Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1927-08-28
Bv Wallace TWin

! plenty of fine rooms. The manage.
ment was to blame AN right l
said If Aunt Constantine is still
| alive-and / doubt it--that won't
make any difference in my feelings
| for you. I'll get you, Fungus, If it
takes till the fifth Monday after
Doomsday.' And isn't it wonderful!'
| chimed Ernestine. The Fungus is
| here-at my mercy"
/ And you needn't wait till the NTH
Monday after Doomsday,' suggested
Glenn. You mentioned a week from
Wednesday"
Eyes. You know, it's his business
! 10 make himself aces with what he
calls important people. I've got one
for him. Did you ever hear of Lady
Daragh?"
You mean the one who shoots
! things"
Lions Belongs to everything
al Society Of Gunner and what not.
She's in America visiting the w. Clar-
ence Jilleys in Syosset--tWo or three
doors from where the Prince of Wales
stayed. The Jilleys are giving n re-
ception for Lady Daragh week from
Wednesday,"
Ernestine's eyes sparkled. This is
SuiUS ~ bt SOOtl. IIlt uIl6 US NOtA
know, would give his teeth to get in
the same room with Lady Daragh.
She's right in his line. He's got some
lion-killing complex. And I'm invited
to that reception"
as the Fungus"
mo. But he will he. Only we
want 10 make it as rough as we can.
Glenn, step to the telephone No.
I've got to do that. But you can
listen in. Let's see. What's a good
English nance"
"ORien," suggested Glenn who had
not Vet fallen into the spirit OF the
man hunt.
"Chumley. Chumley. Chumley-"
She was saying this over and over as
if for practice. Spelled natural, not
C-ho-l-m-o-n-d-e.Ee-y. Just Chumley.
Phyllis Chumley. What a nice Eng
lish gel! Let's ring him up.'
REHIND the partition. where his
~ worried red head was always on
display, the youngish Mr.. Ancaster
sighed and resumed blue-penciling an
ecstasy. Since he had written it him.
self, he should have enjoyed it. But
he had passed the sweet throes of COM
pOSLtlOli anu was SCISlItS lIidL lct-
down that comes to the author when
he views his manuscript for the sec.
ond time.
Through the lacy shade of the
breadfruit, royal palm and mango
steen the tropic sunlight graciously
pours down" Mr.. Ancaster drew
line through ''pours down." Tropi-
cal sunlight shouldn't pour down.
Especially not on the fat ladies.
Hastily he jotted filters through"
above the condemned phrase.
By nature an enthusiast, Ancaster
had moments of depression. And this
was one of them. He had started in
the Planetary as Office boy and aspired
to the presidency. But today he felt
as remote from that desirable chair
as a Senate page from the White
House. Mr.. Hurd, who presided, and
whose vigor promised long life, had
fancied Waldo for his social gifts.
That he should have picked him as
entertainer on last years cruise indl-
Gated that great men sometimes make
mistakes. Since then the auburn
haired aspirant had enjoyed recurrent
Nightmares. He would awake. scream
ing, having imagined himself in the
social hall of the Equinox. facing 200
middle-aged ladies, who, fixing him
sourly with their bilious eyes, were
commanding: Entertain u.s."
And Java! Ye gods and goddesses,
what a mess he had made of it! So
here he was, back in an office job,
reduced in salary, and in an anomal-
Gus situation. He wasn't press agent,
although he wrote all the best lyric
paragraphs for Ben league; nor was
he social representative Of the firm.
Mr.. Bludsoe, secretary to the presi-
dent, was that, and he turned the
hopeless cases over to AncaSter.
Waldo had chosen the Planetary for
his career because he had thought it
would offer opportunities to roam the
open spaces. Several years before