The West News (West, Tex.), Vol. 55, No. 29, Ed. 1 Friday, December 8, 1944 Page: 2 of 8
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THE WEST NEWS
THE STORY THIS FAR: Lark Sku
Hi la heartbroken tin tki learaa that
her HliVfi aorrel Soria, Madoc, la to ha
a«M Sat caa do aolklll about II. Her
father. Radar Shannon, known aa the
“HMIa* Faraon,” had coma Jolting
boot a la tba pony cart, head. hia body
alampad ajalait Iba da.aboard, Iba llaat
trauma aa tba rand. Batbal North, star-
aat aaifhbor to tba Sbanaaai. bald a
beta asalaat Radar Shannoa. and tba tala
ef tba beraa. tba laid, aonid rlaar that
aota Lark aaw becaa to raallaa that tba
batad Batbal Sba It now alrbtaan yeart
of aft aad aba talli Batbal aha la plan-
aiaf to laava Far I and tor America. to
marry David North, Batbal’t ton Batbal
it mack tarprlaad at tbit aaaoaaramanl.
CHAPTER II
“You know I wouldn’t be afraid.
It's not that. Jaggers."
“No. No. Lark. I been thinking.”
He spoke slowly, with great effort
and thoughtfulness. “I’ve always
felt to you like you be my own little
daughter. . . . Bethel sets store
by you, too. Don't think she don't.
Bethel is a real upstanding wife to
a man, a good, just woman. Like
she says, where'd I be without her?
And Bethel don't mean the way she
says a thing. I wouldn't want you
to think—”
Lark said, “It’s all right, Jaggers.
Don’t feel so bad."
“What I want to know," Jaggers
broke Ira eagerly, “is just only this.
Did David, or did he not, ever ask
you plain out to come to him? Just
tell me that. Lark?”
“He did not. You and Bethel both
know that. It was—just a thing I
was stung into saying, a stupid, fool-
ish thing.”
“What I want to say—” Jaggers
stopped, thinking how beautiful and
dear Lark was, how golden her skin,
freckled and uncared-for, but clear-
shining against the red-gold mass
of her hair, how dark-lashed and
gray her eyes were. Her back was
straight, and she was tall and finely
made, but with a young awkward-
ness, a coltish defiance, which, un-
der Bethel’s steady iron curb was
turning gradually to sullen, brood-
ing listlessness.
“What I thought to say,” he
thought out, “was if I could get the
money, now—”
Jaggers said, now, with gentle ur-
gency, “If I was to get the money
together, someway, would you take
and go to Americy, Lark? Would you,
girl? If I could find cash for your
passage, real nice?"
Lark shook her head. She said,
“You know I wouldn't, Jaggers.”
“But if David was to take a no-
tion he wanted you, why—”
“David doesn’t want me! I just—I
Just lied. Bethel's right.”
Jaggers made a little clucking
sound of sympathy. “Maybe you
got no date set, nor no special plans,
but don’t go so far as to say he
don’t want you. Lark, because—well
because you can’t rightly be sure,
snap off, if he do or don't. He's
fond-” * '
“Please don’t talk like that,
please!”
“He writes you letters,” Jaggers
said doggedly. “And he sends you
word in letters to us. Just to you.
and nobody else around here, ex-
cepting Jack, of course. He do send
a kindly word to old Jack, not know-
in’ poor Jack—"
Lark broke in desperately. "I’ll
show you his last letter. It came
months ago. There’s no doubt about
his being busy. There’s no doubt
about the way he feels. Can’t you
understand that I—I just blurted out
something that I'd die to call back?”
"You don't love David?”
"Yes,” Lark said frantically.
“Yes, yes, yes. ... Do you want
me to shout it from the housetops?
Don’t you think I have any shame?”
She broke off, sorry for her outburst,
sick over hi? face.
She brought David’s last letter
from the pocket of the cart.
Together they read: “My Dear
Girl, I am home in Norfolk, Vir-
ginia. My New Orleans Trip was
Profifitable. I purchast Interest in the
Cargoe Riske Company, but said
Company has much Business around
Chesapeake Bay and the Virginia
Coast, so Likely, I will Remain
here. I sent you a Red Raskall some
time ago, which I feel Shure will
Become you. I send your Dear fa-
ther Greetings and remain Yrs. to
Command, David North, Norfolk,
Va., March 2, 1816."
"Does that sound like a love let-
ter?” Lark asked.
Jaggers scratched his thick gray
thatch. “Well now.” he said gen-
tly, “David do say ‘Yours to com-
mand.' Ain't that got a little thought
of love to it, Lark, I ask you?"
Lark laughed, and Jaggers went on
determinedly, “And he gits off with
‘My depr girl.’ What else would a
person think? ‘Dear,’ he says, in
plain out writing. And that gift, that
Red Raskall hankcher, you got it
hanging on a nail yonder, now! What
I say is, when a girl keeps a man's
gift to hand that way, it’s because
he stay* in her mind. I say. If you
was to write David—"
Lark was smiling. “We’ve lived
here lince I was ten. and fve never
in these eight years heard you say
so many words."
“It wouldn’t be particular neces-
sary for you to go to the trouble of
David.” Jaggers said uneam-
ut on that Red Raskall hank-
cfeer, Lark. Tie it pretty about your
neck. do. Comb your own hair,
‘stead of currying Madoc’s so shiny,
gow. If we was to have extra spe-
cial unexpected company today, say
a bit of company from ’cross the
salty, driving up bright and early,
on the Liverpool stage, say, you'd
want to look nice."
“David is here! You met him on
the Liverpool stage! Why didn’t you
tell me he was coming? Jaggers,
what did you tell him?”
“He came as a clean-out sur-
prise," Jaggers said twice over. "I
told him about your, father. Lark,
but as to you I said but little, but
very little. . . . He’s waiting over
to the house. 1 told him plain not
to come here till I fetched you there,
Lark."
“He's with Bethel. There's no tell-
ing what she’s said to him Oh,
Jaggers, I’ll die! I want to die!
Jaggers, I can't go there and face
David North, not now."
"Loose your hair," Jaggers said
timidly, “like you used to, and comb
it shining. It has a look like flames
that way . . . And don't seek to
chcke yourself with that hankcher,
tie it pretty."
Lark laughed. She couldn’t help
it. To have Jaggers the silent, the
mild mouse, telling her with judi-
cious insistence how to pretty up for
his son, David! She snatched a
mane-comb from a nail and ran it
again and again through her wild
locks. She cupped water from the
rain barrel and dashed it on her
face and smoothed her brown home-
spun over her slim hips and long
supple waist. She was cold and
shaking and weak. . . . David!
“I call to memory," Jaggers said
wisely, “that David kissed you fare-
well when he took leave of us all
five years back.”
Lark and Jaggers were walking
up the path, up the step and in
David was real. He was here.
through the door, into the big dim
room, the front room of the North
house that was suddenly strange and
far-off. The room was made small
and stuffy by the tall man standing
there, the strange big man in a
seaman’s reefer, smoking a pipe,
laying it aside carefully on the spe-
cial Spode saucer Bethel kept there
for nice. The man had a thick
black club of hair, big hands and
feet, a great strong nose and a
wide laughing mouth. Lark looked
at him, tried to make a little curtsy,
tried to speak his name.
“Well!” Bethel gave her a push.
“Haven’t you the manners to greet
David?”
The big man took a step toward
her, lifted Lark in his arms, and
kissed her. “My pretty dear,” he
said. “Lark, it’s good to see you,
it is that."
"Yes,” Lark said at last, “it is
good to see you, too—David."
“I always said,” David went on,
coloring up considerably, “I’d come
back and fetch you, Lark, didn’t I,
Girl? And so I will, and damned
if I won’t! You’re a pretty dear,
and you will be a full-grown wom-
an before many years."
“Lark is eighteen,” Bethel said.
"Oid enough to get married, and
willing enough, if you judge by her
talk.”
“I don’t want to get married,”
Lark said hurriedly. “Really, Da-
vid, I am not thinking of a thing
like getting married.”
David's appreciation and amuse-
ment echoed. “There is a girl of
spirit! I always said you were a
girl of great spirit. Lark. I notice
you are wearing the Red Raskall.
It becomes you, sure. I had thought
to send you a Blue Betsy—more suit-
able to a female. But I took a no-
tion for the red.”
“Red suits Lark"—Bethel was ris-
ing—“suits her a caution!”
"Red do suit our Lark.” Jaggers
stood up. too. “There ben’t a prettier,
spiriteder. better girl living, than
Lark.”
Bethel sniffed, and David said Lark
was a wonder, sure, and Lark sat
cold and tongue-tied, listening to
the bells for services st the church,
their familiar peal making the
prisms on Bethel’s good candle-
sticks vibrate in the stiff chilly room.
“Twenty minutes," Bethel said,
"Tie up your hair, Lark, and get
into decent clothes. Since you
wouldn't wear mourning for Rector,
you might as well put on your good
blue bombazine with the lace col-
lar and cut a great figure."
"I’m not going to service," Lark
said. “I’ll stay here."
"Very well." Bethel swept from
the room. "Shame can work havoc
on a deceitful spirit. . . . Service in
twenty minutes, Son."
"Not for me." David spat into the
fire again, accurately, with a cer-
tain assured neatness. "I'm clean
as a new-farrowed pig and have no
need to ready or have my sins
washed at service. I'll stay here
and talk to Lark."
Bethel came down, bonneted,
shawled. She passed through the
door, and then turned and said,
"Lark, ask David to tell you about
Mara Hastings, why don't you?
You’ll want to hear about her, I
make sure.”
She was walking down the path
then, to the gate, waiting impatient-
ly for Jaggers, who followed, damp,
hair slicked down, looking excited
and sprightly, closing the door be-
hind him.
"Is Mara Hastings a lady in
America?” Lark asked David,
quickly. “Because if she is—some
one you are fond of, David, I am
happy to hear of it. I wouldn’t want
you to think”—she paused misera-
bly, and then rushed on—“I wouldn’t
want you to misunderstand about the
silly thing I told Bethel.”
“Mistress Mara is a fine lady,”
David said slowly. “A smart lady.
I am friendly to her, and she is to
me. It is not a promise. I am not
what you’d say a promised man,
Lark."
“Oh. no, David. I didn’t mean—
what I want to say is—I—I lost my
temper at Bethel last night. I told
her a wicked lie. I said I was—was
thinking—well—of going to you in
America. I wish I had bitten off my
tongue before I said it!"
"I was afraid,” he said simply,
"that you—well—had thought too
much about me, Lark, while I was
gone. From what the Old Lady said,
it seemed like maybe you had.”
“Oh I did think about you, David.
I thought about you all the time,
and missed you very much. But 1
didn't—”
“That's fine." David stood up,
looked down at her. “It’s good to
know a man's been missed. I’ve al-
ways been over fond of you, Lark
But—well—sometimes a girl does
get a sort of notion, a very young
girl, I mean—”
“I didn’t get any notions,” Lark
said, flushing. “Not any notions at
all, David. I just got awfully mad
at Bethel. She’s sold Madoc, my
thoroughbred horse. You remem-
ber Madoc, don’t you, David? She
sold him to the livery-stable.”
“Poor little Lark.” David pulled a
stool to her feet and sat there.
“Don’t think I’m not worried, Lark,
because I am. Don’t believe that
I've forgot the money your father
loaned me—the very money, may-
be, that he had to borrow back from
the Old Lady later. And if I had it
to spare I’d give it to you to buy
Madoc, and I'd take you to America,
and set you up on a hill—”
“I ^on’t want money from you,”
Lark said desperately. "I don’t want
you to feel you must burden yourself
with me or my troubles. Can’t you
understand, David? I didn’t know
you were coming home. I—oh, Da-
vid, I wish you hadn’t come home!”
“I’ll be going soon enough,” Da-
vid said a little stiffly. “Tonight,
certainly. If I had known you'd act
like this, maybe I wouldn’t have tak-
en the time from my business to
come here at all. It isn't my fault
if you spoke—hastily about me."
"Of course it isn’t. . . . Oh, David,
I say such awful things! If you just
knew how I feel!”
“The way you spoke, just now,
would make a man think—you didn’t
even like me, Lark. I have always
been fond of you. If you have
missed me, why would you wish I
hadn’t come home?”
There was a sound at the door.
They both looked up. Jaggers stood
there, smiling. He said, "I left Beth-
el in church. She’ll go for me about
it, but I had to know. I had to be
sure. I heard you say you’d take
Lark, Son, as I knew you must.
I’ve prayed for it since the stage
brought you here, and maybe be-
fore. David. I can get the money for
Lark’s passage—from Bethel’s iron
box, under her bed. It is rightful
money for Lark, because her father
helped you, David, when you had no
way to get help."
“I’m not going to take any mon-
ey," Lark said.: "Jaggers, you can’t
steal from fiethel! David, he
mustn’t—”
Jaggers was hurrying up the
stairs. David laid his hand on Lark's
arm. "Would you like to go to Amer-
ica, Lsrk?”
“I would like to go, David, but it’s
wrong to use Bethel's money. And
I’d hate to be a care on you. ... I
couldn’t think of such a thing!”
“I would take you to Mistress
Mara, of course,” David said,
"though it may be you are too old
for going to school. Perhaps you
could teach. Mara would find isms
thing, I feel sure.”
ITO EE CONTTNUXDi
l
Musicir.ns Are the
runniest People:
• Adelina Patti asked $106,000 for a
certain three-month tour. ’But,” ob-
jected an impresario, “that’s more
than the President gets!” . . .
"Well," shrugged the diva, "then
get the President.” . . . Liszt was
a character who wore the same kind
of clothes whether the weather was
rainy or fair. ... "I never,” he
! declared, "take notice of that which
' takes no notice of me.” . . Handel
composed so fast, they say, that the
ink on the top of the page of his
manuscript had not dried by the
j time he reached the bottom. . , .
| Another gag of the day: “Do you
like Brahms?” ... “I don't know,
j What are they?" . . . "After
Strauss—what?” an English jour-
nalist once queried. "For one
thing," music oracle Leonard Leib-
ling noted, "the critics."
A journalist objected to the 7 a.
| m. piano playing in the room next
to his in a Milan hotel. “Do you
| always allow that?” he asked. . . .
“Not as a rule,” they told him,
I "but we make an exception with
Mr. Verdi.” ... It was the late
Alexander Woollcott who deflated a
famous soprano boasting of her ex-
ecution of an aria she described as
“difficult." . . . “Difficult!” groaned
, Woollcott. "I wish it had been im-
possible!” ... At a Peabody con-
cert President Grant once observed:
[ “I know only two tunes. One is
; ‘Yankee Doodle’ and the other
| isn’t."
When Rossini heard Wagner’s
“Lohengrin” for the first time,
he said: "One cannot judge a
work upon a single hearing—
and I have no intention of hear-
ing this a second time." . . .
A German critic once wrote that
( "Wagner was a good musician,
hut he left behind the Wagner-
ites, which was mast unkind of
him." . . . “In order to com-
pose,” said Schumann, “it is
just enough to remember a tune
which nobody else has thought
of." . . . When Albert Spaulding
toured through the West one
Winter, he told a theater man-
ager that bis violin was 200
years old. . . . "Don't say any-
thing about it." replied the im-
presario, “and maybe the audi-
ence won't know the difference."
Paderewski, when still quite u*.
known, went to London armed with
letters of introduction to influential
! Britishers. “Dear Prince," one said,
“the bearer, Ignace Paderewski, is
a fiery young Pole and rather
! charming when he doesn’t play the
piano, for which he has little tal-
ent.” . . . Paderewski, unless a
! press agent of the day is fooling us,
once accosted a polo player with
: the question: “What is the differ-
ence between us?” The other
shrugged. “You,” grinned Ignace,
“are a good soul who plays polo.
I am a good Pole who plays solo.”
. . . Grunfeld was caught by the
father of one of his pupils kisring
the girl. "Is this,” stormed the par-
ent, "what I am paying for?” . . .
“No,” replied the famous tutor, "I
do this free.”
A young man approached Mo-
tart and asked him how to write
a symphony. "You’re a very
young fellow," the composer
told him, "why not begin with a
ballad?" . . . "But,” pouted the
youth, ‘‘yon composed sympho-
nies when you were ten." . . .
“Yes,” smiled Mozart, “but I
didn't ask how." ... Dr. Samuel
Johnson admitted once he did
net care for music. “But of all
noises," he added, “I think mu-
sic is the least disagreeable."
... A young lady auditioned on
the piano for Rubinstein.
“What,” she asked him at the
end of the selection, “should I
do now?" Snapped Rubinstein:
"Get married!"
Chopin, whose life Columbia
brings to the screen in "A Song to
Remember,” could give more than
the piano “the finger." He was a
dinner guest in a Parisian home one
night and, after the meal, was asked
by the hostess to play some of his
| compositions. “But, madame,”
i said Chopin, "I have eaten so lit-
tle!” . . . He once cracked to
Liszt: “I prefer not to play in pub-
lic; it unnerves me. You, if you
cannot charm the audience, can at
least astonish them." . . . When
DePachman mislaid his false teeth
someone appropriately observed:
"His Bach is better than his bite."
... To a young pianist, Nellie
Melba remarked: "You have talent,
presence, charm. All you need now
to make a success is a nice hot
scandal.”
Maacagni heard an organ grinder
murdering an aria from his famous
“Cavalleria Rusticana” and ran out
of his house to show him the proper
speed to crank out the melody. Next
day the organ grinder carried a
sign on the organ: “Pupil of Mas-
cagni” . . Liszt paid women 25
francs to faint at an appointed time
(a swoonster!). He would prompt-
ly and gallantly dash from hia key-
board and pick up the swoonee.
Once, a hired fainter forgot her cue
and Liszt, very upset, swooned him-
self.
SEW MG CIRCLE PATTERNS
Pretty Frock for Gala Occasions ,
New Party Frock for Little Girl
Princess Frock
YOU’LL look lovely and slim
* in this charming Princess frock
with its contrasting yoke that
frames your face so becomingly.
For that all-important “furlough
date!”
Pattern No. 1252 comes In sizes 12. 14.
IS. 18 and 20 Size 14, % sleeve, requires
3'i yards of 38 Inch material: yard of
35 or 38 Inch material for contrasting
yoke.
For this pattern tend 25 cents tn coins,
your name, address, size desired, and the
pattern number.
For the Little Girl
FVERY little girl loves a new
party frock. Mother can easily
and quickly make this dainty one
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yoke. Pretty for play time too.
• • •
Pattern No. 1230 comes tn sizes 1. 1.
3. 4 and 5 years. Size 2. dress with
panties, requires 2V« yards of 39 Inch ma-
terial. 3'i yards ric rac to trim.
To prevent the gloss from coming
off white paint, wash with milk
and very little soap.
—•—
If water Is spilled on the page
of a favorite book, place a blotter
on each side of the page and press
with a hot iron. This should re-
move all moisture without damage
to the book.
—•—
Place a handful of starch in the
water when washing tile floors. It
will leave a nice shine.
—•—
If you have had trouble in mak-
ing your whitewash stick to trees,
fences or basement walls try us-
ing. sour milk or buttermilk in-
stead of water to mix the lime.
The casein in the milk acts as a
glue with the lime.
—•—
Boil the wick of a kerosene lamp
In vinegar before using to keep it
from smoking.
—•—
Chimney soot can be kept down
by throwing dry salt on a bed of
hot coals, once or twice a week.
Dry fuel and good draft helps to
check soot and creosote in pipes
Bnd chimneys.
1230
1*5 yn.
Due to an unusually large demand and •
current war conditions, slightly more time
Is required In filling orders for a few ot
the most populsr pattern numbers.
SKWINfi CIRCLE PATTERN DEPT.
534 South Wells St. Chicago
Enclose 25 cents in coins for each
pattern desired.
Pattern No.................Size......
Name.................................
Address...............................
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Vanzura, Albert T. The West News (West, Tex.), Vol. 55, No. 29, Ed. 1 Friday, December 8, 1944, newspaper, December 8, 1944; West, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth590287/m1/2/?q=waco+tornado: accessed July 16, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting West Public Library.