Judge — November 11, 1922 — page 7: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Their First Thanksgiving (Continued from page 3) fashioned for his comfort, was physic at rest but mentally distraught. ‘Sh her dainty boudoir that he had decor: with his own loving hands, couch in tears. A neighboring clock struck midday. The telephone tinkled. She kne Listlessly she She just. knew as her mother to remind her that she and Darling were exp 1 to dinner. She must be brave. She sum- moned her strength and lifted the receiver. It was his mother speaking. “Just to remind you, dear. You're coming to us for dinner. Two o'clock. Don’t be late.” She could not answer but hung up be- s mother might hear her sobs. SI aggered to her couch and burst into a paroxysm of grief that shook her slender body. This was too much. She couldn't answered it. that this now give in, The telephone tinkled merrily again and again she must drag herself to answer it. “Hello... hello! Oh, is that you, dear. IVs mother. You won't be appointed if you don’t come to-day. livered. You won't mind, will yo She stood rooted to the floor. ceiver fell from her listless hand. She shook in every limb. Then, realizing her deliverance, she sprang to her feet. “Darling!” she cried and burst. in upon his sorrow. He raised heavy, joy was this to h her voice? “Darling, T'll give in to you. Come, we mustn’t be as unhappy as this, “she purred. He took her into his arms. “You make me ashamed of my selfish- ness,” he said ruefully, “but Pl mak up to vou for the rest of your life. Tdon't!” - lids. What sudden again the cadence of ae . Last Call! hy Emmet F. Harte AFRICA. On all sides, Africa. Fx- ‘Leept up. Egypt. Egypt of the ges. Mausoleum of a million memories. Old Nile in his valley. Stamping-ground of spooks. Spooks of | sheep-herder kings, Ptolemies. Pharaohs, Cheops, Isis, Osiris, This, Papyrus. Land of lotus, cradle of history ds mystery. Here lolled and flirted Cleopatra. naughty. Place of sphynxes, fle: heen, obelisks, backsheesh, mummies of Rameses. Mystic, marvelous. Night. Moonlight silvering the tar- nished quicksilver of the languidly liquid river. Boat. — Stern-wheeler, | steam- propelled, slow-moving, tourist-laden, up- stream-bound. Inch by inch between shadowy, shadoof-dotted banks where silence brooded. Save for the snoring of some sleeping slave ning of child- hood jungles—to hear again the soporific humming of tsetse flies, or the song of bul- bul and dik-dik, or the mournful plai the heartsick hartebeeste. Nut Nubia! With thy sable-maned liot wauling madrigals to the ever-lovin’ moon. _.On deck a group of travelers. Cook's Tour. Ninety days. Gibraltar, Monte Carlo, Venice, Blue Grotto, Rome, Cairo. “Law, Silas, do you spose they'll be tender?” Silas—Wal, if I can sell ‘em they'll be legal tender, anyhow. Except one, a man, evi- itizen of the world. ely Eager trippers. dently seasoned. A « Bored. Monocled. Been approxim everywhere: Andes, Australia, Alas Zanzibar and points between. Mildly in- terested—for first time in’ six weeks. Lady talking. American. School-teacher. Name, Miss Pollyanna Patterson. Gabby. Keen about everything. All new. Vastly different from home. Quoth “——just to go on sigh ng forever. Glorious! Home's so dull. gh! Drab monotony. My folks live on a farm. Grass, trees, cornfields, wheatfields, horses, cows, pigs, ducks, chickens. Butter. Milk crocks everywhere. Sicken- ul. F sort. of ing quantities of f food. Going to v ‘ons. No use trying to cat or can it all. Fruit. Straw- berries, cherries, raspberries, gooseberries, currants, dewberries, blackberries and peaches, plums, grapes, apples. Barrels and baskets full, All summer. No let up. ‘An endless orgy of pies, preserves, jams, jellies. Garden sass. Peas, beans, roast cars, tomatoes, beets, turnips, cabbages, potatoes. And fried chicken—with cream gravy. Horrors! In the fall, hog-killing time; sausage, head cheese and mince. meat-making time. Smoking and curing time. Ham—sugar cured, _ hickory smoked, baked after being stuck full of spice Turkeys, stuffed, at ~Thanks- giving and Christmas. In summer the men go fishing and come back with ci fish and eels to be cooked; in winter they go hunting; rabbits, squirrels, quail, wi geese and duck: when time drags, they cut a bee tree and fetch home a washtub full of honey. It’s simply awful. 5 “The women spend their spare time making ketchups, picealilli, stuffed mango peppers, all manner of sweet. sour and mixed pickles, And home-made sour- kraut. And clabber milk cheese. ‘Then we have cider and doughnuts and angel food, and molasses candy and fudge with sin it. And baked sugared —or roast goose with si walnut me: potato dressing and watermelon-rind preser And then there’s Thanksgiving It is so wonderful to escape from it all—” . Somebody stirred. “Miss—Miss Patterson Tt was the globe trotter. “Where is this—um, al your home where you live?” “Bee Creek Junction.” she said. “In Buchanan County, Mo.” Silence. Moonlight. Star-sheen. A figure stole across the deck. Sud- denly, the soft serenity was shattered by a— Splash! Cries. The boat, obedient to jangling Ils, rocked, lost way. drifted. Shouts. un overboard!” People hung over the Downstream a head bobbed, rc ing, at the apex of a wedge-shaped wake. It was the world traveler, he seemed to be swimming with powerful strokes, away from the boat, in the general direction of the sea. He paused. treading water and waved what looked like a suitease in an unmistakable gesture of adieu. His voice ¢ to them faintly from af: Go on,” he commanded. “Don't trouble, plea I'm off for that—Bee’s Creek Junction—Buchanan’s County— Missoo-o—”