The Daily Alaska empire., 1931-12-03

 Muir, if I die over here you can bury me some place around Paris. don't want those rough sailors pushing my coffin around on ship board"
 Venice tried not to smile.
 "Oh, don't talk that way, | Mother"
 Mrs. Muir put on a quick, bright smile to show how brave she was.
 Well, I won't then. But I mean t. An ocean trip is bad enough when you know what it's all about, out it must be much worse when you're dead"
 l Venice laughed outright here.
 You are aghoul, Mother" 1 I'm not. When you reach my I age you'll look ahead too. And l ion't want you to nope or miss parties ever for me. I don't. ap- prove of it for young people, re- member that. Go on out, my dear. n write letters and take aspirin" |"
 Are you sure you don't mind ny leaving you? I'm dying to nouch about the left bank and you lever want to do it with me-
 T certainly don't. Paris is dirty though on the right bank. Run llong and don't get into any ob-
 cure streets. Remember you look ike rich American" l How humiliating" Venice hurried into her hat and | coat and ten minutes later was | walking through the Place Ven 1 lon1e, up the Rue de Rivoli and )n across the Seine. She found narrow winding street and followed t. Wine shops, antique shops, ,ook shops She fingered so long taring through dingy windows shat dusk suddenly told her the hour was growing late. She was completely lost and had to inquire her way back every few streets.
 Pardon, madame, ou est le Quai VI OAoetJ 1lNOll, III SlCQl, Ou Col It Quai d'Orsay" and so on. Headed in the right direction she became lost in impressionistic de- tails which painted themselves sharply on the sensitive retina of her appreciation. The soft pastels of dying daylight in the darkening sky, here square light in a high window like an orange block in the mauve dusk; there a mass of yellow roses in a shabby ven- der's arms. Crossing the Pont Royal she fingered a moment star ing down into the purple ribbon of the Seine, sluggish and sheenless, it's dullnesS broken here and there by the point of reflected light.
 Back at the hotel Venice found her mother sniffling and coughing and crying miserably.
 Where have you been, Venice? I've been horribly worried
 I'm sorry, Mother. It's only twenty minutes of seven. How's your cold?"
 "Wretched. And my chest hurts. Where have you been?"
 ITO the Quai dOrsay and through backstreets some where out towards the Boulevard St. Ger main"
 "Oh, my head. My heads split ting"
 Venice regarded her mother so- berly. Was she really ill or was this one of her perpetual exagger- ations? Like the boy crying wolf, she thought. You can't tell
 Let's call a doctor. Don't you remember that Doctor Hawks you had once before from the Ameri- can hospital?"
 Yes, let's. I think I had better have him."
 They ate dinner in Mrs. Muir's room. Dr. Hawks arrived as they finished their crepes Suzette.
 "A heavy cold" he pronounced Stay in bed several days, Mrs Muir"
 Are you coming to see m. again?" she inquired anxiously.
 T hardly think it's necessary Not unless you telephone me that you're worse"
 He was a nice young man, lean and aquiline. One of those Ameri- cans who has lived in France so long that he talks like an English man. It is an inexpliciable de- velopment but it often occurs.
 After he had gone and her mother was comfortably in bed, Venice went downstairs to the lounge She felt unaccountably de- pressed The afternoon had been so lovely and somehow 1t had all dispelled itself in terms of aspirin and hot water bottles, and fretful Ireproaches. The room was empty except for a girl about her own age who bent over a center table examining a map of Paris. Venice watched her. She was compara-