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CHILD OF EVIL
• OCT .=s"” By OCTAVUS ROY COHEN
CHAPTER XIII—Continued
— 13 —
A half-hour since the doors of the
Bon Ton Pool Room had swung
open and Mr. Ernie Watts had
barged into the smoke-laden atmos¬
phere. His first question was di¬
rected at the house in general, and
induced a solemn hush. He asked,
•'Who tore dowr that pitcher I past¬
ed on the window this afternoon?”
A lanky young gentleman, clad in
• blue flannel shirt and decrepit
trousers, answered eagerly.
“Andy Forrest tore it down.”
“How come?”
“He seen it on the window an’
come in. He ripped it right off. An'
then he said thing?.”
“What kind of things?”
Pool-games ceased. Cues were
racked and Mr. Watts found himself
tha center of an avid group. The
situation appealed to him, since he
considered himself a rather tough
person. He hooked thumbs through
belt-straps and worded his question
again. “What sort of things did
Andy Forrest say?”
“Ernie,” declared the tall one sad¬
ly, “he said tumble things. He
called you out of yo’ name.”
“Me?”
“Well, he didn't say You ezackly,
on account of we didn’t admit you
done it . . . but he said the feller
which did it was a—was a—”
“Was a what?”
“Well, I reckon you can guess
what he said. He was mighty het
up.”
Ernie tried to look grim. “What
else did he say?”
“He said some day he was goin’ to
find out who put that pitcher on
the window, an’ then he was goin’ to
beat that feller up.”
“Oh! he said that, did he?”
“He sho’ did, Ernie. Honest. Of
co’se we didn’t tell him it was
you . . .”
“Why not?”
“We-e-ell, we didn’t aim to git you
in no trouble. We didn’t know was
you scared of him or not.”
Mr. Watts rose to the crisis. He
announced in a large and booming
voice that he wasn’t skeered of no¬
body, an’ least of all Andy Forrest.
Somebody said, “You better had be.
Andy said he was going to mop up
with you.”
Ernie fancied himself a brave
young man and a considerable fight¬
er. He realized that he was on tri¬
al, that his reputation for courage
would stand or fall on the manner
in which he handled this situation.
He inquired, loudly, “Where’s Andy
Forrest at now?”
“He’s down to Warner’s garage."
“Well, I’m goin’ down there an’
find out if he’s so dawg-gone tough.
That’s what I’m goin’ to do.”
They applauded him. They in¬
formed him that he was some man.
They expressed apprehension for
Andy. They said they’d go along
and watch the combat. “Ain’t goin’
to be no fight,” sneered Ernie Watts.
“This Andy Forrest don’t know noth¬
in’ about fightin’.”
They milled around the corner of
Monument Square and moved en
masse down Palmetto Avenue. War¬
ner’s Sudden Service Garage was
on the corner of that main thorough¬
fare and Atlantic Street. It was a
great, cavernous place, with gas-
pumps in front.
Andy and Kay and Jim and Mar¬
garet and Barney were in the little
machine-shop at the rear when the
front entrance filled with young
men. Barney said lightly, “Custom¬
ers, Andy. Business is picking up.”
Andy glimpsed the crowd and
sensed its hostility. His lips set
firmly and his eyes narrowed. A
new dignity sat upon him and he
spoke quietly. “You-all stay right
here.”
“Something wrong?”
“Yeh. But I can handle it.”
Kay put her hand on his arm.
She felt suddenly ill—knowing the
answer to the question she was
about to ask.
“Something about me, Andy?”
“Maybe. But you-all ain’t got any¬
thing to do with it.”
Clad in overalls and a light flannel
shirt, Andy moved down the middle
of the old warehouse, toward the
men who were crowding through
the door. Andy said, “What do you
want?”
Ernie Watts stepped forward.
“I’m kind of cravin’ to have a little
talk with you, Andy.”
“Go ahead.”
“You was in the Bon Ton this aft¬
ernoon, wasn’t you?”
“Yes.”
"You tore a pitcher off the win¬
dow, didn’t you?”
“Yes.”
"An’ you said you was gonna whip
the man that put it there, didn’t
you?”
“Somebody,” said Andy, “seems
to have been tellin’ you the truth.”
Margaret Hamilton had been
watching the scene with quiet, ob¬
servant eyes. She leaned close to
Kay and whispered, “Do you know
the Sheriff?”
“Yes. Why?”
“Telephone him. Quick. There’s
going to be trouble.”
Kay walked into the machine-shop
and whirled the handle of the wall
telephone. She got the residence of
Sheriff Floyd Griffin and spoke
swiftly. Then, compelled by a fasci¬
nated horror, she returned to the big
tutu room.
Andy and Ernie Watts had moved
closer to one another. Ernie’s
friends—a score of them—had
surged in through the wide-open
door. Barney and Jim Owenby stood
silent and tense; eyes and lips grim.
Waiting.
It was Andy who dominated the
scene. He moved closer to Mr.
Watts. He said, “Was it you who
put that picture on the window?”
“Yes, it was. An’ what are you
goin’ to do about it?”
“If you walk outside with me, I’ll
show you.”
Ernie Watts was a good tactician.
Without warning he leaped forward
and struck. The blow caught Andy
high up on the forehead and spun
him around. And Ernie came in be¬
hind it. His second punch landed
squarely on Andy’s jaw . . . and
Andy went down.
He was dazed. For just an in¬
stant he sprawled, then clambered
to hands and knees—shaking his
head. He staggered to his feet . . .
but before Ernie could attack again,
something happened.
Barney and Jim Owenby leaped
forward. The former pinioned Er¬
nie Watts’ arms; the latter grabbed
Andy. Andy said, “I’m all right.
Let me go.”
Ernie Watts struggled with Bar¬
ney. Sensing an easy victory, he
fought to free himself from Barney’s
amazingly efficient grip. He yelled
to his friends, “Make him leave go!
They’re ganging me!”
Somebody took the cue. “Leave
him go!”
But Barney did not leave him go.
He clung tighter. And Jim Owenby
did not relax his grasp of Andy until
the crowd moved forward.
Someone struck Barney. Hard. In
the face. Barney released Ernie
Watts and swung . . . There were
shouts and oaths and the grunts of
men fighting.
The noise sifted through to the
street. It came to the ears of an
elderly man: a tall, quiet old man
who had driven his ramshackle car
up to one of the gas-pumps.
Doc Morrison got out of his car
and looked inside. He saw a crowd
of men, punching, kicking, cursing.
He recognized Barney Hamilton and
Jim Owenby and a half-dozen of the
disreputable gang that made the
Bon Ton Pool Room its headquar¬
ters. More important, he saw two
girls at the far end of the garage,
crouching against the wall, hands
pressed against white lips, eyes wide
and staring.
Doc Morrison said, “Hey! Quit!”
No one heard. Or, if they did—
they paid no heed. Barney and Jim
and Andy were struggling valiantly,
with fine—but futile, effect. They
fought silently. Grimly. They wast-
ed no breath in words. Barney
was bleeding. There was a lump
under Jim Owenby’s left eye. He
swung at the man who had inflicted
that lump: mashing his lips. The
man howled with pain and insensate
fury. He backed away and picked
up a tire-tool from the floor. Kay
screamed, “Look out!” as the man
with the crushed lips threw the tire-
tool.
Jim Owenby ducked. The steel
implement flew through the air.
There was the sickening sound of its
impact upon human flesh. There
was a brief groan and the thud of a
collapsing body. There was blood,
trickling sluggishly from the face of
an old man.
A voice was raised above the me¬
lee. The voice said, “Good God,
Fellers—you’ve kilt Doc Morrison!”
There was a momentary cessation
of fighting. Then, before it could
be resumed, the sturdy figure of
Sheriff Floyd Griffin came in
through the door. Margaret said
something to him and he whipped
out a gun.
“Git back! Ev’y damned one of
you!”
The Sheriff’s eyes were blazing.
He meant business, and they knew
it. They backed against the wail.
Barney and Jim and Andy stood in
the center of the floor, battered and
bruised and bleeding* One of the
DADE COUNTY TIMES: THURSDAY, OCTOBER 12, 1939
Hei was flat and tired. Sht
said, “Good morning.”
Floyd Griffin returned his atten¬
tion to Dan Creedon.
“Doc Morrison is purty popular
heahabouts.”
“That’s all I been hearing for
three days.”
“There’s been meetin’s an’ things.
The whole town is sad.”
“Yeah? So what?”
The Sheriff gestured toward the
adjoining room.
“That’s through.”
“The dice-game?”
“Uh-huh.”
Creedon shrugged. “They’ll get
over it.”
“Nope. Folks mean business this
time.” The guardian of law and or¬
der fidgeted. “Nor neither that ain’t
all, Creedon.”
“What do you mean, that ain’t
all?”
“You got to get out of town."
“So? And suppose I don’t?”
Floyd Griffin’s eyes narrowed. “I
know you ain’t plumb foolish, Cree¬
don. When they say to git out—why
I reckon you got sense enough to
do it.”
“Sure . . . but listen: if I close
up the dice-game—”
“That ain't enough. Not wantin’
to hurt yo’ feelin’s, Creedon—the
town’s kind of fed up with you.
An’ I’m tellin’ you, man to man
an’ friendly-like, that it wouldn’t be
awful healthy for you to stay heah.”
“I get you. How much time have
I got?”
“Oh! th’ee—fo’ days. So long as
folks know you’re really fixin’ to go,
why I can keep ’em satisfied.”
A faint smile flickered across
Creedon’s thin lips. He said, “Four
days then, and I’ll scram. Anything
else?”
“Yeh . . .” The Sheriff looked
more uncomfortable. He said, “It’s
about you, Miss Henkel.”
Big black eyes flashed up to his.
The lithe figure stiffened. She asked,
“What about me?”
“You got to git out, too.”
“Why?”
“Because ev’ybody says you got
to. Now I ain’t aimin’ to make you
feel bad, Miss Henkel—but folks has
kind of stood all they’re willin’ to
stand.”
CHAPTER XIV
For perhaps five minutes after the
departure of Sheriff Griffin, Babe
Henkel said nothing more. Dan
Creedon watched her—sympatheti¬
cally. Eventually he spoke, and his
voice was kindly. He said, “Snap
out of it, Babe.”
She turned smouldering eyes upon
him. “The louse!” she snapped.
“Griffin? You’re crazy. He can’t
protect us any more because they
won’t let him.”
“I ain’t thinking about that, Dan.
I’m talking about running us out of
town.”
“Well . . .” He shrugged. “There’s
nothing to do but scram.”
She came closer and leaned over
the table, her eyes boring into his.
She said, “That’s what you think.”
“Sure I do.”
“Well, you’re wrong.”
“Now listen, Babe . .
“You listen to me. This town ain’t
gone suddenly moral. Things don’t
happen that way. It’s a cover-up.”
“For what?”
“For Barney Hamilton. They
don’t want to do anything to him,
so they’re getting rid of us.”
Dan said, “Maybe. And what can
we do about it?”
“Plenty.”
“What, for instance?”
Babe was tense. She said, “Dan—.
you ain’t gonna take this sitting
down, are you? You ain’t willing to
blow without anybody even having
been punished for killing Kirk?”
He shook his head. “I don’t like
to, if that’s what you mean. But
listen, Babe—me and you, we can’t
buck a whole town.”
She said, “Barney Hamilton killed
Kirk.”
“I suppose he did. But everybody
in town thinks he had good cause.”
“Well, I don’t. You see, I wasn’t
hard-boiled with Kirk. I was pretty
crazy about him.”
“Sure you were . . .”
“If I had been bumped off, Kirk
wouldn’t have checked out without
doing something about it, would
he?”
“That’s different."
“How?”
“You’re a dame.”
She placed her hands palms down
on the table-top. The long, slender
fingers with their crimson nails were
trembling.
“Before I leave this burg,” she
announced, “the guy that killed Kirk
is gonna get his.”
Dan Creedon was worried. “Don’t
go getting yourself all worked up.
The cards are stacked against you.
Babe.”
“Going yellow on me?”
“Answer that for yourself.”
“You’re fixing to run out.”
“I know when I’m beat.”
“Well, I don’t!” Her voice was
hard. “You can blow whenever you
get good and ready. Me—I’m gonna
do something.”
Creedon shrugged. “If that’s the
way you feel about it, cut me in.”
Suddenly her eyes were filled with
tears. “Gee, Dan! That’s swell. But
I don’t want to get you in no jam.”
“I can take it.”
“You mean you’ll stick?”
“If you can sell me on an idea,
yes. And get this straight, it ain’t
that I think you’re smart. You’re
crazy to step into any more trouble
But I never have run out on any.
body and I don’t figure to start
now.”
(TO BE CQXIINLHU
pool-room gang lay unconscious.
Kay ran forward and dropped to her
knees beside the bleeding form of the
old man—dabbing at the ugly
wound with a pitifully inadequate
handkerchief.
The Sheriff looked down at the
figure of Doc Morrison. He asked,
“Who done this?”
There was no answer. Sheriff
Griffin glared at the others. “I
know ev’y last one of you. And
somebody’s goin’ to pay for this.”
He bent over Doc Morrison. He
placed the gun beside him on the
concrete floor.
“He’s bad hurt,” announced the
Sheriff in a solemn voice. “I’m hold¬
ing all of you. An’ if he dies . .
The hoodlums had lost their bel¬
ligerence. Even these young men
had known and loved Doc Morrison.
They were from households in which
the venerable Doc had done his
greatest charity. Somebody said, in
a hushed voice, “God! I wouldn’t
have hurt Doc for nothin’!”
The Sheriff said, “This town has
stood for a lot. But this is some¬
thin’ it won’t stand for.”
In the days which followed, the
citizens of Beverly did not gossip.
They talked. Talked soberly and
sanely. Murder and violence and
drinking and gambling had not done
this, but a serious injury to Doc
Morrison was more than enough.
Even the young men who had
comprised the mob, the Bon Ton
hangers-on, were awed by the enor¬
mity of what they had done. Awed
and frightened. The pool-room itself
was suddenly deserted as though—
because the raid upon Andy Forrest
had started from there—a sigma
had been put upon it. The young
men who chronically infested the
place lost their boisterousness. They
declared to one another that they
was sho’ sorry; that there wa’n’t no
one of them that would of hurt Doc
Morrison fo’ nothin'. And they
meant it.
Contributing causes were forgot¬
ten in the actuality of Doc’s in¬
jury. For the first time in a month
Kay Forrest was not the chief sub¬
ject of conversation. They talked
about Doc and of the fight in which
he had been injured. The night of
the third day the citizens held a
mass-meeting. There was little ora¬
tory. Men of substance spoke grave¬
ly, quietly and seriously. The spirit
of the town had changed. This im¬
pending tragedy stripped the town
of civic pretense and made it acute¬
ly aware of certain internal prob¬
lems.
On the morning of the fourth day
the physician in charge announced
publicly that Doc Morrison had re¬
gained consciousness and would re¬
cover. That morning the sun shone.
That morning citizens of Beverly
smiled again, and today they dared
talk of what they would have done
had Doc died. They had been afraid
to speak of that before, lest—as
some of them expressed it—lest they
put bad mouth on him.
A new wave of protest and indig¬
nation swept the more distant sec¬
tions of Beauregard County, pene¬
trating deep into Big and Little Moc¬
casin Swamps. Well-meaning but
definitely illiterate preachers once
again impressed upon their tiny con¬
gregations that this was the work
of the Devil; that the injury to Doc
had been the final warning of a
Providence roused to wrath. They
yelled hellfire and damnation. And
in Beverly itself, the same senti¬
ments were expressed, though in dif¬
ferent and perhaps less violent lan¬
guage.
Resolutions were passed. Petitions
were circulated. A special meeting
of the Town Council was called, aft¬
er which Mayor Alec Roberts held a
long and earnest discussion with So¬
licitor Gabe Dixon and Sheriff Floyd
Griffin. The Sheriff found himself
fighting for right and justice: first,
because that promised the greatest
number of votes in the not-too-dis-
tant primary; and, secondly, be¬
cause he, too, had been deeply fond
of Doc Morrison.
Sheriff Griffin thereupon visited
Robbie Morse, owner and operator
of the White Star Hotel. He said,
“I ain’t happy to tell you, Robbie—
but things has got to be diffent fum
now on.”
“Diff’ent—how?”
“No mo’ licker to be sold heah—
or drunk, either, fo’ that matter.”
Mr. Morse shook his round head
sadly. “I seen that cornin’ the min¬
ute them crazy young bucks hurt
Doc Morrison.” He tried to find
some solace in the situation. “But
tourists ain’t concerned about this
thing, are they, Floyd?”
“I reckon not. Yo’ business should
go on bein’ purty good.”
The Sheriff lumbered upstairs to
the corner suite which had been oc¬
cupied by Kirk Reynolds; the suit in
the living-room of which Dan Cree-
don still operated the dice-game.
Dan was seated by the window, in
his shirt-sleeves. He was a tall,
stony individual with sad, steady
eyes and a laconic manner.
He said, “Howdye, Sheriff,” and
Floyd Griffin said, “Howdye, Cree-
don.” Then he saw the other occu¬
pant of the room; the vivid brunette
who stood near the window looking
down upon Monument Square. The
Sheriff said, “Mawnin’, Miss Hen-
keL”
Let Them Help!
Children Learn
By Experience
• MENTAL LIST OF POS-
sible activities will do much
toward solving problem of
naughtiness. Childish energy
demands outlet, and should
be put to a constructive pur¬
pose through suggestion.
By LELIA MUNSELL
*«T WISH,” mourned Sue Tressel,
* “I had something to do. I wish
Arlene didn’t have the measles, or
that I’d had them so I could go
over and play with her.”
“I expect,” smiled Mother, “that
Arlene wishes much the same thing.
She’s just sick enough to have to
stay in bed, and just well enough to
want something to do. Maybe you
could fix something for her to do.
That would give you something to
do, too.”
“What?”
“Arlene’s mother has a little lap-
board that Arlene could use for past¬
ing. Of course, you wouldn’t want a
big scrapbook if you were sick,
but—”
Sue’s face beamed. “I’ll make a
little scrapbook—of some of my
new notepaper,” she said delighted¬
ly. “Arlene can handle that.”
Mother punched the holes for her
and she tied the sheets together with
ribbon. Then she had the happiest
kind of a time finding and cutting
out pretty pictures that would fit.
When she had enough, Mother said
she could cerrv them over herself.
“It will be ali right to go to the
door.” So Sue trotted across the
street with the scrapbook material
and a bottle of paste.
“Tomorrow we will think of some¬
thing else,” said Mother. The next
morning she laid out some maga¬
zines, all of them open at paper
dolls. “When you’re sick you like to
play with paper dolls,” she said to
Sue.
“O, this is going to be a nice
thing to do,” was the smiling re¬
sponse. She began to sing and sang
almost all the time she was cutting
out the dolls and putting each doll
and her wardrobe into a separate
envelope. Then Mother brought a
big envelope.
“When you’re sick it’s nice to have
something to smile over. Can you
read what I have written?” she
asked.
Sue read:
"These dolls cannot take the measles
from you, and
Dressing them all will be something
to do .”
After enclosing the little envelopes
she trotted across the street and
left them at Arlene’s door.
The third morning was bright and
sunny. “How about taking Arlene
a bit of outdoors?” suggested Moth¬
er. “Do you know the names of the
leaves of all the trees in our yard?
See if you can think up a game for
Arlene.”
Help Children When Necessary.
After a time Sue came running in,
her eyes shining, “Could I get some
pieces of paper and pin a different
leaf to each and let her write what
she thinks their names are under
them?”
Mother nodded. “So that she need
not think too hard, write the names
for her on another sheet of paper,
but don’t arrange the leaves in the
same order. Tomorrow you can
give her some more leaves with the
name of each written underneath,
and she can change the names or
the leaves on her sheets if any are
Soon Sue had samples of all the
in the yard and was earnest¬
at wo*k preparing them for Ar¬
lene.
Mother had a large envelope
ready, on which she had written:
"Cut out each name and pin it tight.
Tomorrow you'll see which names art
right"
Sue’s mother was not only under¬
but she was wise. She
childish energy demanded an
In this instance she made use
two fundamental principles. She
gave Sue an objective: to help make
happy, and she led Sue to
out what to do herself.
Much of what we call naughtiness
children is lack of something to
Let us keep our thinking caps
and have, for ready use, a
list of possible activities. As
use these, from time to time, let
give the children help where
but not to the extent of de¬
their own initiative.
And let us help them to help in
things we do. It’s sometimes
to have them “messing
but that is the way they
And we mustn’t forget to
the children’s efforts, no
matter how crude—ignore them, or
criticize too harshly, and we chill
enthusiasm.
National Kindergarten Association
(WNU Service.)
Chinese Shampoos
For many centuries before the
CVest intruded upon the East, Chi¬
women used hair shampoos, to
the sleek glossiness that is
principal pride of their coiffures.
of these shampoos were made
crushed mulberry leaves, rose
jasmine perfumed oils and “pao
tzu”—pine tree shavings—the
used for their resinous con¬
and balsamic odor.
Smart Invitations
To Sew Your Own
for 1830. It’s very easy to work
with, and is carefully detailed
give narrow you hips the uplifted that bustline anc°
are essential’-
important to a slenderizing effec
It will be lovely made up in thin
wool, flat crepe or sheer velvet
with a gleaming brooch or clin
at the plain v neckline. p
Three Styles in Aprons.
This practical pattern, 1829 re¬
because ally gives the you pinafore three apron styles* l
part is per
forated so that you can make it
two ways, and both ways are thor¬
oughly protective and useful, with
buttoned straps, crossed in the
back, that won’t slip off. Both
pinafores and the little tie-around
have a pretty flare. Make these
of linen, gingham, lawn or ba¬
tiste, and tuck two or three sets
away for gifts, too.
The Patterns.
No. 1830 is designed for sizes 38,
38, 40, 42, 44, 46, 48, 50 and 52.
Size 38 requires 5% yards of 39
inch material with long sleeves;
4% yards with short.
No. 1829 is designed for sizes 34,
36, 38, 40, 42, 44, 46 and 48. Size 38
requires, for No. 1, 1% yards of
35 inch material and 8 yards bias
fold; for No. 2, 1% yards ef 35
inch material and 2 yards of pleat¬
ing; for No. 3, 1% yards of 35
inch material.
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You can’t go wrong—every pat¬
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chart to guide beginners. Price
of Pattern Book, 15c.
Send your order to The Sewing
Circle Pattern Dept., Room 1324,
211 W. Wacker Dr., Chicago, I1L
Price of patterns, 15 cents (in
coins) each.
(BeU Syndicate—WNU Service.)
For quick relief—Insist
on this accurate aspirin.
St.Joseph ASPIRIN
GENUINE PURE
Worst Shame
The worst kind of shame is be¬
ing ashamed of frugality or pov¬
erty.—Livy.
'I
FEEL OUT-OF-SORTS?
TidweU^u'^Rai^ Ave., says: “I Wt w“k
and out-of:sorts. I * Ie P*
poorly and was worn-our.
But before I bad taken
one entire bottle of Pr-
Pierce’s Golden Medical
discovery, my digestion
___.ilw imnfnVM
First Silent si¬
To silence another, first be
lent yourself.—Seneca.
666 txjJUwUr
LIQUID-TABLETS SALVE-NOSE DROPS fad!
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