Jim Hogg County Enterprise (Hebbronville, Tex.), Vol. 15, No. 11, Ed. 1 Thursday, July 25, 1940 Page: 3 of 8
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THE JIM HOGG COUNTY ENTERPRISE
AROUND
th. HOUSE
Items of Interest
to the Housewife
A little milk added to the blue I
water used for ItCC CUrtailll will
launder them beautifully.
• • •
Shades of pink can be set by
soaking in salt water.
• e •
If you have over-salted the soup,
peel a potato and put several slices
into the soup. Boil it for a few
minutes and the potato will ab-
sorb the salt.
0 0 0
Broiled tomato slices not only
decorate but also improve the fla-
vor of steak or chops.
Never use water that has been
boiled before or has been standing
in the kettle to make tea. Draw
fresh cold water and let it boil for
the first time. Water that has
boiled before tastes flat, because
the air has gone out of it.
• • •
When freshly washed windows
are dry wipe them with tissue pa-
per to make them sparkle.
• • •
To prevent cauliflower from
turning dark while cooking, put a
slice of lemon in the water in
which it is cooked.
<fi MACRAE SMITH CO. WNU SERVICE
CHAPTER VII—Continued
—11—
"Mother gave my father a great
deal of happiness while she was his
wife, the Major, too, I suppose,
though I was with them very little.
Robert adores her." Gay changed
her position and laughed. "How sol-
emn we're being I We weren’t sol-
emn today. Did you enjoy seeing
New York in a snowstorm?”
"I enjoy being with you wherever
you are, though ‘enjoy’ is much too
polite a word.”
"Those first few days at the cabin
—We were so polite to each other.”
"I can barely remember. I wish
we were there now.”
"So do I. Thinking of the woods
in a snow-storm makes all this
seem like a stage-setting, doesn’t it?
Do you remember when you asked
me if I would love you when we
were together in New York?”
"Yes—” He held her closer. "1
was afraid to come.”
“But you aren’t afraid now.”
"No. But I can’t believe it’s true.”
"Dear, dear!” She lifted her head
from his shoulder and, smiling, drew
an exaggerated sigh. "Convincing
you is certainly up-hill work. You’re
the most obstinate person I know.”
"I guess you’re right. I loved you
pretty stubbornly for six years.”
“It has its advantages, hasn’t it?”
She looked at him gravely, her eyes
soft and bright. “I love you,” she
said.
He drew her close to him. “I
love you,” he said, his lips against
her cheek.
At a repeated sound from behind
them, Gay drew away somewhat
hastily. John, too, turned. The
Japanese house-boy, his face dis-
creetly expressionless, stood just in-
side the room.
"What is it, Suki?” Gay asked.
"Comp’ny come, please. Gentle-
man, ladies call up from below. Say
send down elevator, please.”
"Good-Heavens!” She looked at
him in dismay. "I might have known
—I should have told them we were
going out to the country.”
"Tell them now.”
She shook her head. "Who is it,
Suki?”
"Miss Wales. Mrs. Howard. Lady
not say gentleman's name.”
“Send the elevator down.”
The house-boy bowed himself out
of the room. She turned” to John.
Her face cleared. She laughed. “You
look frightened.”
"I’m terrified.”
"If I refused to let them meet you,
they’d think you weren’t presenta-
ble. I want them to meet you. I’m
proud of you. You look grand in
evening clothes. You ought to wear
them always.”
"I might get a job as a waiter.”
He caught her hand. "I won’t know
what to say to them.”
"Idiot! What do you say to me?”
"I tell you I love you."
Her brows lifted. "You can omit
that. Don’t be frightened. They’re
really quite harmless.”
"If you would coach me a little—”
"Oh, John!” She kissed him, but
absently, he thought. Her expres-
sion was thoughtful, a little appre-
hensive as she pulled him up from
the davenport, as they walked
through soft glow of concealed light-
ing, through the frosty glitter of the
Christmas tree toward the door to
greet her friends.
CHAPTER VIII
The last record in the electric
Victrola whirred to a stop. John
led the small vivacious brunette with
whom he had been dancing to the
davenport facing the fire where he
had sat with Gay.
"You’re a wonderful dancer,” ahe
said, settling herself in a swirl of
scarlet chiffon.
“You sound surprised.” John
smiled. "We aborigines who live in
Maine don’t confine our amusement
to war dances, by any means.”
She glanced at him doubtfully,
then laughed. “The mystery is
clearing up," she aaid.
"Mystery?”
"Well, we have wondered, you
know,” she went on with an air of
artless frankness too deliberate to
be entirely sincere. “I mean, Gay
goes dashing off into the wilds and
then comes home and breaks her
engagement end won't tell us any-
thing about you except that you're a
doctor and her god-father’s nephew.
You can’t imagine how curious
we’ve been to meet you."
Here it was again. John had been
obliged to respond to that approach
many time* during the evening as
Gay’s friends had arrived and de-
parted in restless, animated groups.
"You must find me very disap-
pointing," he said, making no effort
to re-phrase • reply which, so far,
had appeared to be adequate.
"Not at all.” Her bright brown
eyes sparkled at him through curl-
fag lashes. “Of course moat of us
met you at Gay’s debutante party
but we didn’t—”
"—pay any attention to me?” He
felt that his smile was becoming
fixed.
“I’d meant to say that we didn’t
dream all this romance was brew-
ing. It is romantic, you know. I
mean you never expect such a thing
to happen to one of your friends.”
On the surface, at least, it was
all very friendly. Perhaps he only
imagined that under their apparent-
ly casual acceptance of him, these
friends of Gay’s were deliberately
making him feel an outsider in sub-
tle ways of which he was conscious
but which he could not define. That
was natural, he told himself. Todd
Janeway was one of them. His
name had been mentioned, during
the evening, in connection with
Christmas Eve of last year, with ref-
erence to the Army-Navy football
game, in casual reminiscence.
Todd’s sister, Ellen, was here, the
slight graceful girl in the tailored
hat who, coming in with the good-
looking red-haired boy in tweeds,
had explained that they were on
their way out to the Janeway coun-
try place for Christmas.
"Don’t you adore this apart-
ment?” she was asking when he
gave her his attention.
. "It’s very—unusual.”
“I’m crazy about it. I’ve been
trying to persuade Mums and Dads
to take a pent-house but they say
they can’t afford to sell the family
mausoleum even if anybody could be
persuaded to buy it. We’re prac-
tically paupers,” she added cheer-
fully. "Dads is loaded with foreign
bonds and you know what they’re
worth now."
John wanted, very sincerely, to
understand, if he could the point-of-
view of these sleek young people
for, though she was more intelli-
gent than the girl who chattered
beside him, it must, of necessity, be
Gay’s. It was a rare person who
remained uninfluenced by the
thought and behavior of his or her
companions. You never entirely es-
caped the environment in which you
had been reared. You were bound
to the past by a thousand tenuous
ties of habit, prejudice, affection,
ties of which you were unaware,
perhaps, until, when confronted by
some opposite idea, you felt them
tugging you back into the safety of
familiar ideas, values, habits. He’d
felt them tugging when . . .
"I beg your pardon,” he said,
warned by a sustained upward in-
flection in his companion’s voice that
she had asked a question.
"It doesn’t matter.” He thought
that she looked a little bored. Her
eyes flicked past him toward the
piano where the girl with auburn
hair was singing, apparently for her
own amusement since the group
clustered about her continued to talk
in staccato tones which carried
across the room. "I asked you if
you and Gay were spending tomor-
row here or at her father’s place
in the country.”
"In the country, I think.” He
wanted to add something to that.
He wanted to apologize more fully
for his inattention. What a dull lout
she must think him. Not that he
cared, except for Gay. He was as
relieved as he felt his companion
must be when he saw a group of
of four people come in from the hall
and cross the room toward the dav-
enport.
“We’ve been out on the terrace
looking at the view,” Tory Wales
said as she came up to them. She
dropped down on the davenport and
a white fur coat, so soft that it crum-
pled like velvet as it fell, slid down
over her bare brown shoulders and
back.
"Your slippers are wet, I’m
afraid," her companion, the burly
but well-groomed young Englishman
who was her fiance, said.
"Don’t fuss, Hal. You can’t kill
an Indian with a little snow." She
leaned back against the apricot
leather of the upholstery and held
up two fingers. Her fiance put s
cigarette between them.
The girl in red laughed. "Don’t
you two talk the same language?”
she asked.
"Well, you must admit that my
English is a little different from
Hal’s.'"kTory Wales said, her light
eyes, startling in contrast with her
skin, twinkling with derisive humor
which reminded him of Kate. "When
his family was here in October we
practically had to us* deaf and
dumb signals. I’m learning,
though.” She glanced up at her fian-
ce who smiled as though he found
her very amusing, relaxed against
the upholstery, graceful legs
crossed, and made a half turn to-
ward John, seated between her and
ths girl in red, who, now that rein-
forcements had arrived, showed no
inclination to leave. "When are you
planning to locate in New York, Dr.
Houghton?”
"I don’t expect to locate in New
York.” John said, a little startled at
the question.
“Oh, aren't you going to practice
here?" the girl in red asked. "We
naturally assumed that you were.”
“Why ‘naturally’?” John asked
smiling, but with the uncomfortable
feeling that he was being deliberate-
ly quizzed.
“Well, Gay’s connections are here.
We thought—That’s very disappoint-
ing.” The girl in red gave a ripple
of laughter which held, John
thought, some confusion, "I was
planning to develop a chronic ail-
ment. After all, one must be loyal
to one’s friends."
"I appreciate your interest," John
said, "but I shouldn’t have a private
practice in any event."
“Dr. Houghton is a scientist, dar-
ling," Tory Wales said speaking
across him to the girl in red.
"That’s very interesting.” The
Englishman lowered his glass to look
at John.
"Are you working with a founda-
tion?” the boy in the tweed suit
asked.
"Nothing so impressive." John
laughed briefly. "Just now I’m as-
On the surface, at least, it was
all very friendly.
sisting a physician in Portland. Gen-
eral practice. I’m hoping—”
The girl in red interrupted with a
request for a cigarette. John felt
both irritated and relieved. He didn’t
want to talk of his work, especially,
but that was preferable to more
personal references. In the flurry of
providing the girl at his right with a
cigarette, he glanced toward the
groftp at the piano. Gay turned, as
he watched, started across the room
with Janice Howard. The others fol-
lowed.
"Jan and Rickey think they must
go,” Gay said, coming up to the
davenport.
“You needn’t, Tory,” Janice How-
ard said. "We can call a cab. But
if we’re to Join the family festivi-
ties tomorrow, steps must be taken
at once."
“We must go too, Tommy.” Ellen
Janeway rose. "We’re meeting the
midnight, train in from Chicago.
Francie and Ned are arriving. Gay.
Maybe we’ll see you in the country
tomorrow.”
“I want to see Francie and Ned.
Are they bringing the babies?”
"Oh, yes. We’re driving them out
to the country tonight. The roads
are fairly clear. Todd phoned—’’
She stopped and her soft color deep-
ened.
"We’re shoving off, Hal,” Tory
Wales said quickly. She rose and
shrugged into the white fur coat.
"We're going home and hang up
our stockings. Maybe you’ll get a
bale of oats in yours, if you’re
good," she added, linking her arm
through the arm of her fiance.
“Good-night, Gay. Good-night, Dr.
Houghton. We’ll see you Wednes-
day evening."
"Good-night, Dr. Houghton." Jan-
ice Howard extended a slender
hand. "It’s been pleasant to meet
you.”
"Good-nignt, everybody,” Gay
said. "Merry Christmas. Good-
night—”
John was standing at one of the
long windows when Gay came into
the drawing-room. She went to him,
moving swiftly, noiselessly over the
rugs which Suki had replaced.
"What do you see?" she asked,
standing beside him. "Are you
watching for Santa Claus? He
! doesn't come in a boat.”
He turned when she spoke, glanc-
ing at her, looked out and down
through the window again.
"Manhattan is an island, isn’t it?”
he said in a detached, distant voice.
"I’ve never been able to believe it.
But seeing water down under the
windows—”
"John—’’ Her breath caught in
her throat. He looked so unapproach-
able standing there with his back
to the room, in darkness, now, ex-
cept for the blue and silver dazzle
of the Christmas tree, the restrained
glow of the birch-log fire. She
slipped her hand into the pocket
where his was thrust, laid her cheek
against his arm.
"It must be colder,” he said stead-
ily. "The snow isn’t melting. See
it on the deck of that scow there un-
der the light.”
"John—Darling—I I know what
you’re thinking. Don't!”
He looked at her then and she saw
the unhappiness in his eyes. His
lips moved as though he meant to
speak but no sound came.
"John," she said quietly, "look at
„ _ it
me.
He turned, silent, unsmiling, wait-
ing for her to continue.
"Have you changed your mind?”
she asked steadily. “Are you trying
to tell me—?” Her voice faltered,
trembled, was stilled.
“Oh Gay, no!” He made a de-
spairing gesture. "I’m trying to see
this thing clearly. We can’t rush
into it blindly."
"Can’t we be comfortable, at
least,” she said wearily.
He followed her to the davenport
before the fire, sat at a little dis-
tance from her,
“Cigarette?” she asked.
“Thank you.” He struck a match
to light hers. As he bent toward her,
she saw that his expression had
softened. "You’re tired,” he said
gently.
"A little."
He did not touch her, though she
willed him to with all her strength.
When his cigarette was lit, he sat
back against the upholstery. “I don’t
wonder," he said bitterly. "You’ve
carried me on your shoulders all
evening and I’m a pretty heavy
load.”
"Don’t be an idiot, darling."
"You watched me, you watched
your friends, as though you were
afraid—”
“I was afraid.”
“That I’d do or say something
that would humiliate you?”
“No, John. That they would try to
make you feel uncomfortable, an
outsider, someone who didn’t be-
long.”
He turned to her, puzzled.
“Deliberately?” he asked.
She nodded.
“I sensed something of the sort.”
“You can’t understand it, I sup-
pose.”
“I’m trying. I’ve been trying all
evening.” He crushed out his ciga-
rette. “It's the assurance that
wealth gives, I suppose. These
friends of yours who were here to-
night—”
“They can be loyal, too," she said
quickly, more defensively than she
knew. “It would have been loyalty
to Todd if they’d been unpleasant
to you, tonight.”
“But what about you, and your
cousin?”
••He—I—” She was silent.
(TO HE CONTINUED)
‘Sixth Sense* Governs
Guesswork Accuracy
A sixth sense—ektrasensory per-
ception—governs to a certain degree
the accuracy of guesswork, testa
conducted by Columbia university
psychologists Indicate.
The research workers, after con-
ducting a series of 1,000 tests with
hidden cards, said even the average
man or woman had some sort of
mental prompting which tended to
bring forth higher-than-chance guess-
work on the part of some of the
subjects.
"Something other than chance is
at work," the psychologists said,
but offered no opinion as to what tha
extra-chance factor might be.
In every test the cards were shuf-
fled and set out of range of sight
and hearing, and in about half of
the tests the subjects were a quar-
ter of a mile away.
The records indicate, contrary to
chance expectation, that there is a
definite relation between the scores
of some of the sets of cards. Con-
trol scries and statistical analysis
suggests that something other than
chance is at work. There are sev-
eral phases of the distributions of
the date which are difficult to inter-
pret and it is considered wise to con-
tinue the experiment, using new sub-
jects as well as continuing with th*
old
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Delicious
with fresh, frozen,
cooked or
canned fruits
Copr 1940 tiy Kellogg Comptay
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and Trademarks from
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ith a
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Jim Hogg County Enterprise (Hebbronville, Tex.), Vol. 15, No. 11, Ed. 1 Thursday, July 25, 1940, newspaper, July 25, 1940; Hebbronville, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth1017216/m1/3/?q=a+message+about+food+from+the+president: accessed July 17, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; .