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F »""V.
CHAPTER VI
For the first time since she had
known him. Cliff Bronson sound
ed convincing.
As if reading her thoughts,
Richard turned. “Janet, are you
sure you want to go through with
this?”
“Os course, Richard. It’s part
of our plan, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but we could try it the
other way first and see if any
one objected to the arrange
ment.”
“I don’t think we should take
that chance,” she said. “Even a
breath of scandal would ruin ev
erything. We don’t want to start
out under a cloud.”
“Right I was hoping you’d
feel that way.”
* * *
The rector began to speak,
slowly, distinctly.
“I require and charge you both
... be ye well assured that if
any persons are joined together
otherwise than as God's word
doth allow, their marriage is not
lawful . .
He paused. I wonder if he
knows, Janet thought. Can he.
She swayed slightly, felt Rich
ard Eynon’s tall, strong body, the
rough tweed of his suit against
the back of her hand. The rec
tor’s voice went on steadily, im
pressing the vows upon them. He
has done this many times, Janet
thought, yet he wants us to re
member each word, each syllable,
because he wants this to be our
only marriage. He still believes in
the goodness of men.
Then Richard was reaching for ■
her left hand and she heard her
self repeating. “I. Janet, take
thee, Richard, to be my wedded
husband, to have and to hold . . .
for better, for worse ... in sick
ness and in health ... to love,
honor and obey . . .”
He was slipping a ring on her
finger. Janet looked down at it
—a plain gold wedding band.
Suddenly she knew it must
have been his mother’s—the ring
she had worn all through those
toiling, weary, back - breaking
years of her life in Darbie. How
often she must have looked down
at it, fingering its worn smooth-
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Phone 204
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"To Look Well ... See Estelle!”
ness, wondering with a futile des-
I peration if she was ever to leave
the coal mines, the pile of slag,
and bring up her boy in a more
wholesome atmosphere.
Janet looked in Richard’s eyes
and what she saw there confirm
ed her guess.
•Richard, Richard,” her heart
cried out, “I want to make up to
you for that youth, give you the
affection your mother was too
bone-weary to give you . . . I
want to love you, Richard!”
When the ceremony was end
ed the rector waited expectantly,
then smiled at Richard. “It’s cus
tomary to kiss the bride,” he sug
gested with a chuckle, and leav
ing them walked ahead into the
little office.
Richard Eynon colored visibly,
then, taking her by the shoul
ders, kissed her firmly on the
mouth. When he straightened up,
his eyes were twinkling.
“This arrangement has its ad
vantages,”he said.
"You didn’t have to do that,
Richard—it wasn’t part of the
I bargain.”
Why had she said that? It
sounded cold and unnecessary;
she saw him stiffen with sur
prise. ,
“I’m sorry, Janet —for a mo
ment I forgot myself. It won’t
happen again.”
“Well, Mrs. Eynon, we’re on
i our way.”
“Mrs. Richard Eynon—it has
i a pleasant sound.”
“I hope you’ll never have cause
to regret taking it, my dear.”
He stared ahead, eyes on the
road, but she saw that the gray
irises were momentarily clouded.
“This is going to be quite a sur
prise to some of the people at
the hospital,” he commented.
“Then you didn’t tell anyone?”
He shot her a curious glance.
“I didn't think it was anyone’s
business but ours. You didn’t
want me to tell anyone, did you?”
“No—but the Farquhar’s are
such friends of yours, I thought
vcu might have made an excep
tion.”
“I’ll tell Dr. Farquhar tomor
row when I explain about leaving
Cosmopolitan Hospital.”
He hadn’t mentioned Naomi,
jJanct noted with relief. Appar
-1 ently he hadn’t felt called upon
Ito spare her feelings Janet
I had felt toward Cliff Bronson,
j She smiled up at him teasingly.
“You know there’s been a ru
■ mor around that you and Naomi
were, interested in each other.”
He frowned a little, but that
was all. “I am interested in Nao
| mi, deeply. She’s a very attractive
| girl—not just the silly fatuous
j type—she has ambition and in
j tellect.”
Cliff was partly right, she
thought. It wasn’t me, it was
Oakhart, that Richard wanted. If
Naomi had been the one to in
herit it she would be sitting in
this car now, she would be say
ing Mrs. Richard Eynon over to
herself and enjoying the way it
sounded. She shivered a little,
though the air was balmy. You’re
being unfair, her conscience
warned—Richard never pretend
ed any affection for you! He was
frank and honest about this plan.
THE SUMMERVILLE NEWS: SUMMERVILLE, GEORGIA
It would have been so easy tor
him to win Oakhart under the
guise of a lover, but he was above
that. He made it a business prop
osition and took the risk of your
disapproval.
Following the Clear River
Landing sign, Richard swung on
to the narrow road. When they
came to the gates of Oakhart
they were closed but under Rich
ard’s big hand, the horn emitted
a thin rasping summons and the
Mileses came running.
They swung open the iron
gates, their faces beaming as
Janet introduced them to Rich
ard. “We’ve just been married,
Mrs. Miles. I think I told you of
our plans for Oakhart.”
Mr. Miles grinned mischiev
ously. “It will be wonderful hav
ing children around the place,
climbing the trees and fishing in
the river.”
They ate supper in the light
of a kersosene lamp and talked
and planned long after Mrs.
Miles had cleared the dishes
away. It was twelve by the mel-
I low chimes of Oakhart’s grand
; father clock when Richard yawn
ed elaborately, “We’d better get
[ some sleep, Janet; we’ve a long
I hard day ahead of us ”
He carried her suitcase up to
' the big high-c?ilinged room with
the immense mahogany four
poster. For a long moment, he
stared at her, a strange unfath
omable expression in his eyes.
“Will you be all right here, Ja
net!” he said finally.
“Yes, Ribhard, I’ll be quite all
right.”
“Fine. I—l think I’ll take the
small bedroom off the den. Bet
ter get used to it—l’ll have to
sleep down there after the chil
dren come.”
“Perhaps that will be best,” she
found herself saying.
At the doorway he turned, he
was smiling —a queer crooked
smile. “I guess this will sound
foolish but how about not putting
out your light until after I turn
off mine?”
“Why?”
“Just a silly notion I don’t
want to disillusion the Miles fam
ily. Good night, Mrs. Eynon.”
She stood motionless listening
to his footsteps receding down
the stairs, wondering. . . .
If Janet Harris Eynon thought
she had worked hard as a regis
tered nurse, she soon changed
her mind. Oakhart made de
mands upon her time and
strength that no patient, how
ever ill, had ever asked.
Until someone could be found
to relieve Richard at Cosmopoii
j tan Hospital, he carried on his,
evening duties there, but toward
evening he would tear home in
the little coupe, his eagerness
evident in every gesture.
“Let’s see. Janet, what’s next
on the list?”
“I think we’d better get the
sun porch arranged first—then
ii we should have a patient—”
He looked down at her. “Not
worried, are you?” We will have
them, you know.”
“I know, Richard.”
Richard’s big muscular hands
took hold of her shoulders.
“Look at me, Janet.”
She complied, hoping her eyes
didn’t reveal her apprehension.
He stared at her, his pupils in
tent behind his glasses. “You be
lieve in me, don’t you? You know
I was sincere about this
scheme?”
“How could I doubt it? You’ve
worked like a dog around here.”
“All right, then, if there’s wor
rying to be done, let me do it.”
She relaxed, feeling grateful
and immature.
* * ♦
With the library now a room
for massage and heat treatments,
the lower floor of Oakhart bore
little resemblance to its former
self. It was more cheerful and
brighter; yet the excellent ar
chitecture and rich old wood
work gave the new sanitarium a
stability and hominess that was
lacking in similar institutions.
Janet was upstairs turning the
master bedroom into a comfort
able living room when her work
was interrupted by the chugging
motor. A moment later she re
alized what it was—
“Yoo-hoo . . . Miss Harris. Oh,
MISS HARRIS!”
Abigail Hartigan was standing
in the hall.
“Just came right in—the door
was open,” she announced.
“I’m glad you did, Miss Harti
gan. I’m Mrs. Eynon now, you
know.”
“That’s right. Saw the item in
the newspapers.”
“Got your note,” she said
abruptly. “Thought I’d run over.”
“I tried to telephone you,” Ja
net explained, “but I couldn’t
find your number in the direc
tory.”
“Had it takefi out—no one ever
called me.”
Janet started to say, “That’s
too bad,” and thought better of
it. Somehow Abigail Hartigan
didn’t seem like the sort of wom
an who would need or seek sym-
TIME COPY
★
Time Copy.
Chattooga's Beauty
Nearness to God.
Mosquito Fleet.
Wesley Shropshire.
What, No Sugar!
The Hero Room.
Strange Fish Story.
Truths of Engineers.
★
By RAYMUND DANIEL
In every newspaper shop, large
or small, is what is termed “time
copy.” It includes features of
editorial nature or of matters
that can be put in type before or
after the regular or instantane
ous news is on “the hook.” Time
copy keeps machines and com
positors busy when the reguia'r
stuff is not flowing. News men
can also bridge the gap with
time copy.
The Timy Copy that will be of
fered here includes grave and
gay facts and fancies, and fads
and foibles. A smile may follow
some assertion or a statement
may be wrapped in a tear. Some
Action and fantasy may slip in.
Even (as much as we are ad
verse; a bit of verse or doggerel
may enter, provided it also passes
the editor. With its kindest
friendship for all, Time Copy
makes it bow.
ALLITERATIVELY SPEAKING
The above statement of “grave
and gay facts and fancies and
fads and foibles and fiction and
phantasy” recalls the alliterative
head on a story written 40 years
ago by the late and loved Royal
Daniel on the Atlanta Journal.
The Journal offered a prize for
the best head written in allitera
tions and Royal wrote:
FIREMEN FIGHT FOUR FIRES
Fast but Futile Flames Fought
By Fast and Furious Firemen
Royal won the Journal prize.
CHATTOOGA’S BEAUTY
We sometimes wonder if we are
mindful of the sheer and rugged
beauty of Chattooga. Bounded on
all sides by hills, ridges and
foothill mountains! its valleys are
theaters of grandeur. Have those
who have beheld them so long
grown used to them?
Are we no longer mindful of
the glory picture?
STRANGE DISREGARD
My mother used to sing little
songs. It ran (and we quote free
ly.) (We do not have the lines):
Strange we do not prize the
music
Till the sweet-voiced bird has
flown.
Do we so often forget? The
Summerville News recently car
ried on its first page: “This is
the best section of Northwest
Georgia.”
NEARNESS TO GOD
It was when he was grand mas
ter of Masons in Georgia that
the late Eugene D. Thomas, judge
of ulton County Superior Court
at Atlanta, stood on Taylor’s
Ridge. He had been told of the
panoramathat stretched out to
ward the west with the Valley of
Glory in between the western
mountains and Taylor’s Ridge.
Gene got out of the automobile.
He must have stood there fully
five minutes. He turned to friends
and said:
“This is the nearest to God I
pathy. Now Janet turned toward
the den and indicated the boxes
of Mr. Hartigan’s belongings.
There was something very like
able about this brusque woman
with her startling blue eyes.
(To Be Continued)
notice
To All Our Clients and Friends .
On the first and third Wednesdays of the month (every
month)we will be at the Greystone Hotel, second floor, -
until further notice.
Come to see us and let’s discuss your hearing problems
confidentially and without obligation to you.
Take advantage of these free hearing clinics in this DON’T GAMBLE!
section of the state. A permanent location with far- A R E YOU gambling with your home? Its value has
reaching facilities and services may be arranged soon. probably risen more than you realize in the past few
The suggestions and cooperation of all interested peo- yearg The increased value is insurab i e . Add to your
pie will be appreciated. dre i nsurance to .cover it. Don’t gamble with fire. Talk
, it over with this Hartford Agency today.
Remember the Date Mark It on Your Calendar Now
FI RST AND T«,RD WEDNESDAYS
T. H. MORRIS B. W. and J. L. FARRAR, Agents
~. _ L ., Office: 109 N. Commerce St.
MAICO HEARING SERVICE
GREYSTONE HOTEL ROME, GA.
have ever been.”
Now when we are on Taylor’s
Ridge, we feel that Gene (as he
was so lovingly called) leans over
the Mountains of God and—
emiles.
THE MOSQUITO FLEET
We never hear of Summerville
but what we affectionately think
of the late Judge Wesley Shrop
shire. He was executive secretary
on the staff of the late Governor
Joseph M. Terrell. We were one
of the three newspaper men who
“covered” the State Capital at
the time. The other two men
were Johnnie Reese and Carl
Hutchinson. Johnnie has gone
“Upstairs”, “Hutch” became a
lawyer.
Judge Shropshire named the
three of us “The Mosquito Fleet.”
He was the first to greet us in the
manner of a gentleman and a
scholar, but most of all as a loved
friend. In the Realms of Light,
we still salute him. We also pay
our regards to his splendid
daughter, Miss Beulah Shrop
shire, of Summerville.
NO SUGAR GIVEN
They had been married a quar
ter of a century. He came> home
laden (internally) with an alco
holic concoction. “Have you any
sugar for your hubby,” he chirp
ed afectionately.
“Not while it is being ration
ed, dear,” she blithely coode.
THE HERO ROOM
The citizens were rendezvous
ing at the Lyerly Post Office,
which is the chief gathering
place. In some manner, fabrica
tions and prevarications seemed
to be the orders of the day. “The
rain of the past months reminds
me of a story told in South Geor
gia,” said H. L. Abrams, city
clerk and holder of about 10 oth
er jobs, chief of which is Central
of Georgia Railway Co. agent. All
ears went agog as Mr. Abrams
told his story, as follows:
“Soon after the Johnstown
flood, a long-life resident of
Johnstown was drowed after res
cuing 18 persons. He went to
Heaven,” heralded Mr. Abams,
“and was ushered into the “Hero
Room.”
“Spying a venerable gentleman,
the Johnstown hero walked over
to him and said, ‘I am the hero
of the Johnstown flood.’ The
| venerable gentleman leaned for
ward and spat in the face of the
resident from Johnstown who, in
censed at his treatment, again
spoke of his work, ‘I am the hero
of the Johnstown flood,’ only
again to be spat upon. Calling an
attendant, the hero told his story.
Oh, do not worry,’ said the ser
geant-at-arms, “that is old man
Noah’.”
STRANGE FISH STORY
“That reminds me of a strange
fishing story of what happened
in North Carolina,” said Mayor
Bob Bagley. “Two friends of
mine, seated on a boulder in one
of the deepest streams, were con
tinually losing their catch. They
would throw their fishing line
and fish behind them and the
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hook would come back with noth
ing on it.
“One of the friends looked
more quickly to see a snake leap
in the air and take off the fish
and leave the hook clean.
“No,” concluded Mayor Bag
ley, “the friends did not stop
running for three miles.”
TRUTHS OF ENGINEERS
“There’s a good story a bunch
of engineers tell,” opined Post
master J. C. Williams. “It seems
that they were working in a field
of a number of artesian wells.
A tornado blew through the sec
tion, and, according to Engineer
MacDonald, ‘One well was blown
up 110 feet high into the field’.”
Postmaster Williams continued:
“When the hearers of Mac Do-
for YOUR home
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♦. *
SPee a “Hail’’
Here’s one! But whatever your
version of a rural mailbox may
be, it’s a convenient link between
you and our bank. If you want
to save time ... bank by mail. ■■■■■■■■l
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SUMMERVILLE, GA.
Member Federal Deposit Insurance Corporation
Thursday, October 10, 1046
aid seemed dubious, the engineer
would say: ‘The well is standing
there today, 110 feet high and
there’s not a dum foot coming
off of it’.”
At a Negro wedding when the
clergyman read the words “love,
honor and obey,” the bridegroom
interrupted, and said: “Read
that again, sah. Read it once
mo’ so’s de lady kin ketch de full
solemnity ob de meanin’. I’se
been married befo.”
Gruff Father (to son): “Why
don’t you get out and find a job?
When I was your age I was work
ing for $5 a week in a shop, and
at the end of five years I owned
the shop.”
Son: “You can’t do that nowa
days. They have cash registers.”