“TO-MORROW’S CHILD”

Manawatu Times, Volume 64, Issue 159, 8 July 1939, Page 7

“TO-MORROW’S CHILD”

Instalment 30.

Synopsis to Preceding Instalments: Val Clarke, engaged to Robert Greeley, of New Manchester, Conn., g 063 to New York. At Kate Hollister's, a fashion magazine editor, her cousin, she meets Hugh Malcolm, playwright; Bret Gallishaw, New Manchester author; Leslie Crawford, Bret's stepbrother, Winifred Sperry, stars in Hugh's “End of Tears," and Guy Williams, who inherited millions and has a small part in the play. Bret hates Leslie after losing a legacy. Leslie is jealous of Hugh’s interest in Winifred and the spoiled Guy resents Hugh's failure to get him a better role. Leslie is shot dead in a stage storm scene. Hugh and Bret are suspected. It develops that Leslie and Winifred were married and had a child sho had given into Bret’s keeping. Proseeutor Kellogg is baffled after Bret is shot dead in his seat when the storm scene is restaged in quest of evidence. Louiso (Leeze) Cameron and Crandall Scott, of Washington, visit Val and Val’s Aunt Mahala orders Leeze out for smoking. Val goes too, but gets a wire from Kate, goes to New York and clears Hugh of suspicion. Val's personality had inspired a play and Hugh had offered her a salary to stay in New York. She accepts now. Hugh finds he loves her; she tlnnks he loves Winifred. Whilo Cran is with Guy he is shot and badly hurt, Cran asks Val to marry him. Kellogg learns Guy shot all three with a pistol concealed in binoculars. Guy, in a 'plane with Leeze, lands in Mexico, marries her, then is killed as the 'plane crashes. Val’s aunt, dying, sends for her.

Cran had to admit that Leeze was an exceptionally good egg. She hadn’t missed a day at the hospital for three weeks and she kept the room cluttered up with flowers, books, magazines and an endless variety of children's games that ho found rather amusing when he was alone in spite 01 the inclination to throw them out as a constantly aggravated insult to his intelligence. “Anybody would think I was a two-year-old, and the louder I yell that 1 don’t want any more, the more junk you haul in, Loeze. Whero’re you getting all the dough IromT" He found out ono day. A nurse came to the door and said, “You 're wanted on the telepnone, Mrs. Williams ..." and when Leeze came back, Cran said, unpleasantly, “So it's you and Guy—and you thought you'd led me get out of here and stumble over it some day." When Leeze had told him all there was to tell, Cran said, “I used to like that bird, but 1 never trusted him. But after tno night he struck you for trying to kick out nis wiudshield." “That's because you've got a phony sense ox ciiivalry," Leeze smiled. Then she asised, “Why did he shoot you, Cran?" There was a long silence. At last he shrugged. “I don t know. Maybe he resented the fact that 1 told him 1 wouldn't drag along with the two of you us excess uaggage. Or it may have been about Val. wo were talking about her just before 1 was shot. I've a saeaay notion ho came as near to loving Vai as he ever came to loving anybody. '' Leeze told him, “Guy and I ran into Vai and Kato in some joint that night and as always Guy got ugly. Val asked me to tell you she'd like to see you before you went back to Washington, and I told her I had a pretty good idea you’d like to see her. If Guy nad kept quiet, tnat would have been the end of it, but he made some crack to the effect tuat it wasn't likely you'd want to seo uer after tne dirty ueal she'd given you. Val's cousin cracked the whip over his head then and off we went." Cran was nodding, knowingly. “That's the answer. funny the way his mind worked. The first thing ho asked me when I found him waiting at the hotel that night was whether I'd seen Vai of not. And when I told him I'd just left her, he said I had a lot of nerve bursting into his territory. I just grinned at that and we went on to the room and hd dropped into a chair and started playing with those binoculars . . . Someone did come along the corridor, thougu. We had left the door open and out of idle curiosity I was watching to see who passed. I don't remember that anyone passed—f was all bent up with pain then." It was another day that Cran said, abruptly, “Look here, Leeze, you .shouldn't let people call you Mrs. Williams. Guy didn't mean anything -to you. Nothing worth remembering, I mean." He was about to be discharged from the hospital and they had gone up to the solarium. “You answer this one," Leeze. countered, “would you take a name that didn't mean auything to you if you got quite a lot of money in the bargain?" He pondered that. Then: “I'll bet you a Ann Val wouldn't." “Over twenty million dollars, you dope.'' Cran whistled softly. “The whole wad!" He was tremendously impressed. “Still I wish you didn't have Guy’s name, Leeze. You're too swell a kid to have that shadow hanging over you." “I don’t suppose you feel strongly enough about it to change it to Scott or sump 'n? " He looked at her, not actually seeing her but thinking what a lot a fellow could do with twenty million dollars. He shook his head with needless energy. “Not me, baby," he told her. "I’m but of circulation." Head shaking slowly, Leeze said, “You just think you are, you lug. If l didn't know you well enough to be sure you'll be yourself again in a couple of weeks, I'd tell—l’d be just sap enough not to tell you and let the two of you go on and ruin your lives. But—" “Talk sense," Cran said, with a wry face. “Quit this crystal-gazer stuff." “You've even suspected it yourself, haven’t you?" Leeze said, sensing the uneasiness in liis voice. “Val's gone on

By Julie Anne Moore

Hugh Malcolm. The whole world knows it but you and Hugh.” Hugh and Winifred drove into New Manchester a little before six o ’clock Sunday afternoon. Winifred was nervous, her face was flushed. Val looked up at Hugh quickly, startled by bis tone of voice. He was like a man who has been under a prolonged mental strain and is beginning to crack under it. As the three drove towards the Dresden apartment house, Kate told how j Val had recognised Winifred’s child on the street and they had followed the nurse and Philippe to the Dresden. “We knocked on the door,” Kate said, “and the governess came and asked us what we wanted. I told her I was a friend of Miss Sperry and had come to talk to her about Philippe. 1 could see she wanted to slam the door in our faces. But once we got inside, I told her the truth and asked her why she hadn’t taken Philippe back to Winifred after Bret was killed. Believe it oi not, she didn’t know anything about it She said Mr. Gallishaw frequently went off on long trips and even when ho was homo he didn’t come to visit the little boy regularly. Then Val asked her hov; she’d managed to stay on without money and she said Bret had given hei a checking account in her own name with a two-hundred-dollar a week hmil to pay everything, including the renl and her own and the nurse’s salaries She didn’t know how much was left ii the bank because Bret had told hci never to go there.” Val said suddenly, “He’s adorable Winifred.” “Philippe ...” Winifred said. Sin couldn’t finish whatever she had startec to say, her voico quavered so. “Val asked if wo couldn’t see him,’ Kate continued, “and she finally le him come in. Ho looks a lot liko Leslie Winifred. ’ ’ Val did not go in when they reachei the Dresden. She stood in the hall look ing through the doorway and when sh» saw Winifred drop to her knees am tako the slightly awed child in her arm: and heard the mother’s uneontroilabli sobbing, she turned quickly and wen down the stairs ned waited by the cai until Kate and Hugh came down. “Hugh’s offered to take me back t( New York and I think I’d better go Val,” Kate told her. “I’d have tc leave early in the morning, anyway. You won’t mind?” Hugh said, “Why don’t you come aloug, Val?” But she shook her head. “Not yet Hugh. I—l haven’t made any plans yet. I’ve thought perhaps Cran might like to come up here to recuperate. I’ll have the use of the house until the first of February. You might ask Cran how he feels about it if you see him.” Hugh drove Val and Kate back to the house for Kate to get her bag. When Val shook hands with Hugh, she said, “I envy you and Winifred and that adorable child.” Hugh didn’t say anything, just stared at her; and then Kate was kissing her and dragging Hugh down the walk. Val slept very little that night and the next morning after breakfast she pulled on a leather coat and wont fot a long walk. When she came back to the house, she found Mrs. Warren ironing. “It’s awful cold to be running out in that little coat, Miss Val,” Mrs. Warren said, plaintively. “Oh, it’s warm enough,” Val replied. She sat on a little backless chair neat ' the window, took off her hat and brush- i ed her hair back with her hands. “It’s a funny world, isu t it, Warren?” j The housekeeper looked up. “Not exactly funny, Miss Val. It’s not a bad world, though, tako it all in all.” “You really feel that way, Warren?” “Well—that’s the way I’ve found it, anyhow. One day you’re up, the next day you’re down. But no matter how many times you’re down, you always know things will work out and you’ll be up again after awhile.” Val laughed, softly, gazed down at her toes. “I wish I could feel that way. She looked up: “Right now, Warren, 1 can’t see anything t»ut a great emptiness ...” j The woman set her iron down and looked at Val with troubled eyes. “Why, Miss Val—you mustn’t talk liko that. You can’t ...” “No, I know,” 'Tai said getting to her feet. “I can’t afford to. You take J it on the chin and like it. That ’» a cur-1 rent expression and it fits. You keep your head up, if you’re any good, and go right on as if nothing had happened. And if you happened to be hurting inside all the time because you’ve lost the only thing you’ve ever wanted* that’s all right, too.” She put her hands on the housekeeper’s shoulders, trying desperately to smile. “I’Jl bo all right after I’ve had a good cry or two, Warren. At least I’ll be able tt look as if I’m all right, and that’s what matters, isn’t it?” Hugh ’3 wire was delivered in th« middle of the afternoon. Mrs. Warren signed for it and brought it to Val who was sitting at Aunt Mahala’s desk writing to Cran. She read: “Cran leaving hospital to-day. Stop. Saw him this morning and delivered your message. Stop. Everything O.K. —Hugh.” Val drew a finger along the edge of the desk blotter. “Wo’re having company, Warren,” she said. “For two or three weeks, probably.” Mrs. Warren nodded, uncertainly. Val smiled—caught herself in an unconscious shrug. “He’s a nice boy, Warren. ’ ’

They were at supper when the bell rang. Mrs. Warren went to the door. He came in and stood there looking a little awkward and Mrs. Warren said, ‘ 1 Go in and have a seat, sir. Unless you'll have some supper. We were just—” “Well, I certainly counted on having supper here,” he said, and at the sound of his voice Val got up from the table so quickly she turned her chair over. Then they were in the living room, and somehow Val read in his eyes what it all meant and—- “ Hugh . . . Oh, darling . . .1” And— Well, that's the way it was, and it was December again before either of them remembered the New Woman and Val, who hadn't been permitted to lift things or take violent exercise for some weeks, turned her head away from the window where she had been looking across an endless expanse of New York roofs and smiled at Hugh who sat ou the opposite side of the open hearth watching the firelight playing in her hail* . . . “Has it occurred to you, Hugh, that if you hadn't fallen for my wiles ‘Tomorrow's Child' might be playing on Broadway by now!” And Hugh said, holding his magazine up so that she could no longer seo his face, “if to-morrow's child is playing in that barn of a nursery a couple of years from now, I’ll bo satisfied.” THE END.