The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1937-01-15
CHAPTER 1

ton at Glendale was, obviously,
little hard of hearing. Jim Fielding
repeated the question in tones
pitched to command attention.
"Can you tell me how to reach
the Vaughn placer" he asked, con-
scious that the two or three stray
glers in the waiting room were
listening with interest.
The agent lifted melancholy fea-
lures.
"Three miles back country" The
agent peered through the narrow
grating. "You expected?" he asked.
NO." Jim answered "Fhey
aren't expecting me-"
IT was going to say" the agent
continued, "there hasn't been any
body from the Vaughn place in here
today" He reached toward a tele-
phone on the shelf beyond the win
dow. "If you should want to call"
mo thank you," Jim said hasti-
ly, forestalling complications.
"Well, there's garage across the
street" The agent was determined
to be helpful. ''They run taxi serv-
ice." A wink lightened, grotesque-
", the solemn cast of his features.
Don't let Joe Tanner overcharge
you," he said. "He don't read the
papers and nobody's told him
there's a depression"
The stragglers laughed. Jim
smiled. The warning, he thought,
was an often repeated pleasantly.
1t was a compliment, too, perhaps,
compliment not entirely inspired
by his own prepossessing appear
ance. His destination, he surmised,
had something to do with the mat
ter. The agent was disposed to be
affable to a prospective guest at
"Meadowbrook. If he knew the
facts of the situation! Jim's smile
deepened. He thanked the agent
again and walked out of the waiting
room.
The smile faded as the glare of
early afternoon struck him full in
the eyes.
Three miles back country! Jim
stood irresolutely on the narrow
plank platform. The prospect was
not encouraging. He glanced across
the street where, in forest of gas
pumps, stood a sedan placarded
TAXI. But the garage would charge
him a dollar at least. He couldn't
afford that extravaganza.
A fool idea anyway! Jim leaned
dispiritedly against a post in the
shade of the jutting roof. Why had
he thought that to find the Mac
Phersons would help him spiritually
or materially? There was an an
swer to that. The MacPhersons
were all that remained of the deb
onaire world of his early youth
which had vanished so completely.
He was fed-up with his present
existence, sick of trying to find a
job, of sponging on his brother-in-
law, of making himself agreeable to
pay for his bed and board. The
weekend just past had been the
proverbial last straw. He'd thought
that to find the MacPhersons might
restore, in measure, his conf
dence and self-esteem, might help
him, somehow, to carry out one or
another of the drastic decisions he
had made in the Callenders' guest
room last night.
1t wouldn't of course. A damn
fool idea! Jim's eyes glowered out
into dusty heat from under the brim
of his hat. He was as he was and
nothing could alter the facts of the
situation. There was no place for
him in this new world of post-panic
uncertainties. He was one of the
lost generation, the boys who had
left college in 1929. There were no
jobs. The contacts he'd made led
exactly nowhere. So what?
He was too mercurial, too impul-
sive, too-what was the quality?
Well, too romantic, perhaps. Kay,
his sister, was a hard-headed ma
terialist. She'd stood by him like a
soldier. But she had no patience
with the vagrant impulses which led
him, from time to time, in varying
directions. Kay set her course and
steered by it with no deviations. She
lacked imagination. What of it?
She'd done very well for herself.
Kay was right, of course. A grim
smile touched Jim's lips. Impulses
were luxuries. He hadn't thought
of them in that light in the halcyon
days before the panic. Then inn
pulses had been the cocktails of life
and had led to charming adven-
lures. Or if following an inclination
resulted unfortunately, there had
been any number of people to res
cue him from difficulties, his un-
cle's lawyer, Aunt Emily. one of
his legion of friends. All that had
changed. Impulses were costly risks
in the new order of existence. There
was the impulse which had brought
him here in search of the Mac
PherSons.
To Jim they were more than that.
The gardeners cottage at 'White-
hall'' had been, in his boyhood,
more friendly and exciting than the
great formal house set in acres of