New-York tribune., 1921-06-05

n N ouI Siaii0lnotnefS call good common
sense" She lived life that would
have destroyed strong man of the Victorian
era. She never went to bed before 2, and
she rose invariably at to ride in Central
Park. After breakfast she walked up and
down Fifth Avenue, nosing in and out of shops
and galleries with the inquisitive, alert,
shivery manner of young pointer. In the
afternoon she danced or skated, getting home
in time to dress hurriedly for dinner party,
where she danced again.
She was pretty, but she had no heart. She
was far too pretty and too busy to think about
her heart, and as result she wasn't bothered
by falling in love or by the disturbing subtle
ties of the game of sentimental hide-and seek.
So she went on, running race, not with
happiness but with amusement. And amuse-
ulent wore the face of satyr, while happiness
stayed out of sight like an elusive and desir-
able faun. Whenever Rita felt the pangs of
discomfort she fancied that she was bored,
and bought a new hat or fur coat to
assuage the pain.
Rita had father, and her father, being
the director of railway, a millionaire and
fifty-five years old, was also no fool. For
long time he had watched Rita frisking among
the potted palm forests of Manhattan--at first
with humor, because she was so young to be
SO wise; like kitten sharpening it's claws
then with pity, and finally with genuine alarm
He realized that he saw her only at breakfast.
Now and then ne glmpsed her from the WIN
dows of the University Club-a fashionable
young person wrapped in furs to the tip of
her piquant nose, her head held high, her eyes
rejecting the prismatic brilliance Of Fifth
Avenue.
On those occasions Mr.. Blanchard sighed.
He wanted Rita to be happy, and, reasoning
backward to his own youth, marriage signi-
fed happiness.
Perhaps" Mr.. Blanchard thought, looking
out of his office window at the complicated
activity of the harbor, perhaps if I take Rita
away she will acquire perspective
He reached for the telephone and called
Hanover six million. Two blocks away, sung
aloft in another gilt and marble skyscraper,
bell tangled sharply. And presently Mr..
Blanchard was grinning into the mouthpiece
of the telephone and opening his heart to the
senior partner of the Fairchild Company.
. "This you, Fairchid? Blanchard am in
trouble and need your help. Not financial
human. It's Rita. She isn't happy Nothing
] can put my finger on, you understandable
makes all the motions, but she doesn't deceive
me-"
Mr.. Fairchild chuckled. "New Yorks to
blame," he said. "This city is strong meat for
the young. You've got to be fool OF a world
ling to keep your balance"
Mr.. Fairchild's time being worth about fif-
teen hundred dollars a minute he slid ab-
ruptly to the point. "Why don't you take
Rita away? Take her to Tahiti or British
Guiana or the Belgian Congo. The most un-
comfortable place you can think of. / know
better dose than any of those-Magella
There you will encounter primitive morality
unadorned--no jazz, unless it be the nasal
caterwauling of some amorous Latin singing
% sole mio'--to the moon! Go! Stay a
year. Rita will turn romantic in self-defense
She will probably marry a Magellan arstocrat
who is descended from some Neapolitan fish
monger-and live happily ever after 1t is
on your own head"
care you serious?"
Mr.. Fairchild, block away, nodded vo-
lently into the unseeing, black rubber mouth
piece. Il know nothing Of daughters But,
remember, | have son who took his Man
haitian diploma three years ago. l sent him
to Magella and he has learned many things
principally that large slice of the world lies
beyond Brooklyn to the north, Jersey City to