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October 3, 1940     Indian Valley Record
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October 3, 1940
 

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Thursday, October 3, 1940 INDIAN VALLEY RECORD U ' ' "'II n N ' athlee orris Says " '. FaeoeR,c r. v^s De WAVe-a J Spoil Their Children SYNOPSIS riter, at about three-thirty. Just er all it isn't our murder and Ione I [ {Bell Syndlcate--WNU Service.} where were you then, eh?" is down under and we can't do any [ David Mallory, in search of newspaper "OhI'' Ferriter said and was still good by moping at home." [ Work in New York, is forced to accept a " . m ~. Job as switch-board operator in a swank a moment, i tnougfl~ lI was rlOL lea. Allegra bent and kissed the old apartment house, managed by officious but surprise that silenced him. At woman, snorting in her neck till Timothy Higgtns. There David meets last, he said simply: Miss Agatha Paget, a crippled old lady, Miss Agatha giggled and pushed her and her charming niece, Allegra. One day, talking with Higgins in the lobby, David is alarmed by a piercing scream. David finds the scream came from the Ferrtter apartment, not far from the Pagets'. The Ferriters include Lyon and Everett, and their sister, Ions. Everett, a genaloglst, is helping Agatha Paget Write a book about her blue-blooded an- cestors. Inside the apartment they find a black-bearded man--dead. No weapon Can be found. The police arrive. Hig- gins, who actively dislikes David, in- forms him that he is fired. David is Called to the Paget apartment. There he finds elderly, prim-appearing Agatha Paget sipping a cocktail and smoking a Cigarette. She offers him a Job helping write her family history--which will Unearth a few family skeletons, CHAPTER IV--Continued .-,~- "A muck-raking genealogy," I said, hoping I'd plague her. Agatha nodded. "If more of it was raked, every generation, there'd be less muck. I'll give you--" She stopped and looked toward the door. The maid said, "Captain Shan- non, ma'am." He held his hat and wore his over- coat. I saw his eyebrows go up a little as he looked at me but there was no surprise in his voice when he spoke to Miss Agatha. "Thank you for your help, Miss Paget. I'm leaving." He looked from the fragile old lady to the cards and the emptied glass and grim~ed. "You're swell," he said. Miss Agatha beamed. "I won't argue it with you," she told him. "Anything new?" "'Everett Ferriter came in," Shan- non reported briefly. "I've been talking to him across the way. I tried to get an identification out of him." "And what did he do?" Miss Aga- tha asked. "He wrung his hands," said Shan- non. "He'd never seen Blackbeard. Hadn't any idea who it was. He's over there now if you want to see him." "I do not," said Miss Agatha. "My niece gave him an alibi. That's enough. And he can't bother his sister tonight, either. We've dosed her with sedatives and she's asleep. What about Lyon?" Shannon's eyelids puckered and a sullen sound came into his voice. "We're looking for him," he said. "Small chance of his getting clear. Every cop in town has his descrip- tion by now. It's only a matter of time before we pick him up." "And the knife?" the old lady asked. He scowled. "'No sign of it," he confessed. "We've tossed the whole place and it's not there." Feet came heavily along the hall. The maid appeared at the doorway and started to speak but two men stood behind her and one of them, the detective Jake, said proudly to Shannon: "Here's the guy, Cap." Miss Agatha was the first to find her voice and in it was no hint of surprise. "Come in," she invited. "Cap- tain Shannon, this is my neighbor, Mr. Lyon Ferriter." She turned to me, hesitated and then her eyelids puckered. "I don't know," she told the gaunt figure in the doorway, "whether you have met Mr. Mallory formally be- fore. Do come in." Ferriter was still the lank, brown figure in worn tweeds that I had seen striding through the foyer and I felt again, as he stood in the door and stared, the odd charm of his leathery person. His black hair was stippled with gray like a silver fox pelt and if he were alarmed, he hid it well. He bowed to the old lady and said in a pleasant, faintly Eng- lish voice: "Good evening, Miss Paget. I'm sorry to intrude but--" He shifted his attention to Shan- non and his tone was less agreeable. "I understand, Captain, that I must get your permission to enter my own apartment." "Who brought you in?" Shannon snapped. Ferriter nodded to his cigar-chew- ing companion. "This -- gentleman," be replied with a slurring gap between the words. The Captain beamed on Jake. "You're not so dumb at that," he told his underling. "Where did you find him?" Jake said, "I didn't. He walled right in on us, next door." Miss Agatha seemed amused but Shannon was not. He found the un- deterred return of Lyon Ferriter more affronting than his absence. "Came backI" the Captain stut- tered. "Walked in, with all the cops in this town--" He choked and color blurred the freckles on his obstinate face. Lyon shrugged wide, stooped shoulders. "Perhaps," he suggested politely, "someone will tell me why I shouldn't?" Jake started to speak but gagged and was silent under Shannon's glare. The Captain had got him- self in hand. Now he asked with a stealthy courtesy: "Perhaps you wouldn't mind tell- ing us where you've been." "Perhaps," Lyon replied and his long nose twitched humorously, "but why should I?" His calm irked Shannon who l blurted: "Why? Because a man was killed~ in Your fiat, this afternoon, Mr. Fer- "I don't know." "Don't know?" Shannon echoed. "Exactly," the gaunt man said, standing wholly at ease in the door- way. "I was walking in the Bronx!" His mind ran ahead of Shannon's like a staghound before a terrier. As the Captain hesitated, Lyon said, still easily but with a shade of wor- ry: t ''If you're looking for an alibi, sir, we're wasting time. I've been alone all day. It's been sunny and I wanted to stretch my legs. So I went for a tramp. Perhaps, if I ad- mit I have no alibi, you'll be good enough to tell me who was killed in my apartment?" His last words were strained. Miss Agatha understood and said: "Your brother and sister are in no way involved, Mr. Ferriter." The Captain frowned but Lyon ducked his grizzled head again and sm~ed gratefully. "Thank you, Miss Agatha," said he. "Then I'm entirely at your serv- ice, Captain. Perhaps I can save easily at his side. His pleasant voice was unruffled as he told how, with sandwiches in his pocket, he had tramped north to Bronx Park and wandered most of the afternoon through wintry woods. "That's a good deal of a wall, isn't it?" Shannon purred. "That's What I wanted," Lyon an- swered. "And you spent the whole day without talking to anyone?" the Cap- tain asked. "I said," Lyon reminded him, "that I had no alibi. I had the soli- tude you can get only in New York, or beyond the Arctic Circle. No," he exclaimed suddenly, "that isn't quite right. I helped a lady fix her car." "When?" "Sometime in the afternoon. I re- ally don't know. She had ignition trouble--I mean her car had. I fixed it for her." He spread his hands and showed his still soiled palms. "The grease sticks," he pursued. "She was driving a last year's Ford sedan, New York license. I don't recall the number. She was stalled near where Moshulu Parkway swings over into the Bronx River Parkway. I didn't ask her name. i You see, she was not exactly beauty in distress. An elderly person--but i not at all*like Miss Paget." Miss Agatha caught my eye and winked shamelessly. Then she re- sumed her careful regard of Lyon. "And then?" Shannonprodded. "I walked south to the 180th Street subway station. It was dusk when I reached it. I got off at Grand Central, scrubbed off some of the grime in the washroom, had supper at Mine's, 22 East Fifty-second and came on home." He paused, and blinked calmly at Shannon who scowled and bit his lip. "Ever," the Captain lunged, "know a man with a black beard?" Lyon smiled. "I've spent a winter in Alaska," he said. "I've known beards of all colors." "About your size," Shannon said, glaring, "carried a knife under his left armpit." "Wouldn't it be better," Ferriter asked, "if you let me see him?" He bowed to Miss Paget and, with Joke tailing close behind and Shannon glowering in the rear, led the way from the room. Their foot. steps went down the hall. The door opened and closed. The old lady folded her hands on her lap and looked at me. "Well?" she asked. I found chal- lenge in her voice. "Well?" I answered. "We seem to agree," she Jeered. I did not understand her and .after waiting a moment, she went on briskly: "When we were interrupted, I was about to offer you the job of writing the Paget book for me. Would fifty dollars a week be satisfactory?" I needed it badly, yet I found the offer hard to take. Its charitable flavor gagged me. I said "No" and "Miss Paget--" I began and then stopped and stood up. Allegra and Grosvenor Paget came in. They were like creatures from a world that knew no poverty or sorrow. He was smoothly hand- some in evening clothes with little, I thought, between his blond face and his shining hair. His sister had the spark he lacked. They had breeding, or else long acquaintance with the whims of their aunt, for they spoke to me as easily as though hallmen were usu- ally to be found in Miss Agatha's ro~m, and then addressed the old lady with irreverent hilarity, both talking at once. They were off to! the Groesbeck ball. Bertha wouldI listen for lone, in case she rousedi but the doctor had said she wouldI not. They did not know when theyI would be in. . ! "I don't see," Grosvenor said de- fensively, "why we shouldn't go. Aft- away. Her brother leaned over his aunt's chair as Allegro moved to- ward the door. She said good night to me. Her smile was trite but her clear eyes, I thought, questioned and dared me. Her look upset, yet llft- ed me. I bowed and mumbled. ! was afraid she might read my face. Her soft laughter came back to us as she and her brother went down the hall. I found Miss Agatha star- ing at me. "She's easy to look at," the old lady said, with elaborate indiffer- ence. "And in a few years, on her birthday, she will inherit two mil- lion dollars." "Won't that be nicel" I retorted. I knew she had warned me. Her chuckl,was understanding. "We're having a hard time," she apologized, "getting this settled, Da- vid. Sixty dollars a week, one week's salary in advance and you start work at nine tomorrow morning." It wasn't the price she set. It wasn't thought of the dark Jobless world outside. I looked toward the door where Allegra had stood and made up my mind. "I'll be here at nine," I told Miss Agatha, "but my price is forty dol- lars." They were carrying the body from the Ferriter apartment when I went into the hall, so I walked down- stairs. Fineman, at the switchboard, hailed me as I went past him. "What about Lyon?" I asked. "Hadn't you heard?" asked Fine- man. "Oh, he's pinched. He done it." "Pull yourself together," I told him. "Who gave you that steer?" "Him and the Captain and that dick in the hard hat went out to- gether," Fineman insisted. "I know a pinch when I see it." CHAPTER V The policeman no longer guardell the Morello vestibule. Waiters, the night doorman, kicked his' feet to- gether and blew on his fingers as I passed into the street toward the service entrance. One man still waited before the Morello front door. He followed me down the street. I wondered wheth- er Shannon was having me shad- owed and then forgot about him. I had not eaten since ntorning. Hunger drove away even thought of Allegra Paget's beauty in the clinging light blue gown and the ribald gaiety of her passage with that amazing old woman. I turned into the first lunch room I passed. As I gave my order, a man sat down opposite ms at the white-topped table. "Coffee and butter cakes," he told the waitress. He was plump and mild but the eyes in his wind-red- dened face seemed drowsy. I met his stare and that made him speak, though he cleared his throat several times first. "You're Mallory?" he asked. "Hallman at the Morello?" I had been right then. It was an- other detective. "So what?" I asked, and he grinned. "I'm Cochrane, Jerry Cochrane of the Press. Larry Duke was speak- ing about you." The bowl of soup before me was more interesting, but as its warmth spread inside me, I looked up and told him: "Get your dope from Shannon. I'm out of newspaper work." He sipped his coffee and said at la's?;t might mean something re/you on the Press if you and I could bust this case wide open." He waited while I abolished ham and eggs and, when I had finished, asked: "Got time to listen to me now?" At my sulky nod, be leaned across the table and spoke rapidly. Duke had cursed me in his hearing. It had given Cochrane an idea, which he had carried to Milligan. his city editor, who had approved it. "You know yourself," the chubby man said bitterly, "what chance a reporter has at the Morello. Those stuffed shirts have hearts as hard as their arteries. If you'll work on the inside for us while I do the outside, the Press will have this story by the slack of the pants and, if we do break it together, there'll be a nice piece of change in it for you." "I keep telling you," I said, "that I don't want a piece of change. Stool-pigeoning isn't my line. I could use a newspaper Job, but otherwise it's out." "Agreed," he said so calmly that he took my breath, "you're working for the Press from now on. You're on the payroll at twenty-five a week. If you and I can beat the town on this yarn, it'll be fifty and a perma- nent job." He misread my stare. "I'm not kidding," he told me. "Milligan will write you a letter confirming it. Only you're to keep your present Job and say nothing." Excitement that had burned me-- for the Press had been a newspaper when the Sphere still had been trees in a forest--died and left nothinj but ashes. I did not feel like laugh. lng but I did. (TO BE CONTINUEDJ Little Don smiled at big Don and asked pleasantly "g/ould you like to ask me that again, Dad?" His lather was hones$ enough to answer yes, and the ques- tion was repeated. By KATHLEEN NORRIS POOR DISCIPLINE e"I' HE problem of badly- Kathleen Norris places the blame /A;o,;,-,1; ~,-I h;1,-tr,~,-, is ]or ill.mannered children squarely 1,~,o,~,~,~,~ on the shoulders of their oarents. often only that of a bad-No child is per]ect, and t~e best- ly-disciplined mother, mannered will have occasional Spoiled children grow up to be reasonable human beings. At ten or twelve or even ear- lier they come to their senses, realize that there is no gain in spitting, screaming, fight- ing, kicking when anything disappoints them. Then they merely smile when some aunt or cousin, remember- ing nursery days, says half- amusedly, "My, but you were the spoiled baby!' School and contact with other chil- dren are elements that quickly edu- cate the spoiled child. He or slle wants to be popular, wants to be like the rest; teacher has no time for individual tantrums and sulks. Mama may go on indulging dear little Cecil or Mabel for a few years, but life isn't as tender as Mama. And it is the punishment of the un- disciplined mother that her own child comes to regard her softness with indifference and contempt. No, it's never a child's fault that it is not trained, that it is allowed to make a perfect pest of itself, that it spits out food, screams when Mother leaves the room for a mo- ment, interrupts, is untruthful, teases, answers rudely, disobeys, destroys. Some children do all of these things naturally; all children do some of them. It is entirely a question of the mother's willingness to train them that decides how long such habits shall endure. Many and many a mother loses through her own weakness the ex- quisite joy of her children's first years. They are to her a constant annoyance and responsibility, with brief moments of pride and affection scattered along the hard baby years of their lives. She has not the cour- age to deny the howling five-months old baby as a mid-meal the feeding he spurned at his regular bottle time. A few months later she explains that he always screams that way with any other guardian but herself. That a few sharp spanks on a fat baby leg would save not only herself but the baby hours of pain and tears doesn't occur to her. She doesn't know that the tone of a voice will discipline a six-months old baby far more effectively than a good sound whipping or denial of the circus will influence a five-year-old tyrant. A Mean Disposition. Not long ago a four.year-old boy visited us. Obedience was no part of his plan. It took his mother five hours daily to coax three meals into him. Meat had to be cut fine; then it was too fine. Was there another chop? Mill had to be warmed; ~en it was too warm. Twice in 24 hours he screamed for a full hour. He got hold of matches. He threw a kitten into the pool. He cut an angle out of the screen of a door. He shrieked until his father gave in, and swung him much too high in the swing. He wanted every child's toy; he sat guarding them jealously. His small face already wears a mean, sly, sus- picious expression. He will probably grow to be a nice enough boy, when he has learned some bitter lessons at school. Les- sons not in the books. But mean. while the attitude of his parents is one of shame and concern, and It seems a great pity that what could be the source of infinite pride and joy to them is destroyed. For children cam be made into well-behaved, happy, self-amuslng, lapses, but the consistendy naughty or disobedient child is the result of poor training. Miss Norris points out that such a child causes his parents shame and concern when he should be the source oJ infinite pride and joy. lovable little beings. They can be trained into politeness' and pleasant- ness. They will have their lapses, of course. But if a mother can steel herself to a little heroism in the be- ginning; if she is not afraid to es- tablish a few rules of conduct, she will win for herself some of the hap- piest years a woman can know. All the baby authorities tell young mothers that no child should be fed for more than 20 minutes. When he begins to dribble out the spinach, or play with the bottle, or work food about in his mouth in. the manner described by the disgusting word "sloshing," he is having a good time at your expense. If you have the courage to stop right then and re- fuse him all food until the next feed- ing time, you won't l~ve to repeat the process more than three times, One reason why many of us grew to strength and stature years ago was because our mothers, with ten, eight, seven children to raise, didn't have any time to waste on our infant vagaries. Besides that, anyone who wanted a second helping of pudding had to make brisk work of the first helping. Puddings, in the nineties, vanished more quickly than they do today, when we all pamper and coax and flatter small appetites too much. A Cure for Rudeness. "The one thing of which we had to cure our child was rudeness," writes a Kentucky mother. "Don was an adorable, well-behaved baby, but at six he returned from his pri- mary school ruder and noisier and bolder every day. We didn't mind the boldness and noise, but to get a surly impatient answer from our adored boy was too much. His fa- ther scolded, I sent him from the room, refused lollipops, .did every- thing I could think of. All no use. "This went on for three or four months, and I began to feel that I had lost my frlendly little compan. ion forever, when an older mother suggested a simple cure that she said had worked a miracle with her sons. It was just to give the child warning that a request or command was to be made. "We tried it, and our problem oaR{shed into thin air in less than a week. Before asking Don anything, or interrupting him in any way, his father or I would say mildly, 'Don, I' am going to ask you in a minute if you realize that it is bedtime, and I would like a gentle answer.' Or, 'Don, when I ask you if you want more steak please say yes or no nicely and quietly.' "From the first trial this worked llke a charm. It never once failed, except when Big Donald and I failed. Instead of impatient rudeness, the child began to listen and to consider. He is still as wild as an Indian when he is with the other boys. But at home I have my gentleman again. "Last night," the letter ends, "his father happened to speak to him abruptly and inconsiderately. Little Don smiled at big Don and asked pleasantly, 'Would you like to ask me that again, Dad?' His father was honest enough to answer yes, and the question was repeated. It seemed to me then that all three of us had learned a valuable lesson, and I pass it along." Corner Whatnot Made of Spools By RUTH W----Y~H SPEARS HOME Demonstration Agent " wrote me the other day to say that many of the women in her group had made the spool shelves described in SEWING BOOK 3 and the end tables of spools in Book 5. "One member has an interesting collection of pitchers and would like to make a corner whatnot for them," the letter continued. Well, here it is ladies! With the collection of pitchers all in place. The sketch gives all dimensions l~.--,xsoaE Ho,~s I " "d I II ,~IDN CO.NE~S I ~ ll~H l/%S l I II IG and instructions. ,The triangle shelves are cut from one board as shown at the left. The second shelf from the bottom needs six holes. All the others have three holes each. The design may be varied by using larger spools at the bottom for the first spool above and below each shelf. Use exten- sion curtain rods to fit the holes in the spools. A little glue be- tween spools makes the whatnot rigid. When finished, it may he stained or painted. NOTE: These homemaking booklets are a service to our readers and No. 5 con- tains a description of the other numbers; aa well as 32 pages of clever ideas with aH directions fully illustrated. They are 10c each to cover cost and mailing. Send o r d c~r to: I MRS. RUTH WYETH 8PEARS ] Drawer 10 Bedford Hills New York Enclose 10 cents for each book ordered. Name l. " Address . Maybe your furniture isn't old. Maybe it is lovely underneath Why don't you O-Cedar It? Why don't you go and get s bottle o( gtnuint O-Cedar Polish and hurry home and have a circus? First, it c/tam the chairs and tables, cabinets, doors and floors, taketp away the old worn look, the muggy I~lurw look, the ugly fingerprints and leaves imtead the sof~ warm lovelier luster of years ago a lustre that lasts and LASTS. POLISH MOPS, WAXt DUSTERS, CLEANERS AND FLY AND MOTH SPRAY Developed Man Man in society is like a flower- blown in its native bud. It is there only that his faculties, ex- panded in full bloom, shine out; there only reach their proper use. --William Cowper. ADVERTISING represents the leadership of a nation. It points the way. We merely follow--follow to new heights o| comfort, o| convenience, o| happiness. As lime goes on advertis- ing is used more and more, and as R is used more we all profit more. It's the way advertising has-- of bringing a l aflt to everybody concerned, the omumor included