The Washington times., 1933-08-19
.KNAVE'S GIRL =
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

The telephone rang constant
ly. Julian had brought into
the house three efficient sec
retaries in addition to his usual
one. A fleet of press agents
was constantly at his disposal.
Still there was work for many
hands to do. Patricia was
often at the telephone. Only
she could solve certain of the
troubling calls. No, she and
Julian could not appear before
the Bronxville Women's Club;
they appreciated being asked.
No, she could not take on an
other newspaper column, thank
you just the same. No, Mr..
Haverholt never furnished free
copies of his book, sorry. Nor
did Miss Patricia Haverholt
wish to recommend round play
ing cards; she preferred them
oblong.
kilograms were delivered a
hundred times a day; they
must be opened, tossed in
wastebaskets, or replied to
promptly. Congratulatory mes
Sages, cheering messages, beg
ging messages arrived in every
mail like voices out Of nowhere.
Most of them were for Julian
but Patricia piled up a growing
stack. A cattle rancher in
Wyoming wired in an offer of
his hand and promised upon
acceptance to send the railroad
fare. A bridge teacher in
Tulsa, OKLA, was sure that she
could improve Miss Haverholt's
bridge and would part with
her secret system upon pay
ment of a modest five hundred
dollars. An astrologer sent
Miss Haverholt a complicated
chart which predicted victory.
Patricia's stars were lucky. It
appeared that she must always
win, that her life would be one
grand sweet song. At that the
girl smiled rather wryly.
BaIlyhOO
The city was divided. New
York had entered Justify into
the fight. Which was the win
ming system? The Haverholt
or the Blair? There were those
who Swore by Reuben Blair's
conventions, the most conserva-
tive element always. Julian
called these folk "the lackwits,
the dullardS and the FOOLS" The
most violent partiSans followed
Julian Haverholt. They made
fantastic claims for him. they
bet on him at odds of ten to
one. They hailed him as a
genius-and Julia n heartily
agreed they were right.
Patricia felt, these days, that
she was moving through some
crazy maze. At the end of it
was the bridge match All
thoughts, all conversations led
eventually to that. She saw
newspaper reporters and repre-
SentativeS of magazines. She
gave her impressions on the
younger generation of which she
was a member, her impressions
on prohibition, her impressions
on the game of auction as op-
posed to contract bridge. There
was so much to do, so little
time to do it in.
The days were rushing by.
The bridge marathon, whose
fame had spread from coast to
coast, was two weeks off, was
one week off, was three days
off, was to begin tomorrow
night. Everything had been ar
ranged. The hotel had been
selected. Julian had chosen it
from a. dozen applicants, the
Beveridge, Park Avenues newest
and smartest hotel. There was
to be an entire floor, large
enough to accommodate 500
of the many thousands who
clamored for the priced invita-
ton card.
Patricia was stunned when
she heard the extent of the ar
rangements to furnish the wait
ing public with every word of
news. An entire suite had been
given over to newspaper men,
who were to report the play,
hand by hand. Certain news
papers had put in their own
telegraph wires; others de-
pended on telephones, and there
were a row Of them upon a row
Of desks. A special telegraph
office had been installed, and
the instruments were ready to
flash the results to Kokomo,
to Detroit, to San Francisco.
The radio men had installed q
microphone. The news-reel
camera men had been allowed
to set up their cameras in the
lobby of the Beveridge.
isn't this all costing you a
fortune?" asked Patricia in her
bewilderment.
Costing ME?" Julian laughed
exultantly. "It isn't costing me
a cent. We're news, Patricia,