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The Wingham Advance-Times, 1939-10-26, Page 6>AC»$IX WINGHAM ADVANCE-TIMES Thursday, October 26, 19395 PAYS IN SHELLS SYNOPSIS Nineteen-year-old Anne Ordway realizes suddenly that something is wrong between her father and moth- «r. She hears servants whispering and senses tension when her mother asks her father for money before her bridge game with the Dorsays—and David. Anne adores her beautiful mother, Elinor, and her father, Fran­ cis; and she had always liked and trusted their old friend, David. Yet st is David about -whom the servants are whispering. Vicky, Anne’s com­ panion, is aware of the situation, too. Anne steals away to meet Garry Brooks in the moonlight and they meet a strange man at a campfire. Wakened at two by the sound of her mother’s ringing, Anne, from the stair | landing, sees David with his arms! around Elinor. She tells Vicky, her I companion. Vicky pretends to smell] smoke and goes to the drawing-room. I David leaves before Francis comes | home. Vicky remonstrates with Anne. I Elinor’s face darkened. “Why?" “I want to get her away." “From me?” “From both of us—if you will have it—and the life we lead.” “What's the matter with the life we lead?" “You know as well as I. It’s good enough for you and me, perhaps. We have made our beds and we’ve got to lie on them. But it isn’t good enough for Anne. And besides there’s Garry.” “What’s the matter with Garry?" “Nothing—as Garry. But a lot as Anne’s husband.” Vicky spoke. “You can trust Anne. And may I say something about your plan for sending her away?” “Of course.” “I think if Anne goes at all, should go with her mother." They stared at her. “With me?" Elinor asked, amazed. “Do you mean,” Francis demanded, “that you are separating yourself from Anne? You can’t do that!” “Only for a time." she She shrugged her shoulders and went slowly up the stairs. Left alone in the library with Vicky, Francis said, “She put on that dress for—David?” * Vicky had no reply for that .But' after an interval in which she stared into the fire she said,’ “Sometimes things are not so serious as they seem — and if you will only send her away » “Elinor?” “Yes.” “But why with Anne?" “Anne loves her. And it will give her time to think.” "Elinor?" “Yes." “But where will you go, Vicky?” “To my home on the Eastern Shore.” “What will -Anne say? She won’t let you go, Vicky.” “She will when I tell her." “What will you tell her?" “That her moter needs her.” “You think," Francis Maj-Gen. A. G. L. McNaughton, ■who commands the first Canadian Di­ vision, believes in conserving man­ power. “To win a battle or a war you pay,” he says. “You pay in one of two coins, shells or blood. It’s been my plan and "will be my plan to pay in shells.” asked tense- Elinor threw herself into a chair, and the rose and silver of her gown; and the deeper rose of the chair’s back seemed to mock the whiteness of her face. “How much is she my child? You’ve been with her since she was five. You’ve taken my place. And Francis did that, not I.” He did it because you said you hat­ ed being tied down. But there was more to it than that. Vicky had not told the whole story. Of how Francis Ordway had come home late one night from Baltimore io find Anne with a raging fever and in the care of an ignorant nursemaid, while Elinor was off to a hunt ball -at the country club. When he tele­ phoned her, she had refused to come until the dancing was over. So Fran­ cis had sent for Vick'y and Vicky had stayed. “I lost a lot tonight and I didn't dare ask David to help me out. Do you think it is true, Vicky, what Francis said? That David is in debt to him?" “He wouldn’t have said it -if it weren’t true,” Vicky stated positively. Elinor’s losses of late had been so great that she had used desperate means to get money to pay them. Now she was .at her wits’ end, and in spite of her resentment of Vicky’s in­ terference in her affairs, it seemed as if Vicky after all was the only stable thing in her world. Suddenly they heard the big car outside. • In another moment Francis enter-( ed. He stopped on the threshold and. Elinor’s hands went out in a little looked his surprise. “Not in bed yet?”; gesture of impatience. “And if it isn’t he asked. ‘ ! Garry, it will be somebody else. Oh, “I have been,” Vicky said, “but I. I’m too tired to argue, Francis. I’m - smelled smoke and came down.” ?going to bed.” She stood up, slender Elinor said, “It was the fireplace.” and shining in her pink and sjlver. “I’ll go upstairs now,” said Vicky, ] Her husband, his eyes on her shiu- ■*T’m tired.” j ing slimness, said abruptly, “I thought Francis stopped her with a motion .you Were wearing black' when I left.” of his hand. “No. Sit down, Vicky. J “I was, but I hate black.” She I’m glad I found you here. I want to ‘ threw the words over her shoulder aS tall? about Anne.” ; she left him, but when she reached “Yes?” But Vicky did not sit down.' the threshold she turned. "We had a .have tried to see her again— “I’ve been wondering if you and rotten game. I suppose it’s useless to once more her exquisiteness, she might not like a winter in the ask you for any more money?” south of France?” | “I gave you all I could spare.” I i David’s arms were around her mother. “But why Vicky?” “Anne must learn to lean on her own strength. Not on mine.” Elinor interposed, “But I don’t want to go away. I’ve planned my winter—and Anne’s. And what does it matter if she marries Garry? He has money and good looks, and -wor­ ships the ground she walks on.” AHe worships himself, Elinor. Anne would be just an addition to his other possessions.” “Aren’t most wives just that?” ly, “that it isn’t too late?” She spoke with confidence. “Sometimes life problems for us.” “What a fatalist She smiled wistfully. “Perhaps it isn’t fatalism. Perhaps- it is faith. And don’t worry about Anne. She’s a strong little thing, with all her soft­ ness.” She saw his face quivering with deep emotion. “I worship her,” he said. “She’s the one lovely thing in this rotten world.” She had no words for that, and she left him standing by the fire, his eyes on the dying flames. .Meanwhile the man in the meadow had not found sleep under the stars. It had been an enchanting adven­ ture with that child in the moonlight. A rare moment to tuck away in one’s memory. And that was all. Yet if i things had been different he would i have tried to see her again—to savor a certain serene works out our you are!” ft He had not thought there was such a girl in this modern world. She had THESE FIGHTING MacKENZIES CARRY ON FAMILY TRADITION Historic Halifax, steeped in tradi­ tion as a naval and military city, has seen 36 members of active service forcestraining there come from seven "‘three elder brothers served in the Hova Scotia fighting families, Ona of the “brother acts’* comes from Brid- gewater, N.S., in the persons of Har­ old, Dougald and Earle MacKenzie, now recruits iti the R.C.A.F, Their Canadian iftifantry in the last war and the present fficttiits are c&rrylhg ch the family tradition. ’‘We all signed up as soon as war broke out and are going to see who gets ahead fastest/' says Howard, eldest of three aspirant fliers. we the the recalled to his mind the painting of Bourgereau that he had seen in a Bal­ timore gallery of a young maiden with a lamb in her arms. “Innocence” was the name in the catalogue. Well, she was lik'e that—virginal, with a curious touch of vividness. The chances were that she would marry the young man. A woman was like that—propinquity and a man madly in love -with her! She would mistake her need of love for loving. It was no business of his, of course. That was why he had sent her away. That he might never see her again, and that she might never guess his identity. Why should he impose his past on her? Why speak the name she would see black in the headlines if she opened the morning paper? That was the worst of it—the pap­ ers and the things they said. This very pilgrimage of his was an escape from it all. If he could only tell her the truth! She would, he thought, un­ derstand. In a few hours he would be on his way and Anne would forget him. But he didn’t want to be forgotten. He looked at his watch. Two-thirty. No more sleep tonight! He put another stick on the fire and by the light of the leaping flames wrote a letter, tear­ ing leaves from his notebook until he had a sheaf of them. He addressed an envelope, sealed it and made his way across the meadow, coming at last to the garden and the tall hedge. He found the curtains drawn at the windows of the big house, so he could see nothing. Following a flag­ ged path he reached the driveway, and a tall iron gate with a niail box hung on the brick wall beside it where he posted his letter. Retracing his steps he stood again on the little hill where earlier in the evening Anne had met Garry, and looked down ov.- er the sleeping garden. From the height where he stood, Charles could see straight through the window of a darkened room on the second floor of fhe house and be­ yond that to the lighted hall. And as he looked a wdman came within his line of vision. She was ascending the stairs. He saw her—first her head, then the whiteness of her neck and arms, then rosy and shining as the dawn, her pink and silver gown with an al­ most startling beauty like the splen­ did ladies in Romney’s paintings or Sir Joshua’s. But her beauty left Charles cold. Such goddesses belong­ ed in portraits to be hung on walls! He had a feeling that the woman was Anne’s mother, Yet there was noth­ ing in common between the golden- lighted loveliness of the daughter and the dark brilliance of the other. She stood now in the open door of the darkened room. She seemed to hesitate, then entered and was lost in the gloom. A shaft of moonlight striking through the shadows shone on a glimmering heap of whiteness that seemed to catch and hold the light in a pool of radiance. And it was toward this pool of radiance that a hand came presently out of the darkness—a white hand and a., bare and slender arm. Then all at once the hand was With­ drawn, and where there had been that shimmering heap was empty space! And in the long and lighted hall a flash of pink and silver as a tall fig» ure went flying toward a room at the far end. Charles wondered a bit as he made his way down the hill, There had been an air of mystery about the wo­ man’s movements. But one’s imagin­ ation plays tricks at times. And there was undoubtedly a perfectly common­ place solution to the scene. When he returned to his camp his .fire was dying, little spirals of wood smoke scenting acridly the air about him. How Margot had loved that ac- ' rid scent! “I shall never forget this, Carl," she had said cm their honeymoon. “I shall never forget. And now she had forgotten. It was he would remember ■ those other nights under the moon, when he and she had built their little fires — “Altars to our gods, Carl" — and had watched the flames die and the coals glow and the smoke curling. Wonderful .nights, wonderful days, yet before the honeymoon was over he had known that there were altars in his own soul where Margot would never worship with him, Still he had loved her, doggedly refusing to be­ lieve her anything else than he had thought her until the day had come when she had flung him and his love away. And now —> woodsmoke and the thought of Anne; • Would a man dare love more than once? And if he did, would there not come memories of that first and splendid passion that had swept over him as a boy? Charles cast the thought from him and jumping to his feet began to ga­ ther up his o belongings. When Tie came to the cup from which Anne had drunk he stood with it in his hand for a moment, then dropped it on a rock where it splintered into a thousand pieces. Thus in the old days men had splintered their glasses when they had drunk to the queen! sHe smiled a lit­ tle as he went on with his packing. He recognized in himself the incur­ able romantic. But romantic or not, no one should drink again from the cup which that charming child had lifted to her lips. He quenched his fire with water from the nearby stream, and a little later his car slid from under the shadowy pines and into the open. (Continued Next Week) DISEASE HAZARDS 250 YEARS AGO Silicosis and other occupational,, hazards to which modern science gives much attention not only exist­ ed centuries ago, but they were also recognized then. Neither is compensation laws for industrial diseases a new idea. They were proposed as far back as 1690 when a Venetian doctor, Bernardino Ramazzini wrote a work' on Diseas- se, of Tradesmen (“De Morbis Arti- ficium.”)' . , A copy of this book was recently found in the 'University of Pennsyl­ vania library and its translation brings opt facts that are most inter­ esting in view of the period in which it.* was written. Ramazzini, it appears, made a prac­ tice of leaving the sick bed and go­ ing to where the patient worked, to study materials, and hygienic condi­ tions as a clue to the illness. In that way he obtained information, which he carefully recorded, on certain oc­ cupational diseases known today. He By BETTY BARCLAY And they’re here again, with all the full flavor and brilliant color that- appetites crave in Fall meals. Gay and sturdy, this earliest American., fruit has both eye and taste appeal. Cranberry Catsup is as tangy e. condiment as ever complemented a baked ham, a succulent roast beef,, or a tender duckling. Originally discovered growing wild on the low marshes of Cape Cod,, the cranberry has an honorable history. Tradition says that the Pilgrims - learned how to use the sour wild berry from their Indian neighbors.. Since then, over one hundred years of cultivation have improved the- taste and nutritive content of the fruit so that it is now a food high tax vitamins and minerals. But enough of health talk. Cranberries are good to look at and good' to taste and that’s the best possible reason for using them in the many modern ways suggested here. o Cranberry Catsup 4 pounds fresh cranberries / 2 teaspoons ground cinnamon-. 2 cups vinegar ... 1 teaspoon ground cloves 2 cups water . \ - 1 teaspoon allspice 4 cups brown sugar a 1 teaspoon salt Cook cranberries, vinegar and water together until all the skins pop­ open. Put through sieve. Combine with remaining,ingredients and cook, together for 5 minutes. Seal in hot sterilized jars. Makes 2^ quarts-. catsup. Cranberry Nut Bread ( % cup chopped walnuts Grated rind 1 orange 1 egg 1 cup milk 2 tablespoons melted butter 1 cup cranberries 1 cup sugar 3 cup.8 flour 4 teaspoons baking powder 1 teaspoon salt Put cranberries through food chopper and mix with Yi cup of sugar. Sift, remaining sugar, flour, baking powder and salt together and add nuts and orange rind. Beat egg slightly, combine with milk and melted butter­ and add to first mixture. Fold in cranberries. Bake in buttered bread pan in moderate oven, 350° F., about 1 hour. •,-T Winter Fruit Tarts 2 cups fresh cranberries, halved 2 cups sugar ? 2 cups chopped apple % teaspoon salt cup pineapple tidbits 6 tart shells % cup whipped creamCombine cranberries, apple, pineapple, sugar and salt and let stand for 2 to 3 hours. Just before serving, fill tart shells with fruit mixture; top with whipped cream. Makes 6 tarts. knew about silicosis — the disabling lung disease — which he saw afflict­ ing the dust-breathing workers in the pottery and glass-making industries. Ramazzini anticipated modern sanita­ tion methods by suggesting that ma­ terials be wetted to keep dust down and that arrangements be made for adequate ventilation. Speaking of the occupational haz­ ards of the white collar workers of two and a half centuries ago, he said of scholars, that "the sedentary post­ ure and intense concentration were bad for digestion. He even discussed writer’s cramp. His prescription for these^ill's was “Get more of the out­ doors into your life.” “Don’t you think this is a rare bit. of art?" “Yes, ‘rare’ is the word. It certain­ ly isn’t well done.”