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About The frontier. (O'Neill City, Holt County, Neb.) 1880-1965 | View Entire Issue (April 8, 1937)
4 ^1 llUk^ SYNOPSIS Victoria Herrendeen, an odd-looking, vivacious little girl, had been too young ■ to feel the shock that came when her father. Keith Herrendeen. lost his for tune. A gentle, unobtrusive soul, he is now employed as an obscure chemist ■in San Francisco, at a meager salary. iHis wife, Magda, cannot adjust herself 'to the change. She is a beautiful woman, fond of pleasure and a magnet for men’s Attention. Magda and Victoria have Ibeen down at a summer resort and ■Keith joins them for the week-end. IMagda leaves for a bridge party, excus ing herself for being such a "runaway." CHAPTER I—Continued —2— There was a little boat waiting at the pier just below the lodge; a white little boat gushing blots of white dancing light onto the dark water. “They’re going out to that yacht out there for dinner,” Victoria told her father. "Oh, yes,” he said, looking in the direction of the lodge. “Dad, why don’t you like going to the lodge?” Well, for one thing I can t ai ford it, Vic.” “Can Mother?” ► ‘‘Ah, but they ask her. They don’t let it cost her anything.” ‘‘They give her dresses, too,” Vic toria said, thinking. ‘‘Who does?” “Mrs. Lester did—that dark blue dress.” “I thought she bought that at a sale?” “No; Mrs. Lester’s maid, Lotty, brought it over in a box. And an other blue dress, too.” They walked along in silence for a while. Presently Victoria said: “We’ve had a happy day, haven’t we?” “I’m glad you have,” her father said, stopping to bend down and kiss her. Victoria had to sleep on the porch cot that night, as she always did when Dad was there. In the night she wakened, and heard their voices—her father’s and her mother’s. Her mother’s was almost inaudible, and had a “please hush” note in it with which Victoria was entirely familiar. Her father’s was not very loud, but clear: “I’m not saying it’s easy for you, Magda. I say it’s simply your luck. We had it—lots of it. And God knows I didn’t hold out on you then. Now we haven’t got it any more, and that’s your bad luck. Silence. And then Mother’s voice, very low and gentle: “Keith, I know how hard it is for you, dear. And if you feel that way I simply won’t go. But it does seem a wonderful chance. We happen— ^ we four, the Harwoods and Grace Cuthbertson and I—to play a mar velous foursome of bridge, and Col lins—that’s the brother—cuts in now and then, so it makes it perfect. They’re only to be gone five weeks. I could get Victoria’s things straightened out, and ask Hetty to get your dinners . . .” There was another plause. Pres ently the man said: l “You have no further affection— no interest in either one of us, I know that.” “Oh, please!” the woman’s voice protested mildly. “I suppose this will go on into the forties and the fifties, boarding houses and Pine street apartments!” “It won’t be forever,” Keith Her rendeen said. “It’ll be until I’m too old to care!” Victoria heard her mother say. Then there was a long silence, while the little girl lay listening on the porch with her heart hammer ing like a wild bird’s and her ears strained, and her whole little body tensed with fear. “Go, then, said her father out of the pause. They hadn’t gone to sleep then; the quarrel was still on. “Oh, no; I won’t go now,” her mother said gently and sweetly, in a normal voice. “Well, now I tell you to go, that doesn’t suit you!” “It would be impossible for me to go now.” Mrs. Herrendeen mur mured firm!'' ns if the whole mat ter were settled. “Now, why no you want to act like that about it, Magda?” the man demanded, with a faint hint of uneasiness, of change, in his tone. Silence. Silence. Victoria heard her father’s snore, light at first, swiftly deepening. Her heart began ► to beat more quietly. A night bird cried in the garden; the sea rushed and retreated on the rocks. A whimpering sob broke through the other sounds; Victoria froze Her mother was crying; bitterly, brokenly crying, and keeping the noise of it soft, so that no one should hear. Victoria suffered as if from physi cal pain. The crying went on for a ^ long time; a clock struck one for some half-hour: struck four. It was four o’clock! The world was gray in shadowless light when Victoria slipped noise lessly from bed and stepped to the open window. She looked in. Her father was asleep, no doubt of that, for he was still healthily snoring. It was at the lightly covered form of her mother that she looked stead ily; was she sleeping? No, the beautiful dark eyes were wide open, fixed on Victoria in the window. Mrs. Herrendeen beck oned, and Victoria flew to her arms, and they kissed each other, the child hugged down against the tumbled covers and the little lacy pillows. “You muggins, what waked you up?” the woman demanded in a breath that was less than a whisper. ' Mother, are you all right.' “Perfectly all right, sweetheart.” “But, Mother, were you crying?” “I got too tired, and that’s why I cried, and I’m a very silly mother.” Victoria laughed the shadow of her own rich affectionate little laugh, and there were more kisses. Then she went back to her cold tumbled porch bed, and snuggled down inside it, and was asleep be fore the morning’s first chill blan ket of fog began to creep in across the level dim floor of the ocean. When they were at home in the city, Magda Herrendeen never got up for breakfast. She always said that she loved getting up in the morning when there was anything to do. But in the five-room apart ment on Pine street there was not much to do. Keith got himself a cup of coffee and boiled two-minute oats for Vic toria, or scrambled eggs for them both. The rest was just bread and butter, and milk poured from the bottle. Magda sometimes got up and got herself some orange juice, or even a cup of tea. She would come back with the mail, the newspaper car ried with a smoking cup or the glass. Settling down again, she would yawn wearily; what horrible things were in the house for dinner, and what should be ordered? At eleven the telephone would ring, and then there would be a change. A change in her, and a change in the general atmosphere. “My dear, I don’t think I can to day,” she would say. “But it sounds too divine! How late would we be? ... I see. Let me think . . . What are you wearing, Ethyl? . . . Yes, I have; I could wear the blue that Eleanor brought me from Paris ... Yes, I know. But let me think about it and call you again!” Victoria knew how this went; she had heard it many times, for after all she had not been long in school, and there were always long Satur day mornings at home. Her mother would hang up the telephone only to seize it once more. She would be all vitality, all energy now. Her beautiful eyes would be dancing, her manner absent-minded but sweet and happy again. “Vic, could you go down to Flor ence’s—or wait over at school until six? Daddy’ll be here early, you know; I’ll leave a message for him to call for you . . .” And while she talked, Magda would be packing things in her handsome suitcase, laughing, glanc ing at the clock, snatching the tele phone again. Perhaps she would talk to a man this time. “Rudy, this is Magda. Ethyl and all cf them are going to Jane’s to night; are you? . . . Oh, wonder ful! When are you going down? For the polo? . . . Oh, fine! Could you take me along? . . . Well, you’re a darling ... I know, but anyway you’re a darling ... In about an hour? In about an hour.” But after her eleventh birthday, after that visit to the beach house, there was a change between her parents, and Victoria saw it, or perhaps felt it rather than saw it. Her mother was gentler, sweeter, more affectionate than ever when she was with them, but she was with them much less. On the other hand Victoria’s fa ther grew silent, and gray, and dis agreeable, as the months went by and were years. He rarely spoke at all at home, and in the evenings he almost always went out. CHAPTER II “Is Dad worried about business these days, Mother?” Victoria, four teen years old, asked one day. “I don’t think so especially, dar ling. I think he w«js a little cross because they wanted me to be in the theatricals.” “And shall you be?” “I don’t know. I’m trying to think it out. I hate,” Mrs. Herren dcen said, smiling through the sud den tears that filled her beautiful eyes— "I hate to trouble Daddy. But he does seem to me unreason able. Men have their pleasures, and women have theirs. It isn’t my fault that the nicest—actually the nicest—persons in this part of the world have been so extraordi narily generous to me.” “But why don’t they invite him?” “But they do, my dear! Of course they do! Daddy could go every where that I go, if he would. But he doesn’t enjoy it” Victoria pondered this awhile in silence. “When I’m asked to a smart din ner, or the opera, or to stay down in Hillsborough for some special par ty, am I to hang my head and say, ‘Oh, thank you, but Mr. Herrendeen likes me to be at home nights’?” “I don’t think he’d mind if it was only now and then,” she sug gested uncertainly. “Ah, but that’s the trouble, VTc. You can’t play fast and loose. In three months they’d all have for gotten me. Their lives go too fast. They go abroad, or to New York or Hawaii; there are always mar riages—people coming and going changes—” “Divorces,” Victoria supplied simply, as her mother paused. Magda laughed, with a little touch of color in her face. “Well, yes, divorces. Everything is whirling all the while—visitors from the East, the polo teams, the golf people. You can’t let go. To get out of it for two months—to de cline five invitations in a row, Vic— would mean you were out forever.” Again Victoria looked at her thoughtfully, puzzledly. “And would Dad like you to do that. Mother?” “Why, he’s been so glum and si lent these last months I hardly know. Ever since you and I went down to Santa Barbara last summer he’s seemed to feel he has a griev ance.” Again the beautiful affection ate eyes filled with tears. Victoria’s heart ached for her with a fierce wrench of pain and sympathy. She knew of what her mother was thinking on these hot days; she was thinking of her friends at Tahoe, and up on the Klamath river, and down on the cool shores of Pebble beach and Santa Barbara. Presently Magda came back to the question: “You do see that it’s hard for me, Victoria? What would you do?” “Oh, yes; oh, yes,” Victoria agreed. “It’s—it’s hard on us all!” “Hard on you, too, dear?” Her mother asked quickly, in a tone that shrank away from pain. “Hard to see you unhappy and see him unhappy,” Victoria said, her eyes watering. There was a ring at the door. Victoria was glad to go to answer it; the conversation had gotten com pletely out of hand. She came in with a great box of flowers; there were often boxes of flowers, but not often as large as this. Victoria ran about getting vases for them. “And what’s in the box. Mother, the little box?” Mrs. Herrendeen was smiling su perbly, shaking her head. The card, twisted and wired in a wet envelope, “But Why Don’t They Invite Him?” was in her hand; the little square jeweler’s box with it. “What’s in it. Mother?” Victoria insisted. “I hate to look,” the woman said. “I know it’s going to make me angry.” “Angry?” “I think so. Oh,” Magda mur mured, under her breath, “he has no right to do that!” "Do you know who it is before you even read the card, Mother?” “I think I do. I think* it’s my very rich friend, Mr. Manners,” “The Spanish one?” "He is half Spanish, 1 believe.” Magda slowly brought forth the card, glanced git it, crumpled it to pulp. Victoria’s eager eyes were upon her as she opened the little box, cutting its heavy cords and breaking away the wax seals. There were a cardboard box, a light wooden box, a lined jewel case in which a heavy diamond bracelet was flashing and gleaming on a satin cushion. “What does the note say, Moth er?” "Just—well, nothing, really Ri diculous!” the woman murmured, her expression partly amused, part ly pleased, partly impatient. “It’s beautiful,” Victoria said, of the bracelet. “Are they expen sive?” “Only a few thousand,’’ net moth er answered carelessly. She fitted the bracelet carefully back in its case; replaced the wooden box, the cardboard box, and yawned. "Don't you like him, Mother?" "Who? Ferd Manners?" "Is that his name? It doesn’t sound very Spanish.” "It’s Ferdinand de Something Manners. I believe his mother was an Argentine heiress. He's lived there a great deal” "You might know he was Span ish,” Victoria said brightly, "or he wouldn’t think he could send a mar ried lady jewelry!" "True for you, Miss Herrendeen!” her mother agreed, going into the bedroom with the box. Until she could return it, she would hide it, Victoria knew. Dad must know nothing of this. The afternoon dragged. After a while Victoria put on her old white serge skirt and a white thin sweat er, pulled a small white hat over her bobbed head, and went to the library to get a new book. When she came back at five, her mother was entertaining a caller. It was a square, dark - skinned man, sprawled in a low chair, a glass of champagne between his big brown hands. "This is my little girl, Mr. Man ners.” “Come, it was to be Ferdinand!" the man said, his voice and accent instantly betraying the Latin. "It was not,” Magda countered simply, smiling. She was in some thing soft and cool and pale blue; she had had time to dress, time to draw shades and set the flowers about advantageously. "Are you going up to Helen's?” he was presently asking. He paid no attention to Victoria. Magda shook her head. "You're not?” the man demanded surprised. "My little spare tire," Victoria's mother said, her arm about her. "But good gracious, take her! Connie’s girl must be about her age." “No,” Magda said, gently shak ing her had. “Not just now, any way. But it must be lovely up there! I've never been there, you know. Phyllis was telling me of some place—the Braverman place right on the water—" “But that’s just the place I am going to buy!” Ferdinand Manners exclaimed. When Magda presently went out of the room to bring him her Spanish shawl, he asked Vic toria if she knew that she had a very beautiful mother. He bent his russet head over the shawl. "Yes, that is a fine shawl,” he said. “What does the man offer you?” Victoria was shocked. Was Moth er going to sell the famous old shawl? She saw that her mother hadn’t wanted her to know. “He offers me three hundred— Marsh. It’s to be edged with fur for a wrap. They’ll take all this off.” Magda ran her fine thin hand through creamy silk fringes so stiff that they looked like cotton. Just a week later Victoria brought in a great box just delivered from Marsh’s; the shawl was inside. It had been changed into a sumptuous evening wrap with a border all the way about it of soft white fur. And this gift her mother did not return. She put it away in the great trunk that always stood in her room; there was small closet space in the apart ment. That same week, on another sticky sultry night, Keith Herren deen came in looking tired and pale at six o’clock, apparently more than ordinarily wearied by the burden and heat of the day. He sank into a chair in the sitting room that was also the dining room, where Victoria was already setting the table. "I brought you a little present, Magda," he said, his face suddenly bright with a smile. “It’s not much, my dear.” It was an Emporium box; a white linen jacket, unlined, with a smart dark blue stripe about the collar and cuffs. The tag was still on it; he explained that she was free to exchange it if she liked. Vic toria sent a quick apprehensive glance toward her mother. The bracelet that had cost thousands had been sent back, but the re mains of the great crate of flowers, and fresh flowers, were everywhere, and deep in her mother’s trunk was the beautiful shawl with its new border of pure white ermine. Mrs. Herrendeen stood fingering the linen jacket. The staring “$3.95” on a tag was in her hand, as the fringe of the shawl had been a few days ago. “It’s very sweet, Keith,” she said, holding her tone low. But it was no use; in a minute she was crying convulsedly, bitterly, senselessly, standing at the window, with her shaking shoulders to the room, j “Don’t mind me,” she said thickly, j “I’m crazy. Don’t pay any at tention to me!” "I’ll be damned if i understand you sometimes, Magda,” Keith said wearily. (TO BE CONTINUED) Bird's Skeleton Most Rigid The skeleton of a bird is the most rigid of all the animals. Bones fuse together and overlap. The familiar "wish bone” is simply the two collar bones grown together to give greater strength to the at tachment of wings. The breastbone is not flat as in most animals, but has an enormous ridge down the middle for the attachment of flight muscles. These muscles are rela tively hundreds of times more pow erful than similar muscles in man. In some birds they are so highly developed that they represent half the bird’s entire weight. UNCOMMON AMERICANS •-•-• By Elmo 9) Western C .. irr . Newspaper Scott If atson umon Christmas Flower WHEN you buy one of those scarlet-petaled flowers called the poinsettia to add to the festive appearance of your home at Christ mas time, you are helping perpetu ate the fame of an American who little realized that his name would become associated with one of the symbols of the Yuletide. For Joel R. Poinsett had so many other claims to distinction that it seems curious he is best remembered be cause a flower bears his name! Born in South Carolina in 1779, he studied both medicine and military science abroad but his father in duced him to abandon his intention of entering the army and to be come a student of law. Poor health forced him to give that up and he asked President Madison for a com mission in the army. Instead he wss sem on a dip lomatic mission to South America where he mixec in the politics of Chile, and fomented revolution un til he became known as “the scourge of the American continent” and was recalled. Next he was sent to Mexico. Always interested in botany, he brought back from that country the flower which was given the scientific name of “Poinsettia Pulcherina.” Just as he had been a stormy petrel in international politics, so he was a disturbing element in the politics of Lis native land. During the Nullification controversy in South Carolina he organized and led the Unionist forces. By doing that he won the esteem of the nation al government and President Van Buren made him secretary of war. Poinsett improved and enlarged the army, organized a general staff, built up the artillery, directed the Seminole war and managed the re moval of some 40,000 Indians to In dian Territory. In the midst of this activity his scientific interests were not neglected. He experimented with scientific agriculture, sent out the Wilkes expedition into the Ant arctic and was largely instrumental in founding the National Institute for the Promotion of Science and the Useful Arts which later was merged with the Smithsonian Insti tution. His busy career came to an end in 1851 while he was living in retirement as a plantation owner in his native state. Brooklyn Bridge Jumper BACK in the eighties the Brooklyn bridge was one of the wonders of the modern world. Its dedication on May 24, 1883 was an event of nation-Wide interest but three years later it was even more in the news because of a man with whose name that great span has been linked in popular memory ever since. He was Steve Brodie, bootblack, street car conductor, sailor and worker around the docks who be came a professional walker as a means of earning some easy money. But he was never better than a sec ond-rater and none of his walking matches ever benefited him great ly. In the summer of 1886 he was nearly “broke.” One day in July he heard some of his friends talking about the lat est casualty among the men who had tried for fame and fortune by diving from the Brooklyn bridge to the river, 135 feet below. Seven of then" had tried it and all of them had been killed. , “Huh, I bet you I could do it and not be killed,” boasted Brodie. “Bet you $100 you can’t!” replied a friend. "You’re on!” was Brodie’s answer. But he was evidently none too confident that he could make good on his boast for he took out a life insurance policy for $1,000 as a protection for his wife, just in case • • • On July 23, 1886 Brodie jumped ou the bridge and came up without a scratch. Officials of the life in surance company were furious be cause he had risked $1,000 of their money to win $100. They returned hi premium and cancelled his poli cy_which was foolish, for he lived to a ripe old age! His successful jump was widely publicized. It won him an engage ment in a melodrama called “Blackmail” in which he had to dive off a great height into a net— a feat which, he declared, was even more dangerous than his jump from the bridge—and his performance in this (at $100 a week) made “Bro die, the Brooklyn Bridge-Jumper” famous all over the country. His acnievement encouraged imitators and during the next few years no less than 11 others tackled the na tion’s most spectacular high dive. Although the first seven had per ished in their attempts, Brodie seemed to have broken the Jinx, for every one of the 11 survived. By that time the novelty of such a ieat had somewhat worn off. But Brodie’s fame as the first to make a successful jump \.as secure. Moreover, he contributed another picturesque phrase to the Ameri c.a.i language, for “doing a Brodie" is still a synonym for a spectacular iump or plunge from a height. Many Cash Crops Found in Forests Farm Woodlot Produces Many Trees, Bushes, Berries of Value. By Robert B. Parmenter. Extension For. ester. Massachusetts State College. WNU Service. ‘‘God in the hills,’' a favorite line in by-gone melodramas, might well apply to today’s farm woodlot. Be sides saw timber and cordwood, the farm woodlot offers many other cash crops to the enterprising owner. Many farmers are getting annual incomes from Christmas trees. They also sell "press brush,** or tip ends of spruce and balsam which! are clipped off and baled for manu facturers of Christmas greens and decorations. Some men have sold fern-picking rights on their land, the buyers using them as decora tions. There is always a market for tree seeds. Acorns, walnuts, butternuts, black walnuts, and cones from spruce, pine, or balsam may be gathered and sold in the fall. Bean poles and pea brush are always in demand, and poles and stakes for proping up heavy branches of ap ple trees often find a sale. Much of this material can be gathered while making thinnings in the wood lot. Fence posts and rails are always useful on the farm, and taking them from the woodlot means quite a saving over a period of time. Novelties made from gray or white birch, twig baskets Ailed with white pine sprays and cones, red berries, and dried grasses also add to the income. Decorative buttons made from walnuts or butternuts can generally be sold to novelty shops. Maple syrup and sap need oniy be mentioned. Everyone knows the value of a good sugar bush. Cattle bedding made from trash wood by means of a new machine, pine cones treated chemically to produce colored flames in the fireplace, and white birch for fancy fireplace wood are some of the other forest by products. A little scouting around for m market will often lead to new uses for old forest products, and every new outlet means more money from the farm woodlot. Spruce and Fir Among Best Windbreak Trees Norway spruce and Douglas fir are the most satisfactory trees to use as windbreak plantings, according to J. E. Davis, extension forester, i College of Agriculture, University of Illinois. A good windbreak is easy to have, its success depending upon location, soil preparation, choice of trees, spacing, protection and care. A windbreak will be effetive on the leeward for a distance eight times its height. Since the trees average 40 feet in height, it is best not to have the buildings near er than 50 feet nor farther than 320 feet from the trees. If closer than 50 feet, snow drifts may form on buildings, and dead-air pockets may cause excessive heat in sum mer. The windbreak affords best pro tection if built in the form of an inverted “L” on the west and north of the farmstead. Plowed prefer ably in the fall, the land may be fit ted in the spring. At least 4-year old transplanted trees are recom mended and even larger trees will assure more success. Silage for Young Cattle Silage in large amounts can be used to feed thin common-to-medi um yearlings or older cattle which are to be marketed this spring, ac cording to E. T. Robbins, live stock extension specialist. College of Ag riculture, University of Illinois. Sil age with or without dry roughage is combined with three or four pounds of cottonseed meal or soy bean oil meal for each head each day by some experienced finishers of butcher cattle. Corn is added during about the last two months, and the cattle are sold when about two-thirds fat. Agricultural Notes Wild life often suffers because of the flying mower sickle. Nests are destroyed and many birds and ani mals are maimed. * • • Growing vegetables in their prop er season results in a better quality product. Each crop has its own particular requirements. • • * Of all the uses of electricity on the farm, few save as much time and labor and give as much satis faction as pumping water. • • * Some dairymen still need addi tional hay, green feed, or pasture. At this late date, the only solu tion is to sow a catch crop. • • • When Sudan grass, cane, or any kind of grain sorghum is stunted or blighted by drouth, or is trampled, frosted or wilted, the plants may contain enough prussic acid to kill live stock. • • • The United States now has 876 dairy herd - improvement associa tions. One of their main jobs is to find out exactly what each sire is able to do in building up the pro duction of a dairy herd Enchanting Gifts of Lacy Crochet A chance at rare beauty—genu ine luxury—is yours in this lovely crocheted lace cloth! Just a 8 inch medallion crocheted in string forms it—you’ll have a quantity of them together in no time. And what lovely gifts you can make of them—chair sets, scarfs, pil Pattern 1345 lows, buffet sets are but a few suggestions. They cost you next to nothing and are something that will last and be cherished in definitely. Pattern 1345 contains directions for making the medal lion and joining it to make various articles; illustrations of it and of all stitches used; material re quirements. Send 15 cents in stamps or coins (coins preferred) for this pattern to The Sewing Circle Needlecraft Dept., 82 Eighth Ave., New York, N. Y. Write plainly pattern number, your name and address. My 'Tarotit* I Y) • By /^QCIVIG *rene Rich / Film Actr«ii Chicken Stew Divide a chicken, stew until ten der, and remove to hot platter. To the stock add one-half cupful of rice and dumplings made as fol lows: Beat one egg, add one-half cup ful of water, pinch of salt, and sufficient flour to make a thin bat ter; drop by spoonfuls into the stock and cook about ten minutes. If rice is uncooked it should be boiled twenty minutes before dumplings are added. Copyright.—WNU 8er*lc*. Foreign Words ^ and Phrases w Novus homo. (L.) A new man; an upstart; parvenu. Summum bonum. (L.) The su preme good; the chief good. Tout-a-l’heure. (If.) Presently. Pater noster. (L.) Our father; the Lord’s prayer. Suum cuique. (L.) To each one his own. Sic passim. (L.) Thus every where. Piece de resistence. (F.) The chief meat dish of a dinner. Dr. Pierce’s Favorite Prescription Is a tonic which has been helping women of all ages for nearly 70 years. Adv. Bear On With Joy Set your shoulder joyously to the world’s wheel.—Havelock Ellis. FOR EARLY MORNING HEADACHES 15c FOR U a FULL DOZEN FOR2S« Demand and Get Genuine BAYER ASPIRIN WNU—U14—37 Boomerang His own misdeeds often return to the author of them.—Seneca. n»ir "BUCK IEAF 40" ^ Keeps Dogs Away from | Evergreens, Shrubs etc. |®l93eUs* 1V4 Teaspoonful THE CHEERFUL CHERUB A Kdy comes to cleen our house Who bothers me e lot, 5o scornfully she bends eround Whet little * thirds Ive |ot.