Hyder weekly herald., 1934-02-03
A Cruise for
 Love
By LEETE STONE
O. by Mcclure Newspaper syndicate.
 WNU Service

clear with the shifting of the tides, foated two craft. A portraiture of ironic contrast. One was the palatial steam yacht. Versailles" the pleas ure hobby of young Gregory Anson. who was using his youth to poke the lissome prov of his pet into all un- familiar ports. The other was long squat lumber scow, recently free of load of cypress from some southern port.
 Gregory had guests for dinner this night. From the open -portholes of the dining salon floated gay laughter. serious talk and the congenial warm ing clink of fragile glasses. Tn addi- tiOn to two chums. his fiancee and her mother, who were making the cruise with him. there were on board fa- nous portrait painter and noted en- gineer. All but Gregory and Lona Las celles were lingering at table.
 These two had excused themselves and were up above leaning against the bridge rail.
 You're very silent, not like yourself at all tonight, Lona," Gregory finally murmured.
 What's the matter, old girl? You know I love you; know I'll do every thing % make, you happy; why. we've grown up together. You ought to know me by this time."
 That's just the trouble, Greg. dear. do know you. Oh--Fm a foolish idealist, of course. I love you. and you're never earned dollar in your life. not even me. Greg, I've always dreamed of marrying man who, If he had to. could make his way with out dollar to start with. Greg, dear, if you knew women a little better. think you'd understand. Sorry, if seem to hurt you. A woman's got to do more than just love a man; she's got to look up to him, it's her nature!"
 Yes. Lona! understand. While you were talking wanted to give you good shaking; just as used to do when you filched candy out of my pockets at school. But got sudden flash at your viewpoint And I guess you're right. I've never earned a dol lar. never even traded pocketknives when was kid. Exercised the gold en spoon, sure enough. Well, old girl, this ought to be remedied. There must be way Have you any sugges- tions? Because, you see. you mean so much to me that don't want you un- less can have every bit of you; love. respect, understanding; the whole business that goes with the right kind of marriage"
 By love! What a portrait! !" A deep voice from behind them ex- claimed. It was Weyman Harris. the painter. He stood gazing over the op- posite bridge rail at the squat scow
 Hardly hundred feet away. square ly etched in bright moonlight, rose the bOxlike little cabin of the ScOw with Its one dark window. Sitting in non- descript chair tilted back against the wall of the cabin was a man: young man, sound asleep. A man whose every rugged feature. clearly visible, bore the stamp of toll and strife. One knew that those closed eyes had sailed many seas and seen them from the struggler's angle.
 WeyInan Harris stepped quickly to the panelled wall of the wheel house, thumb-tacked tiny sheet to it. and was at once immersed in sure, rapid pencil strokes; turning his head every second to look at the model
 Greg and Lona still remained in rapt contemplation.
 Yes, my lads; It's worth a try" came finally from Greg in what must have been an unconscious whisper.
 What did you say, Gregg?
 Gregory did not reply. He lit ciga- rette, withdrawn with elaborate care from gold case; put four fingers in his mouth. from which at once there issued shrill and piercing whistle. The sleeper hundred feet away. jumped from his chair as if shot and looked about him warily.
 Say. friend!" Gregory called clear ly. Come over a moment please T