The Howe Messenger (Howe, Tex.), Vol. 17, No. 28, Ed. 1 Friday, August 9, 1940 Page: 5 of 6
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Friday, August 9, 1940
THE HOWE MESSENGER
Hidden tons
DM
CHAPTER I
—1— :•:
I heard the man killed in the Fer-
riter apartment. I heard the words
that brought about his murder, too,
but just then the wheel came off
Miss Agatha Paget's wheel chair
&nd drove all else from my mind.
jiTThe thick voice that I heard over
the telephone and the dull sounds
that followed seemed trite. They
hid, rather than revealed, tragedy,
and I forgot them. Later, they be-
came important. They were small
facts, about which men made mon-
strous theories, as scientists rebuild
dinosaurs from tiny bits of bone.
Afterward, the call pad showed
that it was three-thirty on the after-
noon of February twenty-third when
the switchboard clicked and whirred.
I was alor^e in the foyer -1 the Mo-
rello, for\Eddie Hoyt had slipped
out for a bite and Wilson, the door-
man, was ill. Higgins, the super-
intendent, who was filling in for him,
had taken the elevator upstairs.
The operator was slow and I scrib-
bled the number on the call pad
while I waited. A voice buzzed in
my ear again, apparently speaking
to someone in the Ferriter flat, in a
tongue I did not know. I thought it
might be German, for it was blunt
and guttural.
Then I heard an odd sound, half
grunt, half cough, and a faraway
bump that must have been the lamp,
or thA body, falling. At the time,
though^ I thought it was Miss Pag-
et’s wheel chair.
Warren, her chauffeur, was trun-
dling her in. He had had trouble at
the door for there was no one there
to help him. I looked up and saw
a wheel rolling down the hall. The
chair had sagged. Miss Paget was
hanging to its upper arm and laugh-
ing while Warren struggled to keep
it from overturning. I ran to help
Miss Paget.
She was the oldest tenant by age
and residence in the old Morello
Apartments. This was one of the
rare buildings in Manhattan that
had endured into mellow age. The
foyer was furnished in mahogany,
tile and gloom, and on the ceiling
dim cherubs were tangled in fad-
ing ribbons. The Morello Apart-
ments sat, brown and ornate, be-
tween bleaker, newer buildings with
a calm weathered dignity nothing
could break—rather as Miss Agatha
Paget sat between Warren and me
when at last we had righted her
wrecked chair.
I had been hallman at the Morello
less than a week but already I knew
that she was important. The pomp-
ous ass, Higgins, had squired the
passages of her wheel chair between
elevator and car as though they
were royal progresses.
Now the old lady sat and preened
herself like a ruffled little hawk.
She was oddly alive for one whose
legs were useless. Time had worn
but not blunted her. Years had
sharpened her high-bridged nose and
wrinkled her face but they had not
loosened her mouth or quenched the
zest in her blue eyes.
She caught my eye and grinned,
broad, warm and vitaL
“Thank you, David," she said.
“You are David, aren't you? You
all look alike in those uniforms.
Warren, I know what that pious look
of yours means. I remember quite
well you’ve warned me that this
chair was going to pieces. And I
said it would outlive me, didn't I?"
She cocked an eye at me, parrot-
wise and as we half carried, half
propelled her along the hall, I felt
her looking at me again. Higgins
and the elevator still were upstairs.
I rang the bell.
From the street came the sound
of a protesting motor horn. I rang
again. Miss Agatha clicked her
teeth sharply and announced:
“I’ve lived here forty years and
there’s never been a day that the
service didn’t get worse. Who's on
the elevator?”
“Higgins,” I told her.
She gave again the little audible
bite.
“His wife is away, isn't1 she?”
The racket of the horn continued in
the street. Miss Agatha said crisply:
“Ring that beU, David, till I tell
you to stop.”
Above the distant shrilling, I
heard at last the old winch in the
By FREDERIC F. VAN DE WATER,
basement groan and start. The bell’s
trill came down toward us. Outside
the horn kept up its blatting. Warren
stirred and said:
“I fancy I’m in someone’s way,
ma’am.”
“I know you-are,” Miss Agatha
returned. “If Timothy Higgins—”
Higgins threw open the door and
found me with my finger on the bell.
He wore Wilson’s maroon and gold
livery—he was the only man on the
house force it would fit—and as he
glared at me, he seemed to swell
inside it. His long uppfer lip twitched
over the words he dared not utter
under the old lady’s sharp regard,
but he did growl: “I'm not deaf.”
From the day he had hired me
on Eddie Hoyt’s recommendatiort
for a cubby in his basement flat and
thirty dollars a month, he had re-
gretted it. He had told me several
times that I was “above my place"
and now his look filled my stomach
With qualms. I needed this humble
p,
“Agatha,” the girl cried and
stared,
refuge from the storm of destitu-
tion that blew coldly, through New
York, and knowledge of niy helpless-
ness made me foolishly angry. Be-
fore I could speak, Miss Agatha
said:
“Deal!; We began to think, Timo-
thy, that you were dead. Or else—”
Her sharp eyes prodded him and
his uniformed bulk quailed. I saw
that the aglet bn his coat was loose
and dangling. The noise of horns in
the street grew louder. Miss Aga-
tha said: •
“Warren, I think they want you to
move that car. David and Timothy
can get me upstairs quite nicely.”
The chauffeur went. Miss Agatha
continued to look at Higgins, I heard
him breathe harder and saw sweat
shining on his full red face. He said
With stumbling eagerness:
“Indeed I will, Miss Paget. The
chair’s broke! Dear, dear, ain't that
too bad now? Maybe I can mend it
for you, ma’am. I’ll find time some-
how. With Wilson sick and me
taking his place on the day shift and
a new man in the hall here. I’m
fair drove. I am indeed, Miss Pag-
et, with Wilson’s and me own work
to do. That’s why—”
His voice died away under her
severe regard and he buttoned his
gilt aglet into place with uncertain
fingers. I wondered at his ill ease,
and madness made me say:
“That's why he’s doubling in
brass.”
Caution cried out against the sor-
ry jest Higgins squinted at me.
His ire rather than my wit pleased
Miss Agatha. There were mirth
wrinkles about her eyes as she
looked up and said:
“Timothy will hold this wreck, Da-
vid, if you’ll lift me onto the eleva-
tor seat, please.”
“I’ll manage. Miss Paget don’t
you have a moment's worry,
ma’am,” Higgins babbled.
“You," Miss Agatha corrected,
“will take that chair down cellar
and dispose of it If you were to
spend more time in the basement or
at the door, Timothy, and less on
the fourth floor, I think matters
©KF. VAN DE WATER
w. n.u. service
would run much more smoothly for
everyone.”
She humbled him.
“Yes’m,” he said meekly. Miss
Agatha’s crippled body was angular
and very light against me as I bore
her into the car and lowered her
to the black leather seat in its rear.
The door slid shut on Higgins. Miss
Agatha marked the parting glare
he gave me. There was little that
she actually missed. She said, more
to herself than to me:
“Mr. Toad, himself.”
I knew that Higgins would be wait-
ing below to tell me—if he did not
fire me outright—how lowly was my
lot,. The livery I wore, the mocking
.memory of ambition I had brought
to New York, made me reckless and
I reached up from servitude toward
equality with my passenger.
“ ‘She cried,’ ” I quoted, “ * “who
is that handsome man?” They an-
swered: “Mister Toad!” ' ”
Abashed by the silence behind me,
I checked the car at the third floor
and opened the door. I thought I
heard a chuckle but when I turned
about, Miss Agatha’s face was grave
and she took her latchkey from her
purse.
“If you’ll open the door, David,”
she said and her words rebuffed my
levity, “and then carry me into the
workroom—”
I unlocked the door. As I again
turned toward the elevator, I saw,
across the shallow hall, the portal
of the Ferriter apartment, white and
reticent as an uncarved tombstone.
I picked up Miss Agatha and bore
her carefully into her apartment.
The deep carpet of the hall hushed
my footsteps and we appeared a1
the open door of a high-ceiled room
so quietly that we alarmed the man
and girl who stood by the desk in its
center. Her face was lifted to his
and I thought her hand had been on
his arm, but they sprang apart be-
fore I could be sure.
“Agatha,” the girl cried and
stared. I had watched her pass
through the foyer with a swinging,
boyish stride, but she actually saw
me now for the first time, and 1
was aware how miserably my in-
herited uniform fitted. She was
young and fair and she carried hex
lovely head with the alert vitality ol
a deer.
“In person,” Miss Paget replied
dryly. “That chair by the table, if
you please, David.”
The man had bent hastily over
the desk. I disliked his plump sleek-
ness, the bald spot on his crown,
his waxed mustache, the hysterical
flutter of the papers he sorted and
arranged. The girl looked from my
burden to him and then grinned
shamelessly.
“Just what is this?” she demand-
ed as I set the old lady in the chair.
“Understudying for Sappho, Aga-
tha? Darling, you aren’t hurt, are
you?”
“I am not,” Miss Agatha replied,
and told of her chair’s collapse.
“That basement Don Juan,” she
concluded grimly. “I’ll have a talk
with him. And now will you find
Annie and tell her to come here?
I’ve had a rather trying afternoon.”
“Both of us, darling,” the girl
assured her and left the room. I
turned to go.
“One minute, David,” Miss Aga-
tha interposed. As I paused, the
plump mqn at the desk lifted a pink
face from his papers. His perpetu-
ally arched eyebrows gave him the
weakly haughty look of one about to
sneeze. His voice was soft, and at
the moment, nervous.
“We're progressing, Miss Paget,”
he assured her uneasily, his hands
still straying among the stacked pa-
pers on the desk. “I’m going back
to the genealogical society for an
hour or so. Things are falling into
shape. I’ve been hard at work.”
“So I noticed,” the old lady told
him. He looked at her uncertainly
but. her face was without expres-
sion. “Tomorrow then, at the same
time, Mr. Ferriter,” she said. He
bowed jerkily and walked with some
stiffness from the room. His ears
were red. As he opened the hall
door, I heard the elevator bell.
“Excuse me,” I began, but she
held up her hand, as Allegra re-
entered.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
HIDDEN WAYS
FREDERIC F. VAN DEWATER
Hy
THE SCENE* A swanky apartment house in New York City, where young David Mallory is switch-
board operator.
THE PLOT* A murder is committed in one of the apartment!. Though all exits are watched care-
fully, the killer makes a seemingly impossible escape. Mallory teams up with elderlyr
amazing Miss Agatha .Paget, and together they sift their evidence, which points
unerringly at one man, resident of a nearby apartment.
THE SOLUTION: One that writ keep you guessing to the last chapter. A dramatic finish adds even more
excitement to this thrilling tale.
BEGINS TODAY . . . . SERIALLY IN THIS ll»APER
Jisk Me .Another
A A General Quiz
The Questions
I. What country is the Holy Land
of three religions?
1 2. How are the freezing and boil-
ing points of water designated on
the centigrade thermometer?
3. Where is the best known
maelstrom (a whirlpool)?
4. What is the tactile sense?
5. Where do the Hottentots live?
6. What is the Aurora Australis?
The Answers
1. Palestine is reverenced alike
as the Holy Land by the Jews,
Christians, and Mohammedans.
2. Zero and 100 degrees respec-
tively.
3. Off the^coast of Norway.
4. The sense of touch.
5. In South Africa.
6. The “northern lights” of the
southern hemisphere.
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r 38 to 52 yrs. old, who are restless, ^
moody, nervous, fear hot flashes,
dizzy spells, to take Lydia E. Pink-
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thru “trying times” due to func-
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Vigorous Decision
Men must decide on what they
will not do, and then they are
able to act with vigor in what they
ought to do.—Mencius.
JUST A
DASH IN FEATHERS
OUR:
"Cap-Brush "Applicator J
makes "BUCK LEAF 40"J
GO MUCH FARTHER M
OR SPREAD ON ROOSTS
Liberty to Do Right
The saddest thing is to be en-
dowed with liberty to do as we
please, and then to please to do
the wrong thing.—Rollins.
HCNP?, SEW
Ruth Wyeth Spears
OLD BUFFET MIRROR
FIXTURE
AND
BASE
ADDED
TO LEG
FROM
BUFFET;
COTTON
BATTING
FILLS
CUSHION
BUTTER
UB WITH
LID ON THE BOTTOM
WALL,TABLES,AND LAMPS BLUE-DRAPES,.
STOOL AND SHADES CREAM-BOWS WINE
T AST week Marty helped to talk
' Grandmother out of her old
buffet. The Martindale family
were in a dither when she told
them that she was going to furnish
a combination guest and sewing
room with the mirror and two
legs of the old buffet; plus some
spools, a butter tub, unbleached
muslin, some old rags and other
odds and ends.
The rags were used for the hook
rug in this sketch of a corner of
that new guest and sewing room.
Directions for the rug and for
making the spool tables shown
her are both in Sewing Book 5.
The mirror was hung end-wise and
is marvelous for fitting dresses.
The muslin drapery was used to
cover the irregular edge of the
mirror and makes just the right
background for the blue spool ta-
bles. You can see in the sketch
how the lamps and stool were
made. Next week the bottom shelf
of the buffet will be used and
Achievement
Achievement is the answer to
accepting responsibility, duty.
Why do some rise faster than oth-
ers? Answer: They invite respon-
sibility—they accept cheerfully
and courageously agreeable and
disagreeable duties, and they do
them promptly.
Gram will teach Marty another
trick or two.
EDITOR’S NOTE: As a special
service to our readers, 150 of these
homemaking ideas have been pub-
lished in five 32-page booklets
which are 10 cents each to cover
cost and mailing. Send order to:
MRS. RUTH WYETH SPEARS
Drawer 1ft
Bedford Hills New York
Enclose 10 cents for each book
ordered.
Name ...............................
Address ..............................
A
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BRpTifpl
W
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iw mi A.oo-34
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Bryant, Russell W. The Howe Messenger (Howe, Tex.), Vol. 17, No. 28, Ed. 1 Friday, August 9, 1940, newspaper, August 9, 1940; Howe, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth848107/m1/5/: accessed April 19, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; .