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The Honorable Uncle Lancy
By ETHEL HUESTON
e Bobbi-Merrill Ca. WNU
THE STORY THUS FAR
Left orphans by a tragic automobile accident which claimed the lives of their
mother and father, three sisters, Helen, Adele and "Llmpy," are visited by their
Aunt Olympia, politically minded wife of Senator Alencon Delaporte Slopshlre.
She Insists that the girls return with her to Washington, to make their homa
with them. In addition to loving the girls. Aunt Olympia knows they will be a
terrific political asset. Senator Slopshlre has as his political opponent one Brother
Wilkie, a minister, whose political campaign is furthered by seven "unspeakable
brats" who sit on the rostrum with him while he makes speeches. Senator Slopshlre.
a pleasantly foggy Individual wh« depends on the astuteness of his wile, prepares
lor their coming. Though Llrnpy. the youngest, is 16. and Helen, the oldest, is 21, the
Senator buys them all the toys and gilts he can find. When they first meet their
"Uncle Lancy," as he is to be known, the girls take him to their united bosom.
Soon Adele. most beautiful of the sisters, meets Len Hardesty, publicity man for
Brother Wilkie. Though It is Len's Job to help defeat the Senator, he promptly falls
In love with Adele. Olympia buys an automobile house-trailer which will accom
modate the five of them, and from which the Senator will campaign. Then she de
cides to hire a publicity agent for the Senator, securing the services of Dave Cooper,
and as his assistant, young Cecil Dodd. At a Washington tea Helen meets Gabriel
d'Allottl. Gabriel then searches out Olympia, and asks if ho might call. Olympia
acquiesces, thinking it might make Helen forget her suitor back In lowa, Brick
Landis Brick, owner of a grocery store, is also running for Congress. During one
of d'Allottl's visits with Helen, she turns to Uncle Lancy for advice concerning
national coastal fortifications. She and d'Allottl spend much time In studying poli
tics. Meanwhile, Adele and Len Hardesty have been more and more entranced
with each other's company.
CHAPTER Vl—Continued
—D—
“But, Len, how could you do any
thing against them—when they are
—are so.magnificent? To you! And
to us, tool”
“Because, darling, if I don’t pull
every trick from my bag, they’ll be
the first to despise me. This is a
job, Adele.”
“I don’t like it,” she said faintly.
“Adele, I’ve known those two a
long time. They are swell sports.
They’re game as they come. But
If I fell down on this job because I
like them—and adore you—they’d
be the first to sneer. And you’d be
next. Listen, sweet! I don’t want
them beaten, but I’m going to try
my best to beat them. If I don’t,
do you think Olympia will ever feel
the same? We can’t beat them, un
less we get some breaks I can’t fore
see. That’s what I’m on the look
out for—the breaks. And it will
mean a lot for me if I put it across.
The Governor has promised me any
thing I want. Anything! We could
get married then. I could take care
of you.”
“I don’t want to be taken care of—
at their expense. You don’t know
how lovely they are to us. I don’t
want anything—taken from them.”
“Talk to Olympia,” Len said.
“She knows this racket. It’s always
a scrap. They can take a beating,
but they can’t stand a quitter.”
"I think it is—despicable,” she
aald, and there were tears, very be
coming tears, in her lovely eyes.
“It’s the democratic form of gov
ernment,” he said gently, and kissed
the tears away, “But don’t take my
word for it, sweet. Ask them."
“But if you were with us, Len, it
would be so perfect. To have you
go with us, and plan with us, and
be on our side—” •
“Yes, it would be perfect. But
If I broke my contract, it would be
the best weapon the Governor could
hold against him. They would claim
that by Influence and Money the
Senator had treacherously hired a
man to break his contract. It would
beat him quicker than anything
else.”
“But Len, hasn’t principle got
anything to do with it? Do you think
the Governor would make a belter
Senator than Uncle Lancy?”
“No, sweet, I don’t. But that
hasn’t a thing in the world to do
with it . . . No, I don’t think so.
But thinking isn’t my job. Publicity
is.”
“It’s appalling, Brick,” Helen
wrote distractedly. “I’m just terri
fied of the whole thing. It all sim
mers down to the fact that the outs
wants in and the ins want to stay
where they are. I don’t believe
there is a single thing at stake but
that. Brother Wilkie and Uncle Lan
cy agree on almost every point, ex
cept that the Governor thinks the
Republicans could do a better job
finishing what the Democrats start
ed. I asked Aunt Olympia what is
the real issue in this campaign.
“ ‘The issue!’ she boomed. ‘The
Issue? Why, the Issue is just wheth
er the Senator is going to be beat
en by that treacherous worm who
ought to get back where he be
longs.’
“All the time, Brick, all the mon
ey, all the scheming and planning,
all the heartaches—just for that.”
Aunt Olympia was packed and
ready for adjournment by the tenth
of May. Still Congress dawdled, fili
bustered, talked.
The second week in June she sent
Hilda on up to Maysville with most
of the baggage and with orders to
get things ready for their arrival. It
couldn’t be long now. The most
stentorian congressional voice was
frayed and rasping.
“A hog caller couldn’t stick it out
much longer,” she told the girls
hopefully.
And then, on June 16th, Congress
adjourned,
Helen drew a deep, tired breath.
“At last! It’s over!” she ejaculated.
Olympia's snort was deep and
gusty. She raised her shoulders like
a champing Pegasus pluming for
flight.
“Overl” she boomed. “Over!
Why, it hasn’t even begun 1”
CHAPTER VII
Aunt Olympia was justly proud of
Bhires, the senatorial estate near
Maysville. Maysville, the capital of
the state, headquarters both of Re
publican and Democratic state com
•virees. was an ideal location for
the Senator in a campaign year. It
was an ideal location for Len Har
desty, too, though working for the
Opposition. “Not even a slave-driv
er with seven brats can keep me
on the go day and night all sum
mer,” he told Adele confidentially.
“I’ve got to relax occasionally, and
I expect to do all my summer’s re
laxing at Shires."
The house itself was low, ram
bling and wide, with porches on ev
ery side; with high cupolas and low
stoops and broad fireplaces; with
great rooms, huge windows and
crystal chandeliers; artistically old
fashioned to the last detail. Yet the
old-fashionedness of it was more ap
parent than real, for it was only ten
years old and its equipment was
modern to the extreme.
In planning their arrival after the
adjournment of Congress Aunt
Olympia always had a plan for ev
erything minutely laid out in ad
vance—she had been bitterly torn
between natural thrift and pride.
She wanted the girls to see Shires
first in all its pristine beauty, and
yet, wishing to safeguard and pre
serve that beauty, she trembled
physically at thought of the havoc
to be wrought on it by the first
horde of friendly callers. Love tri
umphed. The girls should see Shires
as it was; for was it not to be their
future home with her and the Sena
tor—or, at least, Limpy’s future
home?
She ordered Hilda to have the
place in the pink of perfection for
the girls’ arrival.
“And be ready for a lightning
change,” she said grimly. “Have
the campaign drapes and curtains
ready. Get the summer rugs
cleaned. Have the packing cases
and moth-proof bags opened and
aired. Tell Martin to get the tubs
and fences and railings ready to put
up at a minute’s notice. Lay in
moth-balls and wire screening and
plenty of bolts and nails and pad
locks. Tell Martin to have the tree
guards painted and laid out . . . But
be sore to have everything out of
sight when we there. I want
them to see it right the first time.”
The girls, remembering the down
at-the-heel parsonages that had been
their previous homes, were almost
speechlessly thrilled with Shires.
There wasn’t a farm in lowa could
hold a candle to it. They liked ev
erything about it, from the honey
suckle and wild roses clambering
over the porch rails with such ap
parent abandon—though really guid
ed and compelled by the stern hand
of the farm manager, Martin—to the
cunning chicken incubators and
brooder houses.
“Yes, it’s nice,” assented Aunt
Olympia modestly, crimson with de
light in their delight. “But we nev
er should have called it Shires. Too
aristocratic, Shires is. Now that
the tide of public opinion has turned
against elegance, we’ll probably lose
a thousand votes by that name. If
we’d called it Cozy Rest or Happy
Home or Old Mill Meadows we’d be
better off.”
“Why don’t you change it, then,
just till the campaign’s over?”
Aunt Olympia shook her head.
"Len Hardesty,” she explained
briefly. “He’d get a nation-wide
hook-up to accuse us of finagling
for votes.”
She was anxiously apologetic
about the rooms she had assigned
them. “Now, you don’t have to take
them unless you want to,” she as
sured them. “We’ve got plenty of
rooms, and after the campaign you
can have one apiece, and easy. But
during the campaign we have ex
tras here nearly every night, com
mitteemen, or reporters, and we
have to save a room for Cece Dodd,
and Dave will be here a good deal.
So if you can be comfortable in just
two rooms till after the campaign,
it’ll be a help.”
The girls were joyously sure they
could be comfortable. Aunt Olym
pia had chosen two connecting
rooms for them at the opposite end
of the hall from the huge room—
with two baths—that she occupied
with the Senator. In the larger of
the two rooms were twin beds,
which Aunt Olympia thought would
be nice for Helen and Adela; the
smaller room, with a wide bed—
the best bed in the house it was,
too—she thought would be all right
for Limpy, who wasn’t really full
grown yet and ought to be by her
self.
For a full week after their arrival,
though she suffered for her treas
ures, Aunt Olympia restrained her
housewifely inclinations. She per-
HOUSTON HOME JOURNAL, PERRY, GEORGIA
I mitted callers, both constituents and
sightseers, to trample her velvety
lawn, tread roughly on her neatly
trimmed hedges and flower beds,
scatter ashes and cake crumbs on
her oriental rugs. One weeK of ago
nizing proof it was of her love for
Limpy.
Then, almost overnight, Shires be
came a Cozy Rest. The oriental
rugs and brocade tapestries were
removed and stored in moth-proof
containers in the attic. The best
chairs and more costly small tables
were removed. Pieces of bric-a
brac, vases, pictures, expensive ash
trays and cigarette boxes, finely
bound books, were stowed away in
locked drawers.
“Never leave any little nice thing
lying about loose in a campaign,”
she said. “To constituents, anything
small enough to go in a pocket is a
souvenir.”
Even the grounds shared the cam
paign renovation. The rarest and
most treasured of small shrubs and
plants were removed to the green
house, which was padlocked. Stout
grilled iron fences enclosed the flow
er gardens and bushes. Little rail
ings shut off the place where vis
itors were not to walk.
Cecil Dodd joined them at Shires
on the fifth of July, and an old road
ster was turned over to him to trav
el about the state in, meeting com
mittees, arranging rallies, hobnob
bing with the press and getting his
bearings in general.
In July, Aunt Olympia, referring
to her “Social Activities” list, in
vited the Ladies’ Aid Society in
Maysville to a garden party at
There were two hundred and
fifty at the garden party.
Shires. The girls, who thought they
knew Ladies’ Aids, were amazed at
the quantity of refreshments she
planned for this event.
"Dear me, it must be a huge Aid,”
said Helen. “You have food enough
for two hundred.”
“There’ll be two hundred,” said
Aunt Olympia. “Though it’s not a
very large Aid. They’ll bring all
their children and cousins and aunts
by-marriage. They’ll take advan
tage of it being election year and in
vite all their out-of-town friends.”
There were two hundred and fifty
at the garden party.
“Most of ’em I never saw be
fore in my life and half of those
I have seen don’t even belong to
our church.”
The Senator had no real opposi
tion in the Primary and spent only
enough time and money on it to
strengthen the party machine and
lay the groundwork for the real bat
tle.
The preliminary activities of the
campaign were of a mild sort, more
in the nature of social pleasantries
than warfare. There was frequent
attendance at church suppers, fish
fries, shore dinners, club picnics,
and firemen’s balls. There were a
few speeches to be made, photo
graphs to be posed for, interviews
given and disseminated.
The Senator had figured that six
weeks would suffice for the inten
sive, swing-of-the-state campaign.
But he had not reckoned with Broth
er Wilkie. Six weeks was not enough
for the Opposition. In July, while
the Senator was blissfully basking
in a breathing spell, the Governor
swung into action. To take the edge
off the Senator’s homey old trailer,
he established the children, the bel
dame and Len Hardesty in a cov
ered wagon and hit the trail.
CHAPTER VIII
In August, impelled by the Gov
ernor’s aggressiveness, the Slop
shire-for-Re-election campaign got
under way. The old trailer, after
standing outdoors three or four days
to become plebeianly stained with
dust and streaked with rain and
dew, was packed for travel. The
itinerary was planned to the ulti
mate minute. The sound truck was
loaded with papers, files and books.
The girls enjoyed campaigning.
Aunt Olympia hovered over them
broodingly, her solicitude not entire
ly attributable to their value as
campaign material. She saw to it
—as far as she was able—that they
had proper rest, regular meals,
abundant exercise. She decreed—
and saw that the decree was well
publicized—that the place chosen for |
them to pitch camp each night
should provide some recreation for
the girls—tennis, horseback riding
or swimming; “for the health of our
children far transcends a senatorial
campaign.”
Olympia herself usually went
about with a large sewing bag on
her arm. In this she carried fresh
handkerchiefs, a make-up box, an
impressive array of darning cot
tons, needles and threads (assem
bled by Hilda), and an old, worn
out pair of the Senator’s socks, on
which she darned photographically
with amazing patience. The regu
lar mending and laundry were sent
back to Hilda at Shires—without
benefit of camera men. The girls
were frequently photographed in the
act of washing or ironing a set of
napkins.
“Poor Adele is doing the laundry
this morning,” Aunt Olympia would
say apologetically to the newsmen,
leading them to the best view. “We
ran short of linens.”
“Auntie, Auntie,” Limpy remon
strated confidentially, “you’re for
getting you’re Scotch. We’te going
to wear those napkins out if we
keep on laundering them half a doz
en times a day. Shouldn’t we use
them at least once, just to get our
money’s worth out of them?”
Invariably they returned to Shires
for the Sabbath, to get a little rest
and a few hot meals; and always
to attend church, very much en
famille, the Senator, Aunt Olympia
and the three girls, the cynosure of
all eyes. When Brother Wilkie, the
Governor, reached Maysville on a
Sabbath Aunt Olympia invited him
and his troupe to dinner. She did
it with penetrating heartiness, too,
as the members stood agape at the
church door with Brother Wilkie
shaking every hand.
“I want you and the children to
come right up with us for Sunday
dinner,” she proclaimed clearly.
“You may be our political opponent,
Brother Wilkie, but in the house our
board, such as it is, is your board.”
Len Hardesty, who was usually
hard pressed about one thing or an
other on Sunday morning, had also
attended divine worship in Mays
ville that morning, occupying the
corner of the pew directly opposite
Senator Slopshire’s and gazing un
interruptedly at Adele’s slightly
flushed profile during the entire serv
ice. He put nothing in the collection
plate. Though Olympia had not def
initely included him in her invita
tion, he tucked Adele cozily into his
nmall roadster and arrived at Shires
in advance of the main party.
“You may as well lay a place for
me, too, Gustavus,” he told Hilda
cheerfully. “And don’t put me next
to the brats . . . Can’t they wait
till the second table? Or how about
serving Adele and me alone in the
back yard?”
Even with the campaign well un
der way, they continued to see a
good deal of Len Hardesty. “Too
darn much,” Aunt Olympia said ex
pressively. He was constantly pop
ping in on them unexpectedly, both
when they were on the trail and
when they were resting up at
Shires.
“Hum, squab, I see,” he said one
Sunday, making a note of it. “I’ll
have a larger portion, Senator, if
you don’t mind ... So it’s squab,
eh? . . . And the Governor and
the brats and —worse luck, I!—dine
on corned beef and cabbage.”
“He does that to appeal to the
slaughterhouse vote,” said Olympia.
“I’ll bet he goes right upstairs after
ward and fills up on caviar and truf
fles and French pastry.”
“I notice that’s a very expensive
radio you’ve got rigged up in your
trailer,” Len went on. “We’ve only
got a second-hand phonograph in the
covered wagon to amuse the brats.”
“We had to get a good one to
follow the Governor’s speeches,”
said Aunt Olympia. “He mouths
his words so you can’t understand
him on anything less than the best.”
“Not, I suppose, figuring that it
also enables your pretty wards to
amuse themselves dancing on the
greensward to New York night-club
music?”
“Well, what’s wrong with dancing
on the greensward? It’s one of the
most innocent and natural diver
sions.”
“Go on, Ollie, you forget who
you’re trying to kid I ... Or would
it be whom?”
During September, the congres
sional hearings on un-American and
subversive activities almost took the
limelight from the state campaigns.
The Senator was almost childishly
pro-American in his convictions, and
followed the reports with morbid
avidity. Some of his most ringing
speeches were in hot defense of this
suddenly jeopardized Americanism
and he received a very good press
on it.
This obliged the Governor to fol
low the same tack, though he had
no personal experience with sub
versive elements and thought them
a good deal overrated. Still, sine#
subversive elements were definitely
not popular with the orthodox, he
leaped gallantly to their denuncia
tion.
One day the press reported that
in the compulsory registration of
foreign agents, some known to be
engaged in such activities had not
registered. Investigations were un
der way. The next morning head
lines screamed the news that three
well-known and popular Washington
socialites had been arrested as
spies. One of these was Gabriel
d’Allotti.
That was exciting news for th«
orphans, and Adele and Limpy had
great fun teasing Helen about it,
Helen took it good-naturedly,
/TO BE CONTINUED/
THE HARDEST THING IN GOLF
“What is the hardest part of
golf?’’ asks one of the scrambling
devotees. “Is it
wooden club play or MW 11 "' <W| Hgi
iron play or putt- ”
ing? Is it getting M J
good foot action or ||v
getting good body W jIMW I * i
action? Does it pL ;
come from getting mmi>, j
the right use of Jjg|L ’
hands and wrists?
There are so many A
- sections to a pwK||
golf swing that I
thought there might
be some starting Grantland
point.” Rice
The hardest thing
in golf is the ability to keep on con
centrating along right lines. This is
where most of the stars crack up
on certain days. Also, it is where
the average golfer finds a big part
of his trouble.
For example, we might start with
putting. No great intelligence is re
quired to know that putting carries
three main angles:
1. To judge the speed of the
green.
2. To pick out the right line to
the cup,
3. To stroke the ball smoothly.
What happens? On entirely too
many occasions the golfer is still
guessing about the speed of the
green and the right line in the mid
dle of his stroke. So here comes a
jab or a stab or a lifted head. His
concentration is completely scram
bled. All he has to do, in set or
der, is to decide on green speed,
line and then smooth stroking. I
mean to make a definite decision
in each case. Few do.
Advance Considerations
You can also take the start front
the first tee. The average golfer
must understand there are just a
few details to be considered in ad
vance:
1. To get a comfortable stance
where the feet are not planted and
the body isn’t locked in advance.
2. To be sure he starts his back
swing smoothly with a natural body
turn.
3. That he must finish his back
swing and not hurry his downswing.
4. That he keeps his head in place.
Watch the planted feet, the stif
fened legs, the hurried backswing,
and the uplifted dome of thought,
sometimes known as the head.
The best mental attitude in golf is
to feel you are a bit lazy—that you
are in no hurry to finish your back
swing nor to start your downswing.
The best mental attitude is to keep
your mind on the swing and on the
ball—without thinking ahead.
It is better to try to keep your
mind on the ball than your eye on
the ball. The action of the eye fol
lows the direction of the mind. You
can’t keep your eye on the ball while
thinking on beyond of traps, bunk
ers, rough, ponds and out-of-bounds
Correct Foot Action
The hardest physical action in golf
involves correct foot action.
“I should say more golfers have
trouble here than anywhere else,”
Henry Picard, P. G. A. champion
tells me. “Even few of the better
known golfers are any too able in
this detail.
“Good foot action means your
starting balance. It means trans
ferring body weight from left to
right and then from right to left.
If you have good foot action it
means you are balanced at the top
of the swing to complete your down
swing. If your weight distribution
is out of order, the result will be
nothing to cheer about.
“What will help better foot ac
tion?” Picard continued. “To stand
up to the ball much straighten than
most golfers do. To stand a little
closer to the ball. To keep your
feet closer together than most golf
ers do. What chance has the golfer
to get his feet working when he is
stooping over, when he is reaching
for the ball with his planted feet
wide apart?
Turning Made Easy
“Not a chance in the world. He
wouldn’t try to throw a baseball
from any such position. Pie is un
comfortable, to start with. He
doesn’t give himself a chance.
Make a point of standing up straight
en and not spreading your feet.
This makes it much easier to turn—
to get your weight transference
working the right way.
“This applies especially to chip
shots and short pitches. On these
stand closer to the ball and keep
your feet much closer together.
This will prevent stooping over and
tightening up. This also will give
your hands and wrists a chance to
work.
“If your feet and body are locked,
the hands and wrists will never have
a chance to swing the clubhead. For
example, locking the left ankle also
locks the left wrist. You just can’t
finish your backswing. This will de
stroy rhythm of movement, destroy
ing the accuracy of your swing.
“Another tough factor in golf,”
the Hershey Hurricane continued,
“is keeping the body working with
the hands. The body is the more
powerful. It wants to get in there
and help get more distance. But
what it usually does is throttle hands
and wrists.
Cute Sunbonnet Girl
Is Flower Trellis
■DESIDES being a most attrac
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The parasol trellis she holds ij
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Box 166-W Kansas City, Mo.
Enclose 15 cents for each pattern
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Name
Address
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Harsh Words
A wound inflicted by arrows
heals, a wood cut down by an axe
grows, but harsh words are hate
ful—a wound inflicted by them
does not heal. Arrows of differ
ent sorts can be extracted from
the body, but a word-dart cannot
be drawn out, for it is seated in
the heart.—Mahabbarata.
CHOICE OF MILLIONS?
S; lef THEIR FIRST THOUGHT
FOR SIMPLE HEADACHE.
stjos ™ a spibinJ
Choose Only the Best
Life is short—too short to get
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as you choose, choose only the
best—in friends, in books, in rec
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It is a kind of happiness to
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i For Headache,
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Our Faults
Other men’s faults are before
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