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TRUE
BY THE
SUN
—by—
LIDA LARRIMORE
© Lida Larrimore.
WNU Service.
CHAPTER Vll—Continued
—ll—
— don’t suppose there’s anything
else I could do,” he said hope
fully. “I mean slinging white-wash
"A man’s job,” Jim said de
cisively. “The white-wash is for
the fence,” he added, “not to dec
orate the landscape or those new
overalls. Don’t let it splatter.”
Tommy departed, wearing the
suffering expression of a prisoner
exiled to Siberia. He worked in
dustriously for an hour. After that
he dipped and splashed with en
thusiasm only when Jim was near
at hand. Jim, amused and sympa
thetic, raised his voice or called a
direction when he approached the
new recruit. It wasn’t to be expect
ed that Tommy should overcome
his natural dreamy indolence in a
moment. Besides, Jim had Tommy
on his conscience. He might have
lifted the burden of anxiety from
the suffering exile’s mind.
Susan, too, frequently visited the
scene of the new operation. She
arrived in the truck driven by Wil
fred’s father. She coaxed Jim to
take her back with him in the small
second - hand roadster, supplied
by Mr. Vaughn on those days when
it was possible for Jim to return to
the farm for lunch.
“Why do you want to go there?”
Miss Parker asked, more than once,
trying to keep her at home.
“It's fun!” Susan would attach
herself like a burdock to the small
second-hand roadster.
“Sue likes activity,” Jim would
remark.
“She likes to tag after you," Miss
Parker said once, exhibiting un
characteristic penetration. And
very often, "But I’m afraid she’ll
get hurt. She told me she was on
the stable roof yesterday helping to
nail on shingles.”
“Jim's stronger than anybody,”
Jim overheard her boast to a languid
youth from the villi ge, indifferently
swinging a scythe. “He could do
that with one finger. You’re not
very strong, are you? Or maybe
you aren’t feeling well.”
Jim smiled and groaned. She
was bossy and always under foot
and he was afraid she would break
her neck. He was unable, however,
to resist the appeal in her wide
hazel eyes or to hurt her feelings
by sending her home. There were
times when he regretted his thor
ough conquest of Sutean.
No, he had not escaped the
Vaughns. Cecily came to the riding
academy, too. The moment of ela
tion which Jim felt the first time he
saw her ride in through the open
gate on “Lady” was followed by a
feeling of depression. He had
thought that the new job would re
move him from any contact with
Cecily. If he didn’t see her a dozen
times a day, he would stop thinking
of her.
She was friendly and interested.
She wanted to see the stable and
the jumps and the practice oval in
the meadow. Jim called a man to
hold the horse and went with her
on a tour of investigation, closely
shadowed by Susan.
“You should cut another window
in the harness-room,” Cecily said,
making her way through shavings
and old shingles, saw-horses, dis
carded beams, a sea of litter and
debris. “Green blankets, Jim. The
shade you are going to paint the
roof. That nice moss green, I
think.”
“Whose job is this?” Jim asked,
pretending to be injured, pigeon
holing the suggestions for further
consideration.
“Yours and you're doing it splen
didly.” Her amber eyes were ad
miring. “But I’m interested, too.”
“Jim!” Susan called shrilly. “Jim
look at me walk on the beam! Jim!
Wait for me! I want to go with you,
too!”
Yes, there were moments when
Jim deeply regretted his conquest
of Susan.
Cecily's interest continued. After
her visit she came frequently, rid
ing “Lady” or driving her car.
Cecily’s interest was pleasant but
it was disturbing as well. Jim did
not stop thinking of her. He found
himself watching for her, actually
going to the gate and looking up
the road. If she didn’t come, he
felt depressed and out of sorts. If
she did appear, ha felt depressed
and out of sorts after she had gone.
One morning a shower came up
while she was there. They ran for
shelter into the house. The air was
musty, suggestive of spiders, cob
webs, mice. Jim raised windows
and opened shutters. Subdued light
replaced the gloom. They explored
the house, ext (aiming over the fire- i
place in the kitchen, the stairway, i
the chimney nook and the wainscot
ing in what might have been the
dining-room.
I “It’s nice, isn’t it?” Cecily said.
I “We should do it over for a club
house.”
We! Jim’s heart leapt and sank
again. We! Cecily and Jim.
Sitting in a deep window-seat,
looking out at the rain, they
did over the house.
“Rough pine furniture,” Cecily
said. “Hand-made and waxed.”
“Things grilled in the kitchen fire
place,” Jim continued. “Oysters
and steaks and chops.”
“Waiters in jockey costumes.”
“Costumes! Hold on. This isn’t a
musical comedy.”
“I like you, Jim.”
Cecily! . . .
All at once they were silent. The
gaiety splintered into crystals,
merged with the rain, was lost.
Cecily looked out through the win
dow, curtained with sliding beads
of moisture. Jim looked at Cecily,
her hands lying motionless in her
lap, the soft hollow at the base of
her throat, the lovely curve of her
cheek turned against her shoulder.
If he should touch her hand—ls he
should press his lips against the soft
hollow in her throat where a pulse
stirred and fluttered — The rain
drummed a melody on the roof,
drummed in his ears, drummed out
reason and caution. Cecily!
She turned to him as though he
had spoken her name aloud.
“Yes?” Her voice was not quite
steady. Her eyes met his in a long
questioning look, faintly startled.
For a moment something trembled
between them, an evanescent emo
tion, fragile, tenuous, confusing.
Cecily stirred, glanced away, out
through the window again.
“Look!” Her laughter shook.
“That child!”
Jim’s eyes moved reluctantly
from her mobile face, followed the
direction of her glance. Susan,-in
her father’s fishing-boots and sou'-
wester, was sloshing through pud
dles, making her way toward the
house. She saw Jim and Cecily in
the window, waved, broke into a
stumbling run across the lawn.
Cecily and Jim exchanged a
glance of amused exasperation. The
emotion had vanished before it
could be held by a word or a ges
ture. Perhaps it had never existed.
But it had. The moment had passed,
was gone.
No, he had not escaped the
Vaughns; the new job did not termi
nate Jim’s contacts with Cecily.
She was at the riding academy the
day that Kay and Lenore arrived.
It was an afternoon late in Aug
ust with a suggestion of autumn in
the air and the sunlight. Jim sat
straddling the low limb of an oak
tree at the upper edge of the drive.
He had been sawing oft dead
branches when Cecily rode in on
“Lady” and he dropped down on
the low branch to talk to her. She
sat on the horse only a little below
him. Suddenly “Lady” began to
make restive movements. A car
was turning in at the gate.
“Customers,” Cecily said, her
voice interested and a little excited.
“Sw-ank customers!”
Jim hitched himself along the
limb for a clearer view of the drive.
The dark cherry - colored phaeton
shining with chromium, and driven
by an impressively uniformed
chauffeur with a small waxed mus
tache was creating a stir among
the workmen about the place. Jim
shared the general excitement. His
first instinct was toward escape,
for on the back seat of the car,
closed in by a folding windshield,
like a rare exotic bloom in a flor
ist’s display case, between Kay and
a gentleman Jim did not know, sat
Lenore.
“Who is it?” Cecily asked, look
ing up at him.
“Friends and relatives,” he said,
answering Cecily's question. He
r i
(Or
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/Mi WK-
“The Whitewash Is for the
Fence.”
heard her soft exclamation as he
swung down from the limb of the
tree. “I’m in for a dressing down.
What about a little moral support?”
“Always obliging!” —• Cecily
slipped down from the saddle, and
leading the horse by the loosened
reins walked with Jim down the
drive.
CHAPTER VIII
“You’re an idiot, Jimmy!” Kay
said with emphasis and a notice
; ably cross expression.
“Thank you,” Jim said serenely,
j The statement had become a tire
some reiteration. Kay had made it I
many times during the progress of
WHEELER COUNTY EAGLE. ALAMO, GEORGIA.
an early supper out -of - doors at
Dutch’s.
“It is a little idiotic, Jim,” Le
nore said with a small laugh, quick
ly stilled. “Surely you can get
away for three or four days. I
should think you would need a va
cation.” Her enormous dark eyes
plead with him from under the shad
owy brim of her hat.
“I had a vacation for four years,”
Jim said a trifle grimly and then,
making an effort to appear politely
regretful, “Get thee behind me, Sa
tan! I have a job.”
Kay turned her pleasantly plain,
becomingly tanned face toward the
accompanying gentleman. “You
see, Wally,” she said with a ges
ture of affectionate exasperation.
“He’s as stubborn as a mule.”
The gentleman’s name was Beres
ford. He was tall and incredibly
thin with indefinite feature: and
pale blue eyes that popped slightly.
His hair, thinning above the tem
ples, was of a silver fairness. He
looked, Jim thought, like a cod
fish, an aristocratic codfish, of
course, pallid, limp, impeccably
dressed and groomed. Where had
Lenore acquired him? It made no
difference, really. It was merely a
passing thought.
Kay returned to the attack.
“It will be a good party,” she
said persuasively. “You know the
Warren place on the Eastern
shore.”
“Perfectly,” Jim replied.
“We’ve counted on you, Jim.” Le
nore's hand touched his arm. “We
wouldn’t have accepted the invita
tion if we hadn’t thought we could
pick you up on the way.”
“I’m sorry,” Jim said, becoming
restive under the barrage of per
suasion. “I’d like a binge. But I
can’t leave. I have a job. Have I
mentioned it before?”
Kay pushed back her chair.
"If I stay here I’ll probably
throw things,” she said. "I haven’t
patience enough to cope with a
mule. Come on, Wally, let's take
a walk before I am arrested for
assault and battery. Not a long
walk,” she added, exchanging an
amused glance with Jim as the ac
companying gentleman languidly
unfolded himself, joint by joint, like
a carpenter's rule. “I promise not
to be strenuous, darling.”
Alone at the table under the
clipped catalpa Lenore looked at
Jim.
"Hello!” she said. “Hello!” Jim
replied. He hadn't wanted to be
alone with Lenore. Kay had de
liberately forced the situation. She
had put him on the spot. Oh, well—l
"Who is the codfish?” he asked.
Lenore stiffened.
“He is a very charming person,”
she said, with the superior, humor
less expression which Jim remem
bered with distaste. “I met him in
London last winter. He will be a
duke when his father dies. The most
marvelous country estate. He’s vis
iting at Aunt Laura’s.”
“I’m sorry,” Jim said. Might
as well apologize. He should have
remembered that Lenore was in
capable of humor directed at a title
or a celebrity.
Lenore relaxed. They made con
versation for an interval, talking of
mutual friends, recalling shared ex
periences, a wall between them,
recognized, unmentioned. Finally
Lenore drilled through the barrier. ;
“Jim,” she asked not quite stead
ily, “why did you run away?”
Jim considered.
“I didn’t,” he said, after a mo
ment. “Running away is premedi
tated, isn’t it? I didn’t plan the
thing. It happened. Impulse. Ex
tenuating circumstances. Lunch at
a drug-store. A horse-shoe.”
"You must have been desperate,"
she said slowly. "You must have
been awfully fed up with—every
thing.”
"I was,” he said, serious now,
wanting to be honest.
She raised her head, looked at
him across the table. The glow of
the fading sunset illuminated her
face.
“Fed up—with me?” she asked.
He knew what the question cost
her. A feeling of pity for her, of
regret for a lost emotion, held him
silent for a moment. She looked
older than he had remembered.
“Tell me, Jim.” Her voice was in
sistent. There was pain in her |
eyes, fear, humiliation. “Tell me,
darling—were you running away
from—me?”
If he could make her understand
without hurting her too badly. He
wanted to be honest with her. He
knew that was impossible. Pity
for her, the familiar necessity for I
flattery made him feel weary and
depressed.
“It was everything,” he said
brusquely. “Sponging on Kay and
Vic. Having nothing of my own-
Good God, Lenore! Can't you un
derstand?”
Her lips trembled. Jim felt like
an insensitive brute.
“Don't you see,” he said gently,
“that I couldn’t let you support
me?” His hands held hers in a
steadying clasp, small plump hands
wearing jewels that bit into his
flesh. "We wouldn’t have been hap
py. You would have despised me.”
“I couldn’t despise you, Jim.”
She looked up at him fleetingly,
looked down at his hands holding
! hers. “Do you remember the house
party at Princeton? The letters you
wrote me after I was married? My
ring, that babyish thing with the
turquoise forget-me-nots that you
carrier in your breast pocket above
your heart?”
“That was a long time ago.”
"Too long? I haven’t forgotten.”
"Listen to me, Lenore,” Jim said
! urgently. “That week-end in Prince
ton, your summer visit with Kay,
are a part of another existence.
The world has changed since then,
your world, mine particularly. It
isn't a matter of making a choice. I'd
have been glad enough to go into
Uncle’s business. I’d have been a
vice-president, now. But all of that
is water under the dam. I’m living
in a new world, a world as far from
yours as Saturn is from the earth.
Our worlds have nothing in com
mon. They can never touch, can
have no point of contact. Don’t you
see?”
“Never?” She echoed the word
wistfully, forlornly.
“It’s hardly possible,” he said.
"Not for years, at least. I must go
on from the start I’ve made. I
have no choice.”
"You have!” Her voice was low
and intense. “I have enough for
both of us. Why can’t you share it
with me? If you love me enough—”
“There can be no love without re
spect. I’m saying this badly, per
haps. I wouldn’t be myself if I let
Al
“Didn’t You Ever Consider It—
As a Last Resort?”
you support me. You’d hate me.
I’m so fond of you. You’ve been
swell to me. But I won’t let you
be my meal-ticket—now or ever.”
Her eyebrows lifted. Her lips
curved crookedly.
"Didn’t you ever consider it—as
a last resort?" she asked with stud
ied penetration.
“Yes,” he said. “Last winter.
This spring. Early in June—the
day I came here.”
Her expression softened.
“Why didn’t you?” she asked
breathlessly. “What happened,
Jim?”
He gave a short laugh, sheepish,
self-mocking.
“I missed the train,” he an
swered. “I was hungry. I ate sand
wiches in a drug-store.”
“Jim!”
“It is amazing, isn't it? Trifles
which seem of no importance de
cide our destiny. ‘For the want of
a nail a kingdom was lost.’ If I
hadn't missed the train, something
else would probably have happened.
I couldn’t have gone through with
it.” He bent toward her across the
table. “Do you understand?” he
asked gravely, gently. “It had noth
ing to do with you or my feeling
for you. I was the only one con
cerned. Do you see?”
He had not convinced her of any
thing. The anger in her eyes told
him that, the crooked curve of her
full red lips. She drew her hands
from his, sat erect in her chair.
“Words!” she said with a brittle
laugh. “You talk well and per
suasively, Mr. Fielding. Your frank
ness is disarming. But I'm not an
utter and abject fool. I know.”
Her change of attitude surprised
him.
“Know what?” he said hesitantly.
“You’re in love with the Vaughn
girl, I knew that when I saw you
together this afternoon. You might
have spared yourself the outburst
of eloquence. Not a bad idea. She’s
pretty—and young. The estate in
dicates a certain degree of com
fortable affluence.” She lifted her
glass with a laugh that was like a
sob. “Here's to a successful cam
paign.”
Jim’s evening clothes, freshly
pressed, lay on the bed in his room
in the cottage.
He was going to Cecily’s party, a
party for the Patton girl who was
jto be married in September. He
had been amazed when Cecily asked
him, as a special favor, to help her
out. One of the prospective ushers
had somehow or somewhere become
involved with a bed of poison ivy.
She would be a man short, that pe
rennial tragedy to a hostess. Jim
could avert the tragedy. Wouldn’t
he—? Couldn’t he?
Jim could and would when Mr.
Vaughn had approved the invitation.
Mingled, tonight, with apprehen
sion and the diffidence induced by
recalling his former position in the
household was a growing sense of
elation. He was going to dance
with Cecily. Tomorrow he might
regret it. Tomorrow? There was
no tomorrow. There was only to
night. Condemned prisoners must
feel like this, he thought, when they
enjoyed a last hearty meal of chick
en and ice-cream before they were
led to the electric chair.
Suspenders, collar, a narrow
black tie. Jim whistled as he fash
ioned the tie into an expert bow,
as he brushed his hair to shining
smoothness, as he slipped on the
jacket.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
Murmurings of Spring
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IIL
; <«TF YOU’D take a few steps,
* Sis, I believe I’d be inspired
to answer that question, ‘Did you
ever see a dream walking?’. You
are nothing less than devastating
—truly a menace!”
“You meow so sweetly, Connie.
I’m a bit suspicious that this little
peplum frock of mine has got
you catty. Your eyes really aren’t
green by rights, you know.”
Connie Sews Her Own.
“How could you? I think my
dress looks as nice on me as
yours does on you. Why practical
ly all of the girls at the Las-a-Lot
last night wanted to know where
I found such a lovely frock. Not
one of them guessed that I made
it myself. And did I feel elegant
when I played Mendelssohn’s
Spring Song on Diane’s new baby
grand! The girls said I fit into
the picture perfectly. I thought
if only Dwight could see me now.”
“I still say my two-piecer with
its piped peplum, cute little but
tons and stream-lines is the No. 1
spring outfit in this woman’s
town.”
Mother Happens Along.
“Girls, girls, if your talk were
only half as pretty as your frocks
you’d be better off. Sometimes I
wonder if you wouldn't be more
appropriately titled The Cheek
Twins, rather than The Chic
Twins.”
“Okay, Mother, you win. Let’o
change the subject by changing
clothes. We’ll put on our cullottes
and join you in a round of golf,
• how’s that? Gee, Mother, you nev
. er look sweeter than when you’re
wearing a casual young two-piece ■
• shirt dress. The plaid pique is
just the thing for you, too. In
fact, Mom, you’re just about
tops from any angle.”
The Patterns.
Pattern 1257 is for sizes 12 to
20 (30 to 40 bust). Size 14 re
quires 4% yards of 39-inch ma
terial plus 11 yards of ribbon or
bias binding. Pattern 1231 is avail
able in sizes 14 to 20 (32 to 42
bust). Size 16 requires 4% yards
of 39-inch material.
Pattern 1236 comes in sizes 14
to 20 (32 to 42 bust). Size 16 re
quires 4% yards of 39-inch ma
| terial.
New Pattern Book.
Send for the Barbara Bell '
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i Book. Make yourself attractive,
The Great Kipling
Rudyard Kipling’s devotion to
I his son is shown in a new anec
i dote, says the Boston Post. Soon
j after the death of Second Lieuten
ant John Kipling, at the front
I during the World war, an un
known admirer accosted the poet
H on a road near Burwash, England.
“So you are the great Kipling?”
he asked.
j “No, my son is,” was the reply.
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