anaheim-gazette 1934-09-27

FOURTEENTH INSTALLMENT SYNOPSIS: Three weeks after a cream colored roadster had been found wrecked in the sea at the foot of a cliff, a girl calling herself Anne Cushing appears at the desert town Marston. She has bought, slight unseen a ranch located thirty miles away. Soon after her arrival she marries Barry Duane, her nearest neighbor. Against her better judgment she accompanies her husband East. Mrs. Duane is bitterly resentful of Anne. Wealthy Cleo Pendleton, her obvious choice vows revenge. Anne recognizes a man loitering on the Duane grounds. Later Barry tells Anne John Gage is the real head of the Duane mills. He falls to note her frozen silence. "Why, I don't know. She just seemed to know it. You're not angry, are you? I did want somebody with me, and I had to start all alone." "There, there!" He smoothed a rose-leaf cheek and kissed her. "Of course it's all right. Ought to have thought of it myself. But it won't hurt to be a little careful what you say when that little trick is around. She sounds to me like a pretty smart young woman." Long before the day was ended Cleo had informed her own opinion of the Gage family. "She's afraid of him," Cleo thought shrewdly. "He's proud of her, but she knows he could be as hard as nails." Jim Kennedy, waiting patiently at the had not asked Barry for any after she had learned how embarrassed he was for actual cash. If she went away, it was almost a certainty that she would never see Barry again. He would let it kill him before he gave in. She shivered under her protecting coat and went back into the house. At the Perch, Martha, engaged for the purpose, waited on the whims of Barry's women guests with suspicious eyes and an uncompromising jaw. "It ain't respectable," she said crossly to Petry, "havin' those fancy lookin' women here, almost the minute Miss Anne's gone." "The they sure was fixed up for dinner," he admitted. Martha, fiercely pursuing her own train of thought, paid not the slightest attention to him. "All this talk about letters! You needn't tell me Miss Anne ever invited her up here. And him takin' it all in like a ninny! Oh well, I suppose men can't help bein' simpletons." Martha slammed her iron down wrathfully. Cleo had tossed her several frocks to press, and Martha was doing it with indignant efficiency. Cleo was fully aware of Martha Larrabee's antipathy. "Disagreeable old thing," she thought as she caught sight of Martha's ample form in the distance. "I believe she knows where Nancy is... I wish I knew the way to that Trail's End place of hers." dear old Boone. She window and looked out. It was not the big black, or had been, smaller and a little driver was not Petry open. Anne stood thigh "Jim!" she said briskly are you doing here? "Thanks for the come. I'll come in. His grin was mocking a sharp glance as he "What's the matter?" No, I'm all right come here? "Thanks for the come." "Just dropped in to He was looking d him. "No sign of the Are domestic relations are you just hiding goes home?" I've left. It's over, and you should why. Kennedy made a muted whistle. Took it hard, didn't ed and moved his s Keep your chin up back. Anne shook her he subject she could di How dod you know Kennedy dropped settled himself comfo "Of course it's all right. Ought to have thought of it myself. But it won't hurt to be a little careful what you say when that little trick is around. She sounds to me like a pretty smart young woman." Long before the day was ended Cleo had informed her own opinion of the Gage family. "She's afraid of him," Cleo thought shrewdly. "He's proud of her, but she knows he could be as hard as nails." Jim Kennedy, waiting patiently at the little Junction saw a hunch come true. "Little Cleo! She's come out to polish off the job and collect Duane. I suppose," he reflected cynically. "Little lady, if I didn't have some important business of my own hand, I'd give myself the pleasure of crabbing your game." Jim Kennedy released tightened nerves, strolled down the street to a local garage, and began tuning up his old car. Barry met his guests at Marston station. He drove down alone, not bringing Petry. Lately he had avoided any unnecessary intercourse with Petry, and Petry had avoided him. Three people instead of two alighted from the two-thirty eight, Decency demanded that he should not look too dumb-founded, but Barry's thoughts went racing back to the Perch, where there was no Nancy to meet Cleo Pendleton, who had dashed across a continent without warning. "Hello, Cleo!" "Lo Barry, you needn't look so petrified. Didn't Nancy get my letter?" "Why, no, I think not. At least, it may have been forwarded, too late for her to let me know." He remembered his duties as host. "so you see it's a real surprise," he added hastily, and turned apologetically to the other two. "I'm frightfully sorry," he said, "but Mrs. Duane won't be able to receive you. She was—called away, only a few days ago. It was very unexpected—and it had to happen at the wrong time, of course. I'll do my best to be both of us." "O-o-o-h!" said Cleo softly. "You'll be a wonderful substitute, Barry, but it's a shame that Nancy had to go." Her eyes were sparkling. Damn Cleo, Barry thought moodily. Nancy might at least have sent him word about that letter. That the letter had merely been another of Cleo's little fictions he could scarcely know. Nancy had let him down again. Gage gave him a sharp look and said "Too bad! Too bad!" in his gruff way. Barry was really grateful for the interruption of Cleo's clear voice. Martha slammed her iron down wrathfully. Cleo had tossed her several frocks to press, and Martha was doing it with indignant efficiency. Cleo was fully aware of Martha Larrabee's antipathy. "Disagreeable old thing," she thought as she caught sight of Martha's ample form in the distance. "I believe she knows where Nancy is... I wish I knew the way to that Trail's End place of hers." For the present she had to be content to wait. John Gage had come here on business. On the very night of their arrival Barry had made his worried apologies to her, and the next morning he and Gage had started off early on horseback. Already Cleo was bored to suffocation. All day long with Paula Gage, and not a man in sight to make life endurable for either of them, except a Chinese cook and a leathery old man called Petry. To be sure, he had stopped his work and taken her for a ride after lunch, but in spite of her pointed suggestions they had gone nowhere near Trail's End. Shortly after dinner Gage had unceremoniously claimed Barry's attention, and the two were sitting at the far end of the room, talking boring things. Cleo went outside to find Paula Gage. Paula was wandering aimlessly up and down the long veranda. The next morning Petry drove Gage over to the county seat to do some long distance telephoning. Paula went with him, and Barry was free to devote at least part of his day to Cleo. "How about a ride?" he suggested and Cleo aged pomply. She looked paticulously engaging in riding clothes, and she knew it. Barry's sober face brightened as she ran down the steps to join him. He helped her up, and she found herself mounted on a glistening little bay. "Whee are you going to take me, Barry?" "Anywhere you want to go," he answered unguardedly. "I'd love to see Nancy's little ranch, Trail's End, isn't it? Let's go there." "I'm sorry. I'm afraid we can't do that. It's—a bad trail." "Nancy rode it! I'll take a chance." But I won't. Sorry, Cleo. What's the next choice? He had to watch himself to keep an edge out of his voice. But he could not let anybody from Granleigh get through to that isolated little valley and find Nancy drudging through the days in a shabby old ranch house, can't help bein' simpletons." Martha slammed her iron down wrathfully. Cleo had tossed her several frocks to press, and Martha was doing it with indignant efficiency. Cleo was fully aware of Martha Larrabee's antipathy. "Disagreeable old thing," she thought as she caught sight of Martha's ample form in the distance. "I believe she knows where Nancy is... I wish I knew the way to that Trail's End place of hers." For the present she had to be content to wait. John Gage had come here on business. On the very night of their arrival Barry had made his worried apologies to her, and the next morning he and Gage had started off early on horseback. Already Cleo was bored to suffocation. All day long with Paula Gage, and not a man in sight to make life endurable for either of them, except a Chinese cook and a leathery old man called Petry. To be sure, he had stopped his work and taken her for a ride after lunch, but in spite of her pointed suggestions they had gone nowhere near Trail's End. Shortly after dinner Gage had unceremoniously claimed Barry's attention, and the two were sitting at the far end of the room, talking boring things. Cleo went outside to find Paulia Gage. Paula was wandering aimlessly up and down the long veranda. The next morning Petry drove Gage over to the county seat to do some long distance telephoning. Paula went with him, and Barry was free to devote at least part of his day to Cleo. "How about a ride?" he suggested and Cleo aged pomply. She looked paticulously engaging in riding clothes, and she knew it. Barry's sober face brightened as she ran down the steps to join him. He helped her up, and she found herself mounted on a glistening little bay. "Whee are you going to take me, Barry?" "Anywhere you want to go," he answered unguardedly. "I'd love to see Nancy's little ranch, Trail's End, isn't it? Let's go there." "I'm sorry. I'm afraid we can't do that. It's—a bad trail." Nancy rode it! I'll take a chance." But I won't. Sorry, Cleo. What's the next choice? He had to watch himself to keep an edge out of his voice. But he could not let anybody from Granleigh get through to that isolated little valley and find Nancy drudging through the days in a shabby old ranch house, over, and you should why." Kennedy made a bit muted whistle. "Took it hard, didn't ed and moved his sigh." Keep your chin up back. Anne shook her her subject she could did "How did you know Kennedy dropped settled himself comfort" "How did I know? one. Nancy. I knew started for, and that ranch somewhere new was visiting up at the easy. I've a nice little of the roads here." She rose. "I'll get eat," she said quietly the kitchen. He followed her to knew why Jim had from Granleigh to could she keep him he was bent on doing Kennedy swallowed coffee. "Thanks, Nancy of you, all things can't stop for more; some friends of mine Eagle Lake, and I'm uule now." He pushed back his hat. "She'd never do it he said suddenly." "We're different," she felt so awfully t made differently. Jim there! Why can't you What's the sense of How dare you—Oh, Ji "Sorry not to oblige I shall have to." His slightly: he was hard The car jarred and tion. Dusk had close Anne stood in th watched it. Her hear mind was frantically taking the longer way desert. He didn't know cut. And it was darl his way again. She slipped into a door and ran out to paula Gage was also gaged heavily. John m had left early. Later Cleo had invited hers Petry on a hurried run Paula could spare C this place where she day at water, hiding things beneath its su be a wonderful substitute, Barry, but it's a shame that Nancy had to go." Her eyes were sparkling. Damn Cleo, Barry thought moodily. Nancy might at least have sent him word about that letter. That the letter had merely been another of Cleo's little fictions he could scarcely know. Nancy had let him down again. Gage gave him a sharp look and said "Too bad! Too bad!" in his gruff way. Barry was really grateful for the interruption of Cleo's clear voice. "Barry, you're terribly disappointing. I thought you'd look like a movie hero, and you haven't even a gun to shoot the rattlesnakes." "I left it home. They don't usually bite a Cuddillac." Barry was finding his feet again. "I'll look after the luggage, Mr. Gage." "Your town looks a little tired, but your air is great. I have an idea I'll be ready for the ham and eggs your promised me." From a sheltered point on a rocky hillside Anne saw them go by. She wondered what she would have done with her days without Comet. Petry had brought him down the same day that she had left the Perch. "I guess he kinda belongs here, don't he? It ain't safe not to have any way of gettin' out except on foot." Comet had brushed her with a velvet muzzle, and Anne had not had the heart to let him go. It was nearly dark when she unmaddled Comet and went up the familiar path to the little house. Home was lonely. Once inside, she went about the business of preparing a meal. Not because she was hungry but because she must keep doing things. When the meal was over she wandered out again, looking up at the low, bright stars. How long could she live here? Where would she go if she left? How long, with her dwindling capital and her slender knowledge of ranching, would Trail's End yield her a living? The money she had brought in the little gold bag was nearly gone now—she "I'd love to see Nancy's little ranch. Trail's End, isn't it? Let's go there." "I'm sorry, I'm afraid we can't do that. It's—a bad trail." "Nancy rode it! I'll take a chance." But I won't. Sorry, Cleo. What's the next choice?" He had to watch himself to keep an edge out of his voice. But he could not let anybody from Granleigh get through to that isolated little valley and find Nancy drudging through the days in a shabby old ranch house, bleakly alone. Cleo's eyes were shining. Now she knew that Nancy was there. "Oh, all right. Lead on and I follow!" When they returned they still had the place to themselves. Cleo came close to him, her fingers resting lightly on his arm. "Barry, I was awfully stupid about Trail's End. I just didn't think." The guarded look came again. "I'm afraid I don't get the idea." "Oh, it's all right—I didn't realize that it might be—hard for you to go there. Of course I'd heard things, but—is it really as bad as that?" He wondered how the devil things could have got out that fast, and why people couldn't be allowed to keep their own troubles decently to themselves. "It's pretty bad," he admitted jerkily. "I'd rather not talk about it, if you don't mind." Of course we won't. But I just wanted you to know how badly I feel about it. The coaxing fingers moved softly and then slid away. A dry cough sounded behind them. The Gages had returned and must have come in through the back way. Gage looked at them with his blunt stare, grunted a greeting and addressed himself to Barry. Cleo decided that she loathed John Gage. Shadows were lengthening when Anne heard the sound of a car, coming in from the desert side. That would be cut. And it was darn his way again. She slipped into a door and ran out to Paula Gage was aloed heavily. John had left early. Late Cleo had invited herself. Petry on a hurried run. Paula could spare this place where she day at water, hiding things beneath its sundated water. She — Restlessly she went through the trees the darkly. Where the tree was dark. She hated at her. Half-way down the ped. Something was more hurrying toward her;ure, wavering strange pale except for wide little tumbled mop of ing a pallid face. "Paula! Paula!" I faint, the whispering that had died. Paula shuddering. "Don't! Oh, don't!" "Paula! Please! Paula!" Again that ghost of a voice, call hands beckoned, reach her unwilling body black, shining water. For another moment she endured it, and shrrieks came. "Oh, no, no! I can can't! I'll tell! I'll you. I didn't mean it! On the upper road thudded into a run straightened up from the ditched wreckage car, listened once more sound of terror and wheel. Nearer to the nedy, five minutes to TODAY and TOMORROW By FRANK PARKER STOCKBRIDGE CLASSICS on the screen Passing a motion picture theater the other day I overheard two young women talking. They were typical "cheap" city girls, the sort that constantly seeks "thrills," mistaking emotional excitement for happiness. The picture at the theater was "Jane Eyre." "Aw, we don't want to see that; it's nothing but a classic," said one of them. That attitude, that anything that isn't "modern" hasn't anything in it for folk today, is prevalent. I observe, among the unintelligent and half-educated, Yet "Jane Eyre" has been one of the great successes of the films of 1934, as was "Little Women" before it; suggesting to me that the scornful attitude of those who regard them selves as sophisticated is not as widespread as many people think. ADVENTURE always thrills A wholesome adventure story dramatically told that will live longer than its author's reputation in other fields is Robert Louis Stevenson's "Treasure Island." And if anyone has any doubt as to whether a "clean" motion picture will be a box-office success he ought to see the crowds standing in line at the box-office where the new film of "Treasure Island" is being shown. Incidentally, I hear that one of the large film companies is preparing to produce that other great "classic" of English literature, the first novel written in our language. "Robinson Crusoe." I have long wondered why that hadn't been done. REVIVALS pack 'em in Further evidence that you can please Kennedy made a brief sound like a muted whistle. "Took it hard, didn't he?" He frowned and moved his shoulders irritably. "Keep your chin up, and he'll come back." Anne shook her head. It was not a subject she could discuss with Jim. "How did you know I was here?" Kennedy dropped into a chair and settled himself comfortably. "How did I know? Ask me a hard one. Nancy. I knew where you'd started for, and that you had a little ranch somewhere near here, and who was visiting up at the big place. It was easy. I've a nice little hand-made map of the roads here," he added calmly. She rose. "I'll get you something to eat," she said quietly, and went into the kitchen. He followed her to the kitchen. She knew why Jim had come all the way from Granleigh to Marston. How could she keep him from doing what he was bent on doing? Kennedy swallowed the last of his coffee. "Thanks, Nancy. Pretty decent of you, all things considered. No, I can't stop for more. I'm calling on some friends of mine at a place called Eagle Lake, and I'm behind the schedule now." He pushed back his chair and found his hat. "She'd never do it for you, Nancy," he said suddenly. "We're different," said Anne dully. She felt so awfully tired. "We're just made differently. Jim, please don't go there! Why can't you let it drop? What's the sense of all this hating? How dare you—Oh, Jim, don't go!"" "Sorry not to oblige, but I'm afraid I shall have to." His face had flushed slightly; he was hard again. The car jarred and rattled into action. Dusk had closed in. Anne stood in the doorway and watched it. Her head hurt, but her mind was frantically busy. Jim was taking the longer way, out through the desert. He didn't know the rough short cut. And it was dark—he might lose his way again. She slipped into a coat, slammed the door and ran out to the corral. Paula Gage was alone and time dragged heavily. John and Barry Duane had left early. Late in the afternoon Cleo had invited herself to accompany Petry on a hurried run into Marston. Paula could spare Cleo, but she hated this place where she had to look all day at water, hiding rocks and silky things beneath its surface calm. To see the crowds standing in line at the box-office where the new film of "Treasure Island" is being shown. Incidentally, I hear that one of the large film companies is preparing to produce that other great "classic" of English literature, the first novel written in our language. "Robinson Crusoe." I have long wondered why that hadn’t been done. REVIVALS pack 'em in Further evidence that you can please the theater-going public other than by constantly giving them something a little rawer than what went before is to be found in the current revival of the Gilbert & Sullivan comic operas, in New York, by an English company which for years has played nothing else. The largest crowds to attend any New York play in years swamp the theater every night. A great English actor-manager, Sir Nigel Playfair, died the other day. His chief claim to fame was that he put on a revival of John Gay's "Beggar's Opera," first produced about 1730, and it had a continuous run of more than 1,100 performances, proving that English audiences, like Americans, don't care how old a thing is so long as it is good. And, incidentally, one of the most successful plays given at our Berkshire Playhouse in my home town the past Summer was Shakespeare’s "As You Like It." ANTIQUES and "taste" The interest in ancient things does not end with plays and books. There has grown up a great interest, in the past forty or fifty years, in the collection of what are generally classified as antiques. Old glass, old china, old books, old furniture, old anything-and-everything, command a market, even in times of depression. Here, again, there is great confusion in the minds of the many, who imagine that the value of these things derives from their age alone. That has much to do with it, but discriminating people never buy anything merely because it is old. Leaving historical associations out of the picture, the value of antiques depends upon whether they are, first, more beautiful than their modern counterparts; second, better made and more durable. The beauty may in part be due to age, and the durability and quality of workmanship is often testified to by the fact that they have existed and been in use for a century or two. But when a common pine shoemaker’s bench, such as I used to see the And it was dark—he might lose his way again. She slipped into a coat, slammed the door and ran out to the corral. Paula Gage was alone and time dragged heavily. John and Barry Duane had left early. Late in the afternoon Cleo had invited herself to accompany Petry on a hurried run into Marston. Paula could spare Cleo, but she hated this place where she had to look all day at water, hiding rocks and slimy things beneath its surface calm. She hated water. She — saw things in it. Restlessly she went outside. Down through the trees the lake glimmered darkly. Where the trees came close it was dark. She hated it, but it dragged at her. Half-way down the slope she stopped. Something was moving down there, hurrying toward her. It became a figure, wavering strangely, all light and pale except for wide dark eyes and a little tumbled mop of dark curls framing a pallid face. "Paula! Paula!" It was muted and faint, the whispering echo of voice that had died. Paula shrank back, shuddering. "Don't! Oh, don't!" "Paula! Please! It's Nancy! Paula!" Again that low cry came, the ghost of a voice, calling to her. Pale hands beckoned, reaching out to drag her unwilling body down there, to black, shining water, greedy and cold. For another moment of gasping terror she endured it, and then her frantic shrrieks came. "Oh, no, no! I can't come, Nancy, I can't! I'll tell! I'll make it right for you. I didn't mean it—I didn't!" On the upper road walking horses thudded into a run to Marston, Petry straightened up from his inspection of the ditched wreckage of an old black car, listened once more for that thin sound of terror and jumped for his wheel. Nearer to the house Jim Kennedy, five minutes too late, dodged is old. Leaving historical associations out of the picture, the value of antiques depends upon whether they are, first, more beautiful than their modern counterparts; second, better made and more durable. The beauty may in part be due to age, and the durability and quality of workmanship is often testified to by the fact that they have existed and been in use for a century or two. But when a common pine shoemaker's bench, such as I used to see the village cobbler working at when I was a boy, sells for the price of a grand piano, then I can only think that somebody has more money than taste. NOVELTY and living It is as easy to establish a wrong idea in one direction as in another. Against those who think nothing is good that isn't new stand the ones who think nothing is good unless it is old. Neither, of course, is true. Much depends upon what sort of things—objects, ideas, entertainment or what not—one is talking about. The sort of persons who demand new ideas about life and living and the social order are usually the same type who regard everything else that existed before they were born as being outmoded. As a matter of fact, nothing is so durable as a sound idea, and nothing so evanescent as a new idea that is not sound. The test of time has resulted since the beginning of things in the discarding of novelties in government and social relations and the return to the ancient standards by which the world, on the whole, has been governed. Often the symbols and the methods are changed, but no social order has long existed that was not based on the durable truths derived from countless centuries of human experience in living together. back among the trees and cursed under his breath. Continued Next Week Santa Fe Builds New Bright Angel Lodge On Grand Canyon Rim Because of its immense attraction as a great natural scenic wonder, the Santa Fe railway has started the construction of a new Bright Angel Lodge on the south rim of the Grand canyon. It was announced by J. R. Hitchcock, general manager of the Santa Fe Coast Lines. The new structure will replace the historic Bright Angel Camp, at the head of Bright Angel Trail, and is the initial step of a big improvement program which the Santa Fe will carry on at the Canyon during the next two years to take care of the tourist business which is growing rapidly. The program will eventually involve the expenditure of several thousand dollars. WILL BUILD GARAGE E. E. Hedrick applied Monday for a permit to erect a $100 garage on his 620 South Palm street property. BUSINESS DIRECTORY Ambulance Service Phone 3212 Open Evenings BUSINESS DIRECTORY Ambulance Service Day or Night—Phone 3209 Backs, Terry & Campbell H. P. CAMPBELL, Resident Director 251 No. Lemon Street ANAHEIM, CALIFORNIA Phone 3212 Open Evenings Sunday by Appointment DR. OSHER PHYSICIAN & SURGEON Eye, Ear, Nose and Throat Dentist—Painless Extration Ocullst—Glasses Fitted 107½ E. Center Street ANAHEIM, CALIFORNIA Office Phone 3213 Residence 887 South Los Angeles St Residence Phone 2610 Hours: — 11-12; 2-4; 7-8 J. W. Truxaw, M.D. PHYSICIAN & SURGEON Golden State Bank Bldg. Cor Center and Los Angeles Sts. ANAHEIM, CALIFORNIA Telephone 4105 DeLuxe Ambulance Service HILGENFELD'S FUNERAL HOME South Lemon at Broadway ANAHEIM, CALIFORNIA Sash and Doors Nagel-Gohres & Co. 418 S. Lemon St. ANAHEIM, CALIFORNIA ANAHEIM FEED AND FUEL CO. Dealers in GRAIN - FLOUR - SEEDS - WOOD - COAL - HAY Phone 3210 W. D. GRAFTON, Prop ANAHEIM FEED AND FUEL CO. Dealers in GRAIN - FLOUR - SEEDS - WOOD - COAL - HAY Phone 3210 W. D. GRAFTON, Prop Public Weighing Scales 242 W. Center St. THE AEOLIPILE ~ STEAM IS PASSED TO THE GLOBE WHICH REVOLVES WHEN STEAM ISSUES FROM THE PROJECTING BEAT TUBES ~ THIS APPARATUS WAS DESCRIBED BY AN EARLY WRITER OF ANCIENT GREECE, IT HAS OFTEN BEEN CALLED THE FIRST STEAM ENGINE JUST ONE MORE FACT FOR TODAY AND THEN WELL HEAD FOR HOME. QUEBEC IS SOMETIMES REFERRED TO AS THE GIBRALTER OF AMERICA BECAUSE OF ITS STRATEGIC POSITION...