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Show By ELINOR MAXWELL 0 ARCADIA HOUSE PUBLICATIONS WNTJ SERVICE I the heap of lost hopes. When your first story came in, I went about telling everybody in the office I'd made a find; but, later, when I read Their Son' and Concernlng Anne,' I was a little stymied, as you would say. I thought I'd fallen down as a hunting dog in search of rare game. Now, I believe I'm about to be vindicated." Mary smiled at him. "Your Ilk-ing Ilk-ing my outline's made me forget everything else in the worldl I'm going to get busy on It the minute I reach home." CHAPTER XIII Mary wrote all that evening, and far into the morning. Now freed of "Perhaps I'll be able to do better work now. I'm to have Aunt Llnnie's apartment while she and Leila are on the cruise, and I shan't be going out at all." "Well, that ought to help." Bu-chanan Bu-chanan replied dryly. "Have you written anything since I last saw you?" She raised her eyes to him. "I haven't exactly written anything," she finally said, "but I've formed an idea for a new story, and I've typed the outline." "Got it with you? . . . Here's Ben with our shrimps." "Yes, I have It here In my purse. I thought perhaps you that you might . . ." "Let me see it," said Buchanan. Mary took the two typed pages from her purse, and silently handed them to him. He unfolded the sheets, and. with a shrimD Doised CHAPTER XH-Continued 12 Leila took the yellow slip from Mary's hand, and read Balianci's farewell to arms. "It's just what I expected would happen," she com-mented, com-mented, "after the little talk he and I had last night" "Little talk? When? Where?" Lelia told Mary of the previous night's conversation. Mary was silent for a second; then in a low voice, "I was terribly depressed last night, Lelia. Jerome Taylor had just asked me to go to Florida with him, and I was so shocked, so stunned by it all, that when I came home and found Bali-anci Bali-anci here . . ." "Oh, Mary! I tried to tell you about Taylor, too! He's been nothing noth-ing but a roue all of his life!" Mary leaned back against her pillow, pil-low, her eyes closed. "I've been an awful fool, Lelia," she confessed. have left him. Did you get my note? Are you lunching with me Saturday?" "Yes. I . . ." "All right. That's fine. I'll be waiting for you at the Brevoort at one." And without the formality of a good-by, he hung up. Mary regarded, for an instant, the telephone Instrument still clutched in her hand; then, "with a smile, placed it slowly on its hook. "Well," she told herself, "he certainly doesn't waste words! Maybe that's because he has to pay five cents apiece for them when he buys them!" Aunt Linnie and Lelia were being speeded on their way. A noisy crowd had come to the boat to see them off, and cocktails were being drunk; hasty kisses exchanged. Their stateroom, state-room, with the double beds, and yel- the loathsome complex that she must marry somebody, now spurred on to new literary ambitions by Phillip Phil-lip Buchanan's approval of her out- lip Buchanan's approval of her outline, out-line, and temporarily relieved of financial worries, she had started her novel with a light heart and a clear head. Phil Buchanan had given giv-en her any number of valuable suggestions; sug-gestions; she remembered them all, and put them into execution. Situation after situation presented Itself, and satisfactorily worked out Word after word. Page after page. "Storm on the Mountain" was coming com-ing to life! Physically exhausted, yet mentally mental-ly elated to an almost abnormal degree, Mary glanced at the chromium chromi-um and blue timepiece on the mantel. man-tel. It was three o'clock In the morning. morn-ing. "Perhaps I'd better stop," she told herself. "Mr. Buchanan said not in mid-air, hurriedly began to scan them. Several minutes of silence followed; fol-lowed; then Phil Buchanan looked across the table at her. "You have something there, Mary," he said quietly. "You've really found yourself. your-self. That's an excellent plot human, hu-man, realistic, different enough to be fairly new." "You really think It'll make a good story?" "Not a good short story. Not a story for The National Weekly. But material for a novel" "Oh," Mary replied, crestfallen. "I supposed it was too involved for a short short, but I'd hoped it'd please you sufficiently to . . ." "Yes, darling, you have," Leila agreed unfiatteringly. "I wouldn't mention any of this to Linnie. We're sailing day after tomorrow. There's no need for her to be told. And now you'll be able to settle down to writing." "Oh, I wouldn't think of telling Aunt Linnie ever! But, Lelia, I'm afraid my writing's gone on the rocks. I'm just no good at it, that's all." "Don't say that, Mary. Nobody could write under the conditions that have been smothering you for the past two months. Wait till Linnie and I sail. You'll have the apartment apart-ment to yourself then, darling; and you won't be seeing any more of Baliancl and Jerome Taylor." "Maybe you're right, Lelia. Maybe May-be this is my chance to to do my stuff! In lact, I was working up a plot while lying here waiting for f you to wake up.' Within an hour after the and Lelia Le-lia had finished breakfast, Mary had written her father a letter, secured a money-order, and posted them together to-gether to HawkinsvUle. Judge and Mrs. Byfield were giving giv-ing a farewell lunch for Aunt Linnie at one, but there were several hours to spend between now and then, and Mary decided to walk to Central Park, sit on a bench, and make a mental outline of the plot which had conceived itself in her mind earlier that morning. The air was brisk, and a mid-March mid-March sun shone valiantly through the clouds. Invigorated by her walk, ! happy beyond words to have sent her father a money-order of such substantial proportions, relieved though humiliated by the outcome of last night's happenings, she soon found a bench on a quiet path in the park, and sat down to think. "Imitation of an author creating a plot," she told herself sarcastically; but, nevertheless, found that a story was actually brewing In her mind. Finally, so enthralled by its Intricacies, Intrica-cies, and wishing to set down its situations in black and white, she Aunt Linnie and Lelia were being be-ing speeded on their way. low silk curtains bedecking the portholes, port-holes, was filled to capacity with flowers and books, boxes of candy and baskets of fruit. Lelia, looking swank In a Jaunty hat of dark blue and suit of blue to match, pulled Mary to one side. Three Incomparable orchids perched gaily on one lapel of her jacket "Mary," she whispered, "I simply must tell someone! Jim sent these orchids to me!" She was dewy-eyed with excitement; lovelier than Mary had ever seen her. Aunt Linnie caught Mary In her embrace. "Good-by, Mary, my dear little girL Have a good time, darling, dar-ling, and write your silly little head completely off, if you like. But remember, re-member, my dear. Aunt Linnie still thinks you're far, far too pretty to get yourself in a dither about plots." Phil Buchanan was sitting at a table near a glass door in the Bre- "It pleases me enormously," Buchanan Bu-chanan broke in. "It's great stuff, but we never publish serials and that's what this should develop into. After that, book publication. After that, Hollywood production, perhaps. You know, Mary, there are far bigger big-ger opportunities for this tale than mere publication in The National Weekly. Now, if your style of writing writ-ing Just measures up to the grand plot you've conceived, you'll have a sure-fire hit on your hands." "But won't it take me ages to write a full-length novel?" Mary asked, thinking of the all-important matter of working against time of making money in a hurry. "Not necessarily," Buchanan replied. re-plied. "Your outline having been created will facilitate matters; and you say your aunt and Lelia Orms-by Orms-by have flitted to the South, and you'll have the apartment to yourself your-self for several weeks." Mary nodded. "At least four. Maybe longer. They're thinking of leaving the ship at Jamaica, if they find they like it awfully well, and staying there a while." "Well, even four weeks is a lot of time, if you'll only make the best of it," Phil said, looking ridiculously serious, businesslike and boyish all at once. "Make up your mind to cut out the frivolity. Go to bed early Get up early. Stick to your typewriter type-writer at least six hours a day, and forget New York's a swell town In which to have a good time." "Maybe I can do it!" Mary exclaimed, ex-claimed, too excited to eat "Maybe "May-be I really can do it!" "And maybe Aunt Linnle'll decide to lengthen her stay In the West Indies!" In-dies!" Buchanan offered lazily. "If she does, well so much the better! You haven't touched your food, Mary. Go on and eat! Don't ever, no matter what happens, let genius spoil your appetite!" "I am rather excited," Mary confessed, con-fessed, and cut into her steak. "So am I." "You?" Phil grinned at her. "Because my first glowing opinion of your ability hasn't had to be thrown into to write too long at a stretch In the beginning, or my thoughts would go sluggish on me. And I've been at it since eight o'clock last night!" She piled her typed sheets together togeth-er in numerical succession, covered her typewriter, and turned out the lights. Everything could be left Just as it was, ready for work on the coming day. The next few days flew swiftly by, undisturbed by outside Interests, the apartment devoid, hour after hour, of all sound except for the tap-tap of Mary's typewriter. Then, on Wednesday Wed-nesday morning, came a telephone call from Phillip Buchanan. "Thought I'd call up and see how you're getting on with Storm on the Mountain,' " he said without preamble. "Oh, hello, Mr. Buchanan," Mary returned. "Why, I believe It's going go-ing along fairly well. I've finished four chapters." "What? Really? Well, I'd call that swell! I'd like to read them." "Would you honestly?" "Yes, I want to see if you've Introduced Intro-duced your characters properly, and if you're bringing out the high spots of those opening chapters with the force that you should. Are you doing anything tonight? Will you have dinner with me, and go over the chapters afterwards?" Mary hesitated. "Go over the chapters?" But where? She couldn't read them to him in a restaurant! Did he mean Aunt Llnnie's apartment apart-ment or his own? And would her mother approve? Yet, this was New York, not Hawkinsville, and it would be silly and provincial to go "prissy" "pris-sy" on this man who usually acted as if he positively disliked her. "Yes," she finally replied, "I'd like to have dinner with you tonight, and it's generous of you to want to help me with the noveL" "All right," Buchanan replied. "I'll tell Spike to scare up something some-thing for us to eat, and I'll drop around for you at seven." And as usual, he hung up without the formality of a good-by. (TO BE CONTINUED) extracted a pencil from her purse, and began making notes on the covering cov-ering of a package of face powder she had just bought When Mary hastily glanced at her watch it was a quarter past twelve! The morning had flown by as if on wings. She leapt from the bench, and started swiftly towards Aunt Llnnie's apartment, eight blocks away. She must dress and be at the Colony by one. The luncheon lasted, as might have been expected, until half past three. Mary sat grudgingly through it all. She was impatient to be off, to get to work; but she, Aunt Llnnie's niece, of all people, could not be the first to make a move, i Finally, by mutual consent, the par- voort cafe when Mary arrived. He saw her, looking very springlike spring-like and smart in her green wool suit as she approached his table. "Hello there," he said, rising from his chair as if the action were something some-thing of an effort. "You're late. I thought you'd stood me up, or whatever what-ever the expression is. Sit down. And what'll you have to drink? I've just meandered through three highballs." high-balls." "Nothing, thank you," Mary returned, re-turned, sitting down. "I had to gol-lop gol-lop up an 'old fashioned' while bidding bid-ding my aunt and Lelia bon voyage. They sailed for the West Indies at noon, and, naturally, quite a party was held in honor of their departure. depar-ture. Then, everybody seemed to think we ought to wave to them till ty came to an end. ! Mary, Jjaving made her proper adieux all around, started toward the apartment on foot. She felt dulled from having eaten so much food in the middle of the day, and she wanted exercise in the fresh air to put her mind back on a working basis. Once home, she took a shower, and slipped into her woolly bathrobe. bath-robe. "I believe I'll call up Mr. Buchanan," she said to herself as the icy water from the shower poured over her body. "He's willing to see me again and talk over my so-called literary work, and now that a plot is actually percolating through my mind, it might be best to accept that luncheon invitation for Saturday." Ten minutes later, she was on the telephone, Miss Hickenlooper at the other end. "Miss Hickenlooper,' she began, that feeling of inferiority which the woman's voice always inspired in-spired in her now flooding through her mind, "this is Mary Loring. May I would it be possible for me to talk to Mr. Buchanan for a moment?" mo-ment?" .. It was, apparently, not so difflcUit, after all, for within a very brief moment. Phil Buchanan's voice said. "Hello. Mary Loring! How are you?" "I'm all right," Mary replied, her self-possession having returned. "How's Oscar?" "Oscar's swell now. All his heaves they'd practically disappeared from view. That's why I'm late." Phil grinned at her. "All right, Miss Mary Loring. All is forgiven: Now let's order some food. I haven't had nourishment for hours." Their order given, Phil got out his usual crushed package of cigarettes, and offered Mary one. "No," she replied. "I can't smoke and think right now; and I gathered from your letter that you wanted to give me a proper call-down today." Buchanan regarded her with amused eyes. "Yes, I do." "Well, go ahead! I'm prepared for the worst! The stuff I've been handing hand-ing in is tripe. You're disappointed in me and . ." "Yes, I'm disappointed in you, but I still have enough faith In your ability to want you to keep on trying. try-ing. Listen those last two stories were trash! You've fallen down terribly since you did "At Sea.' In fact, it's hard to believe the same person wrote Their Son and "Concerning "Con-cerning Anne.1 What's the matter, Mary? Been too busy running around New York? You know, you can't be a socialite and an author at the same time." Mary looked down at the table, the dark curtain of her eyelashes hiding the tears that were near the surface. "I hate him." she was thinking, stung by his words, yet maybe he's right. Maybe he s try ing to help me!" Aloud, she said. |