Nogales international., 1931-08-19
FIRST INSTALMENT
COPYRIGHT 1881
BY THE AUTHOR

The whole trouble lay With Peter.
Peter Blande. was the fly in
the ointment, the blot on the escutch-
con, the carbon knock in the motor.
Things just couldn't possibly have
worked out more to Rowena's fancy,
except for the persistent presence OF
Peter. And there was absolutely no
hope of getting rid of him-he was
too deeply mixed up in everything.
To tell the truth, it was Peters
project in the first place Rowena
herself only got into it at the last
minute in answer to an advertise
ment in the morning paper. 1t was
Peter who put the ad in.
Peter was a commercial artist. one
of those thrice unfortunates with
soul for art, talent for paint and
a need for more ready money. He
spent his days painting trees, rocks
and running brooks, dotted here and
there with pretty girls, Algonquin
anglers and Broadway golfers, as a
background for the Rackruff Road
ster, 1881 model, comprising fully
half the picture.
1t was Peter who conceived the
exquisite idea of Rackruff motor
tour across country with the we'll
known artist, Peter Blande, at the
wheel. He hgured-and converted
Mr.. Rack, President, and Mr.. Ruff,
Secretary and Treasurer, to his fig
ures-that it would be the pinnacle
of publicity to conduct such tour,
with pauses at all points of prime
interest for him to paint picture OF
the Rackruff roadster poised on the
brink of a precipice, pulling its way
pluckily out of a volcano skidding
securely off a racing glacier, or de-
fying the sands of the desert.
Peter said-and Messrs, Rack and
Ruff agreed with hint would be
good business to take copy-writer
along in the car to feature the high
lights of the trip and apply the
proper adjectives both to landscape
and motor, in this way insuring a
maximum of newspaper publicity that
would establish the new roadster
once and for all in the motor mind
of America.
So Peter advertised for copy
writer.
"Wanted:" read the advertise
ment in the morning papers. n
pretty 7vomdn zUho can zUvite. One
1Uho has had some experience and
met with reasonable Success. Mast
be free to ledve the city. Expenses
baid,~GHd moderate salary. Mast
be good-looking. Abply RGckrnf
SG'eSroomS to-day"
Rowena Rostand was one of many
women who read the advertisement
over her breakfast that morning. Il
wasn't much of a breakfast in Ro.
wena's case, for she was extremely
hard up. She had given up news
paper position in Ohio in order to bt
in New York.
1t was at eight-thirty that she saw
the advertisement. By nine O'Clock
she was ready to set out for the
Rackrutf salesrooms. Surveying her.
self in the mirror she was obliged te
admit fairly that in spite of the little
thinning of her face, in spite of the
dark circles with which anxiety hac
shadowed her eyes, she was still un.
deniably good-looking.
Her black and white ensemble wa;
freshly sponged and pressed-Ro'
wena herself had seen to that-hel
-ufled white blouse was smart ir
spite of the worn spots here anc
there. Her black and white shoes
were spotless, the fingers of hel
gloves neatly mended. The collar oi
her silk coat shone from countless
DRESSINGS.
"Pick out the best-1ooking one
Mr. Rack began when the secretary
announced the applicants were out
side.
Don't you think" interposed Peter
neatly, in his mild, ingratiating
drawl, "that you had better look them
over yourself? After all, nobody
can visualize lovely face and figure
behind the wheel of a Rackruff road
Ster as you can, you know"
Mr. Rack thought that was a par
ticularly good idea. He called in Mr.
Ruff to assist, allowing Peter also to
sit by. and had the secretary usher
them in, one at time. And he and
Mr.. Ruff frowned over them, and
asked about their literary efforts, and
noticed their eyes and ankles and
compilations, jotting down indeci-
pherable comments on their memo
randum pads.
The secretary, having some notion
of dramatic sequence, saved Rowena
for the last. Rowena was so lovely
that at first they would not believe
she was a writer at all, and she had
to show them a copy of her book
and some of her signed stories in
magazines. Rowena's hair was a
curious chameleon simmer of gold
and bronze and brown. Her eyes
were limpid pools of light that swan
now blue, now green, and in gentle
moments softened to hazel.
"Pm Rowena Rostand," she said
looking at them straightforwardly
81 am twenty-five years old. have
had one book published and it wa:
so good that practically nobody reac
it. I worked on a newspaper fol
three years and I've had clever
stories published in frst-class maga
zines. And you may not think In
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