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By Sara Ware Bassett ' Copyright by The Penn Pub. C<* WNU Service * SYNOPSIS The youthful end comely "Widder" Marcia Howe has as her guest her late husband's niece, Sylvia Hayden. A stranger, on the verge of exhaustion, finds his way to Marcia’s home. Se cretly, he asks her to hide a package containing Jewelry. She does so. Elisha Winslow, town sheriff, brings news of a Jewel robbery nearby. The stranger gives his name as Stanley Heath. Syl via discovers the Jewels, and naturally believes Heath Is a robber. She real ises that Marcia must have hidden them, and decides to say nothing. Mar cia feels she has altogether too deep an Interest in her guest, but is power less to overcome It. Heath wires "Mrs. S. C. Heath," New York, saying he Is safe. He also orders a man named Cur rier to come at once. Sylvia, In her room, bedecks herself with the Jewels. At Marcia’s approach she hides them there. Heath asks Marcia to bring them to him. They are gone! He kindly makes light of the loss. Sylvia restores the Jewels to their original hiding place. Elisha Winslow, visiting Marcia, discovers the gems and has no doubt they are the stolen gems, and that Heath is the thief. Leaving the Jewels, he makes plans for arresting Heath. Currier arrives. Marcia overhears Heath describe how he acquired the gems, and is forced to believe him guilty of theft. At Heath’s suggestion, Currier investigates the hiding place— and finds the gems! He returns to New York with them, but his many refer ences to "Mrs. Heath" have convinced Marcia her tender dream has been a foolish one. CHAPTER VIII —ll— spite of Elisha’s indignation toward Stanley Heath, and his resolve to go to the Homestead witii the break of dawn, it was noon before he and Eleazer got under way. In the first place, the two men dis agreed as to the proper method of arresting the alleged criminal. “Yon can’t take him on no warrant, ’Lish,'’ Eleazbr objected, “’cause you ain’t actually got proof he’s guilty.” “Proof? Ain’t I got a clear case? Ain’t I roundin’ him up with the loot on him?” blustered Elisha. “P’raps—p’raps you didn’t really see the jewels,” Eleazer quavered. “Are you plumb certain you saw them things?" “Certain?” “Come, come! Don't go up In the air, ’Lish. I ain’t doubtin’ your word. I just want to make sure we don’t take no mis-steps an’ make jackasses of our selves,” Eleazer explained. “Have you got everythin’?” “I—l—guess so,” Elisha said weakly. “Pete fixed up your badge in great shape, didn’t he?” was Eleazer’s cheer ful comment. “It’s bright as a new dol lar. Anybody could see itga mile away. An’ the handcuffs, too—they look grand. Wal, what do you say to our settin’ out?” The stroll to Crocker’s Cove was not a hilarious one. With each successive step Elisha’s spirits dropped lower and lower. At last they came within sight of the bay. “Where’d you leave the boat?” Ele azer questioned. “I pulled her up opposite the fish shanty.” “She ain’t here.” “My soul an’ body! What’s to be done now?” “I reckon we’ll Just have to give it all up,” the sheriff responded with a sickly grin. “Gall it off.” “An’ let the thief escape? No sir—ee I We’ve got to go through with this thing now we’ve started if It takes a leg. We’ll walk round by the shore.” In high dudgeon the two men plod ded through the sand, its grit seeping Into their shoes with every step. It was not until they came within sight of the Homestead that the silence between them was broken. “Wal, here we are!” Eleazer an nounced more genially. “Yes—here—here we, are!” his com rade panted. “My soul an’ body—what a tramp! I’m near dead! Wait a minute, Eleazer. Let’s take 'count of stock an’ decide how we’re goin’ to proceed. We’ve got to make a plan.” “But we’ve made a plan a’ready. After you’ve knocked at the door an’ gone In —” “I knocked an’ gone in?” “Yes, yec,” Elisha repeated. “After that, you’ll sorter state the case to Marcia, 'xplalnln' why we’ve come an' everythin’—” “An’ what’ll you be doin’ mean time?” Eleazer Inquired, wheeling sharply. "Me? Why, I’ll be waitin’ outside, kinder loiterin’ 'till It’s time for me to go in—don’t you see?” “I don’t I think 'twould be better was you to go ahead an’ pave the way for me. That’s how It’s done in plays. Some kinder unimportant person goes first an’ afterward the hero comes in.” “So you consider yourself the hero of this show, do you?” commented Eleazer sarcastically. “Ain’t 17” “Wal, you don't 'pear to me to be. Who egged you on an’ marched you here —answer me that? If you ain’t the most ungrateful cuss alive! I've a big half mind to go back home an’ leave you to do your arrestin’ alone.” “Don't do that, Eleazer, don't do that!” Elisha begged. “Don’t go home an* leave me—now —at the last minute.” “Very well,” Eleazer agreed magnifi cently. “Then I’ll remain an’ give you my moral support." Elisha got up and, dragging one foot after the other, moved toward the house. “Now knock,” commanded the dic tator. Tremulously Elisha tapped on the door. No answer came. “Knock, I tell you! That ain’t knockin’. Give the door a good smart thump so’st folks’ll hear It an’ be made aware somethin’ Important’s go in’ on. I’ll show you.” Eleazer gave the door a spirited bang. “Law, Eleazer! A rap like that would wake the dead,” Elisha pro tested. “I hear somebody. Stand by me, Eleazer. Where are you goin’? Come back here, can't you? You prom ised—” “I didn’t promise to go In first. You was to do that,” Eleazer called from his vantage ground round the corner. “But —but —” Elisha whimpered. The door swung open and Marcia stood upon the sill. “Why, Elisha!”she exclaimed. “How you startled me. Come in. You’re all dressed up, aren’t you? Have you been to a funeral?” “No. I —we —” The sheriff cleared his throat “Me an’ Eleazer —” he began. “Eleazer? Did he come with you?” Elisha nodded. “Isn’t he coming in?” *‘Y es _yes. He’s cornin’ presently.” “Well, sit down and tel! me the news.” His dignity, h!s pomposity put to rout Elisha, feeling very small in deed. backed into the nearest chair. “You won’t mind if I go on with ray baking, will you?” Marcia said, bus tling toward the stove. “I’m makln’ dried apple turnovers. They’ll be done in a second and you shall have one. I guess a nice hot apple turnover won’t go amiss.” With deftness she whisked a tri angle of flaky pastry onto a plate and extended It toward her guest. He sat down with the plate in his lap. He had taken only an introductory mouthful, however, when the door part ed a crack and Eleazer crept cautious ly through the opening. For a moment he stood transfixed, “Arresting Folks?” Marcia Repeated. then he burst out in a torrent of re proach. “ ’Lish Winslow, what on earth are you doin’? Here I’ve bern waitin’ out side in the wind, ketchin’ my death of cold, an’ you settin’ here by the stove rockin’ an’ eatin’ pie!” “I know, Eleazer, 1 know,” Elisha stammered. “It may, mebbe, seem queer to you. I Just round to the business in hand, that’s all. I’m cornin’ to it in time. I’ve made a start. I was Just leadin’ up to it in a sorter tactful way.” “There ain’t no way of bein’ tactful when you’re arrestin’ folks. You’ve got the thing to do an’ you have to go straight to it.” “Arresting folks?” Marcia repeated, looking from one man to the other. “Yes. Since 'Lish is so spineless at his Job, I may’s well tell you what we come for. Pretty kind of a sheriff he is.” “You better look out, Eleazer Crock er, how you Insult an officer of the law,” Elisha bawled angrily. “Say a word more an’ Til hail yon into court” “If you don’t land me there faster'n you do Heath I shan't worry,” Jeered Eleazer. “Heath? Mr. Heath?” Marcia re peated. “Yes. We come over here this morn in’ to place Mr. Stanley Heath under arrest” Eleazer announced. The woman caught at the edge of the table. Her mind worked rapidly. She must gain time —worm out of them how much they knew. “Of what are you accusing Mr. Heath?” she demanded. “Of the Long Island robbery,” Elea zer answered. “You mean to say you think him a thief?” “We know he’s one—leastways Elisha does.” “I—yes! I’m tol’able sure. I have evidence,” Elisha replied. “At least I Agger I have.” “Shucks, ’Lish!” Eleazer cried. “Where’s your backbone? You figger you have! Don't you know it? Ain’t you beheld the loot with your own eyes?” Elisha nodded. “Then why on earth don’t you stand up In your boots an' say so?” The door opened and Sylvia entered, then stopped, arrested on the threshold by the sound of angry voices. Inquiringly she looked from Marcia to the men, and back again. Marcia, with whitened lips but with MIDLAND JOURNAL, RISING SUN, MD. face grave and determined, remained with her back to the stairway door, her eyes never leaving Elisha Wins low’s. There was something In her face Sylvia had never seen there —a light of battle; a fierceness as of a mother fighting for her child; a puz zling quality to which no name could be given. Suddenly, as the girl studied her, recognition of this new characteristic flashed upon her understanding. It was love! Anger, perhaps terror, had forced Marcia Into betraying a secret no other power could have dragged from her. “What proof have you?” Marcia de manded. Elisha shifted from one foot to the other. “I've seen the jewels,” he whispered. "They’re here—ln this room, under that brick. I’ve seen ’em.” With finger pointing dramatically toward the hearth, Elisha strode for ward. Sylvia, however, sprang before him, standing ’twlxt him and his goal. “What a ridiculous story, Mr. Wins low!” she cried. “What a fantastic yarn! Do you Imagine for one moment there could be anything hidden under those bricks and Marcia and I not know it? Why, one or the other of us has been In this room every tnstant since Mr. Heath arrived. When could he get the chance to hide anything? There Is nothing here, Mr. Winslow, truly there is nothing. I swear It.” “Nevertheless, let him look, Sylvia. Let them both look.” “Please —please, Marcia —1” Sylvia was upon her knees now on the hearth, and the men, hesitating to remove her by force, halted awkward ly. Marcia regarded her first with star tled incredulity—then with coldness. So Sylvia loved Heath, too! She was fighting for him —fighting with all her feeble strength. A pang wrenched the older woman’s heart. What If Heath had played a double game—made love to Sylvia as he had made love to her? If so —If the man were a mountebank the sooner they both found it out—the sooner the world knew It, the better. If, on the other hand, he was Inno cent, he should have his chance. The older woman went to the side of the pleading figure. "Get up, Sylvia,” she said. “The sheriff must search. He must do his duty. We have no right to prevent It.” Her face was pale, her lips tightly set. The brick was lifted out. A smothered cry escaped Sylvia and was echoed. “Why—land alive—there’s nothin' here!” gasped the sheriff. "I told you there was npthing!” Syl via taunted, beginning to laugh hys terically. “Wal, ’Llsh, all I can say Is you must either ’a’ been wool gatherin’ or dreamln’ when you conceived this yarn,” Eleazer jeered. “I warn’t,” hissed Elisha, stung to the quick. “I warn’t dseamln’. Them Jewels was there. 1 saw ’em with my own eyes. I swear to heaven I did.” He confronted Sylvia. “They was there, young lady, warn’t they? You know they was. That’s why you was so scalrt for me to look. You’ve seen ’em. Deny It If you dare.” • - “Of course 1 deny it.” “Humph! But Marcia won’t You can lie if you want to save the skin of that good-for-nothln’ critter upstairs —though what purpose Is served by your doin’ It I can’t see. But Marcia won’t. If she says them jewels warn’t here I’ll believe it. Come now, Marcia. Was there ever diamonds an* things under this brick or warn’t there?” “Yes.” “You saw ’em?” As If the admission was dragged from her, Marcia formed, but did not utter, the word: “Yes.” “There! Then I ain’t gone daffy! What I said was true,” Elisha ac claimed, rising in triumph and snap pingshis finger at Eleazer. “The Jewels were Mr. Heath’s. He hid them for safe keeping.” “A likely story I He stole ’em—that’s what he did.” “Prove it,” challenged Marcia, with sudden spirit, a spot of crimson burn ing on either cheek. “Prove It?” Elisha was taken aback. “Wal, I can't at the moment do that. I can’t prove It But even If I can’t, I can make out a good enough case against him to arrest him on suspicion. That's what I mean to do—that’s what I come for an’ what I’ll do 'fore I leave this house.” “Mr. Heath Is sick.” “I guess he ain't so sick but what I can go up an’ cross-examine him.” “I ask you not to go. I forbid it” “Law, Marcia!” “I forbid It,” repeated 'the woman. “Drop this matter for a day or two, Elisha. Mr. Heath shall not leave the house. I promise you that Leave him here In peace until he is well again. When he is able to—to—go with you I will telephone. You can trust me. When have I ever been false to my word?” “I don’t see why the mischief you’re so crazy to stand 'twlxt this Heath chap an' Justice, Marcia. The feller’s a scoundrel. That's what he Is —an out an’ out scoundrel. Not only is he a thief but he's a married man who's plottin’ behind your back to betray you—boastin' openly In telegrams he Is.” “What do you mean?” “I wouldn't like to tell you. In fact i couldn’t. Twould be repeatin’ what was told me in confidence," hedged Elisha, frightened by the expression on the woman’s face. “I bare a right to know about tne telegrams you mention. Will you tell me or shall I call up the Sawyer Falls Operator?” (TO BE CONTINUED) e New York Post—WNU Service. Here’s Hoping, Kid, You Are One of Brave Dark Horses HE IS a freckled-faced young man whose legs always seem several inches too much for his first long trousers. Ordinarily I see him busily engaged in proving that, given an un guarded lot and a few kindred souls, the average American boy can make scant work of those theorists who claim that baseball no longer is the great national game. This night, though, he was standing on the corner watch ing. “What’s the matter. Kid?” I asked him. “Sick or something?” He hesitated while a deeper red united all the freckles. “Naw,” he said, stuffing at the shirt that never seems to make proper contact with the top of those first long trousers. “They— aw —well, you see we got a football team now and —they—well—aw—” Since the story is painful It may be passed over quickly. The young man is an individualist as well as a citizen of considerable daring, imagination and ambition. So he had been inventing some new plays and trying them out on his own because—“Aw well, you know they got a better team than we have because they’re bigger and some of ’em work and—.” Again let us skip the woe. Probably the plays were very good ones but, as his teammates pointed out before send ing him to the sidelines, they were not working. In an important contest such as the one that night you could not blame them for this because —“Well, maybe he oughtn’t to have tried that lateral but those other .birds were so much bigger that he thought—Well, If he could just get another chance he’d show them that he —.” Can’t Dim This Lad’s Confidence Just then there was an insistent yell ing from across the street where a badly scuffed, poorly inflated thing that seemed to be a football was being given a moment’s rest. There was only a minute or two more to go and if those bigger fellows were to be defeat ed there was dire need for the services of ’a young min who is an individu alist as well as a citizen of consider able daring, Imagination and ambition. So the captain was calling and—. I did not have time to wait. Some how when you write pieces for the pa per you seldom have time for anything except attending stuffy dinners in the evenings. But —. There was slim Francis Ouimet. Only a caddy scant months previously, he surged with patrl niet the mighty Ynrdon and the mightier I!ay |||p£ tlle nntloni,t open in fjKpfe off and a golfing mira- pace-setter summoned new strength, refused ■ t 0 <,uit w * len a naore jfo. favore j teammate fal- Ouimet tered, and Ted Mere dith raced on to fame In the Olympics. They said Molla Mallory was through In 1921. She walked onto the court one afternoon late In summer. When she walked off Suzanne Lenglen, winner of three straight Wimbledon titles, had been defeated in the United States woman's national tennis champion ships. Bronzed giants came out of the West In 1923 and Washington upset a rowing dynasty. In 1900 a parent, who was a tireless taskmaster, received his reward when red-cheeked little Willie Hoppe was carried away on the shoul ders of a cheering Paris throng which had just Seen him defeat the great Vlgneaux, billiard champion of the world. Even the most loyal fans knew that the Giants were doomed to a miserable second division existence in 1933. They took command at the start and re mained triumphant to the finish, even to the finish of the World Series. In 1913 a proud Army eleven sched uled a practice game with a team from “a little school some place out West.” Dorals passed to Rockne, Eichenlaub hit the line and Notre Dame was launched as a gridiron power. There was Johnny Rawlings, Pepper Martin, Howard Ehmke. There—But the list Is too long to name them all even during a dinner that stretches through long hours. They were dark horses, Americans who came through when the odds and the world’s beliefs were long against them. I am sorry that I missed seeing you, Kid. But I hope that you made it, too. IT PERHAPS Is not entirely true that if Mr. Arthur Brisbane ever took a gander at Tony Galento, the best go rilla investors could get from then on would be even money. Yet, since each mall brings evidence that other gifted, If not so well Informed, writers are vastly impressed with what the squat, hairy Tlbny might do if the Hearst press should slip him a more reasonable as signment, his talents will be discoursed upon today. Definitely, a considerable portion of the literate metropolitan populace seems overcome by an irresistible yen to see the Newark Nightstick swinging against Joe Louis for the greater glory of Mike Jacobs and the financial benefit of the Christmas Basket fund. So because a show is promised for December and the stamp buyers should have fair op portunity to hoard those pennies which can be exchanged for ringside seats, there has been some wonder as to why the subject goes Into a St. Vitus dance each time it is touched upon. Galento, once the most eminent of New Jersey’s far famed and efficient galaxy of speakeasy bouncers, is a round-headed, beady-eyed young man who probably would be doing Mussolini a lot of good right now if he had not had the luck to be born in Orange. He is not though—for all the honor that came to Luis Angel Firpo, with whom he compares favorably, hair for hair—a pugilist whose top flight pre tensions ordinarily could be taken seriously. Plainly—ns even those partisans suffered so acutely during his recent strivings against Willie McGee —he is not a " jgM boxer. Aside from ’ some slight concession flMlßj|| to form In the matter of sticking a plump ' gyil' W left arm out in front fTf' of him, his scorn for \ |K those niceties Intro- : duced by the Marquis WpSSM of Queensbtiry is as ; >. evident as is that de- £ sire of better celebrat- • ' ' ed heavyweights to Joe Louis, avoid him. Such disregard for the finer phases of the manly art of self-defense should long ago have caused him to go Into discard along with Ifrose other fifth rate performers who so frequently have outpointed him. That, instead, he now has become a town topic must be because he is a man with a mission in life and a pride in his work. Whether this mission is to become such a source of embarrassment to Joe Louis as the similarly roly poly Willie Meehan once was to Jack Dempsey is something that need not be unduly dis cussed here. What is more important is the pride Mr. Galento takes in beat ing par in the matter of belting out any designated opponent. This is a work at which he moves with real zest and with a pretty dis dain for the punches that may mean while be bouncing off his own ironclad jaw. While toddling around the ring, right arm almost on a level with his own bent knee, there is something al most wistful about him. He seems to be a guy who would willing be put to bed without supper if an opponent would just—. Tony’s Mighty Right Makes Fans Happy Here the opponent, perhaps over tired from piling up points, relaxes for a sympathetic moment. There is a scant opening. The Newark Nightstick is leveled upon a defenseless lug. Mr. Galento puffs, dabs daintily at the beads of sweat upon his chest and then glances at the victim squirming upon the canvas. Sometimes then there is a disdainful gleam in his eyes but it Is not for the weakness of this victim who, a moment ago, was doing so well. Rather Mr. Galento is ribbing his own right hand, telling it that it ought to be ashamed of itself having to take two swishes before it could convince a mere 230-pounder such as Young Hippo to stay tagged. It is at such moments that Mr. Galento and his audience are happiest Perhaps his delicate pinkies have not yet been planted under enough Jaws to merit such intimate esteem as caused an entire nation to hail Frank Moran’s maulie as Mary Ann. Yet, for all that there may be people ’who love and honor him for other more enduring qualities, it is only because he has that right hand that Mr. Galento can charm an audience into paying real money for the chance of being happy. Therein also is the reason —far more than any prejudice against the rights of the foreign bom Schmelings, Neusels and Paulinos to take satchels full of gold out of this country—why the audi ence seems to crave him as Louis’s next opponent. Probably the fight would be a very bad one. Louis, the best boxer among the heavyweights of the day, should outpoint him with ease. Possibly Louis, who hits almost as hard as Detroit's other idol, Hank Greenberg, might also knock him out. Yet, even though the League of Nations might persuade Ethiopia and Italy to revert to the an cient custom of settling their own mass troubles by this one test, it is rather evident that it is a fight that never will take place. I mention this for the benefit of those citizens who have been wasting so many stamps while calling attention to their eagerness to lay it on the line for Santa Claus. The reasons should be obvious even though I personally think that, if left to his own devices, Joe Louis would welcome such a chance. Louis Is a million dollar fighter. Galento probably could fetch $250 if the market happened te be in a buying mood. Joe probably could be writing his life story with one hand while out pointing Tony with the other. But— I Porter* Who Shoulder Burden of Half a Ton To become a porter In the Central Markets of Paris one must pass dras tic weight-carrying tests. One such is to walk the whole length of the market carrying at least 400 pounds on the back. 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