Shiner Gazette (Shiner, Tex.), Vol. 44, No. 34, Ed. 1 Thursday, August 26, 1937 Page: 3 of 8
This newspaper is part of the collection entitled: Shiner Gazette and was provided to The Portal to Texas History by the Shiner Public Library.
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SHINER GAZETTE, SHINER, TEXAS
BEAUTY'S DAUGHTER
CHAPTER X—Continued
—15—
“I started trimming the Christ-
mas tree night before last,” Vic-
toria said. “I had to get some more
things for it in town yesterday.”
She stopped, remembering
Marsh’s and the white shawl. The
sick reluctance to believe it all took
possession of her again.
“Quentin gone?”
“He went early—I didn’t see
Iiim.”
Weak misery blotted out all other
emotions and she turned desperate-
ly toward the duty of the minute,
toward the wrapping and tying of
presents, the heaping of bundles,
the fastening of trimmings on the
tree that stood in lone cold state in
the downstairs drawing room.
It was cold in the drawing room;
Victoria worked in a sweater; left
half the trimming undone. There
was no heart in it today. Christ-
mas had always been a wildly fes-
tive time in the Hardisty family—
even the dreadful first Christmas
when Quentin and Vicky and Gwen
had all been ill. It would be no
such holiday tomorrow. It would
never seem Christmas again.
“Oh, my God!” Vicky said, stand-
ing still in the middle of the room,
putting her hands that were sore
from wires and string and tinsel,
that were cold and dirty, tightly
over her eyes. “My God, what shall
I do!”
Well, and what had to be done
now? With the rest of the tree’s
trimming Nurse must help; it was
too much to do alone in this cold
room. Victoria went out to the
kitchen and asked Claus, the old
German gardener, who was brewing
himself some coffee on the laundry
stove, to look at the drawing-room
radiators. Company tomorrow.
Then upstairs again to find beds
made, and the children dressed and
circulating about with their usual
uproarious activity. Bricks, cray-
ons, railway trains, and blackboards
were all in evidence. The question
of stockings arose; when were they
going to hang the stockings?
“The holes of the nails we had
last year are all here!” Susan said
excitedly, in interested investigation
at the hearth.
“Mother,” the gentle twin said,
at her knee, “if we hanged them
now might they be filled by sup-
per?”
“Oh, no, darling, because Christ-
mas isn’t until tomorrow!”
The nursery door opened; Gita
shyly insinuated herself into the
room, closed the door again.
“Amah’s sick, and M’ma said I
could come over,” she said.
Victoria’s face paled, but there
was no one to see. ‘ . .
“Come in, Gita. Better close it,
dear, because Madeleine’s getting
all ready for her bath—aren’t you,
my sweetheart?” She rubbed her
face gently against- Madeleine’s lit-
tle fluffy head and felt the tears,
hot and hurtful, in her eyes again
and the agony of despair in her
heart.
At noon Quentin telephoned.
“That you, Vicky? Vic, will you
look in the pocket of my coat—the
gray coat—and see if there’s a lit-
tle black book there? I’ll send down
for it if you find it—”
“Just a minute, Quentin.” It was
the doctor’s wife talking; it was no
longer only Victoria Hardisty. In
a moment she was back. “It’s here.
Want Claus to bring it in?”
“Well, but won’t that mean that
you’ve no car?”
“I don’t need it. I’m not going
out. I was downtown this morn-
ing.”
“Everything all right?”
A pause. Then Vicky said heavi-
ly:
“I guess so.”
“Well, don’t get too tired. I’ll be
home early.”
Vicky put down the telephone,
stood up, and somehow moved
blindly toward her bed. In another
moment she was flung upon it, in a
passion of tears. To have to end
all this.—to have to end the happy
years when she had felt so silre
that she and the children were
enough—to have next Christmas day
dawn on a nursery to which Daddy
was a stranger . . .
“What’s the matter, Vicky?”
Magda asked, late in the afternoon,
when Vicky, from sheer inability to
do anything more was lying idle
on the couch near the fire in the
upstairs sitting room.
“Matter?” Vicky responded
brightly. “Too much Christmas!”
“Yes, but it isn’t that,” she said,
after a pause. “You were crying
this morning. What’s the matter?”
Vicky turned raised eyebrows to-
ward her in innocent surprise;
broke, and looked at the fire, biting
her lip.
“What is it?” persisted Magda.
“It’s nothing—really.”
A silence. The older woman
shrugged.
“All right,” Magda said then.
“It’s nothing.”
“It’s only,” Vicky began deliber-
ately, in a thick voice that cleared
as she went on—“it’s only that I
think Quentin and I are going to be
divorced.”
Their eyes met fully; both wom-
en looked back at the fire.
“Feel that way about it?” Magda
said mildly. Victoria looked up
quickly
♦ by KATHLEEN NORRIS
© Kathleen Norris
WNU Service.
“You know why?” she demanded
in surprise.
“I suppose so,” Magda said re-
luctantly and uncomfortably. She
jerked her head in the general di-
rection of the Morrison house.
“Don’t take it so seriously, Vic!”
her mother urged, after a silence
in which she had obviously been
casting about for something to say.
“Seriously!” Vicky blew her nose,
wiped her eyes, spoke in a calmer
and quite determined voice. “I’m
not going to make any fuss,” she
said. “But if that’s what Quentin
wants, I won’t stand in his way.”
“Oh, ,but you can’t ever be sure.
Quentin doesn’t seem to me like a
man who’d go very far in anything
like that. Look at the lovely way
he is with the children,” Magda
argued.
“I know.” Vic’s eyes watered.
“That’s what makes it so ghastly,”
she said in a whisper. “What have
you seen, Mother?” she asked, after
a pause.
“Oh, well, that he liked her,”
Magda answered somewhat cau-
tiously. “And certainly that she was
after him!” she added with more
confidence.
“Well, she’s got him!” Vicky said
grimly.
“Vicky,” her mother presently
began placatingly, in real uneasi-
ness, “you wouldn’t break up a
home like this just because Quentin
happened to look at another wom-
an?”
“What else can a woman do when
everything she’s ever loved and
trusted—” Vicky stopped abruptly,
choked by the tears that rose in
her throat. “After all, one has some
pride!” she added, in a lower tone.
“Oh, it’s all so horrible,” she said
bitterly, half aloud. “It’s all such
a nightmare!”
“She’d marry him, like a shot,”
Magda predicted. “She’d get a di-
vorce and a big settlement from
Spencer Morrison, and then she’d
marry Quentin.”
“She can,” Vicky said, trembling.
“She knows Quentin is going to
be the biggest of them all,” Magda
went on.
“It’s like a death,” Vicky said.
“It’s worse than a death!”
“Oh, Lord, no, it isn’t, Vic. It
happens all the time.”
“But it never seemed as if it
would happen to me.” Vicky fell
into brooding thought. “It ends ev-
erything—everything that I ever
built into my life,” she said! “And
perhaps I’m wrong. Perhaps men
like the sort of women who go right
on in marriage and ha^ve their own
affairs! Perhaps a home and chil-
dren and a woman who loves him
aren’t enough.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t say that!” Magda
said soothingly. But something in
her completely false tone made
Vicky laugh suddenly.
“But you think that, don’t you,
Mother?” she asked, looking up, her
haggard cheeks suddenly scarlet.
“Well, yes—and no,” Magda said,
pondering. “I think most men would
like a mother-wife and a—a show-
off wife,” she formulated it slowly.
“They love home first, and to find
a big steak ready, and a fire, and
kids all washed and fresh and ready
to be shushed off to bed, and some-
one to love them in a quiet sort of
way. And then they like another
woman to flatter them, and meet
them places, and be admired.”
Vicky considered this, a faint
scowl between her heavy brows.
“And what would a man think of
a wife who felt that way?”
“Oh, well, you can’t go by that,
Vicky!” Magda assured her hastily.
“No, you can’t go by anything,”
Vicky lifelessly agreed.
“In the old days, you see, it was
harder for ’em!” Magda presently
observed, as if thinking aloud.
“Harder for wives?”
“No, harder for the other wom-
en.”
“How d’you mean harder?”
“Well, before there was so much
divorce,” Magda offered simply.5 “A
woman had to be a man’s mistress
then, and that wasn’t so good. Oth-
er women wouldn’t speak to her,
and the man himself got pretty sick
of it after a while. Then he came
back to his wife.”
“If she was a spineless fool,” sup-
plied Vicky.
“She didn’t have much choice.
That’s the way things were.”
“That isn’t the way things are
now! Women have changed all that,
at least. God knows it’s not fair,
even now, that men can do what
they do, and get away with it! But
at least a woman doesn’t have to
make a doormat of herself!”
“In the old days she forgave him,
and in a few weeks he forgot all
about it,” Magda said.
“I haven’t any doubt he did.”
“But now his wife gets a divorce,
and then he has to marry the other
woman, and she’s Mrs. Joe Jones,
or whatever it is, and she’s won
out.”
“Not always,” Vicky said. “The
man is apt to find that he didn’t
want her quite as much as he
thought he did.”
“Oh, the man usually is stung,
then,” Magda agreed. “I know one
fellow in New York—terribly nice
chap,” she further expanded it,
“who’s paying three alimonies. It
keeps him broke, poor kid. He wants
to marry a dear friend of mine,
Pearl Ashburnley ...”
Victoria was not listening.
“Quentin may wreck my life,”
she said. “But I wonder how he’ll
feel when he discovers that he’s
wrecked his own, lost his children,
made himself ridiculous—” She
paused.
“As far as the children go, if
a man is successful and makes
money,” Magda said, “they pretty
soon find good reasons for getting
back to him. He takes one to Eu-
rope, or he gives another a car—
they don’t take sides. You never
resented anything I did, poor kid!”
“Yes, but that was my mother!”
“I know. But I was the one who
got out—I threw Keith Herrendeen
over. You know, Vic it’s an awful
mistake to bring children into a
quarrel, because they don’t under-
stand and it just scares them.”
“I certainly wouldn’t bring them
into this!” Victoria protested almost
indignantly.
“Well, I didn’t suppose you would.
All you tell ’em is that Daddy is
going to be away for a while, and
that you feel happy about it.”
“Oh, my God,” Victoria prayed,
in an agonized whisper, as the full
sense of her own helplessness and
of the desperate nature of the situ-
ation strengthened in her heart.
Daddy going to be away for a while
—no Quentin to come into her room
from the dressing room in the early
morning, when spring light was
widening over the wet garden, and
a wood fire was snapping! No tired
doctor for whom to call at the office
so proudly, so lovingly, in the late
afternoons, and drive home to
warmth and fire and heartening din-
ner. No picnics on the scimitar
shore of Half Moon Bay, with
Quentin’s big figure recumbent and
asleep on the sand, and small
forms, barelegged to the hip, dig-
ging and running in the level warm
rush of waves!
‘“Feel happy about it!’” she
echoed bitterly. And in despair she
added: “I shall never feel happy
again! There’s nothing I can do.
Whatever I do is wrong!”
“People get over divorce,” Mag-
da said.
“I never will.”
“Funny thing,” Magda mused, as
her daughter’s bitter laugh died
away into silence and the room was
still. “If a woman—I mean the wife,
now—could only keep her m,outh
shut and wait, she’d win out every
time.”
“You mean kiss a man, and be
kind to him, an4 keep his house
comfortable, and let him go off
to the other woman whenever h e
likes?” Victoria asked, in a proud,
quick voice.
“Yep. About that.”
“You mean knowing that he w&s
unfaithful, knowing that he despised
her and wanted to get away from
her, knowing that another woman
was reveling in his compliments
and presents—in the love that be-
longed to her, to keep it up for
weeks—” . The indignant summary
halted; Victoria, her cheeks scar-
let, was looking a challenge at her
mother.
“Weeks!” Magda echoed.
“Months, anyway. Years, maybe.”
“Years!” Vicky echoed. And with
a brief and mirthless, laugh she
plunged her head into her hands
and rumpled her hair. “You make
me laugh,” she muttered scornfully.
“You see, she wants something
that you’ve got,” Magda offered
mildly.
“Well, she can have it!”
“So that it’s a sort of compliment,
in a way. You. have to look at it
like that, Vic. You’ve got to—well,
face the facts. Quentin is a ter-
ribly attractive fellow. Women like
him, and he’s always going to be
around them—that’s part of being
a doctor. Don’t be a fool about it
and run your head into the sand like
a giraffe or whatever it is. A strange
woman will always have something
for a man that his wife hasn’t got
_f y
“Yes, and a strange man some-
thing for a woman!” Vicky put in
hotly, triumphantly.
“So that if I wanted to run around
with—well, say Dr. Bledsoe, Quen-
tin would presumably wait for me,
and bear everything, and then for-
get it as if it had never been?”
“But you’re not that sort,” Magda
reminded her.
“I should hope I’m not!” Vic-
toria exclaimed, again with an air
of scoring in the argument. But
strangely enough, against this moth-
er of hers who had known so many
creditable ways, and who so rarely
argued, or indeed said anything con-
siderable at all, she could not seem
to score today.
“You don’t think, Mother,” Vic
asked quietly, “that any woman
who had borne a man children,
spent years of care and love on his
own child, nursed him when he was
ill, worried over his bills and his
diet for seven years—you don’t
think that that woman can calmly
put up with his setting up a—a
mistress, and shaming her and
wronging her, and wronging his own
children, too? And then when he’s
tired,” Victoria rushed on, warming
to her subject, “and comes home
calmly, she is to forgive him, and
make a fuss over him again! Well,
perhaps there are women who
cotrld do it, but I’m not one of
them!”
(TO BE CONTINUED)
SAY GHOSTS GUARD
HOMES IN ANCIENT
VIRGINIA SECTION
Legends Relate How “Hants’
Saved Life of Woman
by Calling Out.
Richmond, Va. — The Tuckahoe
district of Henrico county, Va., has
its full share of legends, but ghosts
of this section appear to be gentle
and well-behaved, writes Beryl
Thomas in the Richmond Times-Dis-
patch. They have little of the sin-
ister or of the terrifying: rather
are they benign spirits watching
over their descendants and owners
of their former abodes, ever ready
and, indeed, anxious to protect
them from harm.
A story illustrating this is vouched
for by the members of a family
who owned an estate on the upper
James. The lady of the house was
alone, sitting in one of the rooms,
when she heard her name clearly,
unmistakably called. She answered
without rising from her seat. Again
she heard a voice, and thereupon
went into the hall, expecting to
greet some visitors. At that mo-
ment a large portion of the ceiling
fell, and she would have been se-
riously hurt, if not killed, if she
had not left the room in obedience
to the invisible summons.
Endeavored to Speak.
In the same house many occu-
pants have seen a little lady, in
quaint Quaker attire, emerge from
a closet in a paneled room, obvi-
ously endeavoring to speak. De-
spite apparent great effort, she has
never succeeded in delivering her
message and only makes her ap-
pearance when there is one per-
son around.
Generally speaking, ghost stories
are associated with tragedies, and
it seems strange that there should be
so few child ghosts. There are a
few, however. A lovely old home
on the upper James is set amid
great trees of a park; its walls
are covered with portraits of gen-
erations of the family whose mem-
bers have distinguished themselves
in the making of Virginian history.
Among the portraits is a group of
three children, a girl and two boys,
dressed in the fashion of a by-gone
day. The youngest of the group, a
boy of about six, grew to manhood,
but died in his thirtieth year.
Famed for Hospitality.
This house has been long famed
for its genial hospitality and happy
family life. When laughter rings
through the rooms, the young man
appears, not as he left his terrestri-
al home, but as a child in*the pre-
cise .apparel shown-in the little por-
trait. He peeps around doors, his
face reflecting the mirth in which
he obviously wishes to join. When
detected, he scampers down the hall
and disappears from sight.
In the same house there abound
ather gay and prankish ghosts. One
hf the bedrooms was always set
aside for the use of young ladies of
the household and in it stands a
great four-poster bed. As has been
the custom since the earliest time
in the South, girls loved to spend
the night at each other’s home.
In this room famed belles have
laughed and exchanged whispered
confidences, far into the night, while
snuggled in the deep recesses of the
downy bed. Suddenly the covers
would be jerked off, despite horri-
fied shrieks from the occupants.
Takes His Blaze to Fire
Station; Gets It Put Out
Stockton, 111. — The siren
screamed, firemen rushed to their
posts at the fire station—and down
Main street sped Fred Wurs-
ter, smoke pouring from his auto-
mobile.
“Get out of the way!” Wurster
shouted at amazed pedestrians, “I’m
coming with the fire.”
It all started as Wurster 7 of Sa-
vanna was entering Stockton.
As he drove along the street, Wil-
liam Hicks, mowing his front lawn,
noticed smoke trailing from Wurs-
ter’s car.
“Your car is on fire,” Hicks called
to Wurster.
“Drive to the fire station three
blocks ahead and one to the right,
[’ll phone ahead that you’re com-
ing.”
Upon receiving Hicks’ call the
telephone operator pressed the
alarm button, calling the volunteer
firemen to duty.
As Wurster slid to a stop in front
of the station, panting fire fighters
came on the run.
Hastily the hose was unlimbered,
water jetted forth, and Wurster’s
“traveling” fire was extinguished.
Father of 3 “Won’t Work,”
So Neighbors Beat Him Up
Dunlap, Tenn. — Bill Williams,
[ather of three children, wouldn’t
work, so the neighbors took the
matter in hand.
A band of night riders visited Wil-
liams' “home” on the banks of a
creek where he and his family lived
in the open and carried the father
a short distance away. They lashed
him across the bare back with
sticks more than a hundred times,
Dr. R. E. Standefer said.
“We just had a man who wouldn’t
work,” Sheriff Henry Barker ex-
plained}. Barker said he had ob-
tained a WPA job for Williams but
he “laid out on it.” He then got him
a job hoeing corn but Williams
claimed he couldn’t get up in time.
CEW-YOUR-OWN wouldn’t be
^ your weather prophet for the
world, but you know, Milady, and
so does S-Y-O, that it’s always fair
weather when good fashions get to-
gether. Which brings us to today’s
three sparkling new frocks—a
whole crowd of style for the pretty
part of any man’s family.
A Fun Frock.
Rain, nor gloom, nor a flat tire
(either kind), can dampen the spir-
its of the girl who wears this buoy-
ant, young sports frock (above
left) on her daily rounds—be they
on the fairway, the campus, behind
the counter, or merely from pillar
to post. You can easily see why it’s
a winner: a button-all-the-way
front, the matched collar and gen-
eral shipshape styling make it just
that. It’s surefire in acetate, or silk
crepe.
Here’s to Mothers.
Sew-Your-Own loves nothing
more than catering to mother’s
wardrobe needs. The frock above
(center) is for all mothers: old
sweet ones, young darling ones,
yes, even for mothers-to-be. It is
easy to run up, easy to do up, and
best of all, easy to look at. Smart
simple lines make it a favorite of
women who demand more than a
passable appearance when they’re
“just at home.”
Little Brown Girl.
An all-over suntan is her forte,
and many sunny days are ahead
.for young Miss Fortunate whose
mommy chooses to interpret the
fetching model at the right. A
scallop-edged waist front accentu-
ated by frou-frou trim is right
down her avenue, and a gored
skirt, that’s second to none for
class, fits into her scheme of things
to a T. Mother, why not make one
dressy version, as pictured, anoth-
er finished differently for school?
(Perhaps with a simple braid
trim) Rayon prints, gingham, or
sheer wool, will do nicely as the
material.
The Patterns.
Pattern 1249 is designed for sizes
14 to 20 (32 to 42 bust). Size 16 re-
quires 4Y2 yards of 39 inch ma-
terial.
Pattern 1207 is designed for sizes
34 to-50. Size 36 requires 4V2 yards
of 35 inch material. With long
sleeves 4% yards of 39 inch ma-
terial.
Pattern 1366 is designed for sizes
6 to 14 years. Size 8 requires 2%
UncLe Phil
Leisure Is a Stimulant
Efficiency whets the appetite
for leisure. And the latter stim-
ulates the former.
Folks who hit the high spots
are presently going so fast that
the high spots hit them.
He who borrows and never re-
pays is too greai a coward to
steal.
One may make a great mistake
“looking on the bright side of
things” in the presence of people
who want to mourn.
A bald-headed man never
knows whether to take it as a
compliment or jest when he is
spoken of as “a polished gentle-
man.”
yards of 39-inch material plus 1%
yards of machine pleating.
Send your order to The Sewing
Circle Pattern Dept., Room 1020,
211 W. Wacker Dr., Chicago, 111.
Price of patterns, 15 cents (in
coins) each.
© Bell Syndicate.—WNU Service.
Moroune®
SNOW WHITE PETROLEUM JELLY^SAr
The Buried Past
Leave in concealment what has
long been concealed.—Seneca.
666
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HELP KIDNEYS
To Get Rid of Acid
and Poisonous Waste
Your kidneys help to keep you-■well
by constantly filtering waste matter
from the blood. If your kidneys get
functionally disordered and fail to
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____ __ distress.
Burning, scanty or too frequent uri-
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You may suffer nagging backache,
persistent headache, attacks of dizziness,
getting up nights, swelling, puffiness
under the eyes—feel weak, nervous/ all
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In such cases it is better to rely on a
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Peat Moss, Oyster Shell, all Poultry, Dairy
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Lane, Ella E.; Plageman, Cecile & Plageman, Annie Louise. Shiner Gazette (Shiner, Tex.), Vol. 44, No. 34, Ed. 1 Thursday, August 26, 1937, newspaper, August 26, 1937; Shiner, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth1158810/m1/3/?q=%22%22~1: accessed July 15, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu.; crediting Shiner Public Library.