The Washington times., 1935-03-23

~S~0S~eOo-0-O~N
small lump, somewhat larger than
q grilled kidney-the hustle.
Surmounting 1t all, secured to
the scalp with ten ferocious inches
Of steel pin, there was a huge, al
most crownless pancake Of straw,
backless, but extending at least
six inches beyond the nosiest
nose. Balanced on the extreme
front edge of this acre Of hay,
and wabbling with every motion,
was one chaste ornaments full
sized stuffed bird with glass eyes
or a rose the size Of a cauliflower.
At last the Gibson girl was
dressed.
AZ Far Apart
Az the Poles
This, believe it or not, was
what I wore when I was 10.
And now, when it's too late for
me tO use it, they invent a NudiSt
Cult, Life is like that.
But be not deceived. I might
be encompassed in clothes, but
the wrapper hasn't been invented
that can keep a good man down.
50, despite their lack Of chin and
surplus of dry goods, the maids
of 1900 contrived to have the gen"
eral air and action Of a Colt
automatic. Thus geared and
garbed. I swished out of my wild
and whoopee West and headed
for as grim Puritanism as ever
branded a lively gal with a Scar
let A.
California-V ont. You
bridge the distance between them
today in 80 seconds with a tele-
phone call. In SO hours by air
plane. And in modes and man.
ne=s they are both one with
Kansas, Texas, Minnesota
Georgia. The same mail-order
catalogue supplies them all: the
same Rotarian slogans pep them
up; the same radio broadcasts let
them down.
But in 1903, 1t actually took
six days by tourist train to go
from California to Vermont. And
that seemed rocket-fast to men
and women who had covered the
trail by OK team. Yet that sep
aration by space and time was
the least of the barriers which
rose between the new America
and the old.
To the core of their spirits,
Vermont and California were dit.
ferent. They were not just East
and west. They were two dif"
ferent ways of life, as far apart
as the poles, with a trail Of
he&rtbreak between. But when
did that ever daunt 10?
Clickety-clack, clickety-clack-the
miles swung behind me. The
Sierra rose before us in black
wall, fell away. It was night
with great stars burning above
the flowing darkness. Slowly I
dried my tears. And did I dream
of my love? No. I didn't. I
began a filtration with a travel
ing man from Chicago. But
presently that was over too.
CHAPTER VII
The golden desert, the gray
plains were past. I had come to
the black frozen acres Of the East
II was stepping off the train,
standing still on an icy platform,
staring at the young man who was
to be my husband, while he stared
back at me.
How did we feel? You're expect.
ing a romantic answer to that
question, aren't you? And doubt
less the picture had the makings
of romance.
Even with a full-grown parrot
on her hat, a smudge on her nose
and hustle at the rear, pink-and-
gold Nineteen has points. AS for
him, he was 20. Puritan 20. Tall,
straight, slender and-it must be
admitted-snooty.
So there we stood, staring-Star.
ing. And If looks and occasions
made Romance, that strip OF
soiled snow between us should
have budded with violets. But it
didn't bud. And though, with mar
riage, we seemed to cross it, spirit
ually that strip of snow lay be.
tween us all our lives together.
How did we feel? you ask. Wen,
if you must know-we felt like
hell!
We were strangers, yet incredi-
bly,, horribly, we would have to
marry each other and be husband
and wife!
And he didn't want to do It! Ig-
norant as I was Of men. 7 knew
that much. The gentleman on the
farther side Of the ice was GER
tainly not offering me the keys to
the city. Nor was I unfurling any
welcome Home" banners.
Continued Next Saturday
Copyright by Elsie Robinson. Distributed
by King Features Syndicate, Inc.