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The Washington times. [volume] (Washington [D.C.]) 1902-1939, April 21, 1925, Image 15

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NORA LEE By Elenore Meherin
Writer of Great Serial ‘Chickie’ Presents Second Install
ment of New Life of Modem Life, Centered On .
Heart and Mind of the “Flapper.”
By Elenore Meherin.
The Biggest and Best Story of
Her Career.
HERE —already! But the driver
had almost to lift her up the
■teps of Natalie’s home.
She rested a moment at the
door. She said faintly: "Ring.”
She didn't hear when the but
ler answered: "Miss Herbert is
not in.” She didn’t hear or she
wouldn’t understand, for she re
peated: “Yes, Tell Miss Herbert
It’s a case of life and death. I
must see her! It’s news of tre
mendous importance. She must
hear It.”
Presently Natalie was standing
before her and the two women
gazed at each other with stark,
white faces. And Natalie's was
more stricken than Nora Lee's.
CHAPTER XLVI.
Battling for a Life.
Natalie’s voice, shocked and
raw with pain, broke the tension:
“Nora Lee! Why—have you
come?”
The cords were tearing in Nora
Lee** throat; her lips smiled crazily
‘’Dane! Where is he? You know?
Not on the train. I went there.”
She leaned with her back against
the door, her senses reeling.
Natalie’s face was a ghost
Whiteness; her sma»i hands pressed
against her temples. "Dane?
Why—ah—what has happened?
What, Nora Lee!”
"Oh, where? Tell me—Natalie,
please. You know—«”
She saw Natalie’s hands reach
•ut; heard her own voice quiver
in a shrill, imploring moan.
The door whence Natalie had
entered, opined. Dane was com
ing toward her coming with
blanched, appalling fade and dark.
Storming eyes.
Flight Homeward.
Seeing him, reading the accusa
tion in his look, she turned her
face most cold and bitterly from
his. She made a hurried, despair
ing gesture: "Sonny’s been hurt.
You better come!”
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He repeated aghast: "Sonny!”
She nodded, and opening the
door would have fled. He swept
before her—caught her in his
arms: “Sonny, Nora Lee? What?
"Scalded—hurry—hurry—”
He bore her down the steps.
His words throbbed wildly, like
some deafening, incredible pain
in her head. “Sonny? Tell me!
Oh. for God’s sake, what, Nora
Lee?”
This queer, tense sobbing un
nerved her. She wept and couldn't
answer.
He bowed his shoulders against
the driving rain: lifted her to the
taxi. He said to the driver: “Ten
dollars for every minute you save
getting us there!”
“I I’d Been Home.”
She felt his body shaking. He
touched her icy hands, clinched
them against her knees: "Speak,
Nora Lee!”
“Oh, yes! But he may die —
Sonny may die. I was away.
Ah—l thought it was a thing
that mattered!” She began to
laugh: I thought it really count
ed! So I went. That’s why it
happened. If I’d been home . . .”
"Don’t—” s
"If I’d been home, I'd have
Sonny! I went. He fell in the
tub. The water was running
scalding hot. They were going to
give him his bath. Ellen undressed
him. He ran from her. He must
have slipped—lost his balance
standing on the little bench near
the tub. ...”
"Oh, God!” He hunched his
head—covered it with his arms.
She heard his teeth chattering:
"Fell in head first, Nora Lee?”
"No—not his face—” Then she
told him of the boy’s one frantic
scream —Ellen flying down the
hall—raising him, and how they
poured oil over him—the doctor
coming and all the doctor had
said —
She felt that she was beating
him; that he sank under the merci
less scourging until she could only
THE WASHINGTON TIMES
see his white, agonized face; his
dumb, suffering eyes.
Tenderness Missing.
She wished to put her arms
about him: to say with breaking
heart: "What have we done! Oh,
Dane—-you and I!”
And it seemed a frightful thing
that no tenderness; no melting
pity drew them yearning and Ir
resistible to each other’s embrace.
She cowered at the window, gaz
ing at the r&in and the wind as
It bore ih desolate fury against
the trees. The trees bowed with
a forlon resignation. They rose
and bowed again.
Suddenly she murmured, chok
ing: "He may be dead now —oh,
dead —”
He took her in his arms and
held her. He put her hands
against his lips. She tried to say:
"You're kissing fne? Oh—how
can you do this thing—” But She
lay quiet—an overpowering quiet
hushing her pulse.
He whispered: “Darling—were
here.”
She smiled at that and won
dered. She said dimly: "I can
walk —Look—are there lights in
hie room? Listen —I can’t go
in—”
He half carried her to the hall.
His mother gripped his arm. He
said to her in deadly stillness:
'How —how’s Sonny—”
•Daddy’ Greeted.
"Alive —” The single word
crept upon them with a sickening
terror.
Then they were standing by
the bed and the small face had a
leaden heavy look: the half closed
eyes were both dull and restless.
Seeing the little fellow lying so,
a sob broke from the father’s lips.
He sank in the low chair at
Sonny’s bed-
And an odd, heart melting
thing happened. The clid's eyes
opened, glanced about the room,
rested on Dane. A momentary
flash of blue —a mumbled: "Dad
dy!” The little boy smiled.
It was like a sweet note of
music entering the room, but
almost immediately it was gone
and a soft, frantic cry rasped
across their nerves. The little
form trembled, the teeth shaking
as in the grip of a cruel, relent
les chill.
She sprang to Dane’s side and
both together leaned over the boy
and wept.
Cry in Night.
Dane’s hand trembled on hers:
"He's not going, Norry! But he’s
cold—cold —”
"Ah, no —only the shock —”
She nodded, sinking on her
knees at the bed. Through the
long night they heard that mut
tered cry often. They watch-id
as though their eyes could peel
away the shadows of the future —
watched that small beloved face.
(To Be Continued Tomorrow.)
GIBLETS A LA
PARISIENNE
By Alice Langelier
PARIS.
TAOR giblets a la Parislenne brown
JT in a little fat one-fourth pound
bacon, cut into dice. Remove,
drain and replace with a dozen
small onions. When they are
browned, remove them and put in
the giblets, cut into small pieces.
Sprinkle over a little flour and
moisten with a glass of wine and
two glasses of bouillon. Add the
bouquet of seasoning, a bit of
garlic and a pinch of pepper.
Cook-this three hours; then add
the bacon, onionsand twelve small
"olives,” cut from carrots. Let
cook another one-half hour and
add a btle liver, cut Into small
pieces, and three chipolata sau
sages, passed through boiling wa
ter. Serve very hot.
/ uL
J 6
NIC Lift RightOfF-
X| O No Pain at All
Doesn’t hurt one bit! Drop a |
little "Freezone” on. an aching corn. !
instantly that corn stops hurting, I
then shortly you lift it rifjbt off I
with fingers.
The National Daily
MEDITATIONS
x OF A
MARRIED WOMAN
LOVE is a poem only when your
hearts beat to the same meter,
and your thoughts happen to
rhyme—and even then it is apt
to turn static occasionally.
Even an unpunctual husband
somehow seems to "punctuate” a
ff J? woman’s day,
«1 makln K' the
BagT 1 ’ ** breakfast hour
g a little more
< definite, and
I. * ""W the dinner hour
* less haphazard.
Ir. ’ ?
IE ■[ "'W ?* " What keeps
| \ via a bachelor
® / safel y single
: ES&X W, is not his in-
■gt ® $ ability to fall
a in love, but
• aaMnssM * his agility in
hcusn sowland catching h1 s
balance just in time to crawl
out of it.
The average man seldom con
siders putting a love affair on a
"higher plane” until he has tried
working it out on all the other
planes.
A TRUE STORY ABOUT A SAILOR GOAT
TJOBBY had on his-boxing gloves •
u and was dancing about, doing
some very snappy shadow-boxing
as visions of Jack Dempsey
flashed through his curly head. I
must say that I didn’t pay much
attention to the paper which I
had. »I was too amused watching
Bobby’s efforts at mastering the
manly art of self defense.
Finally he gave a big puff, low
ered his head and lunged for
ward, like a butting goat. Then
he flopped down in a chair beside
me to rest. "Tell me a story
Foxy Grandpa,* said he.
"I’ll tell you a story about an
animal you reminded me of,
Bobby,” I laughed, "and a true
one. too.”
"Once, many years ago, a friend
of mine who is a naval officer,
was down in Central American
waters on a gunboat.
"And you know how sailors
like to have pets on board ship •
for mascots. Well, the sailors on
this ship decided that they would
like to have one, so they went
ashore and guess what they
found? A little brown goat. He
was a pretty little fellow with a
rich brown coat of fur, with
black points on tall and legs and
a black streak down his back.
His hoofs and horns were shiny
black, too.
"Well, the sailors loved this
little fellow. He was great com
pany—very friendly and affec
tionate. His particular pal was
the bugler. He used to stand on
the bugler’s shoulders and look
around with an air of great im
portance.
"Every day the men polished
up the little goat’s hoofs and
horns until they shone like Jet,
and on special occasion the sailors
gilded them by painting them
with gold paint. Then he did
look fine, and how proudly he
strutted around the deck.
“Once a month, when the Ar
ticles of War were read, which
tell all of the rules of the navy—
and it takes a long time, too —
there the goat stood like a
four druggist sells a tiny bott'e
of "Freezone” for a few cents, suf
ficient to remove every hard corn,
soft corn, or corn between the
toes, and the foot calluses, without
soreness or irritation.
■By Helen Rowland
Breaking a man’s heart is not
a cruelty, but a kindness; a man’s
heart, like his teeth, has to be
made to ACHE before he is con
scious of its existence.
A woman may love a man for
his "brute strength” or even for
his weaknesses, for his fascinating
worldliness or for his plain,
homely virtues—but she has to
love him in SPITE of his Adam’s
apple. /
A man Is- never Interested in a
heart that is marked "To Let”;
he prefers to make himself miser
able by trying to squeeze into
one that Is marked "No Vacan
cies.”
Marriage is the point at which
a man stops waiting for a woman
to make up her mind, and begins
waiting for her to' make up HIS
mind. (
Most men seem to think that a
girl should be perfectly satisfied
with a “part-time” love and a sort
of co-operative interest In their
evenings and affections these
busy days.
♦ statue, as if he understood every
word.
“You can Imagine how the
men loved this little fellow and
how they played with him. They
taught him to fight. Os course,
a goat knows how to butt when
he is born. But the sailors
trained him up by holding up
their hands and encouraging him
to butt against them as hard as
he could.
“The goat got very skillful at
his • butting and practiced with
every sailor who could play
with him.
“The ship came North and
went to Boston. Xnd as it hap
pened, there in the Navy Yard
where the ship was tied up to
the dock lived a big white billy
goat, with a long gray beard. He
was a sassy goat, and strutted
around as if the Navy Yard had
been established for his particu
lar comfort. Ho thought he was
monarch of all he surveyed—
until one sad day.
“On this day, the Tittle brown
South American goat, who was
only half the size of the big
white goat, spied him. He took
one look at the big fellow and
then w-alked camly down the
gangplank. Straight over to the
big goat the little fellow went.
He lowered him head,* kicked up
his heels and what a whack he
gave the big goat!
“The big fellow was thunder
struck, and before he could re
cover himself, the little fellow
went at him again. Bang! bang!
he plunged in under the big
goat’s whiskers. He got the
best of the big white goat be
fore he could get out another
mahah. Then .without waiting
even to look at the little fel|ow,
the big goat ran off—licked and
humbled. And all because the
little fellow had been in train
ing and knew how to sock. He
just walloped him.”
“I think I’ll practise some
more,” sa'.d Bobby, jumping up
and putting up his guard.
WHEN DID IT
HAPPEN?
Answers to these queries will be
prin ted tomorrow.
lI7TIEN was proprietary govern-
ment ended in Carolina?
2. When did Robert Guiscard
rescue Pope Gregory VII?
3. When was Murray river, Au
stralia's principal river, explored?
4. When was the Sturm and
Drang period of German litera
ture?
4. When was the Royal Palace
of Munich built?
ANSWERS
to yesterday’s questions.
1. The battles of Atlanta, Ga.
we.-o fought June 20-22, 1864.
2. The old St. Paul’s Cathedral.
London. was built from the
eleventh to the thirteenth cen
turies.
3. Valparaiso, Chile, was found
ed in 1544.
4. The Anabaptist uprising in
Thuringia, Germany, took place
in 1525.
5. D’Annunz o seized Fiume
September 12, 1919.
TUESDAY, APRIL 21. 1925.
WHAT’S THE USE OF IDEALS?
“You Will Never Be Sorry for Adhering to the Highest
Standards,” the Famous Writer Tells Girls Who Wonder
If Men Appreciate Fine Qualities.
By Beatrice Fairfax,
Who Occupies a Unique Position in
the Writing World M an An*
thorfiy on Problems of Love.
WWtTHAT’B the use of having
»» Ing ideals? They don’t
get you anywhere.” "Ideals are
all right In books, but not in real
life.” “I know I’m an idiot to
be particular.” “The best way
to get on in life is to be a toy
and plaything of men.”
Haven’t you heard these re
marks or others like them made
by nice girls, who, having ex
pressed momentary discourage
ment in this matter, go right on
being particular and having
Ideals.
Here’s a typical letter of this
kind, from a typically nice girl
who signs herself "Marguerita.”
“Dear Miss Fairfax,” she writes.
Although I have read many of
your articles and found them in
tensely interesting, I’ve yet to
find anything among them to fit
my case.
"Unfortunately, I’m a born
idealist, terribly sensitive and
much misunderstood. If it were
not for a sense of humor I would
be the most miserable creature
on earth.
“Is there any place, in this
world for an idealist? Or have
they gone out of atyle as mid-
Victorian ideas!
“I don’t know what it la in
this cool, calnv reserved nature
of mine that arouses infatuation
in the many men I have known.
I can't respond to their ardor,
as I believe true love to be
based on friendship plus a mu
tual interest. These ‘affairs’
usually end in a quarrel and
bitter words.
"Some time ago I met a man
who was a gentleman—it was an
other case of 'love at first
sight.* Recognizing many good
qualities, I discouraged that idea
and offered, instead, my friend
ship.
"This didn’t seem to satisfy
him. It ended in a quarrel and
a lecture which made me 'sit up
and take notice.’
"Perhaps the fault was mine.
Perhaps Idealism is all right In
' 1 is Raisin Bread Day
Serve my raisin bread at its best—on Wednes
days. Get it fresh from my ovens large, jJJJ —»
golden loaves fragrant with the fruity goodness PN
of Sun-Maid Raisins. il *'
I prepare this finer raisin bread * ‘special for P*
Wednesday” every week. To make sure of ©
getting a loaf from this special baking, place a
standingorder. Just phone your baker or grocer
and he will deliver or reserve a loaf for you
every Wednesday. f’
Don’t miss this famous and inexpensive mid- J
week treat. Place your standing order today.
/] Endorsed by bakera everywhere, / ‘J/ / / V
gr including the Retail Bakers' g r ‘ ■
Association of America and the r
American Bakers* Association r
Place a landing Wednesday order with your Baker or Groces
books, but never in real life.
"This happened over a year
ago. I’m unable to erase it from
my mind. I find him constantly
in my thoughts and at times I’m
very lonely and regret my action
in the matter.
"Am I in love with him? Or is
It that I just want him back to
worship at my feet as before? I
dreamed of love very different
from this. What’s the use of
having character 1£ one can’t
find anyone to correspond to
them?
"In conclusion, please do not
misconstrue. I am not a prude
nor am I trying to assume a
’holier than thou’ attitude. What
I failed to put on paper you can
easily read betwen the lines.
Please give me a little encourage
ment to go on—a little hope for
happiness—and I shall be ever
grateful to you.”
Encouragement? Bless your
heart, dear, it’s girls like you
—girls with ideals they try to
live up to —who encourage .us all
to ."carry on” —who make this
world a decent, civilized, kind
place in which to live.
Any place for Idealists? Never
were they more needed every
where than just now.
The girl with a high ideal of
womanhood and motherhood will
"keep the home fires” burning,
illuminating for the next genera
tion the way to happiness, serv
ice and love.
You are pretty, attractive and
young, Marguerita. Your letter
doesn’t say so, but I can read
that much between the lines.
And because you are attractive
all sorts of men are attracted to
you from various motives.
The man whose philosophy of
life is sordid resents your ideals
because they protect you from
himself. But stand firm. Don’t
be dazzled by his shallow plati
tudes of materialism nor by the
counterfeit of love he offers you,
which is nothing in the world but
self-seeking.
You’re not in love with such a
man, because you don’t respect
him. Your regrets is due to your
missing certain pleasant qualities
he may have, and most of all his
attentions. For every girl likes
attention.
You’ll not find 100 per cent per
fection in any man, Marguerita—
nor in any woman. For- we’re
but human. Among your friends
and acquaintances, however, seek
but those who are patterning their
lives after worthy models who are
"practical Idealists.”
When such p. man offers you
his love let time test the per
manence of his affection and
yours, then gladly accept his un
selfish love "with ideals.” Noth
ing less is worth while.
You may lose a little surface
popularity through clinging to
your ideals. But the friends you'll
make and hold will be the kind
you can rely on “through thick
and thin”—loyal, wonderful
friends.
Fine young men —and thank
God there are hundreds of thou
sands of them in this world —are
looking for the girl with ideals.
The other kind of young men are
not much loss, either as friends
or sweethearts.
So, wait till the right man
comes. And meantime bo glad
you have ideals, for they mean
self-respect and peace.
AFTERNOON
RECEPTION
—By Mrs. Beeckman—-
An Afternoon Reception.
Dear mrs. beeckman:
Is it correct for a man to
Wear a wing collar with a busi
ness suit at an informal recep
tion? Does he have to wear a
vest? M. A. R.
IT is correct to wear a wing
collar with a business suit. The
"correct” clothes for a reception
in the daytime are cutaway coat
and dark gray striped trousers.
He should wear a vest.
Bowing to Strangers
Dear mrs. Heeckman:
When a lady is walking
with a man and he meets sev
eral men friends unknown to her,
should she also bow to them when
they raise their hats? IRENE.
NO; she should not bow, since
she does not know them.

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