Imperial Valley press., 1937-06-06

what a terrible relic that machine
ism
She was standing before him in
little gray jersey dress. Her
hair, clipped just below her ears,
was combed in sleek waves be-
hind them. Those perfect waves
irritated him; he felt himself
tighten.
'The others. have all used that
machine and got by with it.
The smile faded from her lips.
81 see," she said shortly and
went back to her chair.
The second day she laboriously
hammered out the two unimpor-
tant bits of work he had given
her. On the third day she came
to him and told him soberly that
her machine would not go at all.
won't go at all?" he repeated
stupidity.
Wont go at ALL" she re-
echoed meekly.
Call up 10 about it," he told
her gruffly. He's the repair man.
One of the boys will give you his
number"
10 came and, with a twinkle in
his eye reported that nothing fur
ther could be done, surgically or
otherwise, to the Ark of the Cow
enant.
And that's what it is to be
born rich," sighed Fellows, the
dapper little city hall reporter
THE good old doctrine of them
that has, gets. The rest of us
banged on that cursed thing for
months. Would it break? Mo-"
Yet none of them begrudged
her the new machine. They liked
her and accepted her as one of
them. At first, of course, they
had joked about her.
Mice of the old man to provide
inspiration for US" Mckenzie, the
police reporter, had jibed. She'll
send the old circulation up all
right, all right"
Whose circulation ?" Ford, one
of the district men, had dryly
countered.
Only he, Peter Kent, who had
always been too busy to bother
with women was upset by her
presence and he ragged at himself
because he was. When she came
to his desk he tingled with the
nearness Of her. It was a new
sensation and Intoxicating, but
there was too much pain in it.
And because of the pain he held
himself taut-was SO curt, he was
almost disagreeable.
At night in the office-he al
most always went back after sup
per-he wondered about her. He
had no home himself but the Led
ger. He had a room, of course,
but he merely slept in it. At the
office in the evening he read;
sometimes he wrote, not things
for the paper, but things he hoped
to publish some day.,
But she, he told himself, would
be surrounded by friends. He pic
tured her at night, gay, vivid,
beautiful in a group as carefree
as herself. These dreams hurt.
THERE followed one of those
brief periods when something
good breaks almost every day.
And then there was the return of
the Native Son.
Hedley Rondell, nee Henry
Randall had been born in Farm
ington of the customary poor but
worthy parents. The family had
moved to California when Henry
was in his teens and Pennington
soon heard of Henry in Holly
wood where he was a find in
juvenile leads. For ten years his
star rose and his name changed.
Pennington followed his progress
with interest, especially in the
matrimonial field. Three wives
Henry acquired and disposed of in
the ten years.
When the silent films went,
Hedley Rondell went with them.
In Pennington some were un-
kind enough to say it was be-
cause he had voice like a hog
caller. It was then that he went
abroad, where he worked in
French films-and married wife
number four. Now he was back
in Pennington.
Peter Kent was smiling as he
brought the news to the staff.
"The old-time sheik, Hedley
Rondell, is back" he said genially.
HE must have slipped into the