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BRISTOW C/l/U l t/1
THE 8TORT THUS FAR: Spratt Her
long, motion picture producer, met and
married Elizabeth, whose first husband,
Arthur Kittredge, was reported killed In
World War I, but who later appeared In
Hollywood and secured a Job with
Spratt. Under the name ot Kessler, and
with his disfigurements, he was not rec
ognized and became a good friend to all
of the Herlongs. Arthur promised to talk
with Dick and explain to him what the
war really meant to him personally. On
Christmas Margaret was to give a party
so Dick, Cherry and Elizabeth went to
help decorate the tree. Margaret almost
fell and became scared, she explained she
was cut when she fell and a man kicked
her—the man who killed her mother,
CHAPTER XVIII
Dick swallowed and wet his lips.
He had heard stories like this be
fore, but hitherto they had been
something that happened to people
who had the far-off quality of
anonymity. Hearing it reported as
a matter of course by a little girl
in his own home town was some
fe \ thing else again. He looked at Kess
ler, and back at Margaret. Cherry,
who had sat down on top of the lad
der, was looking at Kessler too, as
though they both wanted him to say
it hadn’t really happened like this.
"Come here, Margaret,” said
Kessler gently.
She went to him, and he put his
arms around her.
“It was dreadful In Germany,
said Kessler. "But we aren’t afraid
any more.”
She looked up at him artlessly.
“Oh no, of course not. Not here.”
“Nobody does things like that
here,” said Kessler. “There aren’t
any Nazis in America.”
“Oh no,” Margaret said again.
She laughed at a recollection.
"When we first came here,” she
said to the others, “I was scared of
the men in uniform. But they were
just policemen and soldiers. They
didn’t bother anybody.”
“No, everybody is safe here,”
Kessler went on. “Nobody comes
into a house without being asked. If
they want to come in they ring the
bell, and if you tell them not to come
in they stay outside. Nobody is
scared in the United States. Mar
garet used to be scared, but she
isn't any more.”
“It's different here,” said Mar
garet.
“And your supper is getting cold,”
Kessler suggested. "You’d better go
eat it.”
r “All right.”
“And aren’t you going to thank
<Mrs. Herlong and Dick and Cherry
for helping you with the tree?”
Oh yes! It’s just wonderful.
Thank you so much.”
“We're glad we could help,” said
Elizabeth. She took Margaret’s hand
and went with her into the dining
room where her supper was ready.
Margaret started to eat with a
healthy appetite, evidently not ap
palled by the story she had told.
When Elizabeth returned to the front
room Dick was still standing by the
tree and Cherry still sat on the lad
der, apparently too horrified to
move. Kessler was speaking to
them.
“If it seems cruel to let her go on
talking, it’s less cruel than making
her shut it up inside herself. I
thought it was easier on you to lis
ten than it would have been on her
if I had told her to stop.”
“But what sort of cattle are
they?" Dick exclaimed. “We hear
a lot of things about them, cruel and
vicious and all that, but not just go
ing around kicking little girls!”
“I told your mother once,” said
Kessler, “that your only fault was
that you didn't realize how superior
you were to your neighbors."
'To my neighbors? But I don’t
know anybody like that!”
“No, you don’t know anybody like
that.”
“Gee whiz,” said Dick. He went
over to another side of the room and
sat down.
, “Why did they kill her parents?”
Cherry asked breathlessly.
“They didn’t. Her parents killed
) themselves.”
“Ah!” Cherry let go her breath
P" audibly.
“Margaret thinks the Nazis killed
them. They killed so many others.
I haven’t tried to tell her any dif
ferently. She doesn’t understand
suicide.”
“But why?” exclaimed Cherry.
Then she added apologetically, “I’m
sorry. I guess it’s none of my busi
ness.”
“There’s no reason why you
shouldn’t know,” Kessler answered.
He glanced at Elizabeth. “Shall I
go on, Mrs. Herlong?”
“Yes, if you can bear it. After all,
Mr. Kessler, we’ve heard it before.
It’s been in the papers and on the
radio.”
Cherry said what they had all
been thinking. "But it’s different
when it happens to somebody you
know! You mean it happened to
Margaret’s family like what we read
about?”
“W^iy yes, the same old story,”
Kessler answered. “She and her
mother were shoved off the side
walk, she didn't have enough to eat
and even when her parents went
without there wasn’t enough for her,
they saw other children beaten and
starved and knew there was nothing
else in store for Margaret. Their
| old friends crossed the street when
1
they saw Margaret’s parents com
ing because they were afraid to be
seen speaking to Jews. They tried
and tried to get away and every door
was shut against them. They stood
it as long as they could. They were
a brave and gallant pair. But that
day Margaret told you about, her
mother’s spirit broke. She tried to '
kill Margaret, and she succeeded
with herself. She was a doctor and
there were still a few drugs in the
house. The only reason she didn’t
succeed with Margaret was that she
wanted the child’s death to be quick
and easy, and she gave her too
much.”
Cherry was staring at him, uncon
scious that there w-ere tears in her
wide-stretched eyes.
“And her father?’’ Dick blurted.
"He and I came in together. We
had been out to buy food. We had
to stand in line to buy it, and I tried
to help him, because as I am not
Jewish things were easier for me.
But I can’t stand in line very long,
or carry any parcels except what I
can put into my pockets. We used to
do the buying, it was too frightful
for Margaret and her mother on the
street. When we came in we thought
“But what sort of cattle are
they?” Dick exclaimed.
they were both dead. We knew the
house had been searched because it
was in such disorder. Jacoby—Mar
garet’s father—knew they would
come back for him. With Margaret
and her mother gone he had no more
reason to keep trying. He was like
an insane man. He had no gun—
they had taken that long before—so
he stepped out of the window.”
“But Margaret?” Elizabeth ex
claimed as he paused.
"I don’t know how I ever realized,
just then, that the child wasn’t dead.
I knew something about first aid,
and I did the best I could for her,
and got help from a doctor at the
hospital where her father had
worked before the Nazis took over.
We worked with her, asking our
selves every ten minutes why we
were doing it. We almost agreed
with her mother that it would be
better to let her die. But 1 managed
to get a letter to the French studio
that had bought two of my books,
and they gave us help. That was
just before the war began. A few
more weeks and it would have been
too late.”
There was a moment of stricken
silence. Then Elizabeth demanded,
“How can you talk about it so
quietly! Your friends driven to
death, a mother trying to kill her
own child—and you might be talk
ing about the weather!”
"You have to learn to talk about
it like that,” Kessler said. “If you
don’t—” He shrugged.
“Was he a very good friend of
yours?” Dick asked.
“My best friend. He saved my life
after the last war, and made it pos
sible for me to walk instead of
spending these years in a wheel
chair. He was a very great man.”
"He was one of the most famous
surgeons in Germany. And more
than that, he was, as I said, a very
great man. Through the worst dis
asters—and there were plenty of
them in Germany after the last war
—he had clung to his belief that no
matter what happens there is always
something worth saving, in one’s
self and in humanity. Then when
he had lost everything else he lost
that too. I’m not blaming him for
it, but I’m sorry for it.”
“I don’t get it!” Dick exclaimed
abruptly. “I hear about such things
and hear about them, but I don't
get it. Why were Margaret's par
ents treated so?”
"Because they were Jews, for one
thing.”
Dick shook his head, as though the
room had got dark and he was try
ing to see. “But I still don’t get it,
Mr. Kessler. It doesn’t make any
sense at all. Even if you were bru
tal and anti-Semitic and all that,
why should you want to kill a doc
tor who might save your life? You
might get sick and need just what
he could do for you—don’t they ever
think about that? It doesn’t make
sense,” he said again.
Kessler did not try to tell Dick
that he was asking a question that
half the human race had already
asked. He only replied, "It doesn’t
make sense, and I don’t get it ei
ther, Dick. The Nazis and their bab
ble, and then a child like Margaret.”
"A nice sweet helpless little girl!”
Cherry exclaimed.
Kessler turned toward her, and
spoke earnestly. "It’s not only that,
Cherry. There are people in the
world who haven't your sense of hu
manity toward helpless little girls.
But it’s what Dick said—even if you
had no sense of humanity, why
should you do that to yourself?”
"To yourself?” said Cherry, puz
zled.
"Why yes. Why should you want
to destroy your own hope in the
future? Margaret’s heredity in
cludes two of the finest minds in
Germany. If parents give their chil
dren anything of themselves, and
we know they do, the chances are a
hundred to one that Margaret is a
genius. Nobody knows what she’s
capable of becoming, but they tried
to destroy her.”
"Gosh!” said Dick. Mr. Kessler
—you mean that kid’s liable to do
something like discover radium, and
she nearly got killed?”
"That’s exactly what I mean. I
don’t know that Margaret’s a
genius, it’s too soon to tell. But I
know that in this mad killing of
theirs the fascists from Berlin to
Tokyo have destroyed genius, and
they’re still doing it. They're de
stroying their future, and yours.
That’s the real tragedy of our time.
It’s so terrible we don’t often think
about it because we can’t bear it.
Margaret’s parents had at least
had a chance to contribute some
thing to the world. But she’s never
had any, and those other children
who didn't escape had never had
any. And what it amounts to,” he
said clearly to Dick and Cherry, “is
that your children may die of loath
some diseases because the scientists
who could have saved them were
killed when they were four years
old.”
"Oh, my gosh!" cried Cherry
from the top of the ladder. Her hand
caught at her throat. “That’s what
they’re doing. I never thought of
that till this minute. That's what
it’s about.”
Dick stood up. “Holy smoke,” he
said slowly. “It's ghastly. You’re
right—it’s too awful to think about.
You just think of kids as kids, but
golly—when you do think about
them as growing up, or not growing
up, I mean the important ones—sup
pose the Germans had blitzed Eng
land fifty years ago and had got
Churchill, I mean, and now we’d
never know.”
Elizabeth put her hands over her
eyes. It seemed to her that she
could suddenly see them, little boys
like Brian, little girls with fat pig
tails like Margaret, the Einsteins,
Chiangs, Curies of the future, going
in a horrible procession to annihi
lation. Suppose the bombs had
dropped fifty years ago. She thought
of sulfanilamide and the Four Free
doms, television and cargo planes,
vitamins and the Panama Canal.
Her generation had these because
the men and women who brought
them into being had been allowed to
grow up. She could hear Kessler’s
voice, passionate with a great grief.
“That’s the real horror of fascism.
We are sick at what they are doing
today, but this is such a little part
of it. Their awful crime is what
they are doing tomorrow. We don’t
know what they’ve already de
stroyed—a cure for cancer, a new
philosophical system, a rocket to the
moon. Margaret got out, but the
others who didn’t get out—think of
the books that will never be written,
the work that will never be done.
They’re destroying tomorrow, and
tomorrow is forever.”
Several days after the turn of the
New Year, Kessler received a let
ter from Dick:
Dear Mr. Kessler,
I guess there is no use trying to
tell you how shocked I was at what
you said the other day. My sister
felt the same way I did. I do not
write very well and it is hard to say
what I mean. But this is what I
am getting at. I know you are a
very busy man but if there is a day,
maybe a Sunday, when you have
some time to spare would you let me
come over and see you? I did not
want to bother you until after Christ
mas, but there are some things I
have been thinking about and I
would like to talk to you anyway.
You seem to understand our family
very well and I know they like you
and would not mind anything I said
to you. Let me know if this would
be convenient.
Sincerely yours,
Richard Spratt Herlong, Jr.
After he had read Dick’s letter,
Kessler sat for some time thinking,
his forehead resting on his big thick
hand. These months in Beverly Hills
had been more difficult than he had
thought they were going to be. Most
things were, when you came down
to them.
(TO BE CONTINUED!
MERCY, NOT JUSTICE
In a small southern community,
a Negro revival meeting was hold
ing forth. Also in session was the
Grand Jury. Sinners were being
gathered in swiftly and efficiently
by the exhorting preacher. That is,
all except one hardened individual
who, despite all the efforts of the
earnest shepherd and his co-work
ers, would not break down and con
fess his sins.
The poor fellow writhed in the tor
ments of an awakened and cruelly
prodding conscience, but could not
be induced to speak.
“Come on down, brother,” shout
ed the pleading, perspiring preach
er, "confess your sins. The Lord
will forgive you.”
“Ah knows He will," moaned the
reluctant candidate, “but de Lord
ain't settin’ on dat Grand Jury!”
POOR HUBBY!
Mrs.—Never kick about the poor
quality of biscuits that I make.
Mr.—Why not?
Mrs.—Because I never kick about
the quality of dough you make.
Just a Warm-Up
Lem—My feet are cold.
Clem—Just put a brick at your
feet when you go to bed.
Lem—I tried that.
Clem—Did you get the brick hot?
Lem—Naw, it took me all night
just to get it warm.
Social Outcast
Postmaster—I’m sorry, but I can’t
cash this money order for you un
less you have some identification.
Have you some friends in camp?
Soldier—Not me, I’m the bugler.
Yowl!
Jones—I understand Madame Ya
kowiski is a famous Finnish singer.
Smith—All I know is that I heard
her concert last night and I couldn’t
stay till the finish.
One-Man Army
Veteran—Yeah, I once put almost
three hundred men out of action.
Youngster—Gee, didn’t you get a
medal?
Veteran—No, I was camp cook.
Run for Your Life
He—If you don’t marry me, I'll
go hang myself in your front yard.
She—Now, you know Pop wouldn’t
want you hanging around here.
IN REVERSE
Mrs.—I wasn't going 60 miles an
hour, or 50, or even 40!
Cop—Be careful now, or you'll be
backing into somebody!
Mechanical Failure
Professor — Why did you spell
pneumatic “neumatic” in this es
say?
College Boy—The K on my type
writer isn’t working.
What’s in a Name?
Sunday School Teacher — You
never heard of the Ten Command
ments? Goodness gracious, what’s
your name?
Small Boy—Moses, ma’am.
Only Skin Deep
Cora—What makes you think that
girl’s father is a druggist?
Dora—She said she got all her
good looks from him.
Medical Advice
Patient—What's the best thing for
gas, doctor?
Doctor (absent-mindedly) — “C”
coupons.
Take Your Choice
Mother—I want your explanation
and the truth.
Teen-age Daughter—But, mother,
you can’t have both!
That’s the Question
Teacher—Every dollar bill has at
least ten thousand germs on it.
Smarty—How many are on a five
dollar bill?
Overage
Jane—How old are you?
Joan—I’ve seen 21 summers.
Jane—How long have you been
blind?
Right Answer
Mother—And what three books
should you take to church with you?
Son—Your Bible, your hymn book
and your pocket book.
Popular
Joe—How do you know his book
is going to be a success?
Bill—People who haven’t read it
are beginning to say they have.
Dream Rival
-o
By RAF, RESNICK
McClure Newspaper Syndicate,
WNU Features.
INISGUSTED with his own cook
ing. George angrily pushed his
chair back with his foot. If only
Anna weren’t such a strange little
foreigner, he thought impatiently,
his meals wouldn't be so tasteless,
and the burden of keeping house, in
addition to many of the farm
chores, would fall on her instead ol
him.
With the odor of the barn still
clinging to his clothes, he walked
the short distance to the next farm
to see Anna and speak to her cousin.
Without knocking, he went into the
living room.
The woman looked up from her
mending indifferently, as if his vis
its were too frequent for him to be
considered a guest. "Hello, George.
You'll find Anna in the kitchen.”
"Have you spoken to her yet, Mrs.
Laud?” he asked.
"Well,” Mrs. Laud said slowly, "I
tried to, only she didn’t seem to
know what I was getting at." She
paused thoughtfully. "Seemed more
that she pretended not to.”
"I see,” he said wearily.
"I did tell her what a fine, honest
man you are. But her only ambi
tion right now is to visit a fortune
teller." She laughed indulgently.
“A fortune teller?”
"Yes. Can you imagine? She be
lieves in them. You see, in Europe
a gypsy once read her palm. And
Anna said that everything came
true. Of course, I imagine little
Anna helped out a lot by twisting
everything that happened to her into
the shape of that faker's prediction."
They talked a while longer about
Anna, who was only twelve when the
Germans invaded her country, and
“I want see fortune teller.”
how Mrs. Laud managed to get her
to Canada. George had often heard
tjie story before. Soon he went into
the kitchen. He leaned against the
wall, faded blue overalls sagging
on his awkward thin frame; his long
neck tipped forward, his blond, sun
dried hair hanging over dull blue
eyes.
As Anna washed the dishes
George could almost see the dreams
in her large eyes—dreams of a mod
ern knight riding in the wind with
her, the long thick braids of her hair
flying behind her.
Her eyes sparkled. "I want see
fortune teller."
‘‘What for?”
"I want And out who my hus
band be."
Suddenly he had an idea, and he
was overwhelmed by his own clev
erness. What had Mrs. Laud said
a little while ago? “She believes in
them . . . little Anna helped out a
lot . . . she sure does swear by them
now.” His red face brightened with
enthusiasm. After all, he thought
they would probably be married
some day, anyway. No harm ir
hurrying things up a bit. "There's
an amusement park fifteen miles
from here," he told her.
On the bus Anna sat quietly ir
anticipation. George saw her lowei
her wide eyes modestly when shi
noticed the men staring at her shj
; loveliness. Failing to escape theii
glances, she took a white handker
i chief out of her pocket and wipec
away the lipstick with which hei
cousin had touched her mouth
"Maybe they don’t look now,” sh«
whispered to George. Naive. Than!
heaven she was, he thought. Foi
his plans were all the likelier to sue
ceed.
At the park she walked close t(
him, asking every few minutei
where the fortune teller was located
They came to a row of booths un
der a huge awning and he bought i
ticket. "Wait here a minute,” h<
said. "I’ll be back soon.”
He told the fortune teller to de
scribe him to Anna when she aske(
about her future husband. He hand
ed her some money. "Don’t forget
Tall man, blond hair, blue eyes.’
Then he went out. "You can go ii
now,” he told Anna.
While waiting for her, he laughed
Anna wouldn’t doubt the oracle fo
a minute, he thought, amused. Whei
she came out, she looked as if sh
were in a trance. Her large shinini
eyes were focused straight ahead
He fell into step beside her. "Well
what did she say?”
“Oh, she say wonderful things
She say I marry tall man. He hav
blue eyes with blond hair. And h
be very good to me. I know he b
the handsomest man in the world
And I wait for him,” she said softly
"I wait for him forever.”
Plug Shakers
When refilling salt and pepper
shakers that have corks in bottom,
or which have fallen inside, remove
the cork and discard. Then paste
mubilage paper over the hole. Or
use adhesive tape.
Fires Costly
Every day in the U. S. there
are 1.800 fires. 28 deaths caused by
fire In 1.000 homes. 130 stores. 100
factories. 7 churches. 7 schools and
3 hospitals
Bike Passenger
You invite disaster when you
carry another person on your bike
Clever Washcloth
Here's a clever way to use up
those left-over slivers and scrape ©f
toilet soap. Put them into a small
turkish toweling bag when taking •
bath: this bag full of soap can be
put into the tub and you'll have
wash cloth and soap in one.
Cleaning Diamonds
To clean diamond rings, cover
them with wood alcohol and let
stand for five minutes Remove and
polish with white tissue paper.
Hanging Trousers
Best way to hang trousers Is up
side down using a hanger with clip©.
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Run Our Railroads
rely on SLOAN'S
n America, East meets West, North meets South,
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salutes the workers who keep our transporta
tion humming, day and night. Thei* muselee
I V strain that we may travel.. .that we may
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[m\\ Tired Aching Muscle* • Sprains 1
1 Join>< * Strq'n> • Bruisesj