tfoyd QMohs'
ADVENTURERS' CLUB
HEADLINES FROM THE LIVES
OF PEOPLE LIKE YOURSELFI
“Secret of the Tides”
By FLOYD GIBBONS
Famous Headline Hunter
HELLO everybody! Here’s a yarn that can be told now,
for a long time it was a secret. Frederick V. Fell of
Bronx, N. Y., is spinning the yarn for us and he’s letting it
out of the bag now because—well—I guess it’s because F red
has grown too old to be spanked by this time, so it doesn t
make much difference who knows it.
Fred says he can’t trot out any adventure story laid in some glam
orous place like India, or North Africa, but he sure had a honey of a
thrill once out at Rockaway beach. And as a matter of fact, I d just as
soon have a yarn from Rockaway as I would from Rio or Rhodesia.
For as Fred says, it isn’t where it happens, bdt what happens, that
counts. So here she comes—and hold onto your hats.
Fred was just fourteen years old when, in 1924, his folks
rented a cottage at Rockaway for the summer. Fred and his
brother Harvey had never been around the water much before
that, but they made up .'or lost time. They spent every spare
minute in the big drink, and in two weeks both of them had
learned to swim.
It was about that time that a strong blow set in from seaward and
the ocean began to kick up and get rough. Fred’s parents, playing
safe, took to bathing in Jamaica bay, about twenty blocks inland from
the ocean, and Fred and his brother Harvey did the same. It was
shortly after that that Fred’s cousins from the city came down one Sun
day morning, and they hadn’t been there ten minutes before all four of
those kids were in their bathing suits and on their way to the bay.
Caught in a Death-Dealing Riptide!
Near the point where Fred and Harvey always went in swimming
was a long pier with a diving board on the end of it They had never used
that pier before, because mother and dad had forbidden them to swim
around it. But this Sunday Fred wanted to show off his newly acquired
proficiency at swimming before his city cousins, and with a yell of, “Last
The pier kept getting farther away every second.
man in is a monkey’s uncle,” he ran down the pier, onto the diving
board and out into the water, with Harvey right behind him.
‘‘We both caiqe up nicely about a yard apart,” Fred says,
“and turned around to swim back to the pier. And then my
heart stopped beating! That pier was about a hundred yards
away and it kept getting farther away every second. In that
same moment we both knew what had happened. We had jumped
into a racing, surging rip-tide that was sweeping us out into the
deepest part of the bay and toward Broad channel.” «
The tide was carrying them out at express-train speed and only a
man who has been caught in one can realize how powerful a rip-tide
can be. For a few seconds the kids drifted, and then they began try
ing to swim back. “But bucking that tide was like trying to dam a
flood with a matchstick,” Fred says. “Harvey and I tried to join hands
and hold each other up, but in another minute we were torn apart and
drifting away from each other. Harvey shouted to me to turn over
on my back and float, but I didn’t know how to float. Treading water
madly, I started shouting for help.”
• Lucky Fred Encounters Real Hero.
Away off in the distance, Fred could see people dashing about ex
citedly. One man ran swiftly along the pier Fred had just left, and
jumped off the end. Swimming strongly and swept along by the tide
he slowly caught up to Fred, and as he came up, Fred was almost in
hysterics, crying, “Save me, mister—save me!”
That fellow was a good swimmer and a resourceful man. He
told Fred to put his hands on his back and kick the water. “I did
this,” Fred says, "and he set off diagonally toward shore, fight
ing the tide with tremendous effort. Meanwhile, my cousins on
shore had not been idle. Yelling like mad they ran down the beach
until they came to a rowboat with two girls sitting in it. The girls
launched the boat and, rowing with the tide, soon picked up my
brother. My rescuer changed his course and made for the boat,
and soon we too were pulled in. The three of us who had been in
the water lay on the boat bottom, breathless and exhausted, but
apparently safe. The girls started to row back.”
But do you notice how Fred says APPARENTLY safe? The truth
was that they weren’t out of trouble yet, by a long shot. The girls started
to row, but anybody who has rowed a boat against any kind of a tide at
all knows it is no easy job. And here was one of those express-train tides
carrying along a boat loaded down with five people. The girls made
no headway at all. In fact, for every two feet they went forward they
drifted back five. And ahead of them was the channel—and the ocean.
“It began to look,” says Fred, “as if that tide would be the winner after
all—and this time with five victims instead of two.”
Safe!—Six Miles From Starting Point.
But the man who had saved Fred wasn’t the sort to give up easily.
He was just about all in, but he pulled himself together. He grabbed
one oar, while the two girls worked the other. Then all three of them
started rowing frantically to beat that tide—to get the boat to shore be
fore it could be swept out into the ocean and foundered by the roaring
breakers.
Bit by bit they approached the shore, but at the same time
they were approaching the channel too. They were practically
in the shadow of the Broad Channel bridge, and not very far from
the ocean when at last they got to shore. "And the spot where we
landed," says Fred, "was a good six miles from Sixty-fourth
street where Harvey and 1 had jumped into the bay.”
And then came the solemn and secret oath. Fred says if his folks
had ever found out what happened they’d have quit the seashore that
same night. And I’ve got a sneakin’ hunch that maybe Fred and
Harvey might have got a good licking for going off the end of that
pier in defiance of parental orders. Anyway, everybody in the crowd,
including the two city cousins, promised they’d never tell a word, and if
Fred’s ma and dad ever learn about it, it’s because—well—because
they read the Adventurers’ club column, too.
®—WNU Service.
Body Must Have Salt
Perspiration is chiefly water, but
it contains a fair amount of salt
which is discharged from the body.
The body is constantly absorbing
salt and getting rid of it again, but
the operation of absorption and dis
charge must be so balanced as to
insure a regular quantity of salt in
the body at all times. Salt is neces
sary for the body and lack of it may
be serious. Human blood contains
exactly the same amount of salt as
sea water—unquestionable evidence
that man originally came out of the
sea, says a writer in Pearson’s Lon
don Weekly.
About Noses
The nose that is squat or flat, or
negro type, indicates an animal
mind devoid of finer feelings. The
nose that sags in the middle shows
a similar nature, cruel and treach
erous. Pointed noses are ‘‘sticky
beaks,” says a writer in Pearson’s
London Weekly. This applies to all
sharp features. Like knives and
spears, they penetrate. These sub
jects are objectionably inquisitive
and are liable to read your letters
if you leave them about. If the nose
is long and thin as well it shows a
narrow mind—sometimes found in
the “religious hypocrite.”
BEAUTY’S
DAUGHTER
By
Kathleen Norris
© Kathleen Norris
WNU Service.
CHAPTER XV—Continued
—17—
Vicky’s eyes found the little round
violet puncture of the bullet hole
at the flawless marble temple. Se
rena's sleeping face was placid,
but the once scarlet mouth was pale
and flecked with blood, and the
beautiful pale gold hair was loos
ened into a careless cascade that
hung in a web over the side of the
ted. There was a horrible sprawl
ing relaxation in her position, a
dreadful mysterious shutness in the
colorless lips that made Vicky trem
ble.
‘‘Is there anything to do, Quent?”
“Not now.” He did not turn from
his contemplation of the wreck of
what had been so soft, so lovely
and alluring and fragrant and
warm only a few hours ago. "No,
it was instantaneous, Vic,” he mut
tered.
“Killed herself!”
“She thought he was dead, d’you
see?” the older man supplied sud
denly. “The Chinese woman had
come out of his room. It was while
we were all in the hall there, awhile
back, when we all thought that poor
Morrison had no chance.”
“I thought, from the way you all
talked,” Quentin said, “that he
was! I was amazed when Amah
said he wanted to see me. And cer
tain she must have thought so.
Poor woman!”
An hour later Victoria and Quen
tin walked across the Morrisons'
side garden, and through the gate
into the lane and through their own
gate. A perfect spring dawn was
strengthening over the world now;
it was four o’clock; the east was
flushed with exquisite delicate pink,
against which shoals and galleons
of delicate silver and gray and paler
gray cloud made long bars.
“I feel—reborn,” Vicky said.
“Reborn. I’m terribly grateful,
Vic,” Quentin said.
"Oh, grateful! If you knew what
I was thinking of all night long.
Every horror that anyone can imag
ine seemed to be sweeping over
me. I had you in jail; I had us all
moving to some remote place.”
“Perhaps you think I didn't, Vic,
while we were working over him.
Perhaps you think I didn’t have a
chance to think how I’d taken my
life and destroyed it with my two
hands. But thank God it’s all over
now!”
“I am tired. Quentin, doesn’t the
tea for the Vienna doctors and our
lunch at the St. Francis seem longer
ago than yesterday!”
"That wasn’t yesterday!” he ex
claimed.
“That s all it was.
“My God,” he said again, struck.
“She did do it, didn’t she, Quent?”
“Yes,” he said with a serious
look. “I guess she did."
“Her killing herself”—The words
sounded so strange that Vicky had
to stop short and think of them—
“her killing herself looked as if she
did,” she mused.
“She had that—I don’t know what
to call it—ruthless quality,” Quen
tin said. “She went over any ob
stacle that was in her Way.”
“He roused the very worst in her;
he always did,” Victoria mused.
“He seemed to sit back and laugh
at her, and he never let her have
enough money even to get away.
She tdld me—she came to see me
every few days, you know—that she
had to charge even her lunches at
hotels. That day she seemed to me
desperate. She looked so beauti
ful, too; she was in a sort of corn
color, and her eyes looked so blue.
Mother said after she left, ‘All
dressed up and nowhere to go!’ I
suppose it was death-in-life to her
to live in that quiet country house.”
Quentin nodded, listening.
“You’ve been a trump all night
long, Vic,” he said, after a while.
“If you’d been like most women,
and refused to go over there, we
might be in bad trouble this morn
ing. If you were like most women,
you'd have kicked me out years
ago, I don’t know why you act the
way you do, but I want you to
know—this sounds damn flat—but I
want you to know that I admire
you and that I’m grateful! I owe
everything I’ve got in the world to
you. I’m ju&t beginning to realize
that it’s an awful lot. You know
I’m not good at speeches, but when
I think about you—and this is what
I wanted to tell you—I get all
choked up. I’m—I’m grateful.”
“Thank you, Quentin!” Vic said
from the other end of the table.
“We’ll go on here, and some day
I’ll have a chance to show you that
I’m changed,” Quentin said. “It’s
taken me a long time to wake up.
I've been a fool. I did the rottenest
thing to you a man can do to his
wife; it’s just my luck, it’s my in
credible luck that you’ve—well, I
won’t say forgiven me; you don’t
forget those things, and you can’t
forgive them — but that you've
worked it out your way.”
"You did something of which you
are ashamed," she said simply. "I—
didn't. Why should there be any
question of forgiveness? If I did
something — something wrong, to
morrow — you'd ba sorry—you’d
think a little the less of me; but
you wouldn’t be personally touched
because I forged a check—your own
honor would be just what it was!
My life isn’t yours. I’m me.”
"I wish to the Lord you would
do something dumb,” Quentin said
with ineloquent force, after a pause.
"I sound smug," Vicky said, "but
I’m not. And I do dumb things every
day. Thousands of them. There were
months—there were actual years
when your home life was nothing
but mistakes, nerves, uproar, my
crying and being tired and sick,
the children going into mumps and
whooping cpugh, bills piling up.”
"But, good heavens, Vic, what’s
that!" the man said roughly, in im
patience. "What's all that compared
to the’ other thing, compared to
hurting your pride, and killing your
love for me. and putting the thought
of another woman eternally between
us? Why. lots of the fellows go
home to women who are extrav
agant and nagging and nervous,
and who don’t have a houseful of
gorgeous kids to show for it!
There’s no comparison between the
two.”
"I think there is. I think nagging
and extravagance and nerves are
serious things too, and I think wom
en who won’t have children, who
hate home, who are always running
about with other men, are just as
bad! Even if they don’t go to the
limit—even if they fool along, get
ting everything they can out of a
“Killed Herself."'
man and then stopping short, never
giving anything—it seems to me de
testable,” Vic said. “My own temp
tations are different,” she added.
“I think maybe I’m a mother first
and a wife afterward; I’ve never
gone in for pink baby pillows and
long-legged dolls!”
The words brought back with a
moment of horror the memory of
her last sight of Serena’s bedroom,
and she was still.
“Serena loved you,” she said
thoughtfully, in the silence.
“She never loved anyone but her
self,” Quentin said. “Everything
she said and did revolved about
that. She loved her own "beauty
and power. She used them to get
what she wanted. I knew it, after
a while. Morrison must have dis
covered it as soon as they were
married. Her first husband tried
twice to kill himself. She was cold
and vain, poor girl! And she was
the woman,” he ended, “for whom
I broke your heart!”
“No, you didn't break my heart.”
“Breaking a person's heart is a
cheap way of putting it," Quentin
said. “It sounds romantic, when it
wasn’t anything but damn stupid
and selfish. You said what it really
did, a minute ago. It made you
think less of me; that’s the real
price. We never can go back of
that. You'll never be able to trust
me again. There’ll always be that
feeling, somewhere, ’way back in
your mind, that I failed you!"
Vicky, her elbows on the kitchen
table, her chin in her hands, looked
thoughtful.
“I suppose so,” she said slowly.
“But I don’t know that it matters.
You’ve seen me looking pretty hor
rible, ugly and crying and fright
ened and only anxious to be let off
pain; it doesn’t seem to make you
like me any less when I’m all gotten
up in my new Paris clothes. Luck
ily people forget those things, when
—‘under it all—they love each
other."
Quentin answered her with a long
look.
"I think you really believe that,"
he said after a while. “You’re not
like anyone else in the world!”
Vicky in her turn was thoughtful.
“Perhaps we’re both tired,” she
said. “For that matter, what's hap
pened tonight is enough to throw us
into nervous breakdowns. We don’t
often talk this way. But it’s only
fair to tell you something, Quentin,
that may partly explain the way
I feel, the way I act. When we
were married, eleven years ago, I
talked about marrying for reasons,
about not being carried away by
excitement, about not falling in love.
“I told you my idea of marriage
was companionship, home, children.
You were a widower with a deli
cate youngster—" She laughed. “It
seems funny now to think of Gwen
as delicate, doesn't it?" she said
"Women were making your life a
burden, and you needed just what I
had to give. I remember our talk
ing of it once, and your saying that
whatever the agreement was before
marriage, however reasonable and
dispassionate the feeling was, no
man could have a young wife around
and not come to love her, that is
presuming that he didn’t come to
hate her. Do you remember that?"
"Vaguely."
“Well, the joke was on me," Vicky
said, “for I had it—had it desperate
ly, the whole time! I trembled and
got silly when you spoke to me, 1
thought of you all day long and lay
awake dreaming of you all night.
I was the love-sickest woman who
ever knelt down and thanked God
that the most marvelous man in the
world had deigned to look at her!
I never told you, I was too proud.
I tackled the big house and the serv
ants and Gwen; 1 even went to the
hospital and had your babies, Quent.
But I never dared tell you! You
never asked me to; you took me
calmly for granted, meals and fur
nace and Gwen and babies and an
swering the telephone and buying
you new shirts, and that was the
way I wanted it to be. I didn't
want to be the one to introduce the
silly, the sentimental side of it, cry
when you forgot my birthday, and
expect you to compliment me every
night on the way my hair was done!
I’d said I wanted a certain kind of
marriage—work and responsibility
and companionship, and plenty of
criticism if I didn't do my* job, and
I got it! But I've loved you all the
time! Quent, when you come home
tired at night and go to sleep with
your big heavy head on my shoulder,
I lie awake sometimes for joy. Juliet
has nothing on me, nor Beatrice, nor
Nicolette!”
She stood up, smiled at him.
“There!” she said. “That’s my
awful confession. I’ve made you
a speech.”
Quent took Victoria in his arms.
“You’ve made me a speech, Vic.
I’ll never forget it.”
[THE END]
In our next issue!
CATTLE
KINGDOM
by Alan LeMay
A now story of the West . . . cattle ranges . . <
adventure... romance—and murder! It was murder
that struck once, twice, three times ... a series of
puzzling crimes that made detectives out of cow
punchers, that left the finger of suspicion pointed
at innocent men. Here’s an unusual drama that
adds real mystery to the ever-thrilling story of
outdoor life in the Rockies. You’ll enjoy “Cattle
Kingdom,” a truly great story by a popular
Western author—Alan Le May.
Read Every Installment!
_ _
Fashion Is in Mood for All-White
Bv CHERIE NICHOLAS
AFTER all when it comes to look
ing your sweetest and prettiest
is there anything in the way of a
lovely party frock more flattering
to endearing feminine charms than
all-white? Really now, is there?
Evidently fashion feels the same
way about it for with all the excit
ing, the glamorous, the esthetic, the
hectic, the eye-appealing delectable
tones and tints on the color card
this season, comes all-white on the
scene and the contest is on, written
all over the style program and in
big headlines—white versus color!
The chic and the charm and the
immaculate nicety with which the
all white costume dresses you up
during the daytime hours is exceed
ed only by the magic and the
irresistible loveliness of the dine
and-dance and the formal party
frocks that designers are treating
of frothy white silk sheers this sum
mer such as moussdline de soies,
silk organdies, finest dainty silk
nets and soft “drapy” filmy chif
fons that sway and flutter and dance
to the strains of rapturous music.
Then there are the stiff silks that
are such favorites and which re
quire such queenly styling to do
them justice. Their vogue in all
white is outstanding with particular
emphasis on gleaming white satin
which this summer is more than
ever holding sway in ballroom and
at formal night functions. A most
fascinating white silk satin gown is
shown centered in the illustration.
Its stately princess lines are de
lightfully in keeping with the exqui
siteness of the fabric itself The
Jenny Lind shoulder line adds in
Jescribable charm and the square
inclined neckline and the majestic
sweep of the skirt so expertly styled
so as to slenderize at the same time
that it achieves a full hemline, are
all details that glorify. The sophis
ticated simplicity of this gown
and the elegance of the all-silk satin
are its big appeal.
An interesting feature about pres
ent party dresses is that their sil
houettes go to such extremes. Some
are sheathlike to the knees with
flaring hemlines and slenderized fit
ted waistlines, while others are that
bouffant it requires yards and yards
of material to make them. For the
airy-fairy types that are so en
trancing and so beloved this sea
son by the younger set, vaporous
filmy chiffons and billowy tulles and
nets are the logical answer.
Beautifully draped in classic lines
is the dress pictured to the left. It
required yards and yards of white
silk chiffon for its fashioning. The
girdled straps of narrow ribbon re
flect Greek influence.
To the right a most exquisite silk
chiffon evening ensemble is shown.
The girlish simplicity of this dainty
gown and cape commends this cos
tume to the young debutante. This
lovely creation naively informs you
that not all the honors are going to
all-white for in this instance the
chiffon is in the new exquisite desert
dawn tint, which is a delicate pink
shade that is too lovely for words.
The gown has a halter neck which
is most becoming to the wearer.
The cape is grace itself. By the
way, you really should have a cape
of chiffon or of net or of some type
of silk sheer to wear with lingerie
dresses, for the transparent cape is
one of fashion’s pet vanities this
summer.
£) Western Newspaper Union.
RIBBONS TAKE ON
ADDED IMPORTANCE
By CHERIE NICHOLAS
Ribbons have not been so impor
tant for a long time as they now
are. They are used for sashes, for
girdles, shoulder straps that are
part of the design of the dress, for
bandings and for entire jackets and
toques.
Many of the better styled frocks
and tailored suits have their edges
finished with grosgrain ribbon bind
ings. The new idea of these bind
ings is carried out both in mono
tone and in contrasting effects.
Beige finished with black or brown
ribbon bindings is a favorite theme,
also black bound with white gros
grain.
Perky velvet ribbon bows trim
print frocks while many dress fronts
are fastened with narrow tied rib
bons. Ribbon trims on hats are
widely advocated and there is con
siderable use of broad belting rib
bon to artfully band high crowns.
Use of All Kinds of Lace
Revived for Summer Wear
The use of all kinds of lace has
been revived for summer wear.
Helene Yrande uses pure white
lace for a fitted deshabille which has
enormously full, puffed sleeves to
the elbow. The low cut front decol
lette is filled with doubled bands of
chiffon in pale yellow and pale
green.
These two colors are repeated in
the chiffon sash which is twisted
about the bodice Grecian fashion,
and tied in back with the floating
chiffon streamers hanging in back
and forming a suggestion of a train.
Use Pink Chiffon Roses
to Trim Evening Jacket
Pale pink roses of shaded chiffon
are applied cleverly as trimming on
an evening jacket of sheer, white
chiffon in the new Schiaparelli col
lection. The same type rose$ are
used as a back shoulder yoke on
a blue satin evening cape.
Pale yellow and green chiffon is
usoi effectively to make sprays of
mimose applied on a white organdie
evening gown.
_
NET OVER PRINT
By CUERIE NICHOLAS
Broad brimmed hats which fash
ion has decreed for summer wear
combine well with this type of af
ternoon dress which is of black
cable net worn over an underslip
of gay print on dark background.
It is made with puff sleeves and
sailor collar. Catalin costume jew
elry, including a bow clip-brooch
and bangle bracelets in the new
“pepper and salt” design by Schia
parelli add chic to this costume.
The hat is of black baku with a
large white poppy.
