"Over the Hill"

King Country Chronicle, Volume XXVI, Issue 3445, 19 March 1932, Page 2 (Supplement)

"Over the Hill"

Copyright, 1931, by the Fox Film Corporation.

Synopsis of Preceding Chapters. After thirty years of working for her shiftless husband and her four children, Ma Shelby's little world of happ.ness collapsed about her on Christmas Day. For some time Pa had been mysteriously prospering from an "invention," upon which he worked secretly in the barn. While returning home after showing Isabelle, his childhood sweetheart to her door, Johnny, the youngest son, heard shots and found his father stranded beside the road with an automobile load of liquor. He pushed his father <into the woods, refused to talk at his trial, and was sentfnced to three years in jail. Mrs Shelby continued to comfort her husband. Two other sons and a daughter were married. She did not know of Johnny's sacrifice. CHAPTER IV. On alternate months Mrs Shelby donned her simple black bonnet, steeled herself to conceal the turmoil in her soul, and took her place at one of the long wooden tables in the visitors' room of the penitentiary. The prisoners sat on one side, visitors on the other, with guards at either end to see that nothing was passed between them.

With a wistful smile on her wan face she told Johnny all the latest family news —"little Isaac has the mumps and Susan's new baby has another tooth." She drew a snapshot from her bag and held it toward him. He looked fearfully at the guard who hurried to see what was being done. 'The guard glanced at the picture and tossed it in front of Johnny. It

was a kindly gesture. "Fati as a pig, isn't she—and a dead image of Ben!" He tried to be enthusiastic, 'And how's Pa?" "Pretty well," she said evasively. "Now, Ma," he cautioned, suspiciously. She tried to cover her seriousness with a smile. "Well, you see, dear, his back has never been strong—amd when he had that stroke . . ."

"Stroke?" he asked. "You never told me about any stroke."' She tried to make light of it. "Well, it really wasn't one, but these doctors always have to have a name for something—and Pa's going to be all right—don't you worry—if he only stays quiet But you know how Pa is—got to watch him every minute. That's why Isabelle coiildn't cpme. Somebody has to stay with him." He leaned forward eagerly. "How is she?" She " was now genuinely cheerful. "If that girl was any better she'd have to take something for it! I swear she gets prettier every minute." He listened rapturously, but his face clouded as he looked down at his uniform. "I hate to have her see me like this!"

"Don't you care, son.. It's her turn next month, and she'll be here, rain or shine"; she told me to tell you." * * * *

When Ma reached home that night Isabelle had water heating on the kitchen stove ready to make tea. They chatted for a few moments, Isabelle asking what Johnny had said and Ma telling her as cheerfully as possible. „ "How's Pa?" Ma asked, after-they had eaten lightly. Isabelle was reassuring. "Fine, he s been asleep for a couple of hours." Ma went to the door of the living room. Pa was lying on a. couch. " Pa," she called, gently. He did not move. "Pa—l saw Johnny." There was no answer. She leaned forward and peered into his face. Then she touched him. As she sank to the floor limply Isabelle came in. Pa had found peace. Ma had anotiher burden of sorrow.

Two years of lonely memories accumulated. Ma sewed for the neighbours as in the past, ekeing out a meagre income. • Isabelle stayed with her as much as possible. Late one afternoon Ma's weary head was bowed over her sewing machine.

She dreamed that Tommy was chasing Johnny about the room, that Susan was coming to have her dress buttoned, that Isaac and Johnny were fighting. It was a procession of shadows.

She felt something touching her arm. Her eyes opened slowly. Beside her, on his knees, was Johnny. She stared at him. Were the visions of her sleep lingering and becoming embodied into the realities of wakefulness? She touched his cheek. "The kid himself," he said with a grin. His familiar smile reassured her

and she folded him in her arms hun~ grily, her hearti overflowing. With a quick movement she- started: for the door, reaching for her shawl as she passed the hat rack. # " Where you going ? " he asked m surprise. "To get Isabelle. She'll never forgive me." "Oh, don't worry, I called her up

from the drug store." When Isabelle came in she was breathless. She had run most of the way from her home along the country road. She said nothing. When she had regained her breath she began weeping silently. "What's the matter? Did I say something?" asked Johnny in alarm. "Of course not, silly . . ." "But you're crying." ' She wiped her eyes. "I can't help it I don't know what's the matter with me." She surveyed him from head to foot. "You haven't changed a bit." . L .. ~ . Ma pushed them into the dining

Serial Story In Six Instalments.

room, announcing she had to bake an apple pie.. When Ma returned he had his arm about Isabelle on the couch. They were supremely happy until after dinner. His announcement had the effect of a bombshell.

"Im not going to stay in this town—too much pressure. I got a whiff of it the minute I got off the train. I've got to get a job, and the sooner I make good the sooner I can come back ior you both." *

Isabelle choked back her tears. Ma laid her cheek against her son's. "Just come back, son," she whispered. Isaac's wife was preparing breakfast the next morning when Johnny stalked in. Isaac's astonishment was profound. "It's you, is it?" Re asked coldly. "What do you want?" Minnie gathered the children about her and herded them into the next room, murmuring something about associating with jail birds. Johnny walked to the window and looked out. As soon as he was alone with. Isaac he turned determinedly. "I want you to do something for me."

"If it's money . . ." Isaac £,ot no further. "Im not going to ask anything of you," Johnny broke in. "I want you to help take care of mother."

"I like your nerve," retorted Isaac angrily. "How about you taking care of her for a while? I've done my share."

"Yes, you have! So has Thomas. So has Susan. In a pig's eye! All you've done for Ma is to let her sew herself almost blind to keep things going/' Isaac stormed, "Well, Mr Jail Bird, if you don't like the way we've been looking after Ma, suppose you. Johnny leaped in front if him menacingly. " That's whati I'm going to do: I'm going out to the Coast to make another stariJ. I'm going to send you money every month for Ma." "Me?" Isaac stared! at him.

ij "Yes—you*.. I want you to lay it out for Ma so she'll get the use of it every month.. If I sent it to her, you | know what sne'll do with it." ' Isaac nodded. "Yes,, she was over t'o>see me the other day about making ai loan for Thomas." Johnny talked on rapidly. "Thomas is a good kid, and I'll Bet hell come through one of these days with some- | thing big, but that little golol-digger he married nevs»r let him get ou£ of j the red—and while he doesn't come riglrS out and ask Ma' for money,, those-hard luck letters he writes . ." "Ha sent me si couple," commented Isaac- grimly. Johnny pushed back hi&ohair; "Well, you gtet the idea." Isaae rose, "I'll 1 look after Ma —if you send the money." Johnny faced him with: a shrewd, challenging smile.. "If you don't Isaacs—" He spokewith deep seriousness. "I'll come back and get yoi> —if I have to go a thousand miles and 1 do it. in a zhurch." (To be continued.)'