The Washington herald., 1917-08-13

"The Married Lie OF Helen and
Warren" appearing exclusively I'm
this paper, is the only series now
being written by Mabel Herbert
Urner.
soon as the boat starts I'll see the
purser," scowled Warren. showing the
bags under the lower berth. "If
there's an outside room-he'll change
us. There's always somebody who
don't show up at the last moment"
"Well. let's get on deck-this is
sitting" With critical disapproval
Helen surveyed the dark, inside state
room.
The boat was crowded, the all-night
water trip from Boston to New York
being preferable to the hot. dusty five
hours on the train.
On the upper deck they found a cou-
pie of vacant camp chairs. which
they placed near the railing. The dock
Cdors of stale water and rotting wood
hung heavily on the humid air.
The heat mist had thickened to a
fog. which deepened the dusk and
blurred the yellow lights that fringed
the pier. With a creaking shudder
they were now pulling out.
You wait here-I'll look up that
purser," and Warren disappeared
down the brass-ralled stairs.
Laying her handbag on his chair to
reserve 1t, Helen listened idly to a
shrill-voiced woman just back of her.
Did you lock your stateroom? Last
summer Uncle Bob had his overcoat
and a grip stolen. They say these
sneak-thieves make a business OF
travelling back and forth. Oh, we're
turning-let's go to the other side"
The boat. having cleared the dock,
now swung about, and with a throb-
bing tremor gathered speed.
Nothing doing" was Warren's dis
custed comment when he reappeared.
mot a cancellation. Everything full
up-outside and in"
"I almost wish we'd taken the
train" regretted Helen.
NO use putting up a kick now"
moving the rickety carpeted stool.
which creaked protestingly under his
weight.
1T may be cooler when we get fur
ther out" with attempted cheerful
ness.
'Misting now! A good rain would
cool things off,"
But the mist only slimed the decks
and limped Helen's hair without de-
creasing the temperature. The shore
lights were thickly veiled, and the fog
horn hoarsed out at brief intervals.
A late luncheon had left Helen no
appetite. and it was with a feeling
of almost revulsion that she followed
Warren down to the close, crowded
dining saloon with its perspiring COL
ored walters. Even the napkins were
moist, and the ordors of the boat
were accentuated by dampness.
While she minced over some cold
chicken and Romaine salad, Warren,
whose appetite was never affected by
surroundings, disposed of a hearty
order of roast beef, hashed-brown
potatoes. asparagus. and a generous
wedge Of new England apple pie.
Leaving the dining-room, they lnger-
ed a few moments in the red-plush-
ed salon where a three-piece orchestra
was wailing Poor Butterfly" But
the stuffiness and glaring lights made
them seek the restful darkness of the
deck.
Their seats were taken. but they
found two others near the bow. Every
thing was drenched with the mist, and
the decks treacherously Slippery. The
fog-horn disturb: gly near belched
out its deep-throated warning.
The fragrance of Warren"s cigar
was grateful after the varied humid
odors. With tired langour Helen
leaned against his arm and gazed
out into the murky blackness. blurred
but not penetrated by the deck lights
The strains OF the orchestra blend
ed with the trob of machinery and
the churning swish of the waves,
Now and then through a red-mouthed
yentilator came a heated breath from
the engine room below. A bell buoy
tolled family, and deep blasts from
a passing boat answered their fog
horn.
Ready to go DOWN." With a yawn
Warren flung his glowing cigar stump