Life — September 4, 1924 — page 8: what you’re looking at

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

- LIFE: The Tomlinsons A Stirring Tale of the Arabian Desert Cuaprter Eicuty-Five HEN Desmond awoke he felt strangely refreshed. The events of the preceding night seemed curiously re- mote, now that he was elected Mayor of Asbury Park and all that sort of thing. He pushed the button alongside his bed; a faint tinkle reverberated through the corridor. Jevons appeared silently in the doorway. Has Mr. Munsey been here?” Des- mond asked. “Not yet, sir. you—dastard!” exclaimed Desmond languidly. He drew a small pearl-handied from beneath his pillow and fired at his valet. Jevons dropped dead upon the soft Persian rug. “Well,” he murmured reflectively, “I s going to discharge him anyway. He was always making faces at me.” An hour later Desmond was at the club. It was a Thursday afternoon and the crocuses and the Delphinium were already making the Sussex countryside a glorious riot of color. Tall daffodils waved gayly in the breeze, and here revolver (The $800,000 Prise Novel) Synopsis of Preceding Chapters Burton K. Sciermernorn, the inventor of Pyloxygen, the new method cf putting pins in laun- dered shirts, is found murdered at the corner of Fifth Avenue and Forty-second Street, Detectives from headquarters arrest N Murray Butler, Douglas F Baby Peggy, Addison Seattle and President Coolidge and hang them on suspicion Meyer Maltravers, a retired her- mit, meets Fanny Schermerhorn, the dead man’s adopted daughter, as she is boarding a steamer for Boston, He jumps rboard and is drow Myrtle enlists as an ambulance chaser, and after a num- ber of desperate battles manages to take a taxicab to Brussels, she is told that it is impossible to take a drink, Heywood Broun thereupon confesses that he com- mitted the murder, A summons is sent out for the Beth Israel Chapter of the Ku Klux Klan to gather at Port Jervis. Mayor Hylan is at his wits’ end, as he leered at Desmond through the pearl-handled opera glasses that he drew from his pocket, Desmond could not help wondering whether the man was not, after all, a Democrat. “You knew my boy at Harvard,” he aid abruptly. “Who was your boy?” asked Des- mond. “None of your darned business,” said the man. “I have reason to believe that the National Bank will be blown up at three o'clock. It is now four minutes to three. Desmond thought a minute. “Perhaps you're right,” he said. Cuartrr Eicuty-E1cut Ir is now necessary for us to go back forty years. In the shadow of the White Mountains lies the little village of Lancaster. But in the year 1884 it was situated in Tennessee and was called Memphis. Thus does time heal all wounds, On a bright sunny day in April, 1884, a traveling sales- man dismounted and there patches of Yarrow and milkweed could be seen, peeping shyly through the thick lush grass. But Desmond, from his club window on Second Avenue, could see none of this. A tall, gray- haired man came in and sat down in the hammock next to Des- mond's. He was about sixty years of age and had the manner of a man whose cousins were named — Thurston. This manner, which had perhaps at one time been assumed, had now from the train and hailed. a waiting taxicab. He was leading a tame kangaroo upon a leash, which caused some of the ob- servers to remark that “perhaps he wasn't all that he might be.” Several hours later four red- haired women emerged from the telephone booth in the Mercantile House, and dashed rapidly up Main Street. The Mercantile House had at one time been the home of Ezra Pottle, the Revolutionary General, thrice become so much a Governor of Ken- part of him that. “YOU LIE, YOU—DASTARD!” EXCLAIMED DESMOND LANGUIDLY, tucky. In its day comicbooks.com