By
MARTHA
OSTENSO
0 MARTHA OSTENSO—WNU SERVICE
CHAPTER VI—Continued
-10
Why had she and Bruce come to
gether again? And why had some
mischievous alchemy transmuted
them from their own independent
selves into two beings, each incom
plete without the other? That was
what she felt now, she thought wan
ly—incompleteness. That was what
she would always feel whenever she
thought of Bruce Landor. But that
would never do! She must put that
one brief, unforgettable hour behind
her forever, that hour she had spent
alone with Bruce in the cabin.
Florian had been talking idly and
she made a gallant effort now to
listen to him. She owed him that,
at least, since he was to serve a
peculiar purpose now in her strug
gle to forget her love for Bruce.
“You’ve made a great hit with
the family, Autumn,” he told her.
“Which is all to the merry, what?”
“What?” she bantered.
He frowned at her. “Are you
never going to be serious with me?”
he asked gruffly.
With an earnestness that surprised
even herself, she laid her hand on
his arm. “Do you want me to pre
tend that I’m serious?” she asked
him.
“I’d rather have that than noth
ing,” he replied.
"You are more easily satisfied
than I am, darling,” she said lightly.
He stooped and tossed a stone into
the middle of the pool. The water
rippled outward like a sunburst.
Is there someone else? he asked
after a long silence.
• She looked directly at him. “Let’s
not be so solemn, Florian," she
pleaded. “Didn’t I hear you say
something once about—contempt for
life?”
“You did,” he said laconically,
“and I meant—just that!” He seized
her suddenly and kissed her, then
held her close while he smiled down
into her eyes.
She looked at him with cool re
flectiveness for a moment, then
drew away from him and turned to
ward the house. “I think we had
better go back,” she said quietly.
He followed her, and in a mo
ment she began humming a little
tune.
“Some day,” he said, taking her
arm as he came beside her, “you’ll
not treat a kiss from me so light,
you cold little devil.”
“Perhaps,” she said with a short
laugh. “But in the meantime, dar
ling, let’s play together, if you have
nothing else to do. It’s so much
more fun.”
■ ■ ■ —
CHAPTER VII
Bruce Landor drew his car up be
side a score of others that were
parked on the graveled roadway at
the rear of the Parr house and stood
for a moment listening to the sounds
of revelry that issued from that
great lighted mansion on the bluff.
He smiled to himself, wondering
how Autumn would be getting along
with Florian’s delightful pack of
hoodlums. Florian would undoubt
edly be in fine fettle himself, Bruce
thought, after his team’s victory in
Kelowna that afternoon. Bruce was
sorry he had missed the game, but
he had heard about it on his way
through town.
It was of Autumn herself, howev
er, as someone entirely apart from
the others, that he was thinking with
a quickened heart-beat as he mount
ed the steps of the Parr portico, hat
In hand, the cool night wind blow
ing gently across his hair. A half
dozen dim figures were hidden
among the shadows on the porch
as he stepped to the door where he
stood for a moment and listened to
the babble of voices from within.
"Oh—Bruce! a voice called from
a corner of the porch.
Linda came gliding swiftly toward
him out of the shadows and slipped
a hand within his arm.
"Hello, Lin!” he greeted her.
"Are you passing me up on pur
pose?” she reproached him.
He looked down at her and smiled
enigmatically. "Not likely. I didn’t
see you. How’s the little girl
friend?” he asked, patting the hand
that lay on his arm. "You’re look
ing lovely as ever.”
She shrugged her shoulders. “I’m
topping! Bored to death, though—
until this minute. I’ve been watch
ing for you all evening. Come on
in. The crowd is down in the bil
liard room playing roulette.”
"Who is here?” he asked as they
entered the house.
"The same old disgusting crowd,”
she told him. "Everybody trying to
work up the usual Saturday night
jag.”
A servant took Bruce’s hat and
topcoat and Linda slipped her hand
again into the crook of his elbow
and drew it close to her. “It was
sweet of you to come,” she said.
"How’ve you been?”
“Fine, thanks,” he replied, and
realized at once that his voice sound
ed a bit hurried. He straightened
his tie with an anticipatory excite
ment he had not felt since he was a
boy. Somehow, quite unreasonably,
he knew, he had expected Autumn
to be the first to greet him on his
arrival.
“Let’s have a drink together,”
Linda suggested. “I’ve been wait
ing for you to share my first one of
the evening.”
He smiled at Linda in assent, and
together they went to the butler’s
pantry which was used by the fam
ily as a bar. Bruce paused on the
threshold and looked over the small
group of young people who were in
the pantry.
“Hello, Landor!” called one of
Florian’s friends, and three or four
others set up a chorus of greet
ings.
“Well, if it isn’t the big wool and
mutton man all the way from Cher
ry Creek!”
“Hello, everybody!” Bruce
grinned.
"Step up, Landor, and get close to
the source of supply,” another in
vited, and Linda drew him beside
her and waited while two glasses
were filled.
A red-faced youth and a corn-col
ored blonde girl were perched side
by side on the “bar,” swaying to
and fro and singing a hilarious and
not quite proper song that was a leg
acy from the war to all such gath
erings.
“Let’s get out of here,” Linda
said as soon as they had received
their glasses.
She drew him away and started
for the porch.
“Don’t you think we’d better Join
the crowd in the billiard room?” he
ventured.
“And lose you for the rest of the
evening?” she retorted. “Not much!
I’m going to hang on till I’m help
less. Are you going to put up with
us for the night?”
"impossible, i m arraia, ne re
plied. "Mother is much better, and
I have a good nurse for her, any
way, but I’ve got to be on the job.”
Linda shrugged impatiently as
they stepped out upon the shadowy
porch. "The gods are a stingy
crew,” she said.
They sat together on the porch
swing and sipped their drinks. Bruce
did his utmost to contain his im
patience and contribute a civil share
of conversation, but in spite of him
self he found his eyes roving anx
iously toward the lighted hallway.
He paid no heed to the two or three
couples who were near them on the
porch, or to their confused talk and
laughter.
Linda moved close to him and
pressed her shoulder under his arm.
Her naive boldness was familiar to
him now, and he was scarcely aware
of her nearness in his own preoccu
pation.
“Anyhow, it was sweet of you to
come all the way down so that I
could have an hour with you,” she
murmured.
"I’m sorry I didn’t get down for
the game," Bruce returned in a mat
ter-of-fact tone. “I hear Florian
gave a good account of himself.”
"He played the game of his life,”
Linda said. “I think it was be
cause Autumn laid a bet on him
against Timothy. Poor Florian has
taken an awful tumble for Autumn.”
Bruce smiled to himself. "Se
rious?” he asked.
“The most serious thing in his
young life. He’s potty!”
"Florian has been potty before,”
Bruce observed.
“I believe it’s the real thing this
time, though. When the Parrs fall,
they fall hard, darling.” She paused,
but Bruce did not offer a reply. “I
think she likes him, too. They hit
it off together beautifully.”
“I’ll never believe Florian is in
love until I see it with my own
eyes,” he said. He harbored a warm
feeling almost of pity for Florian
as he thought of him.
"You’ll see it tonight, then,” Lin
da assured him, “though you won’t
believe it, even then. You’re blind,
my dear, quite blind.”
"I think I know the signs,” he de
clared.
Soft dance music began drifting
out to them now from the radio in
the drawing room, and presently the
couples seated about the portico dis
appeared within doors. Linda and
Bruce were left alone.
She turned her face impulsively
up to him. and he was shaken out
of his abstraction by the imploring
look in her eyes.
“You don’t know the signs,” she
whispered, "or you couldn’t be so
cruel to me.”
"Cruel?” he asked.
"Cruel—because you are so kind,”
she said, and her voice seemed to
him to be almost a stifled sob.
Bruce flushed. "Good Lord, Lin!”
he protested. “You can’t blame me
for being kind to you. I’m awfully
fond of you, girl.”
"Fond—” she said wistfully.
“That’s it—damned fond!”
He laughed awkwardly and stood
up, lifting her to her feet. "Yes, I
am—damned fond of you, Lin. Come
on—let’s go in and pick up Florian.”
"I’d rather have another drink,”
she told him.
"Nothing more for me,” Bruce an
swered as he took her arm and
started into the house.
In the doorway to the billiard
room, Bruce stood for a moment
and looked eagerly over the crowd.
In the middle of the room a roulette
wheel had been set out upon the
billiard table, and Timothy Parr was
acting as croupier for the evening.
The crowd about the table was close
ly knit, their eyes intent upon the
little ivory ball. Above the hum of
voices could be heard the snapping
of chips and the staccato clink of
the ball as it struck the fins. A thin
blue cloud of smoke filled the room.
Autumn, in a diaphanous silver
dress, was perched on the edge of
the table, with Florian standing be
side her. In a moment she lifted
her eyes and looked at Bruce. He
waved to her, but her response was
a fleeting smile that was bland and
expressionless. Then she withdrew
her eyes and turned to watch the
game as Timothy set the ball spin
ning once more.
Bruce was suddenly possessed of
an impulse to lay hold of her and
carry her bodily out of the room.
But at that moment Linda placed
herself directly before him and be
gan to tug at his lapels.
“Snap out of it, Bruce Landor!”
she said. "What’s wrong with you?’’
He looked distractedly down at the
subtle smile of Linda’s crimson lips.
“Nothing’s wrong, Lin,” he re
plied.
“Let’s go into the other room and
dance,” she invited.
"How about taking a crack at the
wheel now that we're here?” he
said equably. “Dance later.”
With a little moue of disappoint
ment which he chose to ignore, Lin
da pressed forward to the side of
the table and looked on while Bruce
bought a pile of chips and waited
“I’m topping! Bored to death
though—until this minute.”
for the next flip of the ivory ball.
When Timothy reached for the spin
dles again, Bruce placed three chips
on squares and offered a handful to
Linda.
“I’m not lucky,” she demurred.
He turned again to the table and
waited for the ball to drop into the
slot. While he waited he noticed a
short, plump man who had had too
much to drink pushing his way to
the edge of the table beside Autumn.
He could not help seeing that Au
tumn’s hands were clenched on the
table edge. Florian stepped between
her and the boisterous guest and
the game went on.
Autumn stood on a gilt chair be
side the crowded table and tossed
chips on thirteen and black. She
knew that she swayed occasionally;
Florian, standing below her, sup
ported her with an arm about her
slender hips. Now and then she ran
her fingers through his hair and
Florian turned his face up to hers
with an intense and meaningful look.
She lost again on thirteen and
black, and as her laughter pealed
out she looked up to see Bruce Lan
dor standing beside the table, his
arms folded, his eyes toward the
broad French windows that stood
open on the other side of the room.
Within her a dull voice repeated
over and over again, "I must not
see him—I must not see him!” He
turned his head slowly toward her
now, his mouth drawn up in a quiz
zical smile so that the deep furrow
appeared in his cheek. That furrow
in his lean brown cheek, which must
have been a dimple when he was a
child—she had kissed his cheek just
there, in an infinite tenderness, only
two nights ago. She felt a terrible
vertigo all through her being, a sud
den collapse of all her defenses. The
feeling lasted for only a moment,
however. When he looked at her
again she was able to smile with
a hard, vivid carelessness.
And then the short plump man
lurched toward her, lost his balance,
and fell heavily against the chair on
which she was standing, clutching
Florian in a desperate attempt to
right himself. It seemed that be
fore she had reached the floor,
Bruce was there, had caught her up
and was carrying her out of the con
fusion through the open French
doors and into the sunken garden.
She beat against his breast and
sobbed frantically for release. When
he put her down at last behind a
hedge of honeysuckle, he was
breathing heavily. She backed away
from him as though to turn and
run, but he snatched her hand and
pulled her back roughly to him,
placing her against the hedge so
that she was forced to face him.
“What sort of game are you play
ing, Autumn?” he demanded.
The silver sheath of her dress
seemed to quiver in the starlight.
But she stood erect before him, her
head flung back, her eyes blazing
into his.
‘Tm playing — no game," she
panted. "Let me go back."
He eyed her coldly. "Either you
are playing a game tonight—or you
were playing one night before last,”
he told her.
Her lips quivered over her
clenched teeth. "You can judge for
yourself,” she replied.
He stepped toward her and seized
her wrist “Do you—mean that?”
he asked.
She released her wrist with a vio
lent jerk. “Don’t touch me—don’t
touch me!” she cried and shrank
from him.
Her voice was a shrill whimper,
not loud, not the voice of one utterly
beyond control. An incomprehensi
ble pang smote Bruce, a pang of
pity, of complete bewilderment.
"Autumn,” he said, "what’s be
hind all this? I have a right to
know.”
"Right?” Her laughter was al
most a sob. She crossed her arms
over the shimmering bodice of her
gown, and her hands clutched spas
modically at her smooth, quailing
shoulders. Beneath her arms he
could see the vehement rise and
fall of her breast. Her russet hair
fell back from her forehead, and
her eyes were so dilated as they
flared into his face that she had the
look of a person blind. He drew
back from her.
"You are not yourself, Autumn,”
he said calmly.
"I was not myself the other night,
if that’s what you mean," she re
plied. "You see me tonight as I
really am—as I Intend to be from
now on. Ask your mother what I
am—she knows what’s in the blood.”
She made to pass him and he
stepped slowly aside.
"As you will,” he said quietly.
He stood in the darkness and
watched her as she walked toward
the house. When she had gone in,
he made his way around to the
front of the house and entered by
way of the portico.
In the hall he met Linda.
"Let’s dance, Lin,” he said, be
fore she could speak to him. "Or
do we hunt up that other drink?"
She looked up at him and smiled
slowly.
"I believe you’re coming out of
your trance,” she said, and drew
him with her toward the butler’s
pantry.
CHAPTER Vin
May had passed, and June—and
now it was July, the month of the
wild-rose. Within its fortress of
mountains the valley lay besieged
by a torrid heat.
Just a fortnight ago, after a day
such as this, Jane Landor had died
quietly and unexpectedly in her
sleep. Bruce’s sorrow had been
eased somewhat by his melancholy
realization that she was spared fur
ther pain and misery from an ill
ness from which there could be no
recovery, but his grief at her pass
ing had been none the less deep and
lasting.
He had seen very little of Autumn
Dean since that night in May when
he had gone to the Parrs’ and had
encountered in her a mood which
had left him bewildered and har
assed every time he recalled that
miserable occasion. Only once since
that night had he spoken to her. He
had called on Hector Cardigan one
afternoon and as he mounted the
steps to the door, Autumn had come
hurriedly out, passing him with a
face strangely white and with only a
swift word of greeting. He knew
she had seen him from within and
had rushed away to avoid talking
with him.
That visit with Hector had been a
doleful affair. The old soldier had
been having words with Jarvis
Dean’s daughter—of that there could
be no doubt in Bruce’s mind. Hec
tor’s grumpy mood had refused to
yield to Bruce’s efforts at facetious
ness. In a moment the old man
had burst forth in a voice full of
distress. "It’s that girl! There’s no
talking to her!”
"Why get so worked up over it?"
Bruce had asked. "Why talk to
her?” Even as he spoke, Bruce had
known that his comment had been
a defensive one.
And then Hector had looked at
him for a full minute without speak
ing, his wrath cooling gradually, his
droll smile coming. "There’s little
to choose between a young fool and
an old one—save for a trifling dis
parity in years,” he had said, and
had poured a couple of drinks from
the decanter of wine on the table.
Bruce was thinking of that after
noon with Hector now as he climbed
back into his car and started off
along the increasingly difficult trail.
The old fellow had reason enough
to be distressed, or at least gravely
concerned, if Autumn’s reputation
in the countryside meant anything
to him. And Bruce supposed it did.
Hector Cardigan had looked after
the girl from her earliest years as
anxiously as if he had been her
godfather. And Autumn Dean was
getting herself talked about rather
freely among the gossips of the com
munity. People in Kelowna and in
Kamloops were busily recounting
her escapades with the Parrs, Flor
ian in particular, and with such oth
ers as made the Parr home a ren
dezvous, and who flocked to their
hunting lodge in the mountains near
Kamloops for week-ends. They had
plenty of fuel for their gossip, and
Autumn had apparently been set
ting a deliberate match to it. As
old Hector had said, the girl wasn’t
giving a tinker’s dam what they said
about her.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
New Elegance in Current Mode
Calls for Quality-Kind Silks
By CHERIE NICHOLAS
\\lHAT was good enough for our
** great - great - grandmamas
should be equally as good for us.
Some such thought must have moti
vated the minds of our modern fab
ricists when they announced for fall
and winter 1939-1940 a revival of the
quality-kind old-fashioned silks such
as were the pride and the joy of our
ancestresses. Call them heirloom
silks if you will, for some of the
silk weaves so chic and so fabric
fine that are considered high-style
today but tell the story over again
of sterling-worth bengalines, failles; |
likewise traditional ottoman silks
and grosgrains, also stand-alone
moires and taffetas that make music
with their rustle of real honest-to
goodness silk.
When you come to analyze the
present situation, the re-incarnation
in current fashion of the elegant
"lovely lady” fashions so charac
teristic of the early Victorian and
Edwardian periods, we of this gen
eration just naturally have to think
in terms of fabric elegance.
The idea that prevails this season
is fabric elegance for dresses
styled with qtmost simplicity, de
pending on accessories for dash and
allure. High value is put on skillful
fabric treatment in drapes, shirr
ings, pleating and self-fabric details.
It is a very silk-conscious group
we present in the illustration here
with. A great favorite with French
designers is pure silk jersey which
they say, and they prove it in the
lovely creations they turn out, has
no peer when it comes to sculptural
draping and intriguing shirring.
The attractive dress to the left in
the picture is of smooth, dark silk
jersey. Although it has been elab
orately draped and shirred, the slen
der silhouette has been In no respect
sacrificed. If you haven't a silk
jersey (preferably black) daytime
dress in your collection you are los
ing out on a lot of pleasure and com
fort. Choose dark or black jersey
for practical afternoon wear and for
your loveliest formal let it be of
white silk jersey sculpturally draped,
adding gold accents to make it su
premely beautiful.
A draped and shirred green silk
crepe luncheon dress, designed for
the new corseted lady, is shown to
the right. It speaks eloquently in
favor of fabric treatment. Note the
self fabric pleated ruffle on the bod
ice, the wide corselet belt and
other fetching styling details.
Centered in the trio is a striking
evening ensemble developed of
handsome silk white faille, for faille,
such as our grandmothers treasured,
is again a favorite silk. Note the
brief peplum that flares from the
new lowered waistline of the basque
jacket. The novel square buttons
are of outstanding style importance.
It’s fortunate you’ll be if you have
stored away among heirlooms some
of the gorgeous jeweled buttons that
once were fashionable and are so
again. Glorify your evening coat
with these buttons or your blouse or
your “bestest” afternoon dress.
In conclusion just a word about
the stunning jacket tailored suits
that are made of black bengaline
silk or faille. These silk classics
register among the topnotch fash
ions of the day.
(Released by Western Newspaper Union.)
Air-Travel Suit
Now that it’s “ship ahoy” in the
air, as well as by sea, designers are
making a feature of air-travel fash
ions. Victor Stiebel, noted London
designer, is among the first to turn
attention toward creating airship
wardrobes. For daytime needs in
his clipper wardrobe he designs this
handsome and practical suit. In
this instance rabbit’s hair crepe of
napthalated wool is intricately tai
lored into a slim straight model with
rows of self-colored stitching. A
mist green hat tops the suit to per
fection.
Whimsical Velvet
Turbans in Colors
Milliners are designing adorable
little velvet turbans, bright with col
or, to wear with fur coats this winter
or to crown smart dinner gowns with
glory. These little fantasies of velvet
are often allover shirred or are
formed of myriads of little corded
loops. Some houses are showing
them in that old-time favorite, old
gold. * Others exploit them in teal
blue to ensemble with silver jewelry
set in blue stones, and as for eye
dazzling red, there’s nothing smart
er than a red hat with a black dress.
In fact these cunning velvet tur
bans have gone on a gay and festive
color spree. The fireman-red velvet
types make you "stop, look and lis
ten” but you’ll love these startling
reds just the same. With dark furs
they are simply perfect.
Most of these flattering little hats
have a snood to cover the coiffure
at the back, and it’s “mighty like a
rose” that some of them look being
often a huge pouf of velvet in flow
er color, posed jauntily low over
the brow.
Suits Are Favored
In Newest Modes
Suits are important in the new
mode and include both dress and
jacket and skirt and jacket combi
nations. Short, fitted, peplum jack
ets and long fitted jackets are both
in the picture. Many are furred
and worn with fur muffs, hats and
umbrellas whose handles are cov
ered with the same pelts.
Smartest coats, both cloth and
furs, are fitted and flared. Many
cloth ones are so liberally trimmed
with pelts that they seem about hall
fur. Persian lamb, beaver, seal,
leopard, fox, marten and mink are
all used.
Success!
Artist—My object was to ex
press in a single painting all
the horrors of modem war.
Holowynge—Well, you’ve done
it. I’ve never seen anything so
horrible.
There Had Been Others
They were sitting in close em
brace.
“First love.” he said, “is best.
Don’t you think so?”
“Yes,” she answered, "but I’m
very pleased to have got you.”
No Compromise
Mrs. Chubbwitt (employing new
maid)—Now, as to your evening
out. I’ll meet you half way . . .
Maid—Thank you, ma’am, but
I’m not afraid to come home
alone.
An advertisement says: "Cut
your tailor bill in half.” What’l
the use. He’d send another.
In His Own Right
Store Manager — What’s your
name?
Young Applicant—Scott.
Store Manager—And your first
name? ;
Young Applicant—Walter.
Store Manager (smiling)—
That’s a pretty well-known name.
Young Applicant (proudly)—It
ought to be. I’ve been delivering,
groceries around here for two
years now.
The Parting
“So that's the end of our ro
mance,” he sighed, having ex
plained that he had lost all his
money.
“Darling, I love you just the
same,” she said. “«I shall always
love you, even if I never see you
again.”
Need for Haste
Mistress—Mary, go to the li
brary at once and see if they
have the book “How to Remain
Beautiful.”
Maid—Yes, ma’am; and shall I
say that it is urgent?
Hollywood Notes: They married
and divorced soon after words.
Suiting Her
Mrs. Smith—I’m tired of the
way you always say my house, my
garden, my car, my son—my ev
erything. Why can’t you say our?
And what are you looking for in
the wardrobe?
Mr. Smith—Our trousers.
Dr. Pierce’s Pleasant Pellets are an
effective laxative. Sugar coated.
Children like them. Buy now!—Adv.
Still Schoolboys
Nations are but enlarged school
boys.—Froude.
CLOTHESPIN V
NOSE '
Got a cold? Get two-way relief
with Luden’sl A Luden’s on /
your tongue help* soothe throat i
—than, as it melts, releases cool i
menthol vapor. Your breath \
carries this to clogged nasal ,
passages, helps open your j
"clothespin nosel" y|
LUDEN’S 50,
Menthol Cough Dreg*
There Are Bounds
He that sips often at last drinks
it up.
OLD FOLKS
Kara is Amazing Relief of
Conditions Dus to Sluggish Bowsls
If you think all laxatives
act alike, just try this
_ all vsgstabl# laxatlva.
pcViduble relief from sick headaches, bilious spells,
tired feeling when associated with constipation.
urliLAI,A fjL* l get a 25c box of NR from your
niinOIJl mbII druggist. Make the test—then
If not delighted, return the box to ns. We will
refund the purchase
price. Thit'a fair. jCV7nVT!PtV
Crt NR Tahir., today
I WATCH 1
"VTOU can depend on the
“ special sales the
merchants of our town
announce in the columns
of this paper. They mean
money saving to our
readers. It always pays to
patronize the merchants
who advertise. They are
not afraid of their mer
i chandise or their prices.
y X
THE SPECIALS