HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Exeter Times-Advocate, 1946-04-18, Page 7I
Mrs. Hotham
D. Box
11-9;
Miss Sanford
Jack Hotham
Hl;
741;
11-3;
j.
641;
11-4;
Miss
Miss
Dinney
Dinney
Miss
Mrs.
D, Knowles
Bob Dinney
Dinney
Tuckey
Miss Heid
G. Hayes
Wllbe
Hotham
T,
J.
Miss Murray
Neal
Neal Betty
Box
Men’s Doubles
G, Hayes
J, McKenzie
Exeter ^Birch Club Winds up Season
Betty
11-3;
S’thgate
Wilbe
11-9;
Diplomatic Buck-Piasslng (
THE TIMES-APVOCATE, EXETER, ONTARIO, THURSDAY MORNING, APRIL 18th, 1848
DESPERATE FLIGHT
by Pvt. H. D. Colson
STARTING Tins WEEK
Part J: An army private decides
to desert—and discovers that the
underworld pan be most helpful in
such matters.
Two flying fprtresses taxied to
the other end of the runway but
Pvt. Chris Cannon, sitting in the
.radio control tower; did not see
them. As the big bombers roared
Into the thunder of a take-off Chris
■sat staring into space, his deep-set
gray eyes' glinting, his? sharp fea
tures revealing a grim determina
tion, He was a young fellow in his
early 2Q’s, slim and wiry. With lqng
legs spread apart he leaned back
in his swivel chair, and his face
grew tense with worry, Suddenly
he got to his feet, slipped a bulky
envelope that he had been turn
ing over and over in his hands into
his hip pocket and slowly descend-
" ed the 'Stairs of the radio control
tower,
The in-station -crew knew that
something had ‘been bothering
Chris. What it was no one knew
exactly; he didn’t talk to anyone
about it, but that was Chris—easy
going, pensive, unassuming.
Everyone figured that Chris
would snap out of his moodiness
sooner or later, that is, everyone
except Lt. Jerry Anderson, who had
skippered Kaiutuck Kutie during a
couple of pretty hot missions in the. South 'Pacific, before he caught a*
legful of Jap lead in the last en
gagement with a dozen Zeros, Lt.
Anderson had taken a liking to
Chris'' from' the beginning and he
had seen too many men go through
transition training not to be able
to detect that something far more
serious than simple nostalgia was
preying on the lad’s mind. Chris
had become an almost complete in
trovert of late. He stayed in the
.barracks alone when the rest of
the gang hot-footed it to the FX
for beer or took off en masse for a
dance or movie.
“Cannon is a darned good con
trol operator,” the lieutenant was
telling the communication squad
ron’s commanding officer, Capt.
Bainton. He winked. “If he got a
couple of stripes ... I think he’d
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Dashwood
be a lot happier. He’s been a quali-
1 fled operator for ever six month’s
, hasn’t he?”
"Yes;" replied the captain, run
ning his hand thoughtfully over his
chin. "I’ve been a little worried
about Cannon. I know he's a good
mah , , . does his job well , , « never
complains and, he’s an ambitious
lad I’ve had his name in for ser
geant rating but the ratings have
been frozen—■”
The topkick, a big tow-headed
five striper, rapped at the door and
entered the office. “Sir, headquar
ters has just sent these special
orders."
Capt. Bainton straightened in his
chair and glanced through the re
stricted material, hesitated with a
flicker of interest and grinned
broadly.
"Here’s a coincidence," the cap
tain said. "Cannon’s rating has
been approved. He’ll be a sergeant
when he gets back from- his 15-day
furlough in Pittsburgh.”
. Chris Cannon walked out of the
Union Railway Station in Chicago
and gave the driver a south side
address. ‘Opening his wallet cau
tiously, he counted them again—
18 crackling $50 bills. He had con
verted a few bonds into cash and
the balance was the harvest of two
years of self-sacrifice. He would
need this $9 00, every cent of it, to
see his plan through. Slipping eight
of the $50 bills into his shoe, he
■ carefully put the others back into
his wallet.
“Wait for me!” Chris ordered
the cab driver as they pulled up to
a stop in front of a dimly lit tav-
eim.
The pock-marked man behind
the bar paused, eyed Chris spec
ulatively, then nodded his head in
recognition and pointed to a dooi*
in the rear. When Ghris was by the
door the barkeep pushed a button,
there was a buzz and the door open
ed automatically.
Chris entered the room at the
end of a long dark hallway. Eight
surprisinly ugly men were seated
around a green felt-covered poker
table. Chips were scattered all over
the table and a big game was evi
dently in progress.
One of the men recognized Chris,
cashed in his chips, got up from
the table, and motioned him out of
the room.
- After leading Chris to a private
booth and ordering drinks, the man
drew a large envelope from his in
side coat pocket. Simultaneously
Chris drew the 10 $50 bills from
bis wallet, x
“Are.they botji in the envelope?”
Chris asked .the man.
“Yeh,” the man replied calmly.
“De guy was killed in an auto ac
cident on Governor’s highway. One
a de mob got rid a <ie evidence -■
nobody knows riuttin’—see?”
“And he was 6 feet tall,” Chris
prompted.
“Yeh, yeh—had eyes like you—
weighed a hunert ’n’ 80-' pounds ’n’
had black hair — de guy was de
spiffin’ image of you—’n’ he never
had a livin’ relative in de woild.”
The big man grinned, settled
back in his seat, bit off a cigar and
lighted it.
“That’s good!” ‘Chris exclaimed.
“You don’t think there’s any
chance of—”
“Don’t worry, kid,” the corpu
lent man was rolling the cigar be
tween his thick lips and convincing
Chris with a .persuasive smile.
“I just want to be sure,” Chris
muttered in a husky voice.
The waiter pushed two
glasses of rye before them,
big man flipped him -a silver dol
lar, downed his drink, took an
other puff on his cigar and knock
ed the ashes off on the floor.
“ . . . like I was fellin’ you,”
he gestured to Chris with his hands,
“de cadaver was disposed of by me
pois’nal, see—de guy’s legal birth
certificate ’n’ his legal Army medi
cal discharge are in this envelope—
legal from Uncle Sammy. They
ain’t nobody knows de guy’s dead
but me mob.”
Chris examined the documents
excitedly as they were1 unfolded be
fore him on the table. The Army
medical discharge was in proper
order and was authentic:. The birth
certificate .looked official enough.
Michael John TraVers, that was his
new name. He repeated the name
to himself several times. It was an
okay name, he thought.
“Well,” the big man shouted for
another drink, “from now on your
name is Mike Travers, kid!”
Chris Cannon ran his' hand ner
vously through his black hair, beads
of perspiration appeared on his
face and he breathed a heavy sigh.
"That’s right—from now on my
name is Mike Travers, and this
false lArmy discharge
to freedom."
Chris counted the
then spread the ten
on the table. The
them up quickly.
As soon as Chris left the tavern,
he telephoned Transco Air Lines”
and made a reservation for the 10
o’clock plane for the West Coast.
Eleven hours out of Chicago the
plane was grounded because of an
electrical storm in the California
mountains, but nothing was going
to step him, He tobk an early bus
out bf Rend, NeV.» the next morning
for Ban Francisco.
A strange hew boyish thrill came
to him when San Francisco, spread
out in a metropolitan panorama bi
skyscrapers, came into view1 from
across the bay, He had heard a lot
about San iF'rancisco and somehow
he had the feeling he was going to
like ill hut best of all, he knew ho
one here and there was little danger
of his being recognized.
Ten minutes after the bellboy
had ushered him tp his room, Dims
was busy looking up the address of
a good men’s wear shop. He could
scarcely wait to get out of his uni
form and into civilian clothes.
Getting rid of the uniform would
be like ridding himself of chains,
Chris thought. It meant no more
bugles, no more reveille, no more
taps, no more standing retreat in
the hot sun; he could go and come
as he pleased now—without cater
ing to the silly whims of some hare
brained sergeant. There would be
no more of those tiresome GI* par
ties on Friday night, no more floors
to mop,
and no
duty.
Chris
The Exeter Badminton Club
rounded out their year when Sea
forth played a return game here
Tuesday evening of last week. The
teams played close games but when
the final count was made it found
Seaforth ahead With the margin of
22 points (Seaforth 298, and Exe
ter 271)), dn the women’s doubles
points. Dane-
followed the
Exeter won 78 to 70
ing and refreshments
games,
Woinen’s Doubles
Seaforth
Mrs. Troutbech
Miss iM’Kinley
441;
M* thews
Reir
841J
S’thgate
.Murray
941;
Sanford
Hotham
« 1140;
Exeter
Dean Snell
Barb. Dinney
11-9.
Mrs. Knowles
Mrs, Dinney
5-11.
Marg. Melville
Pauline Follick
11-10
Reta Willert
Jean Brock
11-5.
11-9;
McKenzie
Neal Betty
1V6;
Mixed Doubles
Mrs. Tr’tbech
J. McKenzie
041;
Miss M’Kinley
G. Hayes
11’8;
Miss Mathews
D. Box
541,
Doug Sweet
Ross Tuckey
11-6.
D, Southeott
Dop. Easton
1140.
I, Hunter-Duvar
Doug, Knowles
11-6.
no more windows to wash
more undignified latrine
glanced around the hotel
room, enjoying its comfort, its civil;
ion conveniences,
He smiled at the remembrance
of the attention and respect of the
hotel employees, and for the first
1 again,
shot' •
The
is my passport
money again,
$ 5 0 bills out
man snatched
A great deaj. of foreign 'policy
now resolves Itself into everybody’s
being in favor of something being
done and nearly everybody’s being
in favor of somebody else doing it,
'—Vancouver Province.
Beta Willett
Don Easton
IM.
Jean Brock
I, Hunter-Duvar
741.
The Little Darllngf?)
One of our English subscribers
hag sent us an advertisement hb
saw in a Surrey, England, news-
paper. It hints .at a reign of terror
Of which very little seems to have
been heard on this side of the
ocean, and we’re glad to print jti
"Young lady, aged and a
half ‘years, who has just returned;
from America and knows all tho
answers, seeks a governess willing
to learn."
-—-New Yorker.
Dean, Spell
Bob Dinney
241.
Doug, Knowles
Mrs. Knowles
11-9,
Mrs,
Bob
11-9.
Barb
Ross
11-6,
Marg. Melville
Doug. Sweet
11-9.
Pauline Follick
Don Southcott
11-3.
Itching, Burning, Stinging
Eczema or Salt Rheum
Eczema, or salt rheum as it is commonly called,
is one of the most painful of all skin troubles.
The intense burning, itching and smarting, espe
cially at night, or when the, affected part is exposed? to
heat, or the hands placed in hot water are most un
bearable, and relief is gladly welcomed.
The relief offered by Burdock Bipod Bitters is based on the knowledge!
that such ailments •"as eczema, and other skin troubles, are caused by an
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Bring about inner cleanliness by using B. B. B. to help cleanse the
blood of its impurities.
Ask at any drug counter for B. B. B, ' Price $1.00’a bottle,
TheT. Milburn Co., Liny ted, Toronto, Ont. *
time he felt really himself
really happy.
“I’m free,’’ he reflected,
free ...”
His thought's raced back
home town in Pittsburgh to
happy events of the past year, He
recalled that it had been three
months to the day after his induc
tion into the Army that his fiancee,
Elizabeth, had sent back his en
gagement ring; then, a few days
later, he had read the ironic story
of her marriage to a fat 4-F attor--
ney. His father’s sudden death was
the worst blow he had ever"known
and when the kid brothei’ was re
ported killed at Tarawa, it was too
much. And, when he he closed bis
eyes, he could still see the charred
bodies of his buddies the night the
B-24 had crashed in flames near
the hangar.
All that was a nightmare of the
past, now. He wanted no more of
it. He wanted no more of the army
and he wasn’t ready to die. He
wanted a future, a future that lookv
ed bright—a soft war job in San
Francisco and big money while the
making was good.
Only one thing bothered Chris—
his mother. She could be told, all
about this in time, s but not right
away. When he explained every
thing to her, she would understand;
she was like that. But the all-im
portant consideration at the moment
was that he was ready to start a
new life with a new name, and new
freedom.
The keen-eyed clerk in the
Market St. haberdashery brighten
ed’ and? -rubbed his hands- together
as ‘Chris approached; the clerk
smiled punctiliously when Chris In
formed him bluntly that he wanted,
the best suit of clothes in the house.
“For a veteran of the armed
forces I give you 20. per cent off
. . . 'Special . . . $90 suit for $75.”
Chris selected a dark blue pin
striped worsted, tried it on, looked
at himself in the mirror. It gave
him new confidence and poise—
it was a nice fit, a smart cut.'It had
the drape effect that Chris liked,
an important detail conspicuously
missing from the soon-to-be-forsak
en Army uniform. Adjusting his
tie, he eyed himself in the mirror
again and announced, “I’ll take
this one!”
|After ^electing a few more ac
cessories Chris paid the bill in, cash
and informed the clerk that he
would wear the civilian clothes.
“Just wrap up my uniform,” Chris
-said.
A bus pulled' up in front of the
employment office of the Monroe
Aircaft Co. Chris alighted and. fol
lowed the arrow up the stairs to
the second floor.
The girl at the window smiled.
“May I help you?” •
Chris looked
flectively, and
say, “Why . . .
for a job.”
Her brown
cr
“really
to his
the un-
at her, paused re-
finally managed to
uh . . . I’m looking
eyes • brightened.
What is you draft status, sir?”
“I . . . I’ve just been discharged
from the Army,” Cliris said absent
mindedly for he was looking at the
girl’s lips and the raven black hair
that dropped below her shoulders;
he was hoping she would smile
again.
“Oh, then I can send you direct
ly to the .assistaxt personnel man
ager,” she stated pleasantly. “We
give discharged soldiers first prior
ity and you don’t have to go
through so much red tape to get
a job. Just a moment and Vll see
if Mr. Fisher can see you now.”
She was back at the window in
a moment. “Do you have your dis
charge papers and birth certificate
with you, sir?”
“Yes!" Chris replied, “Bothr—”
“This way please—”
The girl was still at the window
when Chris came out of the assist
ant personnel manager’s office. Ex
citedly she asked, “Did you get the
job? . .
“I start to work ‘Monday morn
ing in the engineering department
as a draftsman,”
“Good for you!” she exclaimed
earnestly.”
"We must get acquainted now
that we're both working for the
same company,” Chris said, "I’m
, , . Clir , . Chris caught himself,
feigned a cough, "I’m Mike TraV-
, , . uur , . , uu
feigned a cough,
ers—i”
“And
Then
ity fell
, . . you look like someone I used
to know back home.”
"Back home?”
(Continued next week)
I’m Martha Patterson.”
a tiny wrinkle of perplei-
acfoss her forehead. "SriMy
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