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HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Huron Expositor, 1937-11-26, Page 7y�l u,y nti?i 4 n A • -4 go, 1937 LEGAL sr .. `:..... HAYS & MEIR SuccoedIoe'R. s. Hays - Barristers, Solicitors, Conveyancers �: and Notaries i'ublic. Solicitors for the Doiitinion Bank. Office in rear. of ae own, a'Amwu u MAK, eeaaorun. Money to loan. t 12-86 DANCEY & BOLSBY BARRISTERS, SOLICITORS, ETC. LOFTUS E., DANCEY, K.C. - P. J. BOLSBY • GODERICH - I BRUSSELS - 8-87 ELMER D. BELL, B.A. Successor to J•oluw H. Best Barrister, Solicitor, Notary Public Seaforth - Ontario 12-36 VETERINARY A. R. CAMPBELL, V.S. Graduate of Ontario Veterinary Col- lege, University of Toronto. All dis- eases of domestic animals treated by Hie most modern principles. Charges reasonable. Day or night calls promptly attended to. Office on Main Street, Hensall, opposite Town Hall. 1Fhone 116.. Breeder of Soottish Ter- riers, lnverness Kennels, Hensall. 12-36 MVIEDICAL DR. GILBERT C. JARROTT Graduate of • Faculty of Medicine, University of Western Ontario. Mem- ber of College of Physicians and Sufgeons of Ontario. Office, 43 Gode- neh Street" West. Phone 37. Successor to "Dr. Charles Mackay. 12-36 DR. W. C. SPROAT ` Physician' - Surgeon Phone 90-W. Office John St., Seaforth. 12-36 DR. F. J. BURROWS OfEce and residence, Goderich St., east of the United Church, Seaforth. Phose 46. Coroner for the County of Enron. , 12-36 DR. HUGH H. ROSS Graduate of University of Toronto Faculty of Medicine, member of CoI- lfege of Physicians and Surgeons' of Ontario; pass graduate course in Chicago Clinical. School of Chicago ; Royal ' Opthalmie Hospital, London, England; University Hospital, Lon- don, England. Office -Back of Do- minion Bank, Seaforth, Phone No. 5. Night calls answered from residence, Victoria Street, Seaforth. 12-36 DR. E. A. McMABTER Graduate of the University of Toron- to, Faculty of Medicine Member of College of Physicians and Surgeons of Ontario; graduate of New York Post Graduate School and Lyingin Hospital, New York. Of- Bce on High Street, Seaforth. P'hone 27. Office fully equipped for X-ray diagnosis and ultra short wave elec- tric treatment, Ultra Violet Sun Lamp treatments, and Infra Red electric treatment. Nurse in attendance. 12-86 _ DR. F. J. R: FORSTER , r7. Eye, Ear, Nose and Throat Graduate in Medicine, University of Toronto. Late assistant New York Opthal- mei and Aural Institute, Moorefleld'a Eye and Golden Square Throat Hos- pitals, London, Eng. At Commercial Hotel, Seaforth, third Wednesday in each month, from 4.30 p.m. to 4.30 pm. 53 Waterloo Street South, Strat- ford. 12-98• DR. DONALD �i. STEER f 1 Graduate of Faculty of ,II Medicine University of Western Ontalio. Mem- ber of College of Physicians and i Surgeons of Ontario.. Full equip - anent; including an- ultra short wave set. office King Street, Hensall. Phone i Bewail 56. .. _. .-_ }2-86 DENTAL f n DR. J. A. McTAGGART Graduate Royal College of Dental Surgeons, Toronto. Offlibe at Bewail, t Ont. Phone 106.= 12-86 s AUCTIONEERS Licensed %Circtioneer HAROLD DALE t Specialist in fend and household h chalet. ` Prices reasonable. For dates I arae information, Write Or phone Har- ald Dale. Phonmo 149, Seaforth, or r S,pp1y at The Eppaedtor Office. 12-88 a F. W. AHRENS Lleensed alienate6 Perth afld Heron Countles, • Saks eilliktil'ted. s' Terme en- applieatton. Perna, $teek, I OOaiittele . and Ileal Estato Pope ty. ,t R: It. NO, Apply ei �4,,��Mite ll. Phone 404 r O. 4 • by ELIZAE3E"H SANXAY HGLOING. (Qontinued from Inst week) She had resented Mr. Haseler's manner over the telephone and she 'had only to take'one Took at him in person to hate and detest him forev- er. He was unexpectedly young, not so ,old as (herself, she imagined, but with a self-assurance seldom attained by other raced this aide of forty. He was handsome enough, but detestably arsogant, a smooth -shaven, blonde - crested boy with upturned nose and wide, impudent mouth. He was stup- id and ' pompous, couldn't talk about ex.:ale)* thing but himself and his "world- ex; world ex; o:t business" as he called it; yet Frances saw that he had wit enouge to take the measure of his cousin. His gailaiitry was so obviously mocking that she burned, with shame for the poor haggard, painted woman wild gulped it down. It was really torment for her to look on.' Alas, poor Frankie! She had yet to learn of Miss Eppendorfer's second great weakness! II After that evening everything was changed, Miss Eppendorfer hgrself a quite different person. ,She was as• good' -tempered,, as kindly as ever, but so silly that Frankie's own amiability began to wear thin. She wrote no more, all her talk was of clothes, of hair dressers, of manicures. She would spend all morning sitting at her dressing table, polishing her nails and "jabbering," as her secretary mentally called her talking. She was full of the affectations of a happy young girl, eyas impulsive, whimsical, even •pouted. And for whom but that obnoxious little Hamburger, young enough to be her son! He called every evening, and made it plain to Frankie that he wanted to be alone with ;his cousin. So she withdrew to her bedroom and'tried to read, to ignore that light, hyster- ically gay voice answering his impu- dent compliments. "Can't she see?" Frankie used to ask herself, almost in tears. "Doesn't she know he's laughing at her? 011, what an idiot she's making of herself, poor old thing!" He and Frances ha each other. She stared at ,bdm with old contempt, he' looked her up and down insolent - y; they never spoke'unless it could not be avoided. Unfortunately Fran- ces had to Listen to a . great deal a- bout him from Miss Eppendorfer, how successful and brilliant he was in bus- iness, how supremely well-educated, aw fastidious and aristocratic, how irresistible to th:e fair sex. He told her about his "affairs" and she in- sisted upon telling Frankie, although the latter said bluntly enough that I • wasn't interested. It was neees= nary that she should be shown what remarkable conquest Miss Eppen- dorfer had made. She was forced to hear about the Russian princess, the awfully exclusive Parisienne, and a- bove all about the eminent and very chic Damen in Wien. The colossal success he had had! Frances had E to consider ham a liar, or 'the ladies on •the continent of Europe es F•ir ifuily lacking in taste. He very soon began coming to din- ner every night, and Miss. Eppendor- fer went to great trouble to secytre a I • who was not only a German, but a German from the only correct part of Germany for cooks to inhabit. She 1xtnrted nig wages and made life wretched with her shrewdishness, but her delicacies were supposed to atone for all this. Expenses mounted stead- ly; Frances had not imagined that lies Eppendorfer had so much mon- y.eShe bought new clothes continu- ally, and flowers, and very expensive I Mr. Hassler was not absent for z sing'e night for two months af- ter the eoming of the Gemmman cook, but not once did he invite his cousin to go anywhere with him, or did he bring her flowers or sweets. Frances could not comprehend this thing; she thought she did, but she didn't, in the least. It' was' the sort of affair not related.in, romantic nov- els; there was nothing romantic "a- bout it. It might , be classified as a love affair," although it would have been confoundedly hard to find any ove in it. . . . Frankie simply thought that Miss Eppendorfer was silly" about the young man, and. anx- ous to impress him, and that be was attracted by the good dinners. Her first real suspicions awoke N • she was checking up the stubs a the authoress's cheque book, which she did every month when the vouch- ers came back from the bank. And S • saw, no less than five times, C • made out to "Kurt Hassler" or fifty dollars, sixty dollars, up to a hundred. It gave :her a vague feel - ng of uneasiness, which she couldn't shake off, although she assured her- elfsthat it was all "business." Then she and Miss Eppendorfer had he first of their quarrels::"' The cook wanted a day off, and Miss Eppen- dorfer gaily asked) Frankie if she wouldn't 000k one of her dear little uppers for "Kurtie." Frances flush- ed, "Why don't you go to a resta'ur- ant?" she suggested'. "Kurtie's so siek of restaurants. I ofd him what heavenly things you used to fix up for me, and he said e'd like to see what you could do. "I'm not going to say. It bas noth- ing to do with the case, anyway. I don't mind --I never mind doing things for you. But . I should thunk you'd .know better thane to a0•k nee„ to -cook for your guests. I'm supposed tobe your secretary, Mise Eppendorfer, not your servant." She was startled. by the expression on Miss Eppendorfex's face. "A hell of a secretary you are!" she Bei -earned. "You don't know a damn- ed thing. You're no more use to me than a parrot. You take my money and never db a stroke of work. You're as :lazy as a nigger." And much, much more, of abuse that grew foul- er" and fouler, most of it unintellig- ible to the girl. She stood motion- less, white as a sheet, dumb with ,horror, her own little anger swept a- way on this violent torrent. She nev- er forgot the scene, or the words. "Oh!" she whispered. "Oh! , How terrible! . . . Oh, God, how ter- rible!" For she had a dreadful feeling of 'helplessness, of being in a world where her dignity was of no avail. She cried forlornly for Minnie and her grandmother, even for her mother dead . a score of years. She had packed her trunk and was absplutely determined to go home that night when Miss Eppendorfer came to the door, imploring to be let in. She, too, was in tears, streamiug with tears, and she went down on her knees to Frances. "Forgive me!" she cried. "Forgive me! Frances, darling, you know how terribly nervous I am! Don't be too hard on me. I can't live without you! She was so dreadfully upset that Frances had "to get 'her to bed and give her a dose of some powerful sedative she used for her "nerve at- tacks," and telephoned to Hassler not to come. And in the end she agreed not to go home. But she remained very grave and thoughtful. She went out to supper at a .little Frenoh table ,d'•hote near- by, came back and went to bed, with- out seeing Miss Eppendorfer again. She was waked up late that night, though, by her. The poor creature was crying again, standing by Fran- kie's bed. "Oh, Frances!" she moaned, "I'm so wretched! I wish I were dead!" Frances asked what was the mat- ter. "Kurt was so nasty to me," she sobbed. " "I rang him up after you'd gone 'but, and he came. But he wouldn't stay a minute. He ,just looked at the supper and went away. I tried! I had sardine's --and caviare and fruit, all fixed in a dainty way. �Oh, Frances!" Her voice rose to a shriek that a- larmed Frances. "Don't get excite!" she entreat- ed. "Just tell ire, quietly, all about it. First let me close the window." It was an incoherent tale; he had told her that she didn't know bow to dress, that he wouldn't be seen !in a public place with her, that at her age she shouldn't try to wear pink. Told her she looked vulgar. That he couldn't see a trace in her conversa- tion of the brains he imagined were required in novel writing. Frances was exasperated. "Why in the world do you • bother with him!" she cried- "He's• - I'm sure you're deceived in him. Why don't you let him go?" Miss Eppendorfer began to weep anew. "I love him!" she `declared. And seeing Frankie's shocked, she added, with humane motive, "We're going to be married ! " Frances believed it. "I'm sorry," said .Firanc~"but I'd ,titer not." 'My dear! Please! I've practical - promised." "I can't help it. I couldn't." "But why?" 'Frances looked at` her indignantlyr "I wouldn't cook for that man! sate fid, Severely. "What is your objection to him, may ask?" enquired Miss Eppendorfer, ith Midden frigidity. ri "pa rather tot arty." "I F 1Rje � t 54;,:£4.?' • -CHAPTER. ELEVEN I After this, Miss Eppendorfer was not able to make any further objec- tion to Frankie's study. "I may as well tell you now," said Frankie, "that I shan't - I couldn't stay with you after you're married to that man:," "But it won't be for a long time," Miss Eppendorfer protested. A very long time indeed! Dimly, in her muddled head, she realized how much she wanted and needed Frankie, even foresaw the day when Mr. Kurt Hassler would go the way of other men to whom she had been so generous, and she would' be quite alone. She tried to bri e laer not to learn shorthand, she dFdii't want her to be able to find mothr place; she said it would tire 'her, quirt her eyes, everything she could imagine. Frances was firm. "You're not alone in the evenings now," she said, "and I've got" to think of my own future." "I'll always look after you-" "I don't want to be looked after, thank you. Please don't be unreas- onable!" Miss Eppendorfer cried a little and consented. II Frances found it a curious experi- ence. She wrote home to Minnie, af- ter the first week: "I'm a sent of grandmother here in the business school. All the•rest are little girls with pigtails and hair rill= bons, and, little' boys in short trout' ere, You can imagine blow I feel, so .old ,and sedate. And even in size! They're_all so stunted. I tower above my tiny desk. I'm taller even, than any of the teachers, and quite a dif- ferent color, at least five degrees red- der. "I thought I knew something about typing, but I've bad to start all over again, and learn the 'touch system.' And •shottthamdrt Oh, Minnie! I'm so stupid, you can't think. The others learn .like eager little trained, . antm- ale. They can't speak decently, or spell, of course, but what does that matter' They can put down: en pa- per **it they hear sembeolne' say, and•. copy it off, .without- the trouble of un- derstanding. I foresee thak I shall be here for years while all the little boys and girls pass on and out, and become bank presidents.'* It was quite trues that she wasn't quick at learning her new trade. She was studious by nature, and painstk- ing, but her hand was era steady. She was more discouraged than she cared to tell, Life seemed, just teen, a rather miserable affair. Her ambition was balked by her slowness in learning, and she began to 'think that she would never be able to do better than she was doing with Miss Eppendor- fer. A filler,of odd' jobs, employed principally because she was person- ally agreeable. . . . And, somehow, Miss Eppendorfer's talk of love made her lonely and sad. She thought of her twenty-three years, and was ter- rified bythe fear that she would _nev- er be loved. See longed so to be lov- ed! What chance, though? She went from Mies Eppendorfer's fiat, which no man entered but "Kurtie," to the night sehool, where the oldest male was perhaps nineteen, A situation. ripe for the coming of the hero: As usual he came. Or perhaps, the one who came had to be the. It was the end of June, and after ewe months of effort, Frankie still sat among. the beginners. She had 'developed a new trouble. She was able now to scratch desperately, whale the teacher dictated, almost keeping pace with her, but she could never afterward read what she had written. She was trying in vain• to type a letter she. 'had taken down, in which all she could distinguish was "Dear Sir." and the "14th inst." when sloe heard someone sit down in the seat next to her, which had till then been vacant. N',aturally she glanced up. It was, as she later wrote to Minnie, a "real grown-up human being," a tall, thin fellow with a 'haugbty, stupid face, a man who couldn't, be under thirty and who was dressed in well - fitting and expensive clothes. She couldn't ,help staring at 'him, all the more because he took no 'notice of her at all. "He was so out of place there," she wrote. "He was so well bred, with the nicest thin brown • hands. And, my dear Minnie, he was even stupider than me. Much stup- ider." She watched ihdm' a great deal,- as he tried `to write on his machine. The keyboard was hidden with a tin cover, so that he was obliged to learn the letters by memory; 'this puzzled and annoyed him, and he frowned severely over his .()hart. "I say!" he said, suddenly, to Fran- ces, with a marked English accent, "isn't there something' wrong about this thing? 13 ought to come -next to A." She explained that the keyboard 14 sn't arranged alphabetically, He asked why not, and •she said she didn't know. "Some American idea, I suppose," he observed:, with displeasure, and turned away to resume his struggle. He was not polite, he was certain- ly not clever, and, in spite of limpid and innocent grey eyes, not hand- some; his• nose was too • Iarge, his expression too contemptuous. Why then should Frances think ham to terribly appealing and attractive? She felt an exaggerated good -will to- ward him, an ardent wish to help him, even to comfort him. There was no obvious reason for "this painful compassion; the --"was well-dressed, showed not the least trace of poverti' quite the contrary. He looked healthy too, although very thin. And he had very much the air of being satisfied with himself. Ridiculous girl! He had come to the _end of a line and not understanding the belle- sig- nal, was trying to keep on writing. He saw that something was wrong, and he turned to Frances again- She had been watching him, and: was ready to explain at once. "I've never tried one of these in- fernal things before," he remarked, quite unnecessarily, "I've been at it for two months," said Frances, with a sigh, "but I don't •seem to get on- Not like the others." He looked• at her thoroughly for the first time. .'You're not like the others," he said, "that's • probably why." And added: "You look like an English girl-" That meant that he was pleased, she knew. "I'm not. I'm^ American -as far back as. the Revolution." ':What revolution?" he asked.-•. With the characteristic innocence of her country people, whose Genesis it is, she was astounded. "Why, our Revolution! In 1776!" she explained, 1 -le said "Really!" and went on with bis writing. The next night he saluted her with a stiff "Good evening!" directly she entered the room, so formal and frig- id that -het 'heart sank. They weren't friendly, then.! But, after half an hour's desperate effort, he grew bor- ed and discouraged, and, once more turned his attention to the pretty °girl. You're doing well," he observed. Frances, gave a sigh and smiled at Mont "I hate It!" she •said, • "Rather! But why do you do it7" "I want to get one --get a better job." "What see you doing now?" He was, she thought, very person- al, but he didn't seem aware of it. "I'm a secretary, fer an' authoress." That Seemed to inte'res't aim. "I'd .thought of something of that sort for m'yself," he said "What do they expect of a secretary over hpt+e?" 14, POSitAsqe x he.l:.• 1Wcee ;i?Qld :as 'Chit rl 't reakly "What; for bounce?' kM- glve "ane son a fiQrt stated, alit ; halt Ali , eche tried to tell MM. - •"Oh, I gle filiept 'n'1 ' with. het," &lha- said, "and I listen while ORl fetid)8. and I get up little cii:a#ing diel sup- pers, and answer ,the teiepl}pne, and cheek up - her bank book, and talk • to her pubiiehers, 'OndA---ole well' lots of things like •that!" 'I ehouidet't call that a secretary," said the young man. "At home -we'd call you a sort of companion." Frances turned red', apd, began typ- ing again. He. was rude, and no mis- take about it. Detestable! She work- ed violently far a time, . then, out of the corner .of her eye, she caught a glimpse of �vi n, 'pecking away a ,bis typewriter so slowly and stupidly that her beast smote -her. . "Good night!" she said cheerfully when the gong sounded, and she went off to the dictation class and he to the beginner's room, where she oauld, see him through the open door, writ- ing on the arm of his chair, sur- rounded -by eager ohildren. III • Frances was' a little late the nit night, and from her locker in the corridor, she looked anxiously 'into the class room for the young English- man's nice brown head bent over his machine: But he wasn't there. She went to her place and began to work halfheartedly, with one eye on the door, watching for him. • The clock ticked) on ai1d on, 'half an hour gone, still she couldn't believe he wasn't coming. The whole long hour pass- ed, the typing lesson was finished, and he hadn't come. Disappointment out of all propor- tion assailed her. Her heart was like lead, the whole world blank. "What a fool I am!" she told her- aelf, "Why on earth should I care? I don't really; it's' only that he's the only other possible person in the place-- Why should be come? Of course he's given up the whole thing in disgust. Of course he's not com- ing back, at all. Ever. Of course I shan't see him again. What differ- ence does it make?". And yet, in spite. of all this excel- lent common sense, that feeling of desolation persisted. She hated and loathed the silly school, made up her mind to stop coming. She sat in the shorthand, class, scratching down her unintelligible little symbols -- Suddenly an awful thought swept over her.. It grew rapidly to a con- victrion. He had ceetainIy stayed a- way solely because'of bier, because. she bad been -so preposterously over - friendly that he was disgusted and a- larmed. She did wish that she might see him once more, just to tell him that •she didn't dsl't like hum, not him, personally; simply, like all nice Am- ericans, she had wanted to be kind to a stranger: , She rushed nut the minute the class was over. She was very anxious to get 'home. And there he was, wait" ing for her, standing under a street lamp where blue light streamed on his arrogant face, a slim, foppish figure with a walking stick. She felt sud- denly angry at him; replied with coldness to his, greeting. "It was such a nice evening," he said, "I couldn't stand that filthy place." It- was; sweet, calm. fresh,. with a bright little moon overhead! - "I thought perhaps you'd like to walk a bit," he said, "if you're not tired." • She hesitated imperceptibly, then accepted. .1- "A 1,"A few blocks," she said', "I shouldn't like to be late."' "Do you mind if I smoke?" he ask- ed presently. _ Frances said she didn't, and they began strolling, quite aimlessly,. up- town. "I say!" he exclaimed, "it's very de- cent of you to come, .You, Americans are unconventional, aren't you?" "Not all of us," said Frances dry- ly. "We're different. We won't have anything to de with a stranger till we've got his credentials. I dare say we're over -particular- No English girl I've ever met would take up a man this way--" "I'm not in the habit of it," said Prances. She was affronted and an- gry. "But I'm not a child.. Pm ac- customed to -to forming .._my own judg'meets. I -as -far as I could judge you were a gentleman. I thought you'd quite understands---" "I do!" he protested, "I do, abs•o- lutely. I only wanted to tell you that I like it -ail this freedom, you know. An English girl of your class would be so --so much more prudlent-" "I'm not imprudent!" cried! Frances passionately. "Ah,- but you are, though. My dear young lady, you don't even know my name-" "Well, what is it, then?" she ask- ed, half -laughing, half -furious. "You'd better tell me, if that will make this. shocking walk more 'prudent.'" • "Lionel Naylor," he said. "Haven't you any letters, any pal pers, to identify yourself? How can I tell if that's really your name?" He replied with perfect serkus- ness. "Ive one or two things -a letter-" "Ob, nonsense! Couldn't you see that i was joking? Why on earth should I care who you are? I'm old enough and sufficiently intelligent to find out very soon what you, are. I'm not afraid of strange men. I can take care of myself." "It does no harm for a girl to be careful," he answered, stubbornly. And that was, apparently, his. final word. They went on in, silence. Frances counted, fifteen, blocks with- out a word. At the first crossing he had rather ceremoniously taken her arm, and he didn't rei'ease it. He seemed quite contented to.go on fee - ever in this way, But it provoked Frances beyohd measure. She longed to say to him,: "Why did you ask me to, take a walk, if you didn't want to speak to me?" She made up her mind that she wouldn't speak finet, no matter how long it was. She had•.•bo, though. She looked at her watch. "t'm afraid /II bate to turn back niow," she aa%d. "It"s time I was IP9tn 4 'tory ,have tRE sttdp !i i• ,t40-eq,«3 eo over -VW a•l3,tey. i p11a r eoQrdin 1 teo at & ch g tee•.:. We wauld. z^�Po>t ;