“SWEET FOE A SEASON”

Manawatu Times, Volume 64, Issue 297, 16 December 1939, Page 2

“SWEET FOE A SEASON”

(By JOSEPH McCORD)

♦ Instalment 7. t

Synopsis of Preceding Instalments: Glada Lc# worries her mother because she dropped her university course after two years, went to tho State Agricultural College and now is more interested in her successful chicken farm than her matrimonial prospects. Her father, Ed Lee, a lawyer, is Dale City’s leading citizen. Her older brothers, Bailey and Trevor, are married; Masters, the youngest, has just announced his engagement to Evelyn Barclay and Mrs. Lee feels she must convince her only daughter she should consider marriage and a home. When Mrs. Lee invites their good-looking young pastor, tho Rev. Lynn Stirling, to dinner, he takes Glada alone to tho parlour, goes to the piano and begins to swing a popular song. She accuses him of trying to make her a jitterbug, lie turns quickly to clever improvisation, then stops suddenly and asks if she is a man-hater. She says she isn’t and he answers that he’s glad. When Mrs. Lee suggests that Stirling would mako a good husband, Glada says she isn’t thinking of marriage. The next day the minister appears at the girl’s chicken farm, three miles out on tho prairie, and tells her he loves her. Astounded, she is abrupt iu her manner, but softens it because of his obvious sincerity. Leaving, ho turns to say, “Some day—l intend to marry you. Good-bye." She avoids meeting him. When he next visits the Lees he tells Glada he hasn’t changed but wants her to bo his friend. Cobb Peters, her farm manager, breaks his leg and she gives Gern Jones, a down-and-outer, a job. He is to walk to town and she will outfit him.

When Glada Lee nosed her car into a vacant parking space near the Hub’s entrance the next morning, almost the firstface she saw was that of Gern Jones. He strolled out to the side of tho car with a “Morning, boss." “Good-morning," Glada returned smilingly. “Didn't expect to see me, did you! ’* “No. Did you have a pleasant walk?" “Not bad. But I’d just as soon ride back, if you still feel that way about it.’* “Of course. I will wait out here while you do your shopping. * * She opened her bag and took out a five-dollar bill. “Will that tide you over one washday, do you think?*’ “Lady, that’s almost half a month’s income! Mind if I finance a few gaspers out of it?" “Cigarettes, you mean? No, I think I’ll let you draw on tho farm commissary for your smokes. Up to one pack a day, and provided you can get on with my brand." “Your brand’s plenty good. I had one after breakfast. Mrs. Peters said she didn’t smoke, but she guessed you wouldn’t mind if I had one of yours. In fact, she gave me almost a full pack." “You seem to be making headway with Irma." “Oh, yes. Next to dogs, I’m luckiest with women. Be seeing you." Ho turned and started in tho direction of the store entrance. “Hear that, Hunk?" Glada remarked to tho bulldog beside her. “We’re both favoured. Looks as if our friend has a good opinion of himself . . . next to dogs and women." Hunk yawned. On the way back to tho farm, Mr. Gern Jones showed no inclination to converse, but sat with his bundled purchases iu his lap staring in a prooccupied fashion at the road ahead. In answer to a question, ho admitted that his quest in the Hub had been satisfactory. Glada was pleased that he did not take advantage of the situation by exhibiting any familiarity, but his absorption in his own thoughts rather piqued her curiosity, particularly when an occasional furtive glance revealed that his dark eyes were clouded -with foreboding. At least, that was the impression she received. When they were nearing their journey’s end, she ventured, “You won’t find it very lively out here in the evenings. While I think of it, you are welcome to turn on the radio. It’s mine." “Thanks. I don’t care much for . . . music." “Well, there’s the news, you know. All the wars and appeasements and so on. My father has a regular evening programme of it . . . never misses his favourites." “I hate them," Gern observed bluntly. He stirred restlessly in his seat, then resumed in his indolent drawl, “I was just wondering, Miss Lee, if any of this chicken business is in books. So long as I’m palling around with chickens, I might as well add to my big fund of useless information by nodding over a pamphlet now and then." “Certainly,** Glada observed quietly. “I have a number of texts and that sort of thing in my office bookcase. Also several files of poultry journals. You are free to amuse yourself with them." She felt a trifie nettled over the request. It was a good sign, his wanting to read up on the business, but she didn’t care much for the way he said It. She wondered if he went out of his way to phrase things disagreeably. He had been nothing less than rude in his reaction to the radio opportunity. And yet there had been an undercurrent in his tone that was very suggestive of . . . She couldn’t find tho word for it. Glada saw little of her new man for the rest of that day. She made it a point to defer to Jim Daniels in all her outside dealings, making it clear that he was responsible for everything. It was quite possible that this Gern Jones was of necessity to bo reminded of his place. That programme was easy enough to carry out, for Mr. Jones seemed blissfully unaware of her existence, enjoying his new overalls and daily ration of smokes, saying nothing unless directly addressed.

It did not tako her employer long, however, to discover that Gern’s acquaintance with Irma was progressing rapidly and plainly to that good woman’s enjoyment. “What do you think happened last night?" she demanded one morning when Glada came in. “Nothing serious, I hope," the latter smiled. “Go on! You know I was telling you that my washing machine broke down and that I guessed I’d have to send it to town? Well, I was saying something about it to Mr. Gern and ho asked to see it. He put that motor thing on tho kitchen table and in five minutes had it strung all over the place. I was scared stiff for fear he couldn’t ever get it together. But he did. Before he went to bed, he had it back on the machine and it was running as good as new!" “So we have a young Edison,*’ Glada mused. She was wondering to herself about Irma’s “Mr. Gern." The other males about the place were always referred to by their given names. “It’s plain that he’s trying to keep on your good side," she suggested teasingly. “Cobb had better be getting homo and looking after his interests." “Now listen to you! Why, I’m pretty near old enough to be his mother. But ho is good company. He has such a funny way of saying things, but he never gets the least bit fresh. He’s had a good bringing up, I mean to tell you. ’ ’ * ‘ Listen, Irma. Does he ever say anything about himself at all?" “Not the way you mean, Miss Glada." Mrs. Peters dropped into her kitchen rocker and twisted the hem of her apron between her fingers. It was evident that she wished to talk about Mr. Gern. “Has it struck you that there was something kind of , . . I don’t know what about him?’* ‘‘ He works steady, ’ ’ Glada suggested. ‘ ‘ That might be considered unusual. ’ ’ “I’m not talking about that. It’s him. I’ve noticed him here of an evening, sitting with a book at the table. First thing you know, he’s staring into space with a cigarette in the corner of his mouth. If you speak to him sudden, he’ll almost jump. Maybe I shouldn’t say anything about it, but the other night . . ," “Well?" Glada interposed, with a sharpness that surprised herself. “What happened?’’ “I don’t know just what time it was," Irma admitted reluctantly, “but I woke up just like that!" She snapped her thumb and finger. “I just knew I’d heard somebody call out. I unlocked by door and went out into the hail. Then I thought I heard something like somebody groaning. I tiptoed down to Mr. Gorn’s door. It was him." “Do you mean that he was ill?" 11 That’s what I thought at first. He was sort of muttering to himself. Then I’ll declare to goodness it sounded exactly like he was crying! I was just going to rap and ask him was he sick, when I heard him jump out of bed and turn on the light. I could see that under his door. So I hurried back to my room. I laid awako a long time, but didn’t hear anything more." “That was queer," Glada observed with a frown. “I’m not sure I like it. Did he say anything about it in tho morning? Or did you?" “He did. He asked me if ho had bothered me any. Said he had a real uightmare." “Oh." “I lied. I said I didn’t hear a thing, just because he looked so kind of worried about it. Funny, wasn’t it?" “I’m not so positive about that, Irma. I don’t know what to think. I wish we knew a little more about him . . . knew anything. Maybe he’s got something on his mind. Conscience. You know. He might even be a criminal—for all we know. Perhaps we shouldn’t have him here at all." “Stuff and nonsense! There’s nothing wrong with that boy. He’s a gentleman. He’s probably been worrying a lot and it would be a shame to turn him out again. No, sir. You won’t be making any mistake to keep him. And don’t worry about me. Cobb will be coming back soon and I’ll bet you he likes Mr. Gern as much as I do."

“Well, I hope he’s all right," Glada sighed. “But it makes mo feel jittery on your account, Irma." “ Now you forget it. I wish I hadn’t told you. If I wake up some morning and find myself murdered in my bed I won’t hold it against you at all." “That is considerate of you, to say the least," Glada laughed as she started for her office. She thought little more of Gern and his troubled dreams until lata that afternon when she was in one of the brooder houses talking to Jim Daniels. She was forced to raise her voice a trifle over the sudden drone of a ’plane that was swinging overhead in an unusually low altitude. She was somewhat startled when Jim interrupted her remarks by laying his hand on her arm. “Look there, Miss Lee! At Gern ..." Following his stare through the open door, she saw a strange sight. Gern apparently had been tightening a piece of fencing. His hammer had dropped to the ground and he was holding to a fenco post with both hands, gazing wide-eyed at the circling ’plane. It looked to Glada a 3 if all the colour had drained from his face; it was pasty white. With a a determined air she walked swiftly to him, but he seemed totally unaware of her presence until she spoke his name sharply. The sudden start he gave at the sound of her voice both amazed her and brought a sudden feeling of pity. He answered with an effort, “What is that ’plane doing, Miss Lee? Why is he flying so low?" “I’ni sure I don’t know," she replied with studied carelessness, then added, “Oh, I believe I do, too. The National Guard has been taking air photographs around here lately. I don’t know why.

There was something in the paper about it last week." “Oh, sure." Gern stooped over and recovered his hammer, keeping his face turned away. "I couldn’t figure why he was flying that close." “Gern!" “Yeah?" He still did not look at her. “Do you remember much about the World War?" “World War!" He essayed a grin. “I wasn’t in society then. Why?" “That’s what I thought. You made me think of a shell-shocked vet when I spoke to you. What is the matter with you?" “Nothing." Gern’s mouth went into a tight line. "Don’t Ido this job to suit you?" “Yes, you do," she assured him quickly. There was warm sympathy iu her voice. “I wasn’t criticising at all - , Gern. But I couldn’t help wondering if you wero ... ill or something. 1 thought maybe there was something I could do." “No, thanks," he returned almost gruffly. “I couldn’t help but be all right here. It’s making a new guy out of me." “I’m very glad," Glada said briefly. And went back to the brooder house. “What was the matter with him?" Jim asked curiously. “I don’t know."* “Say, Miss Lee . . The boy spoke hesitatingly. “Maybe I oughtn’t to tell you. I ain’t going to say how I found out, either. Gern doesn’t know I saw him. He’s been hurt." “What do you mean?" “In the leg. He’s got a bad hole or something in the side . . . saw him taking care of it. In the barn. I didn't get a good look at it, but it’s a big scar. Funny it don’t make him limp any." ‘ ‘ Yes, it is, * ’ Glada admitted. * * But it is his affair. So long as he attends to his work, that is all that is necessary. Don’t say anything about it to him or anybody else." “No’m, I won’t." In spite of that high resolve, Glada was saying to herself, * 1 There is something decidedly queer about you, Mr. Gern Jones. One of these days, I’m going to find out what it is, too." (To be continued.)