Smyrna times., 1931-11-04
WEEKLY SOCIETY STORY FOR
EVENING ROUND THE LAMP
READING TO WHILE AWAY
TIME AFTER DAYS CHORES
Casting Bread Upon the Waters" /"
an Interesting Short Story Writ
ten by Helen ST. Bernard

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an Interesting Short Story Writ
ten by Helen st. Bernard
kIAISIE MILLIKEN, until last
1Sl night member of the Broad
way Follettes. playing at the Rialto.
Atlantic City, walked slowly down
the board walk, munching salt-wa-
ter taffy. peppermint favored.
The sun was bright and warm,
offsetting the sharp breeze that
swept in from the ocean, breaking
the waves into white foam on the
sand. Few people were out at this
hour-shortly before eight. Rows
of deserted wheel-chairs awaited the
promenade hour. The big hotels
loomed up against a morning sky of
clear azure and Maisie wondered if
behind one of those impressive por-
tails there was not a job that would
pay her enough money to buy a
ticket back to New York. There
was just one quarter. bright and
shining, in the little scarlet pocket
book that dangled from her arm.
She smiled grimly as she caught
her own name on the tattered bull
letin that waved in the breeze in
front of the closed Rialto. Last
night she had led the chorus in sing
ing the so-called latest song-hit:
"Giving. Giving :. Giving
all the time. :"
The song was foolish. but the
girls got it across.
When the final curtain had descend
ed on an already thinned-out au-
dience, the manager had mysteri-
ously disappeared with the eve
ning's proceeds.
Maisie had had enough to pay
for her nights lodging at the board
ing house on a side street.
She passed a restaurant. A white
clad girl was deXterously Tapping
pancakes il the window. Pan
cakes, maple sirup and coffee for 20
cents. Maisie closed her eyes and
reached for another piece of taffy.
She was desperately hungry. Then
q sudden happy thought. Perhaps
she could get job there frying pan
cakes or waiting on the table. or
even washing dishes. Anything to
appease that awful emptiness and
to get back to New York.
She debated for a moment. Far
ther down the walk small group
Of people had congregated at a rail
ing, seemingly intent on something
below them in the sand. She would
stroll down and see what it was all
about, and in the meantime she
would raise the courage TO apply
for a job: and a breakfast. She
Joined the group. A sand artist was
at work, brown, bareheaded. smil-
ing. Slowly, but surely, a figure
was taking shape in the white sand
before him; a child, unkempt, rag
ged. pathetic. with outstretched
hand-and in the background. the
shadowy suggestion of a guardian
angel lowering over her.
Maisie liked the idea, especially
of the guardian angel. She felt more
cheerful. With a final touch here
and there. the artist brushed the
sand from his hands and, with q
stick. he wrote in fantastic letter
ing:
CAST YOUR BREAD UPON THE
WATERS. :"
Several coins were thrown down
upon the strip of canvas at his feet.
He smiled up at his audience with
an appeal that fascinated Maisie.
"Cast your bread upon the wa
ters ;" Long ago when Maisie
was child, back in the little home
town in Indiana, she had learned
that lesson in Sunday school.
She opened her pocketbook and
felt blindly for the quarter-the last
cent she had in the world. Her
fingers closed over it and the shin
ing piece went spinning through the
air and she started to hum; to
sing:
Giving giving S. giving
all the time. -
A man, stout and red-faced,
turned to her quickly with ques-
tioning eyes. Then he brought his
cane down with a resounding thud.
"Well, here you arel I've been
looking in at every hotel in Atlantic
City for you this morning. young
lady,"
"Really!" chirped Maisie. odd
you didn't find me at the Tray
Maisie was accustomed to these
advances from middle-aged admir-
ers.
"Traymore he snorted. "And
there wasn't enough money to pay
you off last night after that crook
lit out! Do you want a job?"
"Job?" she queried. what kind
of job? I'm particular, | am"
For a moment he looked disap-
pointed, heartsick. Aren't you the
blond that sang that song In the