Sandy post., March 13, 1940, Image 2

SANDY POST
WEDNESDAY. MAR. 13. 1940
OUR WEEKLY SERIAL STORY INSTALLMENT
Z
L tl I
wo keys to a cabin
B Y
L ID A
SYNOPSIS
Charm ing, wealthy Gabriella (Gay for
short) G raham , engaged to Todd Jane­
way, returns to a cabin in the Maine
woods accompanied by a friend, Kate
Oliver The idea of a stay at the cabin
occurred to her when she received a key
to It following the death of her godfather,
Uncle John Lawrence
The two girls
notice Im m ediately that someone has
been, and probably Is, living in the cabin.
Kate suspects that Gay knows the identity
of the mysterious occupant. While the
girls talk, the mystery man returns.
CHAPTER II—Continued
—3—
L A R R I M O R E
in the air of the room though the
words they spoke were casual. This
was the motive, then, whether she’d
known he was here or the meeting
was a coincidence. This, he, was
why she had wanted to come.
Kate gave a distracted .thought to
Gay's family, to a blond young man
with charming manners whom she
liked very much.
“Heaven help us!” she said silent­
ly, the shadow of events to come
lying darkly across her mind. And
then, because her rectory past would
pop up now and then, “The prayers
of the congregation are requested,"
she added.
© MACRAE SMITH CO.
“Impetuous,” Kate murmured.
"He seems to be in a hurry.”
He appeared almost before she
had completed the thought, a tall,
“Of course you've met Kate.” The
rangy young man in corduroys and singing vibration was in Gay's voice.
a leather coat, the brim of a dark "I'm sorry. I had forgotten.”
“I hadn’t.” He took a few steps
felt hat pulled down over his eyes.
He halted abruptly in the doorway, forward into the room. “Miss Oli­
stood surveying the brightly lit refcm ver rescued me, on one occasion,
with an expression which changed, from a fate worse than death.”
“I remember,” Kate said. Gay
as Kate watched, from brusque in­
quiry to blank amazement. His glanced at her quickly. Kate was
face, lean and brown, with promi­ lighting a cigarette. Her eyes in
nent cheek-bones and jaw line, was the spurt of flame from the match
vaguely familiar. She had seen him were twinkling under the frown that
somewhere, in a quite different Set­ knotted her brows. ’’You had,” she
added, speaking to John, "a tenden­
ting. Somewhere—
“ Hello. John.” Gay’s voice sound­ cy to bolt into empty rooms."
“It was my first debutante party,”
ed completely natural, neither very
cordial nor very aloof, certainly not he said. His diffident half-smile wid­
at all surprised. Kate heard her ening into an engaging grin, ex­
rise from the chair. The young man cluded Gay. That studied indif­
in the door-way slowly removed his ference enraged her now as it had
hat. His hair was thick and dark when she was fifteen. She had, she
and cut short to thwart, Kate sus­ discovered, exactly the same i m ­
pected, a tendency toward Waves. pulse to do something, anything, to
She doubted whether, after the first attract and hold his attention.
"You're looking well,” she said.
quid glance, he was aware of her
“You're looking well, too.” His
presence in the room. His eyes re­
eyes, regarding her steadily across
mained fixed upon Gay.
“Gay—" he said slowly, Incredu the space which separated them, held
a faintly ironical expression which
lously
He had a beautiful mouth. “Beau­ she remembered very well. "I'm
tiful" wasn't a word you used to relieved." The engaging grin slant­
describe a man, Kate told herself. ed side-wise. “Your photographs
It was beautiful, though, generous, have given me the impression that
sensitive, expressive. Wondering you’d been skipping your vitamins
recognition kindled in his dark eyes. and losing too much sleep."
“My photographs—?” Gay ques­
For an unguarded moment some
strong emotion gave his dark, rath­ tioned.
“The press has been giving you
er grave face a glancing brtMiance.
Kate found herself, in that moment considerable space recently," he
of silence, almost holding her said in reply.
The press! Had they done some­
breath.
“ I have the advantage, John,” thing stupid at home? Gay's eyes
Gay said, “I knew it was you who flew to meet Kate's startled glance.
K ite's expression was not reassur­
was here.”
The brilliance faded out of his ing. She looked as though she was
face. Kate saw his mouth set a resigning herself to some inevita­
ble disaster. Gay turned again to
little grimly.
“ You usually have, haven't you?" John.
“This time you have the advan­
he nsked quietly.
“Not always.”
The question tage," she said. "We haven't seen
seemed to have shaken Gay s com the papers for two days."
She fancied, for a moment, that
posure. She turned to Kate. “Kate,”
she said, “Miss Oliver, may I pre­ he, as well as Kate, knew the thought
sent—Is it—Doctor Houghton now?” which had flashed into her mind.
she asked, turning again to the tall His expression was wholly ironical.
But—
young man in the doorway.
“1 was referring to the rotogra­
“ Doctor Houghton," he affirmed.
He smiled at Kate a little diffident­ vure sections." he said, "and the
ly “I’ve met Miss Oliver," he said flfty-cent magazines.”
He hesitated, then, "May I wish
•Certainly. How • do - you - do?”
Kate remembered now. She had the you happiness?" he asked.
"Why not?”
answer. This was Dr. Lawrence's
"I do wish that for you." He con­
nephew. John, who'd come with him
to Gay's debutante party. This was tinued to regard her steadily but
the young man with whom Gay the slanting smile had vanished and
had stolen away from the party that , his eyes were very grave.
night. She, Kate, had seen them re- j "Thank you. John.”
turning
She remembered now. | His steady gaze presently altered.
Gay’s face, soft and bright, framed He glanced around the room.
“I'm a very poor host," he said.
in the collar of a white fur coat,
upturned to the tall young man bend­ "You've had to bring in your lug­
ing to speak to her in the dimly lit gage and get your supper. I've been
passage that led to a aide-door of talking politics up at the village
store. Why didn't you let me know
the ball-room.
She had the answer but It did not you were coming?"
The question had, for Gay, only
relieve her concern. There was
something between Gay and this one implication. Resentment, like a
you: g man. Kate fell it vibrating fresh breeze blowing through a room
WNU SERVICE
too warm and perfumed, cleared the
confusion from her mind.
“Did you think I knew you were
here?” she asked quietly but with
warmth kindling in her voice.
He turned to look at her in sur­
prise.
“But if you didn't, why did you
come?”
Resentment flamed into anger.
But anger was stupid. She returned
his glance directly, her chin uncon­
sciously lifting, her eyes bright and
scornful.
“You haven’t become less—fatu­
ous, have you?” she asked.
“I didn’t mean that the way it
sounded," he said quickly. "I'm not
that fatuous. I meant, how did you
expect to get in unless someone was
here?”
Her level glance did not waver.
His momentary confusion gave her
I-1- * *
L,.
K
5 f
T must make my- experiment
here.”
the advantage. She pressed it reso­
lutely, still smarting from humiliat­
ed pride.
"Why should I have had the faint­
est idea that you, especially, should
be here?” she asked.
"But who else would be?” His ex­
pression was frankly puzzled. ’Tve
never rented it. My kid sister had
a house-party here this summer
Otherwise it hasn't been occupied
except when I've been here.”
She pressed her advantage stub­
bornly, incensed by the posses­
sive tone in which he spoke of her
property. "Who gave you permis­
sion to use the cabin at any time?”
she asked.
"Permission—?" He stared at her
in perplexity.
“Didn’t you know that Uncle John
left the cabin to me?"
“To you?”
“Yes.” It was the granddaughter
of David Graham speaking, the
granddaughter of Peter Schuyler,
secure in her inherited assurance,
quite obviously taking pleasure in
the routing of an intruder.
"But that’s impossible,” he said
crisply.
“ His lawyer sent me a key three
years ago nearly," Gay said, “just
after Uncle John died.”
She watched him intently, expect­
ing some attempt at justification,
explanations, an apology, perhaps.
She did not expect the smile of
somewhat incredulous amusement
which crept slowly upward from his
lips into his eyes.
"Does that impress you as being
amusing?” she asked with dignity.
"Uncle John was my god-father.
There's no particular reason, is
there, why he shouldn’t have left
the cabin to me?”
“I suppose there isn’t,” he said, as
though that point was of small im­
portance. The smile deepened. "I
was just wondering how many oth­
er people are likely to pop in here
with keys. You see.” he continued
in reply to her questioning glance,
“Uncle John’s lawyer sent one to
me. 1 naturally assumed that the
cabin was mine and have used it
whenever I’ve had a chance.
She had not considered that possi­
bility. It was true, of course. It
was the only logical explanation. She
felt, for a moment, in sympathy
with John, who, as well as she, was
the victim of some sentimentality
or eccentricity contrived by a mem­
ber of an older generation. But Un­
cle John, as she remembered him.
had been neither sentimental nor
eccentric. The lawyer had made a
mistake, perhaps. At any rate, it
wasn’t John's fault any more than
it was hers.
“I understand that,” she said,
"because I assumed that it belonged
to me.” Neither pride nor resent­
ment was entirely proof against the
humor in the situation, against the
charm of his rare slow smile. Her
eyes met John’s in laughter and
sympathy. Then—
“So you can't turn me out after
all, can you?” he asked.
“No,” she said slowly, consider­
ing. "But I can ask you to go.”
His smile faded a little.
“Are you planning to stay—indef­
initely?" he asked.
"Not longer than a week, per­
haps.”
“I have another week.” She knew
that he, too, was considering, choos­
ing his words with deliberation, try­
ing to gauge their probable effect
upon her. "It’s rather an impor­
tant week," he went on, “my last
vacation, probably, for some time.”
"This week is important for me,
too,” Gay said with equal delibera­
tion. My last of—’’ She paused, then
added, smiling, “—of vacation prob­
ably for some time.”
The slanting smile, more mocking
than amused, told her that he under­
stood the implication of the pause
and the smile.
“I should be a gentleman and
clear out, I suppose,” he said slow­
ly. "Unfortunately, it isn’t as simple
as that. I’m making an experi­
ment,” he said diffidently. “It’s just
getting well under way.”
“Amateur photography?” Kate
asked from her position against the
chimney.
"Probably of no greater impor­
tance.” he said with a deprecating
laugh.
Kate shouldn't have, Gay thought,
feeling again that reluctant but com­
pelling sympathy for John. Kate
was getting back at her. She de­
served it, perhaps, but he didn't.
"I suggested photography,” Gay
said. “I thought possibly the ma­
terials in your laboratory were
things Uncle John had left.”
“I'm sorry. It's just that—” He
ran his hand with an impatient ges­
ture across his crisp dark hair. "It
probably won’t amount to anything,
but I want to see it through. If I
leave here now, all that I've done
will be lost.”
"I suppose I should be a lady and
leave you in peace,” Gay said qui­
etly, quite steadily, but with a silken
thread of retaliation running through
her voice. “Unfortunately, that isn't
so simple, either. I'm making an
experiment.”
"And you must make It here?”
"Yes,” she said, after a moment.
“I came for that purpose. I must
make my—experiment here."
A pause followed, not warm and
intimate as the first had been. This
was a truce, a break in active hos­
tilities. John walked to the table
and picked up his pipe. Gay stood
half-leaning against the back of the
chair, watching the movements of
his hands in the yellow cone of
lamp-light. She remembered them,
brown and strong, against a canoe
paddle, brown in lamplight as she
saw them now, moving chess-men
across a waxed apple-wood board,
lean and brown but unsteady as they
were now, on the sleeve of a white
fur coat
Kate broke the silence. "Well, cer­
tainly no one is leaving tonight,”
she said practically. “It’s after ten
o’clock now.”
Gay glanced at her in gratitude
which held, as well, an element of
surprise.
"You can draw straws in the
morning," Kate continued. “Or per-
haps one or the other of these—ex­
periments will be completed by
then.”
“Of course,” he ¿aid, after only a
slight hesitation. “There are, un­
fortunately, no hotel accommoda­
tions nearer than Machias.”
"And that,” Kate said cheerfully,
"would, I think, be carrying mat­
ters much too far."
“I agree with you.” He smiled ap­
preciatively at Kate. “There’s a
cot in the room I work in. You can
have the larger room, there. I see
you’ve brought blankets and there
is linen, I think.” He started toward
the door. “I’ll get my things out of
the way.”
"Don't bother,” Kate said, start­
ing with her tray toward the kitch­
en. "We can manage just for to­
night.”
They were ignoring her, Gay
thought, making plans in which she
had no voice. He was friendly
enough with Kate. Gay resented that
friendliness from which she was ex­
cluded. She felt, again, a compel­
ling urge to attract and hold his at­
tention.
“John—” she said.
He stopped at the door, turned,
stood waiting for her to continue.
Kate, at the kitchen door, glanced
back over her shoulder.
Gay held herself very erect. “I
will not be leaving tomorrow,” she
said, conscious of and regretting the
arrogance in her voice. She would
have liked to reach him through
friendliness. Arrogance was too ob­
vious and too petty an approach.
But whatever he felt for her it was
not friendliness. The glance he ex­
changed, now, with Kate impelled
her to add, “Kate can do as she
likes, of course. I shall stay.”
"Which means—?” he asked.
"That I will appreciate it if you’ll
remove your things from the room.”
He was silent for a moment.
Then, “Certainly,” he said civilly.
“Now, Gay—” Kate began with
some asperity, paused, rolled her
eyes upward, compressed her lips
and went out into the kitchen. John
remained standing in the opposite
doorway. The slanting smile ap­
peared as her eyes met his.
"The long arm of coincidence,”
he said.
“It is—incredible.”
“Not too incredible. You might
have found me here any one of a
number of times during the past
three years.”
(TO BE CONTINUED)
U. S. Families on Relief
Buy ‘Protective’ Foods
What do families on relief actual­
ly buy with blue stamps issued free
as a practical method for distribut­
ing foods of which there is a surplus
supply? What foods do they choose
when they have opportunity to select
as they please from a limited list
of surplus foods?
It is too early to draw general
conclusions, says Milo Perkins, in
charge of the United States depart­
ment of agriculture food-stamp pro­
gram. But for a six-week period
the stamp holders spent a little more
than 80 per cent of their blue stamps
for "protective” foods and a little
less than 20 per cent for flour,
corn meal, rice and beans.
For this period the stamp plan
was effective in five cities. There
were minor differences in adminis­
trative methods to discover which
variations of the basic plan seemed
to work best. In general, orange-
colored stamps, which were bought
by the relief family, could be used
to buy any foods, and half as many
blue stamps given free could be
spent only for foods on the official
surplus list. At that time the sur­
plus list included butter, eggs,
oranges, grapefruit, peaches, pears,
cabbages, peas, tomatoes, onions,
dried prunes, white flour, graham
flour, corn meal and rice.