The Coolidge examiner., 1932-06-17

/ uOlueE , VOICE III Iue SlllllS EOon-
Then, she heard dad coming upstairs
and called to him.
How did IT. go?" she asked.
He came straight into her room
and sat down on the edge of the
bed. why, l don't know" he told
her. Hes Still enthusiastic,
guess, but he's very wary about get
ting down to anything definite.
Wen owe it mostly to you, think,
IL we get him. There's no doubt of
his being enthusiastic about you.
He asked more questions about you
than he did about the choke. He
said, perfectly frankly, If he hadn't
found you in the office this after
noon, he'd have gone away and new
er come back. SO you did a good
job, anyhow. I don't quite see how
you managed It."
"Oh, / didn't do any managing TO
speak Of" she told him disingenu-
ously. I'm glad If it helps that he
| uhSu NE, lHOuSH.
Jake remained for weeks hanging
upon the verge Of putting his money
into the business; some sort of
money, anyhow-it wasn't, it seemed.
his, exactly.
Frequently, he dropped into the
office. Sometimes he brought Edith
a box Of candy. Once he invited
her and mother and dad to a show.
He had uncounted conferences with
dad, some of them coming to a point
where 1t seemed that tomorrow
would see the signing of contract
and the real launching Of the enter
prise upon the grander scale. But
something always happened to put
1t off.
Dad was getting blue again. He
couldn't get the same thrill any
more out of going out and selling
/ two dozen chokes to a small sup
ply dealer or converting a floorman
in garage into an enthusiastic, II
not disinterested, advocate.
1t was about this time that they
got a maddenlng sort of letter from
Mr.. Mariner. 1t was written from
Los Angeles shortly after he
reached there. The choke, he calm
ly told dad, had proved to be no
good. 1t might work well enough
In fat country, but in hills 1t was
worse than useless. He'd had to
take II off his car. Even as a sell
ing proposition, he'd found 1t dis
appointing. He had turned his at
tention to the vaporizer which, on
the trip across the continent, had
gone beyond its inventors fondest
hopes.
Edith had laughed at the letter
and had spoken Of the writer as a
poor nut, and dad himself had tried
to take 1t that way. But she could
see that 1t had staggered him rath-
er. He kept wondering whether II
was true that the thing really
wouldn't work in the hills. He had
no really convincing proofs that 1t
wasn't true.
She began to suspect, too, about
this time. that there was some sort
of strain in the relations between
her father and Mr.. Willard. When
the question arose of Edith's going
to Asheville with Mr.. and Mrs. Will
lard, it was plain, right at the start
Of the discussion, that he didn't
want her TO, and not because he
needed her at the Office, either. She
couldn't go to the Office, anyway.
just then, because she was laid up
with a cold and dad had a temper
ary girl in her place.
That cold Is likely to hang on TO
Edith for weeks with the kind of
weather we have around here this
time of year." Mr.. Willard had said
suddenly one night. why don't
you loan her to us for the trip?
Wen show her a good time for two
weeks and bring her back bloom
ing"
Mother, after a quick glance at
dad, had been noncommittal about
it; didn't see how it would be pos
sible to get her ready on such short
notice; her clothes would need a lot
of going over. But this, the girl
felt, wasn't the real issue. She
went to bed as soon as the Willards
left, aware that something would
have to be talked out between her
parents, in connection with the trip,
that she couldn't hear.
Dad told her next morning at
breakfast that she could go, but
there was a look in his face that
made her feel like saying she didn't
want to.
She didn't say it, and he didn't
act after that, as though he wished
she had. He saw her off on the
train with the injunction to have
the best kind Of a good time, and
he and Mr.. Willard joked with each
other until the train left, in a way
that ought to have removed the last