The EMM LANTERN
By TEMPLE BAILEV —=—
O PENN PUBLISHING COMPANY — WNU SERVICE
I
CHAPTER IX—Continued
—14—
The babies, arriving presently in
a rollicking state of excitement over
the advent of Auntie Jane, showed
themselves delightful and adoring.
“Junior," said Jane, “are you
glad I’m here?"
“Did you bring me anything?”
“Something—wonderful—”
i "What?”
She opened her bag, and produced
Towne's box of sweets. “May I
give him a chocolate, Judy?"
“One little one, and just a taste
for baby. Jane, where did you get
that gorgeous box?"
"Frederick Towne."
“Really? My dear, your letters
have been tremendously interesting.
Haven’t they, Bob?"
Her husband nodded. He was sit
ting by the bedside holding her
hand. “Towne's a pretty big man."
The nurse came in then, and Jane
went with Bob and the babies to the
dining-room.
After dinner, Junior went to sleep
in Jane’s arms, having been regaled
on a rapturous diet of "The Three
Bears" and “The Little Red Hen.”
“They’re such beauties, Judy,"
aaid Jane, as she went back to her
aister. “But they don’t look like any
of the Barnes.”
“No, they’re like Bob, with their
white skins and fair hair. I wanted
l one of them to have our coloring. Do
* you know how particularly lovely
you are getting to be, Janey?"
“Judy, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are. And none of us
thought it. And so Mr. Towne wants
to marry you?”
“How do you know?”
“It is in your eyes, dear, and in
the cock of your head. You and
Baldy always look that way when
something thrilling happens to you.
You can’t fool me.”
“Well, I’m not in love with him.
So that’s that, Judy.”
“But—it’s a great opportunity.
Isn’t it, Jane?”
“I suppose it is,” slowly, "but I
can’t quite see it.”
“Why not?”
“Well, he’s too old for one thing.”
“Only forty—? Rich men don’t
grow old. And he could give you
everything—everything, Janey." Ju
dy’s voice rose a little. “Jane, you
don’t know what it means to want
things for those you love and not be
able to have them. Bob did very
well until the slump in business.
But since the babies came—I have
worked until—well, until it seemed
as if I couldn’t stand it. Bob’s such
a darling. I wouldn’t change any
thing. I’d marry him over again
tomorrow. But I do know this, that
Frederick Towne could make life
lovely for you, and perhaps you
won’t get another chance to marry
a man like that.”
Life for Evans Follette after Jane
went away became a sort of game
in which he played, as he told him
self grimly, a Jekyll and Hyde part.
Two men warred constantly with
in him. There was that scarecrow
self which nursed mysterious fears,
a gaunt gray-haired self, The Man
Who Had Come Back From the War.
And there was that other, shadowy,
elusive. The Boy Who Once Had
Been. And it was the Boy who
took on gradually shape and sub
stance fighting for place with the
dark giant who held desperately to
his own.
Yet the Boy had weapons, faith
and hope. The little diary became
in a sense a sacred book. Within
its pages was imprisoned something
that beat with frantic wings to be
free. Evans, shrinking from the
program which he compelled him
self to follow, was faced with things
like this. “Gee, 1 wish the days
•were longer. I’d like to dance
through forty - eight hours at a
stretch. Jane is getting to be some
little dancer. I taught her the new
steps tonight. She’s as graceful as
a willow wand.’’
Well, a man with a limp couldn’t
dance. Or could he?
A Thomas Jefferson autograph
went therefore to pay for twenty
dancing lessons. Would the great
Democrat turn in his grave? Yet
what were ink scratches made by a
dead hand as against all the mean
ings of love and life?
Evans bought a phonograph, and
new records. He practised at all
hours, to the great edification of old
Mary, who washed dishes and
scrubbed floors in syncopated ecsta
sies.
He took Baldy and Edith to tea at
the big hotels, and danced with
Edith. He apologized, but kept at
It. “I’m out of practice.”
Edith was sympathetic and inter
ested. She invited the two boys to
her home, where there was a music
room with a magical floor. Some
times the three of them were alone,
and sometimes Towne came in and
danced too, and Adelaide Laramore
and Eloise Harper.
Towne danced extremely well. In
spite of his avoirdupois he was light
on his feet. He exercised constant
ly. He felt that if he lost his waist
line all would be over. He could
not, however, always control his ap
petite. Hence the sugar in his tea.
and other indulgences.
Baldy wrote to Jane of their after
noon frivols.
“You should see us! Eloise Harp
er dancing with Evans, and old
Towne and his Adelaide! And Edith
and I! We’re a pretty pair, if I do
say it. We miss you, and always
wish you were with us. Sometimes
it seems almost heartless to do
things that you can't share. But it’s
doing a lot for Evans. Queer thing,
the poor old chap goes at it as if
his life depended upon it
“We are invited to dine with the
Townes on Christmas Eve. Some
class, what? By we, I mean myself
and the Follettes. Edith and Mrs.
Follette see a lot of each other, and
Mrs. Follette is tickled pink! You
know how she loves that sort of
thing—Society with a big S.
“There will be just our crowd and
Mrs. Laramore for dinner, and
after that a big costume ball.
“I shall go as a page In red. And
Evans will be a monk and sing
Christmas carols. Edith Towne is
crazy about his voice. He sat down
She was all in silvery green.
at the piano one day in the music
room, and she heard him. Jane, his
voice is wonderful—it always was,
you know, but we haven’t heard it
lately. Poor old chap—he seems to
be picking up. Edith says it makes
her want to cry to see him. but
she’s helping all she can.
“Oh, she’s a dear and a darling,
Janey. And I don’t know what I am
going to do about it. I have nothing
to offer her. But at least I can
worship ... I shan't look beyond
that . . .
“Love to Judy and Bob, and the
kiddies. And a kiss or two for my
own Janey.”
Jane, having read the tetter, laid
it down with a sense of utter for
lornness. Evans and Eloise Harp
er! Towne and his Adelaide! A
Christmas costume ball! Evans
singing for Edith Towne!
Evans’ own letters told her little
They were dear letters, giving her
news of Sherwood, full of kindness
and sympathy, full indeed of a cer
tain spiritual strength—that helped
her in the heavy days. But he had
sketched very lightly his own activi
ties.—He had perhaps hesitated to
let her know that he could be hap
py without her.
But Evans was not happy. He
did the things he had mapped out
for himself, but he could not do
them light-heartedly as the Boy had
done. For how could he be light
hearted with Jane away? He had
moments of loneliness so intense
that they almost submerged him.
Evans frequently played a whim
sical game with the old scarecrow.
He went often and leaned over the
fence that shut in the frozen field.
He hunted up new clothes and hung
them on the shaking figure—an over
coat and a soft hat. It seemed a
charitable thing to clothe him with
warmth. In due time someone stole
the overcoat, and Evans found the
poor thing stripped. It gave him a
sense of shock to find two crossed
sticks where once had been the sem
blance of a man. But he tried again.
This time with an old bathrobe and
a disreputable cap. “It will keep
you warm until spring, old chap—"
The scarecrow and his sartorial
changes became a matter of much
discussion among the Negroes. Since
Evans’ visits were nocturnal, the
whole thing had an effect of mys
tery until the bathrobe proclaimed
its owner. "Mist’ Evans done woh’
dat e’vy day,” old Mary told Mrs.
Follette. “Whuffor he dress up dat
ol’ sca’crow in de fiel’?”
“What scarecrow?”
Old Mary explained, and that
night Mrs. Follette said to her son,
“The darkies are getting supersti
tions. Did you really do it? ”
His somber eyes were lighted for
a moment "It’s just a whim of
mine, Mumsie. I had a sort of fel
low feeling—”
“How queer!”
“Not as queer as you might
think.” He went back to his book.
No one but Jane should know the
truth.
And so he played the game. Work
ing in his office, dancing with Edith
and Baldy, chumming with the
boys, dressing up the scarecrow. It
seemed sometimes a desperate
game—there were hours in which he
wrestled with doubts. Could he ever
get back? Could he? There were
times when it seemed he could not.
There were nights when he did not
sleep. Hours that he spent on his
knees. . . .
So the December days sped, and
it was just a week before Christmas
that Evans read the following in
his little book. "Dined with the
Prestons. Told father’s ham story.
—Great hit Potomac frozen over.
Skated in the moonlight with Flor
ence Preston.—Great stunt—home
to hot chocolate.”
Once more the Potomac was fro
zen over. Florence Preston was
married. But he mustn't let the
thing pass. The young boy Evans
would have tingled with the thought
of that frozen river.
It was after dinner, and Evans
was in his room. He hunted up
Balcly. “Look here, old chap, there’s
skating on the river. Can’t we take
Sandy and Arthur with us and have
an hour or two of it? Your car will
do the trick.”
tsaiay iaia aown ms dook. i nave
no philanthropies on a night like
this. Moonlight. I’ll take you and
the boys and then I’ll go and get
Edith Towne.” He was on his feet
“I’ll call her up now—”
The small boys were rapturous
and riotous over the plan. When
they reached the ice, and Evans’
lame leg threatened to be a hin
drance, the youngsters took him be
tween them, and away they sailed in
the miraculous world—three muske
teers of good fellowship and fun.
Baldy having brought Edith, put
on her skates, and they flew away
like birds. She was all in warm
white wool—with white furs, and
Baldy wore a white sweater and
cap. The silver of the night seemed
to clothe them in shining armor.
Baldy said things to her that made
her pulses beat She found herself a
little frightened.
“You’re such a darling poet. But
life isn’t in the least what you think
it.”
“What do I think it?”
"Oh, all mountains and peaks and
moonlight nights.”
“Well, it can be—”
"Dear child, it can’t. I have no
illusions.”
“You think you haven’t.”
It was late when at last they took
off their skates and Edith invited
them all to go home with her. “We’ll
have something hot. I’m as hungry
as a dozen bears.”
The boys giggled. “So am I,”
said Sandy Stoddard. But Arthur
said nothing. His eyes were occu
pied to the exclusion of his tongue.
Edith looked to him like some angel
straight from heaven. He had never
seen anyone so particularly lovely.
CHAPTER X
So Christmas Eve came, and the
costume ball at the Townes’. There
were, as Baldy had told Jane, just
six of them at dinner. Cousin Anna
bel was still in bed, and it was Ade
laide Laramore who made the sixth.
Edith had told Mrs. Follette frankly
that she wished Adelaide had not
been asked.
“But she fished for it. She always
does. She flatters Uncle Fred and
he falls for it.”
I
1 Baldy brought Evans and Mrs.
Follette over in his flivver. They
found Mrs. Laramore and Frederick
already in the drawing room. Edith
had not come down.
“She is always late," Frederick
complained, “and she never apolo
gizes."
Baldy, silken and slim, in his
page’s scarlet, stood in the hall and
watched Edith descend the stairs.
She seemed to emerge from the
shadows of the upper balcony like
a shaft of light. She was all in sil
very green, her close-clinging robe
girdled with pearls, her hair banded
with mistletoe.
For a moment he stood admiring
her, then: “You shouldn't have
worn it," he said.
“The mistletoe? Why not?”
“You will tempt all men to kiss
you.”
“Men must resist temptation.”
His tone was light, but her heart
missed a beat. There was some
thing about this boy so utterly en
gaging. He had set her on a pede
stal, and he worshiped her. When
she said that she was not worth
worshiping, he told her, “You don’t
know—”
She was unusually silent during
dinner. With Evans on one side of
her and Baldy on the other she had
little need to exert herself. Baldy
was always adequate to any conver
sational tax, and Evans, in spite of
his monk’s habit, was not austere.
He was, rather, like some attrac
tive young friar drawn back for the
moment to the world.
He showed himself a genial teller
of tales—and capped each of Fred
erick’s with one of his own. His
mother was proud of him. She felt
that life was taking on new aspects
—this friendship with the Townes—
her son’s increasing strength and
social ease—the lace gown which
she wore and which had been bought
with a Dickens’ pamphlet. What
more could she ask? She was se
rene and satisfied.
Adelaide, on the other side of
Frederick Towne, was not serene
and satisfied. She was looking par
ticularly lovely with a star of dia
monds in her hair and sheer draper
ies of rose and faintest green. “I am
anything you wish to call me,” she
had said to Frederick when she
came in—“an ‘Evening Star’ or 'In
the Gloaming’ or ‘Afterglow.’ Per
haps ‘A Rose of Yesterday’—” she
had put it rather pensively.
He had been gallant but unin
spired. “You are too young to talk
of yesterdays,” he had said, but
his glance had held not the slight
est hint of gallantry. She felt that
she had, perhaps, been unwise to
remind him of her age.
She was still more disturbed,
when, towards the end of dinner,
he rose and proposed a toast. “To
little Jane Barnes, A Merry Christ
mas.”
They all stood up. There was a
second’s silence. Evans drank as
if he partook of a sacrament.
Then Edith said, “It seems al
most heartless to be happy, doesn’t
it, when things are so hard for her?”
Adelaide interposed irrelevantly,
“I should hate to spend Christmas
in Chicago.”
There was no response, so she
turned to Frederick. “Couldn’t Miss
Barnes leave her sister for a few
days?”
“No,” he told her, "she couldn’t.”
She persisted, “I am sure you
didn’t want her to miss the ball.”
“I did my best to get her here.
Talked to her at long distance, but
she couldn’t see it.”
“You are so good-hearted, Ricky.”
Frederick could be cruel at mo
ments, and her persistence was irri
tating. “Oh, look here, Adelaide, it
wasn’t entirely on her account. I
want her here myself.”
(TO UK CONTINUED)
Explain Distance Computations by Astronomy
Sometimes the uncertainty in the
measurements of the distances of
the stars disturbs us, writes Isabel
M. Lewis in Nature Magazine. One
of the most difficult facts for the
human mind to grasp is the im
mensity of space and the difficulty
that we encounter when we attempt
to measure it in ordinary under
standable terrestrial units. It is an
easier matter when we deal with
our own little family of planets and
their satellites.
The distance from the earth to the
sun, only 93,000,000 miles, furnishes
an excellent yardstick. The outer
most planet, Pluto, is only about 39Vi
of these units distant from the sun,
and light, with its velocity of 186,000
miles a second, comes from the sun
to the earth in about 8V4 minutes. It
reaches the orbit of Pluto about 5%
hours after it leaves the sun. But
4V& years pass before that beam
of light reaches the nearest star, and
the distance of that star from the
earth is as great as the distance, in
general, that other stars are from
their nearest neighbors. That is why
so few stars have close heavenly
encounters even though they are all
in motion.
Two units are used in measuring
star distances. One is the light year
—the distance that light travels in
a year at the rate of about 186,000
miles a second, which is about 63,290
times the distance from the sun to
the earth. The other unit is the
parsec, which is 3.26 light years.
The word is a combination of the
first syllables of “parallax” and
"second,” and expresses the thought
that it is the distance of a star with
a parallax of one second of arc. No
star is close enough to the earth to
have a parallax that great. Proxi
ma Centauri, a faint star a fraction
of a light year closer than the well
known star of first magnitude, Alpha
Centauri, has a parallax of only 76
hundredths of a second of arc, which
means that if at the distance of this
star, we could view our solar system
and see our planet earth—which, of
course, we could not possibly do
even with the aid of any telescope
in existence—then the distance be
tween sun and earth would be only
this fraction of one second of arc
in angular measure.
Poet Killed by Grape Seed
According to Pliny, Anacreon, the
lyric poet of Greece, met his death
by choking on a grape seed.
Ask Me
Another ■
A Quiz With
Answers Offering
Information on
Various Subjects
The Questions
1. What was the Holy Grail?
2. What is meant by fiscal year?
3. Does the term dirigible refer
only to aircraft?
4. Do landing or starting planes
have the right of way at an air
port?
6. Are the stars motionless in
space?
6. Why can a fly walk on a ceil
ing without falling?
7. What is the difference be
tween a chuckle, a giggle and a
laugh?
8. Why don’t ducks get wet?
9. A bale of cotton weighs how
many pounds?
10. What is the difference be
tween a buffalo and a bison?
The Answers
1. The platter or cup which, ac
cording to legends of the Middle
Ages, was used by Christ at the
Last Supper.
2. A year which starts at a des
ignated date for financial figuring.
3. No. Dirigible means capable
of being directed, as an automo
bile or bicycle.
4. Descending planes have the
right-of-way.
8. No. If there is anything in
THE CHEERFUL CHERUR
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the universe that is actually mo
tionless astronomers have not yet
discovered it.
6. The fly has suction cups on
its legs.
7. A chuckle is a small noise,
giggling comes in short spasms,
and a laugh is everything.
8. Because of oil in their feath
ers.
9. A bale of cotton weighs 480
pounds.
10. Buffalo is the general term
given to many species of wild
oxen, including the bison. The
American buffalo may properly
be called a bison.
And the Mistress Grew
Red With Indignation
The housemaid was under notice
to leave, and her mistress sum
moned her to tell her a few truths.
“So I’m a flirt, am I?’’ demand
ed the maid, after a few prelim
inaries. “Well, I knows them as
flirts more than I do. And an
other thing, I'm better-looking
than you. Your husband told me."
“That’s enough!” snapped her
mistress.
“Oh, no, it ain’t,” the girl went
on. “I can kiss better than you
can, too. Do you know who told
me that?”
“Don’t you dare to suggest that
my husband-”
“Oh, no,” interrupted the maid,
By Number
Several American towns are
named with numbers, such as Six,
W. Va.; Seventy Six, Ky., and
Ninety Six, S. C., according to
Collier’s. A species of fish in
South Africa is named Seventy
four after the 74 guns on Nelson’s
flagship, the Victory; and a toilet
water is named 4711 after the
street address in Cologne, Ger
many, where it was first com
pounded.
Unci' Phil
II
Making Good the Boast
Typical Americans think they
are better than the average.
That’s what makes America
great.
"Waves of indignation” are pub
lic opinion ha motion.
Wouldn’t We All?
A painstaking editor would like
to read his funeral sermon in or
der to blue-pencil the errors in it.
Work is a great sedative, but it
doesn’t necessarily bring happi
ness. If you stop to bemoan, down
you go!
A nervously over-wrought man
may be entertaining, but you are
sorry he hasn’t more repose. After
all, people that "rest” you are the
most agreeable.
Can Human Ingenuity Do It?
Abolish poverty and end at least
half the unhappiness in the world.
On a day when beautiful cloud
forms are seen, there really seem
to be mansions in the sky.
Kings are those who have a
great many privileges which they
think it best not to exercise.
Those who comment most learn
edly on being rich seem to be
those who haven’t any money.
Few millionaires have time to be
philosophers.
Wise and Otherwise
Tell the modern girl she’s all
the world to you—she’ll reduce, j
Half of the world is keeping
secrets—and the other half is
trying to find them out.
The breadwinner’s biggest i
worry is a family that wants
cake. , j
The bashful lover is always ]
in hot water when trying to
break the ice.
The difference between the
moon and the honeymoon is that j
the latter is fullest only when it
is new.
Some people don’t care
whether they’re on top of the
world or not, as long as they
can keep sitting.
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