BY
RICHARD HOFFMANN
COPYRIGHT BY RICHARD HOHMANw
W.N.U SERVICE.
SYNOPSIS
Following his father's bitter criti
cism of his idle life, and the notifi
cation that he need not expect any
immediate financial assistance, Hal
Ireland, only son of a wealthy bank
er, finds himself practically without
funds but with the promise of a sit
uation in San Francisco, which city
he must reach, from New York,
within a definite time limit. He takes
passage with a cross-country auto
party on a "share expense" basis.
Four of his companions excite his
interest: a young, attractive girl,
Barry Trafford; middle-aged Giles
Kerrigan: Sister Anastasia, a nun:
and an individual whom he instinc
tively dislikes, Martin Crack. Barry's
reticence annoys him. In Kerrigan
he finds a fellow man-of-the-world,
to whom he takes at once. Hal is
unable to shake off a feeling of
uneasiness. He distrusts Crack, but
finds his intimacy with Kerrigan
ripening, and he makes a little prog
ress with Barry.
CHAPTER III—Continued
“What business is It going to be?”
Kerrigan asked; and Hal liked the
implication that the more impor
tant things between them would
come in their own good time.
“Air business,” said Hal. "Ex
pect to be started cleaning bound
ary lights at the field.’’
“Envy you,” said Kerrigan. ”lf
I had a son, I’d put him in that.
Twice a year I give myself a good
kicking for not having gone into
railroads, at your age.” He looked
expectantly at Barry.
Her eyes were incurious—as if
she hadn’t till then thought of any
. thing she could want to ask. And
f then, without more than the most
superficial apology in her tone, she
said, “Please don’t answer if you’d
rather not. The reason I’m asking—
the reason stops and I forget I had
it, whetiier you tell me or not. Are
you Frederick Ireland's son?”
He tried to force from her clear,
polite look a hint of why she want
ed to know; but all he could see was
confirmation of what she had said:
' she didn’t ask out of idle curios
ity, and yet the answer wasn’t mo
mentous to her.
“Yes, I am,” he said.
She believed him, but It gave
her nothing to think about. And
Ha] swore he would find out why
she had asked that of him if he had
to back her into a corner on the
last day and shake her firm shoul
ders till she told him. No, not shake
them: hold them, perhaps, but not
shake them. And it should be
before the last day, too. I wonder,
he said to himself, if you’d tell me
why you wanted to know that, with
out my even asking you. If you
weren’t so good to look at, Miss
Trafford, you probably wouldn’t be
making so much trouble for your
self.
“I’ve met your father,’’ said Ker
rigan, without special significance.
“Have you?” said Hal. “Where?”
“In Paris,” said Kerrigan. “When
Wilson came over the first time.
Were you with him?”
“No,” said Hal; “I wasn't.”
But Hal was wondering why,
when it had never come hard to
take challenges, he should shy at
the prospect of later pretending
to this girl that he w-as in love with
her. She knew her way round; he
had never seen her before and
would probably never— Hal inter
rupted himself with a fresh won
der: why couldn’t he easily con
ceive of not seeing her again? A
little more than twenty-four hours
it was, since they’d started: he
didn’t even know what she looked
like with her hat off. Oh, the h—1
with it: Just remember how easily
she can make yon mad and don’t go
Travelers’ Aid till you have to.
• ••••••
Straight roads long-laid across
the flatness of Ohio, with the sultry,
flat afternoon in a hazy layer be
tween the land and the stubbornly
moving sun. Then Kerrigan saw
“Detroit” on a signboard at less
than a hundred miles. Perhaps two
hours more; and even if the ease
I. of relief was rolling in now with
every mile, the thing to do was
push straight on without stopping,
whether stark hunger overtook the
Pulsiphers or not.
“Say,” came Crack’s drowsy, con
fidential whisper near Hal’s ear.
Hal turned his head a little, his at
tention in alert suspense. “We could
eat in Detroit.” Crack said in softly
impish conspiracy. “Run right
through, we could—not give this
k bird another chance to try a quick
* one.” Hal made himself ignore the
coincidence: he nodded briefly and
said, “Good idea.”
If Crack, basking in the secret
sunshine of his own little schemes,
could be made uneasy, there must
be something more to Miller’s in
fluence than Ha) liked to allow.
In the next rising of talk behind
them Hal leant a little toward
Kerrigan and murmured: "Is there
anything about that fella that—’’
He thought he saw understanding
in Kerrigan's eyes and turned back
to the road without finishing.
But Kerrigan said, "Which fella?"
curiously. Hal glanced at him again
quickly: the brown eyes still seemed
to understand what he meant. And
Hal dismissed the subject gingerly
muttering, “Later, later."
Across the Muuinee and through
the fringes of Toledo. It grew dark
slowly; then the sprawl of a city
began to Infringe upon the open
ness, gradually and in disorder.
“Dearborn," Crack suddenly whis
pered, and Hal wondered why it
sounded exciting, even faintly sin
ister.
"You sorta feel things goin’ on
here,” said Crack, quietly behind
Hal’s head. "Don’t you?"
"Yes, you do," said Hal.
“I like Detroit,” Crack said in
shy complacence. "1 used to work
here.”
Hal had a quick curiosity to
know what It was Crack had
worked at; but something suggest
ed that if he had asked, the lazy,
immature voice wouldn't tell him
the truth.
It was nearly ten o’clock—the
night breathless, the pavement still
remembering the sun’s complacnbll
ity—when they rolled into Cadillac
square.
CHAPTER IV
Thursday.
HAL had some difficulty reach
ing his friend next morning,
and it was nearly one when he
brought Kerrigan down from their
room to see what he’d got.
"Really ought to look at it first
through an old snapshot negative,"
said Hal. “Your eyes do better if
you take these things gradually.”
It was a great locomotive of a car
—a certain high erectness, the small
hubs and the spindly spokes pro
claiming venerability; but deep
green and bright brass, the pale
taupe of the upholstery, the min
iature lamps beside the doors, with
a little red star In each side-glass,
made its venerability that of an
aristocrat who could Ignore the
fickleness of styles. Kerrigan looked
and his eyes softened affectionately.
"Shades of Dempsey and Willard,"
he breathed. "What is it? A Mar
tin day-bomber without the wings?”
"Nineteen twenty-three,” said Hal.
"Belonged to the mother of one of
He Looked Expectantly at Barry.
the directors and never been driven
over forty. Cared for like an only
child. Look at that upholstery.”
Kerrigan looked and stroked.
“Kings ride on fabric less rich,” lie
said. “They left the engine in it, I
s’pose. But why Texas license
plates?”
“Only ones they had handy.
Thought it’d be interesting to drive
from Michigan to California with
Texas plates and a New York driv
ing license. But the motor's sweet
—sweet’s a nut.”
The solid, multiple chunk ot the
closing door drew an exclamation of
awe from Kerrigan. He said, "Y’ou
don’t think i’ll be embarrassed, rid
ing up so high?”
“You’ll find you see more of the
country,” said Hal.
“Right over the heads of the
crowds that gather: true, true. It’s
a wonder we're alive. Tell me more:
how much does the museum want
for it?”
“Three hundred. And the tires.
look at the tires—made of rubber,
they are, and practically new. And
everything works; the speedometer,
even the cigar lighter."
“What's the railing up on top?
Widow’s walk?"
“No, that’s the laundry yard,"
said Hal. "Colonel, If I didn’t know
you so well. I’d almost think you
were making fun of—of, . .
"Chucho! there—y’see?” said Ker
rlgan. “You’ve gone and bought us
a car and don’t know what to call
It. S’pose the others had come be
fore it was named. The ignominy 1
We better go up and throw out a
horn from the quart an old dog
fancier left In my pocket this morn
ing. Got to christen It."
“Drink?” said Hal. “At noon?
Kerrigan, what d’you think I am?’’
Kerrigan's eyes were merry. “Just
about what you seem," he said, tak
ing Hal’s elbow and turning him
round.
"Rasputin” had become ihe car's
name by ttie time the travelers were
ready to start. They were shown
Rasputin in his timeless green-and
brass distinction. John smiled loft
ily, rocking back on his heels as if
he were taking the air on the deck
of his yacht; and Mrs. Pulsipher
made a little exclamation of sur
prise, clnsped her hands in front of
her as if to be sure she wouldn’t
touch the paint, and gave Hal a
look of Interest and respect.
"Oh. it's elegant,” she said. "Oh
my, it’s beautiful.”
Barry and Sister Anastasia came
up and Barry’s look ran out to Hal
in unguarded confidence. She came
to his side to admire, and her low
voice said, “Ah, it’s a sweet old
thing.”
“Like It?” said Hal, showing her
his pleasure.
“Mm,” she said. ‘‘It’ll be fun,
won’t it? And we can light the lit
tle carriage lamps sometimes, can’t
we?”
Hal chuckled at her more delight
edly than he meant to. “Bet we
can,” he said. ‘‘And you shall have
'em—to keep—when we get there."
She looked at his lips, tiien up at
his eyes—securely, expectantly, on
the point of letting him pass anoth
er of the intangible defenses. But
then she said only. “Why don’t we
start?"
“Because that miserable fella
Crack isn't here,” said Hal, and the
brief confidence that had lain be
tween their eyes lost itself.
Barry turned her back on the oth
ers. slipped her hand lightly Inside
Hal’s arm, and he crooked it as they
took a slow step or two away.
“How long do you think it should
take to Los Angeles?” Barry asked
him.
Hal returned the gravity of her
eyes, all the while conscious of the
casual resting of her hand on his
arm, as If sensation paused through
out his body except just there where
she touched him. And he wasn’t
sure he wholly matched her casual
ness as he said: “I hadn’t figured
it closely. It’s about twenty-five
hundred miles. Six days would be
fairly brisk. Why, Barry? Do you
want to hurry?”
Her look coolly disavowed any
plea for herself. “You won’t say
anything if I tell you why Sister
Anastasia"—her low mention of it
was quite as lyric, tender, as the
nun’s had been—"is going to the
Coast. She has a brother—at the
Santa Barbara mission. He's dying.
He wants her there before he dies—
to ,forgive him for something wrong
he thinks he did to her a long time
ago. She’s so patient, so good, so
—humble isn’t the word, because
that sometimes means things not al
ways brave and tine. She wouldn’t
say anything to you, but it’s so
much to her. I’m sure she hasn't
heard anything for a long time.
She doesn’t know whether he’s dead
now.”
Hal wanted to keep her hand
touching his arm until he found
the remark that would open some
small slit of Intimacy in her
thoughtful, faintly anxious look.
But all he said was, “D—n that
Crack.”
She watched him an instant long
er, as if she expected him to say
something else. Then she looked
down at his mouth; her hand
slipped from his arm and she
turned round.
And d—n me. too, he said to him
self, for letting that minute get
away from me. What is it comes
over you, Ireland, you yokel?
Lunch was not only eaten but di
gested, the luggage was all up on
the widow’s walk under a spanking
new tarpaulin, and still Crack
hadn’t come. Hal, squatting cm Ras
putin’s roof, murmured down to
Kerrigan, “H—I with him. Let’s
leave his bag and his fare and shove
off.’’
Casually Barry said, ‘i don’t
think that’d be fair—to leave him,
do you?”
‘‘Why not?” said Hal. ‘‘If we
make a couple of hundred miles be
fore bedtime, we might be one night
less on the road.”
Conviction backed up Barry’s
casual look at Kerrigan, and Hal’s
obstinacy rose.
"But suppose—” Barry began, and
Kerrigan interrupted, "Here he
comes.”
Barry lifted Doc under her arm
and got into the car without hurry,
as if her stand about Crack hadn’t
really mattered to her. Hal vault
ed to the pavement as Crack came
up, and said to him, "Any day this
week, young fella. Where the devil
have you been?”
Crack flushed. "Awfully sorry,"
he said. "I got delayed, awful
sorry." His hand came from bis
Jacket pocket and he dropped his
look modestly to watch the golf
ball fall to the pavement, and
bounce up to his hand again. Then,
as If Hal were the only one to share
an understanding of the ways of
the world, he said, "Had to tele
graph New York. Business. The an
swer was slow coinin' back.”
He wasn’t as young as he super
ficially looked. Hal decided; It
wasn't only his old-fashioned air—
straight-brushed hair and Jacket
buttoned high to the small open
ing—that gave him maturity. And
whatever bemused his light, drowsy
eyes remained private to them not
wholly through shyness. Telegraph
New York on business and wait for
an answer. . . .
It went through Hal’s mind
quickly and vividly, like something
“Had to Telegraph New York. Busi
ness. The Answer Was Slow
Cornin’ Back.”
he had thought of before and for
gotten, and there was no pause be
fore he said, “Get in. Your bag’s
up.”
Crack looked up at the rack, then
along the length of the car, im
mune to hurry.
“Nice car," he said shyly, as If
he knew something about It that
Hal didn’t.
They had gone 20 miles west
ward when Pulsipher gave a lost
wall of dismay. “That man—tha—
that man,”
“Good Gad, sir, what man?” asked
Kerrigan.
“He’s not here,” John said, his
desperation rising. "We left him
behind. That driver. That Miller.
Our fares.”
All previous discussion of the
matter—of Miller’s dismissal and
Hal’s possession of the fares—had
flown past John’s ears, It turned
out. And as Kerrigan explained It,
among eager oh's and ah’s of un
derstanding, Hal became aware that
he had undertaken responsibility of
a sort here. Where, forty-eight
hours ago, he hadn't given a Con
tinental whether any of them got
anywhere or not, he was now be
ing trusted to land them all In Los
Angeles safe, soon, and at no fur
ther expense. It gave him an odd
feeling near the pit of his stom
ach—not to be defined at all—before
he forgot It.
Dusk came early because of the
shredded-cotton comforter of cloud
low under the sky; and when they
turned south at Coldwater for the
Indiana border there was a warm
rain-smelling breeze. It was agreed
to push on a little farther, giving
the weather of night a chance to
make up Its mind. And promptly
It made up Its mind to drench wa
ter down upon the world.
A pair of brilliant headlights
moved toward them through the
dark rain: a truck and trailer, enor
mous. with wide topllghts and a
line of little green crystals along Its
side. Hal eased the accelerator far
ther, bending forward to keep track
of the road’s edge. Then, made
startling as physical assault for all
Its quiet, Crack’s whisper sounded
behind him: "Stop it—brakes:
easy!" There was nothing to see,
but Hal gave the brake pedal inter
ihlttent touches, cursing the ground
less authority in that whisper as
he did It. The headlights thun
dered past, and there In the rain
streaked glare close ahead, a figure
in a gleaming poncho rode a bi
cycle. Hal swung aside for him,
feeling a confused emptiness hold
his chest for an instant, telling
himself he was finished with that
uneasy premonition, that sense of
portent. He partly turned his
head to ask Crack, “How the deuce
did you see him?" Crack didn’t an
swer at once; after a little, his
whisper came, drowsing again In
shy satisfaction: “I—I just sorta—
saw him."
(TO HE CONTINUED)
Haifa Is Modern City
Haifa is the principal port of
Palestine, and is a modern city, be
ing little more than a century old.
From Mount Carmel, above the city,
the view embraces half of Pales
tine. Mount Carmel was one of
the resorts of the Prophet Elijah,
and on the mountain may be seen
the School of the Prophets, a large,
partly artificial cavern, In which
It Is said the Holy Family rested
on the return from Egypt
CRIMINALS MADE
OVER PHYSICALLY
WHILE IN PRISON
If your nose Is crooked nnd yon
yearn to be an Adonis, or you huve
a twisted leg, and fain would walk
like other men, then rob a gas sta
tion or forge a check, and when—or
If—you got out of state's prison you
may have n Greek profile nnd two
perfectly good legs.
Thar is, if you remember to com
mit the crime in Connecticut. For
they’te doing remarkable things In
the state prison at Wethersfield. As
one convict puts it, with awe,
“They’re Improving on the acts of
God!”
John Dlllinger, public enemy No. 1,
had his face lifted, and there were
streaming headlines across the na
tion’s newspapers. Hut much more
fundamental plastic surgery is be
ing done, unnoted, behind the tur
reted walls down on Wethersfield
Cove. Men leave the prison so
changed that their best friends don’t
know them.
Of. course, there’s one fundamental
difference—that Dlllinger hnd his
physiognomy made over by quacks,
to avoid the law, whereas the man
in Wethersfield Is reconstructed by
the lnw itself, in an attempt to ob
literate those stigmata that label
him convict.
Penologists may insist that the
“babyfaee” Is equally ns likely to be
a killer ns is the man with the
bnshed-in nose nnd the prognathous
Jaw. But popular psychology still
accepts ugliness ns synonymous with
turpitude, nnd distorted features as
an Indication of depravity. The
man who Is born with or acquires
by nceident the type of countenance
that the law-abiding citizen associ
ates with crime Is licked before he
starts. He looks like a criminal.—
Marian Murray in the American Mer
cury.
The Ruin*
The sad-looking man in the tene
ment area leaned over the banisters
nnd caught the visitor before she
could disappear down a hole in the
staircase.
•*I wonder," said the visitor Indig
nantly, “the landlord doesn’t do
something to repair this deplorable
building TH
"Well," said the slum dweller,
philosophically, "lie was going to do
something about it until he went on
a tour to Nnples and saw the ruins
of Pompeii. Now he thinks this isn’t
too bad."—London Tit Bits.
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