Cooper Review (Cooper, Tex.), Vol. 53, No. 27, Ed. 1 Friday, July 1, 1932 Page: 7 of 8
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THE COOPER REVIEW, FRIDAY, JULY 1, 1932.
MAN MADE™TOWN
ton RUBY M. AYRES
"Twelfth Instalment
Diana, a young Engliah girt, in lovs with
Drtinn Waterman, a inarrlerl m ■ i. un‘lcr|o»
a nervoua collapse and ia sent to r'le country
to recuperate under the care of IV. Donald
Rathhone, who lives near the cottage where
|he stays. She finds herself falling in iove
with the doctor, but *til> trying to hold !)enn:«’
sflection. Linda. Dennis' wile, tells iier that
she offered Dennis a divorce but he would
nut aCCMit it; he would have felt compelled to
majrBBIiana. Diana’s love for Doctor Rath
tempered by jealousy of a woman
named Rosalie, who lives in the doctor's
house. At last Rartibone finds that he is
deeply in love with Diana, hut he confesses
to her that Rosalie is his wife.
NOW GO ON WITH THJJ STORY
“I was terribly sorry for her, too,
»nd perhaps — flattered that she
Should think anything of me, but 1
did not love her, Diana, and we were
just friends until . . . until I got an
appointment abroad. When 1 told her
about it sh* ... it was the first time
anything really definite was spoken
between us. ' Perhaps I wasn’t very
brave, or perhaps I didn’t really care
for her sufficiently well, but I tried
to show her how impossible it was—
that I could not . . . There is no need
to tell you every detail, and God knows
! am not blaming her any more than
I blame myself, but without my knowl-
edge she told her husband thot she
cared for me, and she asked him to
divorce her. ... He refused I have
often wondered why, seeing how he
had always neglected her. . . . T hen,
after a short time, she left him.
Diana—if you knew how hard it is
for me to tell you this-’’
He broke off agitatedly, but Diana
did not speak, and after a moment he
went on again:
“In the end ... In the end ... I
agreed to take her away. We thought
It would force her husband to divorce
her. . . . She was so different in those
days, gay and reckless, never count-
ing the cost of anything—only living
lor the moment. . . . Then—the night
before we were to have gone she was
nearly killed in a motor accident.
Sha wa* driving her own car, and she
Mtaf alone. .*. . She was unconscious
lor days, and when she recovered . . .
•he was as she is now—-like a child.
Bhe recognized me, as she still recog-
nizes me, but only as an affectionate
Child might, and that is all. The rest,
Everything that has happened in her
life, it gone from her.
Diana?’’
"I could see you sometimes—
couldn’t I? . . . Not very often if you
didn’t want to—hut just . . . some-
times! ... 1 wouldn’t care v.hat peo-
ple said if you didn’t. I’ll do anything—
anythin// you want me to do, if only
it doesn’t nran 1 shall never sec you
any more. . . . We could just go on
—being friends.”
“Do you think we could—just go
on being friends, Diana?”
She struggled for words in which
she could best express herself. "It
seems to me that it wouldn’t be such
a great—wickedness if you and I
her tears, though she sat forlorn and
shivering without the shelter of his
close embrace.
Then Rathhone said heavily:
"I must take you home.”
She was silent for a moment; then
she broke out:
“If I’m never going to see you any
more-’’
“I didn’t say that, Diana."
"But you mean it, I know it’s what
you mean,” she told him despairingly.
She broke off to ask breathlessly after
a moment: “I wonder what you think
is to become of me?"
She would go hack to London, she
She turned ’round, lifting her face to hia. “Kiss me, Donald.”
lived together, even if we can never
be married. Don’t think all the wrong
things about me for saying that. I
know quite well what I’m saying. It
wouldn’t be like going away with Den-
nis—that was just a sort of bravado—
defiance—to try and forget you. I’d
made up my mind to drink lots of
champagne to-night just so I should
not care, but if it had been you . . .
I love you just as well every minute
of the day as I do now. I shouldn’t
care if you never kissed me or made
love to me at all, if I could just he
with you. I’ve been so silly. You said
once that you didn’t believe I’d ever
1 met real love.
Ladonia Citizen
Is Buried Monday
—•—
LADONIA, June 28.—Funeral
services for Nicholas Perkins, 89
who died at his home here early
Sunday morning following an ill-
ness of several weeks, were held
Monday morning. Rev. A. B. Welch
of the Presbyterian Church, assist-
ed by Rev. E. B. Chancellor of La-
donia and Rev. Mr. Dodge of Honey
Drove conducted the service. Bur-
ial was at Ladonia.
• “I paid a visit to see her husband— i “I hadn’t till you came. I must have J
she had nobody else who cared or who been waiting for you. Can you under- ‘
could.-have looked after her—and I j stand that, too?"
remember that he laughed in my face.
He was a much older man than T,
and he said to me, ‘Well, you’ve begun
to pay already, Rathbone, and you’ll
go on paying tor the rest of your life’
It seems that he was right . . .r
brought her down here to my house,
and Mrs. Farmer came to look after
her. Two years later her husband died
.. . and I married her, Diana. You see,
I’d always promised her that if she
was ever free I would. I gave my
word, and I felt that I must keep it
There was always a thought at the
back of my mind that perhaps some
day she might get better—and knowl
I didn’t tell anybody—it wasn’t any-,
body else’s business, so she’s still al-
ways ‘Miss Rosalie’ to Mrs. Farmer
and Hobson—and to the rest of the
household. But she is my wife, Diana,
though I—we—we’ve never lived to*
gether as man and wife.
“That’s all. . . . Perhaps I was stu-
pidly quixotic, but I was—fond of her,
and besides ... I had given my word.
She’s like a gentle affectionate child—
always happy—asking nothing except
that people are kind to her. She made
very little difference to my life one
way or the other till—till I met you,
and then I realized what I had done.
.. . Even then I thought it only meant
that I should be the one to go on—
suffering. You seemed so much
younger than I feel—I never imagined
you might—might grow to care for
me, and when I realized that perhaps—
quite unconsciously—you . . . had, I
tried my best—a poor best, I can see
now—to keep you from realizing the
truth. I don’t think you will ever
now what It meant to me . . . how I
. . . when Nero hurt you, and after-
wards, when you . . . when you asked
me to tell you not to go away with
Waterman. I could have borne it for
myself, but to know you were un-
happy—perplexed . . . that you didn’t
understand why I should seem so . . .
unkind . . .”
CHAPTER XVIII
He stopped speaking, and Diana said
faintly:
“You mean that . . . she—Rosa-
lie . .
’“Like sweet bells jangled—out of
tune,’ ’’ Rathbone quoted grimly.
Diana closed her eyes.
Thlre was a little silence; then she
said again:
“Perhap-:—some day—when we’re
both quite old—I shall wonder ... If
you have forgotten me. Do you think
you will, Donald?”
“I 'shall never cease to think of
you—and love you.”
„“But you’ll send me away from you
. .’. all the same. I know that’s what
you mean to do," she said with a cry
of pain.
‘What else is there for me to do,
“You make me very humble, Diana.”
She leant forward a little, trying to
see his face.
“And—will you?” she asked.
“Will I what, my dear?”
“Let me live with you?”
Rathbone turned suddenly, groping
for her through the dim light and
taking her to him with the strength
of despair.
"Let me kiss you—let me kiss you.”
She put her arms around him, and
their lips met and clung together in
a first kiss that seemed as if it could
never end; Diana could not think,
could not reason; she was only con-
scious of the passionate ioy he brought
her, and when at last he let her go,
she asked with a sob:
"And can you kiss me like that and
still want to send me away?” For
already she had realized the hopeless-
ness of her appeal
“I love you so terribly,” Rathbone
said, but it was no answer to her
question.
Diana put up her hand and gently
touched his face.
“Donald?"
“Yes, my heart?”
She caught her breath on a half sob.
“How lovely,” she whispered. “No-
body has ever said a thing like that
to me before.”
“Like what, Diana?”
“ 'My heart’—isn’t that what you
called me?”
“You are my heart.”
She leaned her cheek against his
shoulder, and his arm tightened a lit-
tle, drawing her closer to him.
"You’re such a child,” he said with
emotion.
She shook her head.
“I’m not—not any more. I think I
grew up all in a moment, just now,
when you kissed me.”
“I ought not to have kissed you.”
She laughed at that; she felt that
at all costs she must not allow too
great a sadness to come between them.
“Why not ?’’ she asked. “Why not—
if you love me?”
She turned round, lifting her face
to his, "Kiss me again, Donald.”
But he would not.
“We’ve got to face facts, Diana.
We’ve got to realize that we can’t
go on meeting—like this. I’m not made
of stone. We’ve got to make up our
rr:nds that the only possible thing
is to say good-bye.”
She gave a little cry.
“Don’t do that, Diana. Don’t cry,
for God’s sake. ... I can’t stand it.
I’m to blame for all this—I ought
never to have done what I did to-night.
. . . You were right when you told
me that I only just pretend righteous-
ness.”
He took his arm away from her,
and with a great effort she checked
IT COVERS THE
GROUND
Someone has said if you have
something worthwhile the publlo
will beat a path to your door.
To that paragraph we would add
the Cooper Review will inform the
people of your wares. In the issue
of June 17, I bought some space
announcing a cure for rheumatism.
The paper carrying my ad reached
my home Monday, June 21. In t?M
same mail that brought it, I re-
ceived three orders for medicine,
one from Cooper, one from Char-
leston and one from Lake Creek.
Others have followed since, all of
which shows that the folks all over
the county keep posted by reading
their home paper.
Incidentally, we will a<M this med-
icine has been sold here for more
than two years under the same
guarantee that came to you In the
Review, and there has never been
thought, tearfully, she would pay visits,
and laugh and flirt, and stay up late,
and get sick and weary and bored
once again, with no hope of anything
better to come.
She said with a last effort r
“If you would only promise me that
some day I should see you again—
and he with you. Can’t I have any-
thing to hope for? Don't you want
to be with me too?"
“Every moment of all my life.”
She said, with a touch of her old
obstinacy:
“If you really meant that, you
wouldn’t send me away. You’ve often
talked to me about being happy.
"Now I’ve got the chance—a beau-
tiful chance—you won’t let me take it."
She was silent for a long moment;
then she said wearily:
“Please take me home now.”
Rathbone started the car without
another word and drove silently back
through the quiet lanes.
They were at the cottage gate now,
and Rathbone stopped the engine.
Diana moistened her dry lips.
“I suppose this is—good-bye?” she
said faintly.
“Let us say good-night instead,
Diana,” Rathhone answered hoarsely.
“In my heart you know I can never
say good-bye to you.”
She said with a sob: "I don’t want
to be only in your heart. I want to
be with you in real life. I want to
feel your arms round me—to kiss
you.”
He did not move for a moment;
then, almost roughly, he took her in
his arms again, holding her silently,
not speaking at all, just holding her,
till after a long time he turned her
face up to his.
He kissed her many times—on her
eyes, her throat, her hair, and then
once again on her lips, before, very
gently, he put her away.
She stood beside him at the gate,
unable to speak, shaken to the depths
of her being, her eyes raised to him
in mute appeal; then suddenly she
turned and fled up the little garden,
sobbing as if her heart would break.
CHAPTER XIX
The following morning there was
another letter from Mrs. Gladwyn
telling Diana to get ready to return
to London on Wednesday.
“Wednesday t That is very soon,"
the Creature said. “I shall miss you.”
“I shall miss you too,” she said
quietly. "But I suppose I shall have to
It
RO.
“By the way,” she said as she left
the table, “I can’t find the frock you
wore when you went away yesterday.”
“No.” Diana kept her eyes lowered.
"I changed at my aunt’s house and left
it there. It doesn’t matter.”
It gave her a queer little feeling to
realize that in all probability her care-
lessly packed suitcase was now in
Dennis Waterman’s possession, be-
cause of course he would have sent lor
it as they had arranged.
"And whaf are you going to do to-
day?" Miss Starling asked. “I think
it’s fjn-ng to be fire, by ‘.he look of it.”
Diana glanced towards the window.
"I think Mr. Waterman will be
coming presently,” she said.
Miss Starling said, “Oh—I see.”
Continued Next Week
one request for a refund of money.
The company Is capitalized at one
hundred thousand dollars, and they
tell me to make the guarantee as
strong as I wish and they will ba-'k
me up. If you have rheumatism, j
get in touch with me. and if you |
are not cured your money will be ‘
refunded. r27*
Respectfully,
A. L. MELUSAP.
Clarendon, Texas.
CONTRACTORS NOTICE OF
TEXAS HIGHWAY BRIDGE
CONSTRUCTION.
Sealel proposals for constructing
Sulphur River bridge (new chan-
nel), Sulphur River bridge (old
channel), and slough bridge con-
sisting of 3-40 ft. and 24-20 ft., 181
and 18-20 ft. spans, steel I-beam
stringers, concrete floor slabs, 22 ft.
roadway, treated timber piling
bents, steel caps; Jemigan Creek
and two relief bridges consisting
of 3-28’-6”, 6 and 6-20 ft. steel I-
beam spans, concrete floor slabs,
high early strength concrete, 22 ft.
roadway; precast concrete piling
type substructure, high early,
strengt concrete; oind roadway ap-
proaches; located between Paris and
Commerce, on Highway No. 24, cov-
ered by Maintenance Project No
M-l-T-6 aud M-l-V-6, Delta and
Lamar Counties, will be received
at the State Highway Department,
Austin, Texas, until 9 a. m. June
30, 1932, and then publicly opened
and read. Plans and specifications
available at offices of J. E. Ptrie,
division engineer, Paris, Texas, and
State Highway Department, Austin.
Usual rights reserved. r'J7
Card Of Thanks
We take this means to express
our heartfelt thanks to each and
everyone who helped and comfort-
ed us in so many ways during
the long illness and death of our
beloved husband, father and grand-
father, John T. Talley. We thank
all the doctors for their untirtug
efforts. Esiieclally Drs. Westerman
and Lowry, Who were so faithful.
We thank Bro. McClain for the
kind words of sympathy, Smith Sc
Son; also for the beautiful floral
offering. You have made our bur-
den lighter. We pray that wbm
these sad hours come that 004
will reward each of you with ludb
splendid friends as you were to u>.
Mrs. John Talley.
Mr. and Mrs. J. B. Talley aat
family.
Mr. and Mrs. C. W. Talley aat
family.
Mr. and Mrs. M. V. ChowtUn*
and family.
Mrs. E. D. Goldsmith and family.
Mr. and Mrs. T. L. Rich.
Mr. and Mrs. H. A. Gannon.
8
jiji
-
. X /
±£L .
Schmeling, German defend-
ing champion and Jack Sharkey,
American challenger, have at least
one distinction tor their world
championship battle at New York,
that of having drawn the smallest
world title “gate” receipts—since
Dempsey and Gibbons at Shelby,
Mont.. 1923.
One Singer sewing machine like
new, only $25.00.—Home Furniture
Company.
AUTHOimUU HY STATIC OF
TEXAS
Bourd of Insurance Commission-
ers of the State of Texas, Austin,
Texas. Feb. 4, 1932. To whom It
may concern: This Is to certify that
Empire Insurance Company of Texas
B. 1. Jordan, secretary. Odd Fellow
Bldg., Paris. Texas, has according
to sworn statement compiled with
the laws of Texas bb conditions
precedent to its doing business In
tills state, and I have Issued to said
company a certificate of Authorit>
from this office entitling it to do
business In the state for the year
ending February 28, 1933.
Olven under my hand and my
seal of office at Austin, Texas, the
date lirst above written. W. a.
Tarver, chairman of the board.
For "SECOND SUMMER
troubles
During the second summer baby
is usually learning to eat new,
strange foods and is cutting teeth—
a bad combination.
At this trying time, one thing is
essential. Keep nis bowels working
regularly and promptly, carrying
off their daily load of waste with-
out fail.
For this there’s nothing like
Castoria, made specially for babies
and children. Castoria is a pure
vegetable preparation which con-
tains no harsh drugs, no narcotics
of any kind.
It is so gentle in action you caa
safely give it to a young baby for
colic. Yet in larger doses it is an
effective regulator for older chil-
dren. You never have to coax
them to take Castoria. They like it.
You know how suddenly second
summer ailments develop. Be pro-
pared with Castoria. Genuine Cas-
toria always has the name, Chas. H.
Fletcher, on the package. It now
comes in two sizes. The new family
size contains about times the
amount in the regular size.
* 11
CASTORIA
LOOK FOR THE SIGNATURE ON THE PACKAGF
The Next Best
Tiling to Eating
REAL Grapes
Ever visit a vineyard early in the morn-
ing, when the dew still lingered on the
great clusters of purple grapes? Ever
squeeze them between your lips and ex-
perience the genuine thrill of that first
delicious wine-like flavor? Nowhere else
have you seemed to quite match that tang
—until the New NuGrape came.
MADE WITH WELCHES SHAPE JUICE
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Cooper Review (Cooper, Tex.), Vol. 53, No. 27, Ed. 1 Friday, July 1, 1932, newspaper, July 1, 1932; Cooper, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth983754/m1/7/: accessed July 18, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Delta County Public Library.