Newspaper Page Text
Released by Western Newspaper Union.
By VIRGINIA VALE UNIVERSAL has given us another of those top-notch psychological mysteries, one as good as “The Suspect.” This time it’s “Uncle Harry.” with a star-studded cast George Sanders, Geraldine Fitzgerald, Ella Raines and Sara Allgood, who has only to walk across a room to steal the scene from everybody else. if H| \ *aßßjs''V'rajjaSHragHßaHE GERALDINE FITZGERALD You’ll see superb acting all through the picture, especially in some of Geraldine Fitzgerald’s scenes. It’s a picture that causes rather violent reactions people are going to like it tremendously or argue about it for weeks because they wanted a different ending. And that’s a sure sign that a picture is exceptional; if it isn’t nobody cares how it turns out. Dennis Morgan, star of “Christ mas in Connecticut,” is the only Hollywood star who has worked in pictures under three different names, so far as we know. At Metro he used his own name, Stan ley Morner. At Paramount, Richard Stanley. Warners’ gave him his pres ent name. If you’ve just stubbed your toe on a disappointment, here’s encourage ment for you. Clark Gable lost his first film job because “his ears are too big.” George Brent and Hum phrey Bogart were dropped by con tract holders because they “weren’t convincing in western drama.” And Bette Davis’ name t must still em barrass certain executives who let her go “because she has no sex ap peal.” It looks as if the movie stars can’t resist the restaurant business. Dur ing filming of “Young Widow,” Louis Hayward had an architect make plans for a cafe to be opened when the war ended, and Alan Ladd’s go ing into partnership in a hamburger stand. Frank Sinatra seems to be set for the next five years in radio. He’s signed a contract for 39 weeks with a cigarette company, with options covering that time. He’ll replace “Which is Which,” for which “De tect and Collect” substituted this summer. He’ll be heard Wednesday nights, on CBS. He says one of the best things about the program is the fact that Mann Holiner will be the producer thinks Holiner’s the best producer in the business. The only motion picture footage of the atom smasher, which played an important part in experiments lead ing to the development of the atomic bomb, will be seen in “Mira cle Makers,” a Warner’s short sub ject now ready for immediate re lease. Dr. O. E. Lawrence, who de veloped the cyclotron, as it’s called, was technical adviser on the se quence and appears in the film. —* Jack Smith, who now has his own show on CBS, joins Bing Crosby, Ginny Simms and all the others who’ve started on the air singing with a trio and graduated to star dom. Jack was in high school when he and two friends landed the job vacated by Bing Crosby’s Rhythm Boys at the Cocoanut Grove. He spends his free time teaching re turned soldiers at the New York School of Artcraft Instruments. —* Twentieth Century - Fox’s “The House on 92nd Street,” dealing with the development of the atomic bomb, is based entirely on record? of the FBI, showing their work in counter acting enemy agents*"attempts to ob tain the secret. It was made secret ly in New York, Washington and other locales, and sequences deal ing directly with the bomb were omitted till after it had been used in Japan. —* — ODDS AND ENDS—Guest ghosts galore wilt haunt “Inner Sanctum," now bach again, on CBS, with Paul McGrath as Your Bast. . . . Jane Wyman liked that leopard soat she wears in “The Lost Weekend " so much that she had a duplicate made for her own wardrobe. ... Many of the servicemen now bn hospitals are learning the inside stories of actions they participated in, by listening to Dan Seymour's “Now It Can Be Told” series. ... Bing Crosby sings 22 tongs in Irving Berlin's “Blue Skies”—a treat for Crosby fans, who won’t be hear ing him weekly if he carries out his threat to abandon those Thursday'night broad? ousts. THE STORT THUS FAR: Thunder head, commonly known a* the Goblin, il the only white horse ever born on the Gooie Bar ranch in Wyomlnf. He grows from a misshapen colt to a powerful yearling, resembling his great grandslre more every day. The grandslre is a wild stallion caUed the Albino. One day Gob lin wanders into a mountain valley, meets the Albino, and barely escapes with his life. After his wounds heal, his 12-year-old owner, Ken McLaughlin, be gins to train him. The McLaughlins secretly hope he will develop Into a racer. The Goblin Is difficult to handle, but one day he surrenders to Ken, and sets off across the prairies. He runs with astonishing ease, speed and endurance. CHAPTER XIII As she approached him, every thing forgotten but the longing for closeness and understanding, he looked up at her. Her iris-colored eyes were dark with emotion. They were shadowed underneath, but they were full of gentleness and affec tion and her smile pleaded for rec onciliation. Rob held out his hand to her. She leaned over to kiss him and he kissed her in return. Their eyes did not quite meet. “Are you going up?” he asked. “Yes.” “Don’t wait for me. I’m going to read awhile.” • • • The “track” was a half mile oval on the level range north of Lone Tree Creek, about two miles from the ranch house. This had been selected by the boys immediately upon their arrival home from school this summer as Thunderhead’s practice and trial ground. There was a natural grand stand to one side, a peak of craggy rock spearing up. They had out lined the oval track by setting posts at the curves. These posts—Thun derhead must understand—he was to run outside of, not in. Sometimes he did, sometimes he did not. Not that he did not understand! They had painted a broad band of white across the course at the finish, just in front of the grandstand and here Thunderhead had run many a mile, wondering, no doubt, where was the sense in it. Running to shelter in a storm—running away from enemies and dangerous places—just even running with his own band for fun and exercise on the Saddle Back— this could be understoood. But run ning on the flat range, often at top speed, around and around those posts, with a small demon yelling on top of him and another jumping up and down on the rock—this was incomprehensible. The air was fresh after the storm, the range green and dustless. Nell was in white linen jodhpurs and white silk shirt with the sleeves rolled up on her slender brown arms. Her face was without care or worry, like a child’s when a picnic is ahead. She sat beside Sargent in his car, pointing out to him the way to the track, for it could not be reached by any of the roads on the ranch. In the back of the car was How ard with the bucket of oats. Just before they had started they had heard a yell, and Ken came run ning with a bucket half full of oats and a halter rope. His face showed embarrassment as he apologized for Thunderhead and stuck the bucket in the car. “Just in case—in case he got away or something—and I had trouble in getting him back.” “So,” said Sargent, as they drove along, “he gets away, does he? And is hard to get back?” “Aw—” said Howard, “he’s pretty good. VJ% haven’t been training him very long, you know.” “Sometimes,” said Nell, “he runs clear off and doesn’t come back for a long time. Look, Charley— you go down this slope here and through Lone Tree—that shallow place there.” Charley slowed down to put the car through the creek. “Where does the colt go?” he as ked. “That’s what we’d all like to know,” said Nell. “He came back once with cuts and scratches,” said Howard, lean ing over the back of their seat. “And a terrible big wound in the chest. Dad said a stallion had pawed him.” Charley Sargent seemed to have been struck dumb. He stood looking at the horses, first Thunderhead, then the filly, Touch And Go. She had moved away a little and was grazing quietly. Finally he reached for the makings, rolled himself a cigarette and took a long puff. “Ken,” he said quietly, “I’ll be damned.” Ken, at the colt’s head, looked at him anxiously, the color coming and going in his face. “So that!” said Sargent in his drawling voice, “is Thunderhead out of Flicka by Appalachian!” i "Yes, sir, he’s by Appalachian all •right.” “How old Is he? "Just a short two. Do you—do you think he looks pretty good, Mr. Sargent?” “He’s nothing of a racer—” 1 “He isn’t!” "Nothing like any horse I ever saw before. He’s like a statue of a horse that sculptors think up—all big curves and muscles that head-” Thunderhead’s face, eyes, head— these were, indeed, the outstanding things about him. Such a lacs would MIDLAND JOURNAL, RISING SUN, MD. make a person suddenly stop in passing, look again—then stand hyp notized. The intensity of the black eye with the thin thread of white around it—the wildness, the implac able determination—the bigness of the head—the way the heavy neck curved and drew the chin in to the chest—then suddenly flung the head high—with the black muzzle reach ing up—the nostrils flaring— “l’ll be damned,” said Sargent weakly again. “Isn’t he a racer at all, Mr. Sar gent?” “He’s not a racing type. Not a runner. Not that he might not, perhaps—beat a racer—! With that power, no telling what he could do! Is he fast?” “Well—sometimes, if he wants to be. He really can run, but he doesn’t always do it.” “You don’t think he’s too heavy, Charley?” Nell asked. “Not like a work horse?” “My Gosh, no! Those legs— they’re strong but they’re trim and clean. He’s a heavy hunter type. All the power in the world there.” At every word waves of hot and cold went through Ken. Praise of Thunderhead! Power? Ken knew his power. Would he ever forget the first ride he had had on him this summer? It was not just the ride. It was an experience of power and will that had been communicated from the horse’s body to his own and had left a mark in his con sciousness that would never be erased. He smoothed Thunderhead’s nose softly. “He’s strong all right.” The stallion’s eyes turned a lit “Risling!” Charlie laughed and looked at Thunderhead. tie, fastened on Ken. Ken stared back. Suddenly Thunderhead’s teeth bared and reached for Ken’s arm. Ken snatched it away and cuffed him. Thunderhead reared, came down prancing. Ken hauled on the reins and shouted at him. Charley stepped back quickly. “Nasty-tempered, eh?” “It isn’t that. He doesn’t like me.” “Doesn’t like you! That’s pretty tough, when he’s yours and you have to train him.” “I keep thinking maybe he’ll get to like me. Mother’s the only one he likes. He’s never mean to her.” “Let’s look at the filly. Why did you bring her along?” asked Char ley. “He’s very fond of her. She’s his little sister. She’s kind of a mascot for him.” “Oh, she’s out of Flicka too?” “Yes. And they always stay to gether. It kind of quiets him, if he should get excited, to have her around.” “He gets excited, does he? And mean?” Ken was shocked. “Oh, never mean! But he bucks and fights. Sometimes he runs away with me.” “But never mean!” laughed Sar gent. “I see. But can’t you hold him in?” “He takes the bit. He’s better when Touch And Go’s around. He’s happier. You see he isn’t a very happy horse most of the time. He’s got something eating him, dad says.” Sargent was studying the filly. “That’s a nifty little filly.” “She’s exactly like Flicka was when she was a yearling. When I first got Flicka, she was just about that age and a bright golden sorrel like that, and the light mane and tail.” “She’s like her sire,” said Sar gent. “She’s by Banner, isn’t she?” “Yes, and she’s very light and fast.” “You don’t say.” Sargent was not going to be enthusiastic about a colt of Banner’s when one of Appa lachian’s was around. “Yes, she can go like the wind! But of course nobody has ever rid den her. She just, runs along with Thunderhead when we train him, or by herself.” "Mr. Sargent,” said Howard, "our two-year-olds are going to be gelded right away and dad says Thunder head’s got to be gelded too, Ho you think he ought to be?” At this unpleasant reminder of the one thing that was preying on his mind, the happiness went out of the day for Ken. Nell’s cheeks colored with anger and she turned away and walked over to the “grandstand.” “Come along, Howard, give me a hand up here! We’d better get started!” Sargent looked at Ken’s white, sul len face. “What’s the matter, son?” Ken gave a little jerk of his head toward Howard. “What he was say ing there. Dad’s going to have all the two-year-olds gelded.” “When?” “Some time this week. He’s sent word to Doc Hicks to come and do it whenever; he’s in this neighbor hood. Then dad won’t have to pay for his driving out and back just for our horses.” “Is he going to geld Thunderhead too?” “Yep.” “Well, what if he does? He won’t be the only one. They all have to be gelded, you know.” “But he’s going to be a race horse!” “What’s that got to do with it? Race horses get gelded too—most of them. It won’t hurt him. And it may improve his appearance. I wouldn’t like to see that neck of his get any thicker.” “But he might die!” “Oh, nonsense! It won’t hurt him. But maybe, if he runs well enough, we could get your father to change his mind.” Ken shook his head. “He never changes his mind.” “Never does?” “No.” “Well, anyway, let’s see what the colt can do now. Up with you.” He clutched the seat of Ken’s pants, and the boy went lightly up into the sad dle. He hitched his feet into the lit tle short stirrups and grinned down at Sargent. “I don’t usually ride with these short stirrups. I ride bareback a lot. It’s kind of hard to get used to. But I can do it.” He squeezed his knees together, and bent over the horse’s withers like a jockey. Sargent’s long brown face was twinkling with enjoyment. “Give him a bit of a workout first to warm him up. Remember, I’ve an inter est in this colt too!” This was very cheering to Ken as he gave the signal to Thunderhead and the colt started forward. Per haps, if Mr. Sargent had an interest in him too, he might say some thing to his father about the gelding. Sargent stood looking at him as he cantered down the course, noticing his action. Then he climbed up on the grandstand beside Nell and How ard. There was a ledge quite high up from which they could overlook the whole track. Howard held the stop watch in his hand. Touch And Go left her grazing and cantered playfully beside her big brother, down to the end, around the curve, and back again. The white colt moved slowly and easily. After ten minutes or so, Sargent shouted to Ken, “Get him going now, son—Let him out.” Ken swung around to the starting line and flung the horse over it in a gallop. For a half-hour then, Ken strug gled to make the colt give a good account of himself. He had very little success. Thunderhead cut a corner once, Ken pulled him up, made him go back and outside the post. Suddenly the colt got ugly— fought for the bit—Ken spurred him and reined him back, then lifted him forward into a run. Touch And Go ran with him. By turns Howard and Charley Sar gent held the stop watch. Finally they climbed down and Ken rode up to them. His face was flaming, his eyes wild, the horse nervous and pacing. “Can he run, Ken?” said Sar gent. “What have you been giving me?” “Oh, yes, he can— if he wants!” answered Ken passionately. “I’m beginning to think he’s too much horse for you,” said Sargent. “You know,” said Nell thoughtful ly, “he really can run. It’s quite different from this hard galloping. It’s a different gait. Do you re member that black mare—Rocket— his grandmother?” “I sure do—she was almost my mare.” “Yes. That one. You remember the time we ran her in front of the automobile and clocked her—and she just floated along without trying no effort at all?” “I do. Never saw such a gait in my life.” “He’s got the same gait. He does it sometimes. I wish you could see it. Ken, let’s try again. I’ll tie up Touch And Go. I think she dis tracts him.” Nell got the tie-rope, snapped it to the filly’s halter and fastened her to the bumper of the automobile so that Thunderhead could not see her. Once more they took their places on the ledge and Charley gave Ken the signal. (TO BX CONTINUED) /V*! Poached eggs are much tastier if fixed in hot milk instead of water. To keep brass or other metal door knockers, door knobs, and the like shiny, apply a thin coat of colorless wax to them occasion ally. —•— When saving buttons from an old garment, put matching ones on a safety pin to keep them together. It will save time later. d/ENTER MOMENTS w nh lt E?ma,, Mt—h, "And listen, Honey—here's how you can recognize me. I'll be wearing a tan suit and a tan tie to match." Jsßf* **• <mmihai It ms* - * Tveready” No. 6 Dry Cells continue to provide p===|=|gs|i dependable power for the vital field telephone equip- IttjßSl ment of our Armed Forces. But you’ll be glad to know they are available in increasingquantities for civilian use — fresh, full-powered, long lived as always. Ask for them at your dealer’s now. H ■?! 9 *-M The utords "Eveready” and "Ignitor n are registered trade-marks of National Carbon Co., Inc . Put FRAM Oil Filters on All Three! HERE’S how to save a lot tionary engines. Experts agree of long, costly repairs on Fram! . . . lengthen the life of your car, truck, tractor or station- „ MONIY - , * eK ouasantis ary engine. Just install Fram Remember, a Fram oil filter oil filters! must satisfy you, or you get your money back. If your why tvitY ingini niids PRAM equipment is already filter- During normal operation, dirt, equipped, Fram replacement dust, grit and other abrasives cartridges can be put in present are sucked into engines. At the filters to step up performance, same time carbon and sludge Remember, Fram oil filters are are formed within the engines, easy to install and cartridges Unless filtered out, the dirt-and may be changed in a jiffy. So carbon grind away moving see your dealer today! Find out parts, while the sticky sludge “Row’s Your Oil Filter?” The clogs oil channels to hamper Dipstick tells the story 1 lubrication and increase wear. But with a Fram, these impur- FRAM CORPORATION ities are filtered out, to keep movidinci is, i. l. motor oil visually clean! That’s why millions of Fram / filters and cartridges are used f. by our armed forces-why Fram / * 0 A /?) is standard equipment on more /pg' <* <*, . ffj than 75 famous car, truck, /d*/ !***%'. fr °<*>r / tractor, bus, marine and sta- / v 0 *' co„ ** * Ndj,'/ IJ Sty boojjj* If BUY MOBS KIIP THI SONUS YOU NAVII J r i\AM Keep al) furniture about an inch away from the wall,, then you are certain you will not rub the wall paper and make a mark or grease spots by an overdose of furniture polish on the back of a table or chair. —•— To make candles last double time, hold each by the wick and coat with white varnish. Dry and harden. The varnish prevents the grease from running down to waste.