p7 i 1 .
CHAPTER XIII—Continued
—15—
“You haven’t any right to run
away! You belong here,” Vicky con
tinued after a pause.
“What are we to do? Just go on?”
Quentin presently asked, looking up.
“What else? As far as she goes,”
Vicky said, with a movement of
her head in the direction of the Mor
rison house, “she’ll gradually—well,
get over it. If you ran away she’d
follow you. As it is, she’ll annoy
you for a while, and come over
here and break the news to me.”
Her voice died away into musing,
and Quentin raised his head and
stared at her strangely.
"You’re an extraordinary wom
an, Vicky,” he said. “You can
talk about it. Don't you—don’t you
care?”
For a full half-minute Victoria re
turned his stare. Then she said in
a voice that trembled, that was
pitched very low:
“Oh, I care! Any woman cares.
I’m hurt in my pride and my faith
and my—my heart. It isn’t a ques
tion of whether or not one cares.
It’s only a question as to what one
does about it. I choose to do it my
way.”
^ She got to her feet, stood looking
* at him irresolutely for a moment,
opened her lips as if she had some
thing further to say. But she
thought better of it, murmured in
stead a “good-night,” crossed the
room and was gone. Quentin did
not look up when she moved, nor
answer her good-night. After she
was gone he sat beside the dying
fire for a long, long while with his
. head in his hands and his shoulders
f bowed.
In the next week for the first
time in years Victoria and Quentin
Hardisty, to the great satisfaction of
those who loved them, were seen
lunching together on the fashionable
Monday at the St. Francis hotel.
They were together later at the re
ception given to two distinguished
visiting physicians. Vic wore a new
smart suit of blue banded with gray
fur, infinitely becoming to her warm
brown coloring, and a dark blue
hat. On the gray fur violets were
pinned. “Who gave me the vio
lets?” Vicky said to Dr. Austreich
er, “Quentin, of course, and he
brought me the suit and the hat
from Paris. Don’t you think that’s
having a husband!"
“Vic, you know you’ve grown aw
fully pretty,” John Keats told her.
“What have you done to yourself?
Had your face lifted?”
“No, I discovered shade hats and
freckle cream last summer,” Vic
answered, laughing. “It seems in
credible to live to be thirty - six
without having had the sense to use
them before! One dollar a jar for
| freckle cream, and before I’d used
half of it I began to see a great light
dawning!”
“Yes, but you’ve done something
else, too. New clothes?”
“This is the outfit Quentin brought
me, hat and all. I adore it."
“Maybe it’s that you're rested,
Vic. You’ve been going like a steam
roller all these years.”
| “I don't see how it can be that,
Johnny. I’m always at home, but
I’m not exactly resting.”
“How is that little scamp?" John
ny Keats asked, rightly interpret
ing the sudden softening of her
voice, the sudden shadow in her
eyes to the thought that was never
far from Martin’s mother.
“He’s adorable. Quent’s put a
nurse in for a few weeks,” Vicky
said gallantly. “We have our be
loved Brownie back—Miss Brown
ing you know, who’s taken care of
me with all the children. She's
keeping an eye on Mart, just tem
porarily.”
"Good idea!” Johnny said, as
Quentin came up to claim his wife.
He beamed approval on them both.
“I’ve been telling Vic she’s getting
awfuHy pretty,” he said.
“Vic,” Quentin said, looking at
her unsmilingly. He put his hand
under her arm—“how about beat
ing it? I think we’ve done our du
ty!”
“She’s got him back and pretty
smart work, too,” Johnny Keats
said to his wife. “I wonder what
ever got into the poor old idiot?”
“Got him back?” echoed Violgt’s
incisive British accents. “She nev
er lost him. He just had one of
those fatuous brainstorms that big
men get. They concentrate and
^ work and worry and run themselves
down, and some flowery by-path
tempts them, and they stroll into
it! But personally I shall never
forgive Quentin Hardisty, never
really like him again.”
“Come now, Vi, you know you
love him for what he did for Kate!”
“Ah, well, loving him, Johnny,
feeling grateful to him, that’s quite
\
a different story! But I’ll never ad
mire him again.”
Vicky and Quentin in the late
afternoon drove the 20 miles to
ward home. There was a sweet
spring quality in the air of the
April afternoon; a fragrance, soft
ness, a color; husband and wife
moved through it as through a
dream. The day had almost dis
appeared behind the western hills;
long lances of mellow sunshine
streamed across the new grass and
occasionally caught a blossoming
plum tree, a pink or white haw
thorn in a globe of light A thou
sand little homes, behind their
hedges, set in their flower-packed
gardens, looked inviting, looked
happy; late children dawdled in the
shade of oaks, deceived by the lin
gering daylight into forgetfulness of
time. The violets on Vicky’s shoul
der were wilted; every now and
then she caught their exquisite dy
ing breath, mingled with all the
other sweet and significant odors:
grass and turned earth, lilac and
new leaves, the pungent spiciness
of the pepper trees, the piny scent
of the blades of the tasseled euca
lyptus.
“Tired, Vicky?” Quentin said, as
they turned up their own lane.
"Only comfortably tired. It was
worth while, I think. Only, when I
get this near home,” Vicky said,
“I always begin to want to see
the children; it’s the only time I
worry! Just before we see them—
ah, God bless them, there they
are!”
There they were, at the gate,
ready to leap upon the car and be
carried the hundred yards up to the
porch.
‘‘Oh, it’s so good to get home: it’s
so wonderful to shut it all away,”
Victoria was murmuring to herself
as, somewhat hampered by the
scrambling children, she descended
and smiled at the nurse who came
down to meet them. "Marty all
right?” she asked. Miss Browning
nodded reassuringly.
“Sound asleep.” But when Vic,
trailing sons and daughters like
clouds of glory, had fought her pain
ful way upstairs, Harriet Browning
turned her good, middle-aged face
to Quentin. “I wish you’d have a
look at Marty, Doctor. I rather
think—anyway, I wish you’d just
take a look. He’s sleeping beauti
fully, he may sleep like that all
through the night. But he had a
sort of restless time, about three,
and he coughed qui,te hard.”
Victoria saw the shadow on Quen
tin’s face when he came to dress a
few minutes later. He was tired,
poor old fellow; he had been serious
and quiet ever since his return, any
way. All very well to say that a
man could escape from his sins
scot-free; nobody ever escaped scot
free from anything in this world,
and especially a man as fine as
Quentin couldn’t escape! Whenever
his eyes fell on the Morrison house
he’d remember and be sorry. Even
when Serena had lingeringly, cloy
ingly gone away, as of course she
would some day, he wouldn’t be
proud to remember that sickening
little interval of kisses and whisper
ings and presents and stolen hours.
And some day, when Susan was a
beautiful eighteen, fresh and sweet
and fine, some innocent question of
hers about their old neighbors,-,,
about Gita or Gita’s father or
Gita’s mother—“You remember the
Morrisons, Dad; wasn’t she terri
bly beautiful?”—would strike him
in his soul, and make him wince,
and then the whole thing would
seem to him like what Vicky had
called it: a fever that had caught
mind and soul instead of body.
So his silence at dinner did not
alarm her.
After dinner, when Gwen had car
ried her school books upstairs, and
Magda had gone off with old Judge
and Mrs. Trimmer to a movie, there
was the usual interruption. The
clock had just struck ten; Vicky
had been conscious of a pleasant
conviction that they were not going
to be disturbed this evening, when
the telephone rang. From Quen
tin’s manner as he answered it she
knew that the fireside hour was
doomed.
"I’ve got the whole apparatus
here; you’ve got one? Good,” Quen
tin said. “I’ll be right over. You
might get him upstairs.”
There was the usual little flurry.
Brownie came down to say that
Marty was»sleeping nicely and his
pulse was much better. Quentin
rushed into the night, leaving the
two women in consultation by the
fire.
The telephone rang sharply again.
For a moment, in the general con
fusion of her thoughts, Vicky could
not seem to make out clearly just
who it was.
“Oh, yes, Dr. Cudworth,” she
said, her tace brightening. "And
you’re at the—at the—oh, yes, at
the Morrisons’? Who is dying? Oh,
no, is he really? Oh, I am sorry!
He was quite well yesterday! Oh,
that's too bad.”
She hung up the telephone; stared
at the expectant Brownie.
"It’s Dr. Cudworth; he’s rather
excitable,” she said, her own face
rather pale. “He says that Spen
cer Morrison’s dying; he’s been
there since seven, and he wants to
see me.”
“I wonder if he’d like to have
Doctor come?”
"H he comes in, I wish you’d
send him straight over. Cudworth
asked for him, and when I said
Quent was over at the hospital, he
said, ‘My God, this may be life
and death!’ ”
“Button your coat up around your
face, Mrs. Hardisty.” They were
at the doorway now; the chilly
spring night rushed at them like a
living thing. Vicky went oil alone
into the dark.
“What’s happened?” she asked,
when she arrived at the housa. For
it was obvious from the manner of
both Serena and the village doctor
that something more than ordinary
illness was afoot. “Is he gone?"
“He can’t live,” Serena said in a
quick whisper that held a puzzling
hint of stubbornness, of defiance in
it.
“Why, but he was well yesterday,
better than he's been for weeks!
At least—” Vicky hesitated, look
ing at the doctor as one deferring
naturally to his opinion. “I don’t
know anything about it,” she said,
“but he came to the fence to speak
to me and he seemed—’<
“Exactly!" the doctor said sharp
ly. “He was better; I saw him Sun
day. I was called today, three
hours after he first began to com
plain of violent pain, and I find the
man dying!”
He looked at Serena, and Serena
returned the look with one that,
more definitely than her voice had
dohe, expressed defiance.
CHAPTER XIV
“I’ll not sign any death certifl
cat, mark my words!” Cudworth
said, in a menacing undertone. Vic
toria, shocked beyond the power to
grasp what all this meant, glanced
bewilderedly at the sickroom door.
"He’ll hear us!” she breathed.
“He is—he isn’t dead, is he?”
“You don’t have to sign any
thing,” Serena said sharply, in a
“Tired, Vicky?”
voice clear but hardly as strong as
a whisper. "I never asked you to
sign anything! Dr. Hardisty’ll sign
it. He knows all about the case!”
“Spencer Morrison says he’s been
poisoned!” Cudworth said shortly
to Vicky. Vicky could only stare
at him in horror. “Come in!” the
doctor directed her, leading the
way. She followed him into the
sickroom.
A subdued light was burning
there; Vicky had never been in
Spencer’s room at night before, but
once or twice, when he had been
unusually lame and had stayed in
bed, she had come over in the day
time for a chat or for a game of
cribbage. Tonight everything was
as usual: books and photographs,
chairs and rugs and lamps, but she
sensed this rather than saw it, for
her anxious eyes were instantly
fixed upon the man who lay panting,
propped in pillows, in the wide,
comfortable bed. The worn, deep
lines of the disillusioned face were
accentuated now by his violent ill
ness. He smiled a ghastly smile
as she came in, and stretched his
lean hand toward her.
"That dope seems to have quieted
things down. Doctor,” he said in
a hoarse whisper. To the amah who
was now moving about the room
sharply: "While I was out of the
room nobody came in? Nobody
touched anything on that table?”
The woman shook her head; she
looked half sick with fright and be
wilderment.
"That’s all right then,” said the
doctor. “Bime-by nurse come. You
stay here, watchee all time.”
“I not go,” the amah said.
“I was pretty near done for—did
he tell you?” Spencer whispered,
holding to Vicky’s hand. He ig
nored Serena, looking away from
her wi'h a frown.
“You had a bad upset,” Vicky
said, looking down at him, trusting
her face did not betray her appalled
thoughts.
“I’ll get through this, won’t I,
Doctor?” the sick man whispered.
“I would be wrong to deceive you,
Mr. Morrison,” the old doctor said
solemnly. "You’re already sink
ing, sir. The absence of pain and
the pulse both show It It’s no
time for me to say anything else to
you. If there are affairs for you to
settle—”
“Vicky, can’t you get hold of
Quentin!’’ Spencer gasped.
"He’s coming, Spencer. He was
at the hospital, but I left word.
What did you take?" Vicky demand
ed, in a sort of wail.
“I didn’t take anything! She gave
it to me. I want you both,” Spen
cer said panting, "to remember
what I say! She tried—a week ago
she tried to double my sleeping
stuff; she brought it to me. I’ve
not been taking it lately; I’ve been
sleeping better. She told me I’d
better make sure. She knew I was
going back to England; she didn’t
want to go, and I told her she'd
take care of herself if she didn’t
come! That drove her crazy. I
saw it—she’s been half crazy any
way, lately. I told Amah to watch
everything I ate, and she did, but
today I was asleep when she
brought me up my lemonade. It
was there when I woke up; I ought
to have thought that Serena’d been
at it—”
Serena, whose face was ghastly,
looked from one to the other.
"That’s not true!” she whispered
sharply in the silence. And abrupt
ly she left the room. Spencer strug
gled to speak.
Quite suddenly, out of the night
mare, Vicky was awakened by a
step she knew sounding on the
stairs, a voice out in the hallway.
"Quentin’s here!” she said. Dr.
Cudworth turned quickly.
“You stay right here, Amah,” he
said. "You watch master!" He and
Vicky went out into the hall, and
when she saw Quentin, pale and
shocked, but strong and big and
adequate and infinitely comforting,
Vicky experienced one of the good
moments of life; fear turned to con
fidence. peril to safety, and the
horrors of the black night seemed
less black.
“What’s the matter with him?”
Quentin asked. Serena began a
frantic explanation; the other doc
tor brushed her aside.
"He's taken poison,” he said
bluntly.
"Suicide?” Quentin whispered,
with a glance toward Spencer’s
door.
"Nothing of the kind,” Cudworth
answered sharply. "The man no
more wanted to die than you do! He
told me that he’d planned—he told
me that he’d been much better—I
tell you, I can’t sign it, Doctor,”
he interrupted himself to say agi
tatedly. “You may if you like! But
there have been things .going on
here that are against the laws of
God and man, sir! I'll not do it,
my professional honor forbids it!”
Quentin, evidently trying to grasp
the situation, looked from face to
face.
“Who suggested poison7 he
asked sharply.
“No one!” Serena said, on a pas
sionate breath.
“Doctor, the man himself told
me,” the village doctor said, his
forehead shining with sweat. “I
saw him Sunday in good health. He
was talking then of going back to
England. He didn’t say when; he
tells me tonight that it was to be
at once, and that he was leaving
his wife. I tipped off the Chinese
woman—I told her to watch him, I
knew something was wrong! He told
me that she, the amah, often
brought him up lemonade in the
afternoon and that this afternoon it
was there when he awakened.”
“Ah, but that’s nonsense!” Quen
tin said in his honest, troubled
voice.
“Of course it is!” Serena said.
She went over and clung to Quen
tin’s arm. He disengaged her hand
without seeming conscious of her
presence and turned to Victoria.
“Why did you come here, dear?”
he asked in a concerned, tender
voice. “It will only distress you
horribly. You don’t belong in this!”
“Spencer asked for me, Quent.”
Vic raised her eyes to his and saw
Sergpa, pale and tense and watch
ing, looking at them. And she felt
an odd twist of something like pity
in her heart.
“Nonsense or not,” little Dr. Cud
worth said inflexibly, “I couldn’t—
professionally I could not ascribe
this to a natural illness.”
Serena faced him down.
"You could mind your own busi
ness!” she said with a hiss on the
last word. “If you don’t want to do
it, knowing, as I told you when you
got here, as everyone knows, that
he’s been a sick man for years, I
say that if you don’t believe that a
man who takes no exercise, and is
not strong, could eat something, or
take an opiate, that would make him
desperately ill, you’re a fool! You
oughtn’t to be practicing medicine.
It happens all the time! Men die
every day of acute indigestion cou
pled with heart failure, and if you
won’t take the responsibility of say
ing so. Dr. Hardisty will!”
(TO UK CONTINUED)
“Best Man” in Hungary
In Hungary it is possible to hire
a professional "best man.” He will
take care of all details of the cere
mony—for a fee. A “professional”
as best man is just about as far
from the original role as is the north
pole from the south. Back in early
Saxon days, the bride knight, or
best man, was the most faithful
friend of the husband-to-be. He had
to be for his duty was either to kid
nap the bride or fight ofT her rela
tives while the prospective husband
made off with her. Only friendship
of the most enduring type could buy
such services.
What to Wear on a Summer Day
Dy CHERIE NICHOLAS
AS TO what to wear on a summer
day, simple flattering little gay
print frocks, the more unsophisticat
ed the smarter, are literally “run
ning away with the show,’’ To em
phasize the summery look comes
into the style picture hats that are
very wide of brim. These hats are
of straw, or of felt or that which
is very, very new; they may be of
stitched fabric, pique, linen or layer
upon layer of stiffened silk chiffon.
In the illustration we are showing
to the right a most wearable shirt
waist-type spectator sports dress in
a silk crepe with a neat Paisley pat
terning on a blue ground. The panel
front in the skirt has pleats on eith
er side. The conservative styling
of this dress together with the qual
ity texture of the silk gives “class”
in the eyes of those who recognize
the better fashions. The fabric, be
ing a sterling pure silk dye, can be
depended upon as a standby when
in critical moments the “what-to
wear” problem presents itself. The
wide-brimmed hat of burnt straw
adds the final touch of distinction.
Enother token of chic is the fact
that this hat is crownless, and hats
in fashion's realm are going crown
less at an astonishing rate.
Speaking of smart millinery, there
is a tendency, whether hats are
large or small, to wear them in an
off-the-face manner that reveals a
smooth brow framed with smartly
coiffed hair. The hat pictured in
the oval inse* is a Jean King crea
tion in glistening white toya, a cool
papier-mache straw that is just the
thing for midsummer wear. A vel
vet band in soft blue finishes its
graceful line in an artful bow at the
nape of the neck. With your most
summery frocks a hat of this type
will carry a convincing message of
chic and charm. .
Designers have entered into the
spirit of cottons wholeheartedly this
season. It is truly a revelation to
see what wonders they ore doing
with both sturdy and dainty sheer
weaves, tuning their fashioning to
formal as well as informal wear
Printed cottons especially were nev
er more beautiful. A special fea
ture is being made of printed cot
ton voiles, some of which are simply
entrancing both as to their pattern
ing and their exquisite sheerness.
These voiles are so inexpensive,
too, women who do their own sewing
can hnve the prettiest sort of frocks
at trifling cost.
The attractive summer girls
standing to the left and center in the
illustration are wearing charming
cotton dresses as fresh and sweet
as an old-fashioned garden. The
cottons that fashion them won’t
shrink because they have already
been scientifically shrunk. The dress
to the left has wee little pleatings
on the skirt and is a pretty style
to copy if you are making your
.own.
The dress centered offsets its gay
print with a dainty lace-and-em
broidered lingerie collar. There nev
er was a time in fashion history
when accessorips counted for as
much as they do this season. Not
only is the most feminine looking
neckwear a necessary luxury but in
more ways than can here be enu
merated the emphasis is placed on
the value of choosing smart tuned
to-the-costume accessories. An in
triguing use of bright cotton prints
is made in the clever halters which
are selling at the neckwear coun
ters so briskly. These halter
vestees with their long tie-sashes
are making a gesture in economy
that enables the woman with a most
limited budget to look well dressed
at all times.
© Western Newspaper Union.
VIVID FLORALS
Br CHERIE NICHOLAS
Simple daytime frocks neatly
tailored of sturdy wash fabrics pat
terned with vibrant florals are the
call of the hour. One should include
several frocks of the type pictured
in the summer wardrobe, especially
since they are so easily made, and
alluring materials guaranteed not
to shrink are so easily available.
This well-tailored frock is strewn
all over with exotic flowers. It is a
dress that will tub any number of
times and never shrink a mite.
SHORT DANCE DRESf
IS NEWEST FASHION
Why not wear the new short dance
dresses before anyone else does?
Schiaparelli introduced them, Paris
immediately began wearing them,
and New York is looking them over
with great interest. They may be
the beginning of the end for long
evening gowns, as some stylists say,
but the end is a long way off.
These short frocks for long eve
nings are very spirited and gay and
young. Their swirling hemlines are
more than five yards around. Col
lege girls will take them back to
school this fall. The length may be
anything that suits you, from six to
twelve inches from the dance floor.
Exciting Features Mark
Fashions for This Season
Fashions have much that is new
and exciting about them. "There’s
something in the air” that has put
all the designers on their mettle.
They have outdone themselves in
creating beautiful, elegant, wear
able clothes.
The cycle is complete and we are
back again in a period of trimmings.
Throughout the mode, but especial
ly for evening, applied decoration,
such as embroidery, beading, span
gles, paillettes, encrustations and
handwork of all kinds, is almost as
widely used as it was before the
war.
The silhouette adheres to the nat
ural figure, with normal waistline,
smooth, slightly rounded shoulders
and molded upper stratum. The
figure, as a matter of fact, should
look corsetted. The clothes are bas
ically simple and it is upon this
simplicity heightened by acces
sories, trimmings, rich fabrics and
color that fashion has relied for its
newest aspects.
The Four Kinds |
of Excess Fat j
By
DR. JAMES W. BARTON
© Bell Syndicate.—WNU Service. ,
'T'HF.RE are some overweights
who conscientiously follow their
physician’s strict reducing diet for
a week or ten days and find that
the amount of weight lost is prac
tically nothing. If one of normal
weight follows that same strict diet,
gets the same amount of sleep, and
takes the same amount of exercise,
there would likely be a loss of from
Ur. Barton
2 to 5 pounds, li,
however, the over
weight were to con-'
tinue on the strict
diet for another two
or three weeks there
would likely be a
loss of 4 to 5 pounds
at the end of that
time. This failure to
lose weight during
the first ten days
was because while
some fat was lost all
right, the body hadl
retained more than its usual amount)
of water and so kept up the weight.
But by the end of about three weeks,
less water is required in proportion
to the amount of real fat now pres
ent, and with the loss of this “held”
water, the weight goes down. It
would be worth while, therefore, for
all who are trying to lose weight
by reducing their food Intake, to
persist for not less than three to
four weeks.
However, it is possible that even
after keeping to the strict diet for
three of four weeks, the loss of
weight is very small—one or two
pounds. If such be the case the
overweight is justified when report
ing to his or her physician in ask
ing for some other method as even
his severe or strict reducing diet
has failed to bring results.
Physicians who treat patients for
overweight first explain that to ob
tain sure results safely from 9 to 18
months may be required; that a re
duction of one and a half to two
pounds each week is the utmost to
be desired or expected.
Make Metabolism Test.
It is very likely then that the phy
sician will suggest one more month
on the prescribed reducing diet and
if results are disappointing he will
prescribe other measures to get rid
of the excess fat.
If this excess fat is distributed
evenly throughout the body, he will
make or have made a metabolism
test which showi the rate at which
the body processes are working. If
they are not working at the normal
rate (that is they are working slow
er) he knows that the thyroid gland
in the neck is not manufacturing
enough juice, and if processes are
working faster than normal he
knows that the thyroid gland is
manufacturing too much juice. Thus
when the individual is greatly over
weight and the test shows that the
body processes are slower than nor
mal, which happens in about 3 to 5
per cent of all overweights, the phy
sician will prescribe thyroid extract
because the overweight is justified
in requesting it.
If the excess weight is not dis
tributed evenly over the body but
is across the shoulders, chest, ab
domen, hips and thighs (no excess
weight on forearms or lower legs)
then instead of using thyroid ex
tract, the physician will likely use
pituitary extract, as the pituitary
gland has much to do with growth,
development and the handling of
starch foods by the body.
Removing Local Deposits.
Thus when the excess fat is evenly
distributed, thyroid extract is used
in “stubborn” cases; when it is
across shoulders, chest, abdomen,,
and hips pituitary extract is used.
However, there are cases where
there are accumulations of fat in
different parts of the body, maybe
on chest, on hips, on back of neck,
or elsewhere. What can be done
to remove these “local” deposits of
fat?
When the individual is in good
health, heart and blood vessels
sound, then exercising the parts is
the best method of getting rid of
this local fat deposit. Slow jogging
or running on the spot, skipping, and
dancing are excellent exercises.
The use of the electric vibrator,
striking the part with the sides of .
the hands and vigorous massage of 1
the part will stir up the circulation
in the part and help to break up the
fat globules. In these cases with
the local fat deposits, if there is
any tendency to overweight general
ly then cutting down on the food is
helpful, but if the individual is of
normal weight it is better to de
pend upon the exercise and massage
to remove the fat than take any
chances on too great a loss of weight
throughout the body.
Remember then that while over 90
per cent of overweight is due to
overeating and underexercising
there are these other types of over
weight where gland extracts and lo
cal exercise and massage are nec
essary.
Naming Greensboro, N. C.
The city of Greensboro, N. C., is
named for Gen. Nathanael Greene,
the hero of the battle of Guilford
Court House, which is memorialized
by a national military park six
miles to the northwest.