you your lines, eh? I might have known it. I sup pose it was she who taught you to run your eyelashes up and down like that and give a guy goose fesh.” “No, I must have got tl at from God. But she told me what to say about drinking.” “What did she tell you to say?” he asked in sepulchral tones. “What ever it is, it’s going to be a vote getter.” “She said if a gentleman simply insists that you take a drink . . . Now, you pretend you’re a gentle man and insist that I have a drink and I’ll give you a demonstration, I need practice anyhow.” (TO BE continued: OPJ sew Ruth Wyeth Spears r . ,-r 1 CHAIR PAINTED DARK (rill nnY.Li GREEN WITH GREEN i s ■> AND WHITE CUSHIONS heavy ~ ; /T •'! % ;Ti J =l*= K J _ BOM LJERE comes the Bride again! Many of you have met her in Sewing Book 5. She is the same resourceful’young lady whose ad ventures with an old dresser, a fish bowl and a piano stool are described in that book; and who remodeled one of the old rockers in Book 5. Today’s sketch shows another of her slight o’ hand tricks with a chair. There it was in a junk shop win dow. “Did you ever see anything so impossible?” I said, “It looks like a pompous old dowager with a pompadour.” And the little bride said, “Yes, but I think its personality could be changed; I can see it as a jolly little old lady sitting in the corner with a ging ham apron.” Sure enough, the next time I went to see the Bride, Faround Mss^ ltems °* ln,erest . UA! ICC QjQSw to the Housewife the HUUjc To make cut glass sparkle, dip a small brush in lemon juice and scrub the glass with it. • • • Excellent pads for the stair carpet can be made by covering a fairly thick pad of newspaper with hessian, felt or cloth, • * * If bread has gone stale, hold the loaf over steam from the kettle for a few moments, then place in a hot oven for 10 minutes. Dry on a wire tray. • * • Lime marks on bath tub, caused by hard water, can be removed by rubbing with peroxide of hy drogen, * * • For Summer Comfort. Use awnings on all windows exposed directly to the sun for they re duce, by as much as one-third, the amount of heat entering. Awn ings are far superior to blinds in this respect unless the latter are outside the windows. • • * Keeping Cool.— lf your home is heated by warm air ducts, get the furnace man to Install a prop er fan in the basement which will drive the cool cellar air up into the house through the ducts. . for JL JL J days! Copr. 1940 by Kellogg Company J MADE BY KELLOGG’S IN BATTLE CREEK I THE ADVERTISER INVITES YOUR C* o\yf PAD! O /“\ XT The advertiser assures ua that his goods Vrf \y iV* * X* nlw gj.o good. He invites us to compare them with others. We do. Should he relax for a minute and let his standards drop, we discern it. We tell others. We cease buying his product. Therefore he keeps up the high standard of his wares, and the prices as low as possible there was the chair sitting in a corner painted a cheerful green and with white gingham cushions. The legs had been shortened, as shown here, and the pompous top heavy back had been cut down. That was all, but the change was complete. If you are interested in adventures in homemaking be sure to send for Book 5. It has 32 pages of money saving ideas that you can put to use at once. Send order to: MRS. RUTH WYETH SPEARS Drawer 10 Bedford Hills New York Enclose 10 cents for Book 5. Name Address Save left-over toast for use aa bread crumbs. Run it onca through the food chopper or roll it out with the rolling pin. Store iu a covered glass jar. * * « Brass will need less cleaning if, after being polished in the usual way, it is rubbed with a cloth slightly moistened with furnitura polish or cream. aa Happy State A sound mind in a sound body is a short but full description of a happy state in this world. —Locke. KENT BLADES “£S?lOe Conscience Tells Justice A man’s vanity tells him what is honor; a man’s conscience what is justice.—Landor.