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About The Omaha guide. (Omaha, Neb.) 1927-19?? | View Entire Issue (Dec. 10, 1932)
— -. w “' “£&.£!? Rr^Vni.uU. CM'“" ILLUSTRATED FEATURE SECTION—December 10, 1932. BLl,K BIBBON JLTTbVS WEER w Here’* a Black-eyed Maryland Farm Girl Who Says Life Owes Her Something. She Starts Out to Get It by Learning How to “Run” a Typewriter. Then things happen. A New Love Serial By Ted Haviland There never were many pretty girls In Cream Ridge, and that was what set Ellen Young apart from all the rest. For Ellen Young was undeniably, radiantly, beautiful. She was tall; her face was smooth and olive-tinted, her hair long and dark, her eyes deep and coal-black. And even beyond her beauty there was a certain charm a hint of strong personality, which made her stand out wherever she happened to be. The youngest of a family of five, she was born and brought up in one of those little tumble-down, frame houses which so abound in Cream Ridge. And for eighteen years she lived in the squalid, pov erty-stricken atmosphere of this place she called home, looking out at the life about her with longing eyes, with the firm' hope and con viction that some day, in some mamier, she would be able to make something great and wonderful out of herself. _ One by one, she had seen her brothers and sisters leave the little house to get married and settle down elsewhere, and enviously at first, she had watched them. But that envy had changed to sullen disappointment as she came to a better understanding of what their marriages had really meant, as she discovered that instead of freeing the. had shackled those brothers and sisters of hei', had chained them unrelentingly to a life of dreary, unrelieved monotony, had killed within them whatever am bition, whatever hopes for the fu ture, they might ever have pos or.-»cu. Then marriage was certainly not for her. But what other course could a girl take? She ran down the list of her closest friends, and asked herself what each one of them was doing. First, there was Dora Parker. Dora had run away when she was fifteen, had found herself a job in the home of some rich woman. She was treated decently and paid good wages, and that, for her, had meant success. But after all, her job was only a menial one—she cooked and washed and ironed and straightened up about the house— and that was not the kind of occu pation which Ellen sought for her self. Then there was J-*,n Fisher, a fine, almost beautiful young girl, who had spent four years in a Maryland boarding school for girls. At the end of these four years she had been graduated with hon ors, a capable dietitian. But what had all this meant, after all? And what was she doing now? Why, she had practically the same kind of job which Dora held—working in somebody’s kitchen. And there were countless exam ples of the same thing—girls who had started out with ambition, with great intentions, only to end up in the same old way. Certain ly there must be some way for a girl, with all her life ahead of her, to rise out of this menial, this ser vant class. Ellen thought the matter over time and again, but each time the problem seemed only the more baf fling. She had gone as far, at eighteen, as the poorly equipped schools of Cream Ridge would al low, but what, actually, had she learned? Had she been taught to do any one thing which would, in the future, contribute either di rectly or indirectly to her support, which would eventually enable her to lift the heavy burden of pov erty from the worn shoulders of her mother and her father? No, she suddenly discovered, she had not. All these things which had been taught her, which she had learned with such pathetic eager ness-history, arithmetic, geography, Latin—of what earthly use were they to her now? The more she contemplated the matter of her future, the firmer became her conviction that she must find some way to cross the un kind fate which seemed to have dogged the footsteps of those about her. She, if not they, would make something of herself. Yet what was there that she could do? Searching about for some means of reaching that elusive goal which shj had set for herself, her mind at first struck a snag. But finally a brilliant idea came to her. She remembered suddenly that there was a business college in the great city of which Cream Ridge was so infinitesimal a part, and she remembered that cnce, long ago, a young colored girl had grad uated from it with honors. Then why couldn't she? Stenography struck her as being the kind of work she would enjoy. She applied to the college and after several wee! - of considera tion w. : finally admitted. But her expenses—who was to pay them? She had : lmost no money of her own, and certainly she couldn’t ask her parents to take over this added burden. Could she possibly get work? She tried. And after about three weeks she found a job, cooking, in a tiny tea room. It was kitchen work but she didn’t mind it now, for she thought of it only as a means to an end. And what a _!orious end! After six long months she grad uated, having mastered thoroughly the intricacies of shorthand and typewriting. That was a happy day for her, fo.- it meant that she was finally getting somewhere, accom plishing something. The next step was to find a job. an'1 this was no easy task. There was not a single business in Crea i Ridge, it seemed, large enough, or progressive enough, to require the services of a first-class stenograph er. And the business men of the downtown district took one look at the fair olive of her skin and in formed her with bare politeness that no extra help was needed. She thought finally of giving up the tea-room job and leaving for some other city, but just at that time her mother became ill and her lit tle income was sorely needed to help out at home. So she stayed on at the tea-room, working hard, saving what little she ployee beside herself—Jerry Wilson, could. There was only one em A life of dreary, unrelieved monotony Working in somebody’s kitchen the waiter. Jerry was a smart, up standing chap, and he was ambi tious just as Ellen was. He had worked in the tea-shop for several years, had studied on the quiet e* ery phase of its operation. And some day, he told Ellen, he would have a similar i' re of his own, serving only the best in food and drink, catering to the highest class of society. Oh, he had it all worked out. For hours, sometimes, when they were not too busy with cus tomers, he would regale Ellen with his plans. And she would smile and compliment him upon them. She came, in l me, to like Jerry for a great many reasons. After all, he was not bad-lookingf lie Was reasonably intelligent, and he had broad vision. She could not help feeling that his venture, whatever it turned out to be, would not end up a failure. She helped him plan the exact location of the proposed shop, helped him originate new and tasty dishes to be featured, helped him arrange imaginary menus. One day he said, “Ellen, I’ve got pretty nearly e ough to get that tea-shop started right now. I’m going to rent that old white house out on the road—the one that looks so much like a plantation house— and I’m going to get a ! >t - ' typical old Southern furniture to furnish it All I r ed now is a couple of hundred dollars -I can borrow that —and a swell little cook like you.” Cook! The very mention of her occupation cut Ellen to the quick. But she smiled, knowing that Jerry had meant nothing by his reference. “Jerry.” she said, “I think you’ve got a great idea, and I think you’ll be successful at it. I'd like to work with you—but I w uldn’t like to leave this job for something that’s not just a little bit higher. I stud ied stenography, and I want to get into that sort of work just as soon as I get a chance.” “But couldn't you cook for my place just until you got your new job? I wouldn't want to hold you down if you actually had some thing better, but after all, you haven’t, you know.” She turn*- ’ the matter over in her mind for a few moments. Fi nally she said, “You'd better give me time, Jerry. Let ne think the whole thing over.” He said, “All right, and you let me know tomorrow what your an swer is.” All that evening and late at night she continued to think the matter over. She liked Jerry, of course— she admitted that—but was that any reason why she should give up her present job for one which seem ed so uncertain, so extremely haz ardous? Her mind wavered back and forth, and when the following morning came she still had not come to any definite decision. But that morning brought news ' which precluded the necessity for any conclusion. She heard from a friend, as she was on her way to work, that a new young man, Harold Stern, had just come into Cream Ridge and had taken over an office suite in the Elite Hotel, a local hotel. He was a representa tive of one of the great political parties, and his business here was to get the people of Cream Ridge out to vote for the man whom his party was sponsoring in the forth coming election. But the most im portant act of all was — that he needed a stenographer. Ellen forgot about her work in her anxiety to get to the hotel and see the man. She found him alone in the little suite of office rooms, a tall, dark, slender, well-dressed young fellow of about twenty-four years. He seemed very much sur prised when she entered. "I heard,” she told him bluntly, “you needed a stenographer." He smiled a little as he looked her over. “Gee,” he said with a grin, “news certainly does get a.ound fast In this town. I was just about to put an ad in the paper when suddenly, at of a blue sky, you walked in.” “You won’t need to advertise now,” Ellen informed him, return US._11. »‘*(3 uiiiiii,, “Oh!" He laughed out loud. "Say, you’re a pretty fast one, aren’t you? Well, let’s see what you can do.” He tested her briefly with a bit of dictation, watched her as she typed it neatly on a typewriter which she found on one of the desks. “That’s O.K., sweetie,” he approved. “I guess you’ll do all right.” Ellen revolted ^voluntarily under the touch of familiarity which she found in his voice, but in her hap piness at finding a new job, this was soon forgotten. She said. “When do you want me to get started?” “There’ll be nothing to do just now,” he informed her. .“By noon I’ll have things in working order and there’ll be some letters I’ll have to get out right away. But un til then I’ll just have 'o spend my time straightening out this mess.” He indicated the upset office rooms. “If you want to, you mav go and _ — __i__ i_ ii “lU do that, then.” She turned and hurried out of the office, then walked briskl/ through the narrow streets to the tea-house in which she had worked for so many months. She found the pro prietor absent, so 'he sought out Jerry. He seemed particularly glad to see her. “Where’ve you been?” he asked. “I thought maybe you were sick; I was getting real worried. And what about that idea of mine, the tea-room—did you decide to go through with that?" His boyish eagerness saddened her. She shook her head slowly. ‘No, Jerry,” she said. “I just could n’t bring myself to it.” ‘‘But Ellen—” he cried “I’d love to help you. Jerry—you know it. But right now I’m just sick of cooking and washing dishes and all that. I want to get out of the kitchen. It’s gotten on my nerves_” Jerry gulped hard. “Maybe you didn’t understand,” he hastened to explain. “I didn’t want you to be just a cook—I wanted you to be my partner. Just as soon as we :ould afford to hire somebody else to do the cooking—” He stopped short, gulped again. “Y’see, Ellen, 1 was sort of figuring on you mar rying me soon’s we got the thing joing. ’Course I never said noth ng about it but I bad it all planned >ut. We could live together in the jpstairs part of that old house—” Ellen wavered. But th- thrill of ler newly found job overcame her, she could not let so wonderful an >pportunity slip through her fln ;ers. She said, “I’m sorry, Jerry. 3ee, I’m awfully sorry. But it just von’t work out that way. You see, ”ve got another job.” “A job! Doing what?” “I’m going to be a stenographer .-. .. .11^ t —really this time.” £ “Whose stei jrapher'. “I’m working for Harold Stern.” “I heard he was a cheap politi cian—a bum. A theatrical man.” “He’s not a bum, Jerry. He’s a very nice man. I didn’t see any thin;., wrong with him. I rather liked him.” The admission seemed to cut deep into Jerry’s heart. “Oh, all right,” he muttered brokenly, “I guess—I guess you just haven't got any more use for a guy like ir.e. ..." “Oh, Jerry—” she cried. But it was too late. He had dis appeared into the kichen. She watched the door a it swung to a close behind li.m. Then slowly she turned and left the shop. The story of Ellen Young will be continued in this paper next week. Don’t miss it. Tempting to the ' Taste and Easy to Prepare SWEET POTATO SOUFFL£ 5 medium sized sweet potatoes, Vi teaspoon salt. 1 teaspoon Ruinford Baking Powder, 3 tablespoons butter, d..sh of white pi per. cream. Boil potatoes and put through ricer. Add baking powder, salt, pepper and butter. Add cream to make quite moist and beat vigorously. Put into a greased baking dish and bake in a hot even, about 400 de grees P. until mixture is puffed and browned. Marshmallows ma be added to top and browned if de sired. * * * I POTATO CROQUETTES 2 cups hot riced potatoes, 1 tea spoon Ruinford Baking Powder, dash of cayenne, yolk of 1 egg, Vi tea spoon salt, 2 tablespoons minced onion. Vs teaspoon pepper, 2 table spoons butter. Beat all together and cool on platter. When cool, shape into balls, dip in beaten egg, then roll in fine crumbs and fry in deep, : -»t fat. Drain. Serve with a relish accompaniment. • • • FUDGE SQUARES 3 squares chocolate, 1 cup sugar, % cup flour, V-j, teaspoon salt, Vi cup butter, 3 eggs, 1 cup chopped walnuts, 1 teaspoon vanilla, 1 teaspoon Rum ford Baking Powder. Melt chocolate with butter, over hot water. Beat eggs well, add sugar. Add flour sifted vftth bak ing powder and salt. Add vanilla, nuts and melted chocolate and but ter. Beat well. Spread % inch thick in greased pan. Bake 15 to 20 minutes in oven 325 to 350 de grees F. Cut in squares. • • • RASPBERRY PUFFS 2Vi cups flour, 2'/, teaspoons Rum ford Baking Powder, '/■ teaspoon salt. 1 egg, separated, 1 tablespoon melted butter, Vi cup sugar, 1 cup milk, 2 cups raspberries. Sift flour with baking powder and salt. Beat yolks of egg with sugar. Add milk. Add melted butter Add flour, beaten white and berries. If canned berries are used, drain well. Fill greased cups partly full and bake 12 to 15 minutes in moderate oven, 350 to 375 degrees F. Serve with hard sauce. —-o-. Household Hints To clea.. kid gkives and make them look like new, first clean them thoroughly, then rub them with the white of an egg. • « * Experience has taught that steamed vegetables hold their flavor nucli longer, and are moie health ful than cooked In any other way.