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Show r so big i '' By EDNA FERBER Jl , Doukledajr, Page A Co.) WNU Bervloe. "Father comes home at six. If Tm not there he's disappointed." Julie, plump, blonde, placid, forsook her soft white banishments and tried steel against the steel of Sellna's decision. de-cision. "He leaves you right after supper. And you're alone every night until twelve and after." "I don't see what that has to do with It," Sellna said stlllly. "If I'm not there he's disappointed. And that terrible ter-rible Mrs. Tehhitt makes eyes at him. lie hutes It there." "Then I don't see why you stay. I never could see. You've been there four months now, and I think It's horrid hor-rid and stuffy, and oilcloth on the stairs." "Father has had some temporary business setbacks." Julie, fond though defeated, kissed her friend good-by. Sellna walked quickly the short instance ins-tance from the Ileinpel house to Teb-bltt's, Teb-bltt's, on Deurboru avenue. Up In her second flooi room she took off her hat and called to her futher, but he had Simeon Peake had had nothing of the look of the professional gambler of the day. The wide slouch hat, the flowing flow-ing moustache, the glittering eye, the too-bright boots, the gay cravat, all were missing In Simeon I'eake's makeup. make-up. True, he did sport a singularly clear white diamond pin In his shirt front; and his hat he wore Just a little on iae side. But then, these both were In the niaie mode and quite commonly seen. For the rest he seemed a mild and suave man, slim, a trifle diffident, speaking seldom and then with a New England drawl by which he had come honestly enough, Vermont I'euke tliut he was. Chicago whs his meat. It wns booming, boom-ing, prosperous. He played In good luck and bnd, but be managed somehow some-how to see to It that there was always the money to pay for the Flster schooling. school-ing. Sellna wns happy. She knew only such young people girls as she met at Mls Flster's school. Her chum was Julie Ilempel, daughter daugh-ter of August Hompcl, the Clnrk street butcher. You prohtilily now own some Hempel stock. If you're lucky; and eat Hempel bacon and Hempel hams cured In the hickory, for In Chicago the distance dis-tance from butcher of 1883 to packer of 1800 was only a five-year leup. Being so much alone developed In her a gift for the make-believe. In a comfortable, well-dressed way she was a sort of mixture of Dirk Swlveller's Marchioness and Sarah Crewe. Kven In her childhood she extracted from life the double enjoyment that comes usually only to the creative mind. "Now I'm doing this. Now I'm doing that," she told herself while she was doing It. Looking on while she participated. par-ticipated. Perhaps her theater going had something to do with this. At an age when most little girls were not only unheard but practically unseen, she occupied a crown-up seat at the play, her rapt face, with Its dark serious seri-ous eyes, glowing In a sort of luminous pallor as she sut proudly next her father. In this way Sellna, half-hidden In the depths of an orchestra seat, wriggled wrig-gled In ecstatic anticipation when the curtain ascended on the grotesque rows of Ilaverly's minstrels. She wit-nesed wit-nesed that startling Innovation, a Jewish Jew-ish play, called "Sam'l of l'osen." She saw Funnle Davenport In "Pique," Simeon Sim-eon even took her to a performance of that shocking and dnllghtful form of new entertainment, the Extravaganza. "The thing I like about plays and books Is that anything can happen. Anything! You never know," Sellna said. "No different from life," Simeon Peake assured her. "You've no Idea the things that happen to you if you Just relax and take them as they come." Curiously enough, Simeon Peuke said this, not through Ignorance, but deliberately de-liberately and with reason. In his way ster ran on a French chassis; whose wants were served by a Japanese houseman; whose life, In short, was that of a successful citizen of the republic. But she wasn't Not only was she dissatisfied: she was at once remorseful and Indignant, as though she, Sellna DeJong, the vegetable ped-ler, ped-ler, had been partly to blame for this success of bis, and partly cheated by It. When Sellna DeJong had been Sellna Peake she had lived In Chicago with her father. They had lived In many other cities as well. In Denver during the ramprnt '80s. In New York when Sellna was twelve. In Milwaukee briefly. There was even a Snn Francisco Fran-cisco Interlude which wns always a little lit-tle sketchy In Sellna's mind and which had ended In a departure so hurried as to bewilder even Sellna who had learned to accept sudden comings and abrupt goings without question. "Business," "Busi-ness," her futher always said. "Little deul." She never knew until the day of his death how literally the word deul was applicable to his business transactions. transac-tions. Simeon Peake, traveling the country coun-try with his little daughter, was a gambler gam-bler by profession, temperament, and natural talents. When In luck they lived royally, stopping at the best hotels, ho-tels, eating strange, succulent sea-viunds, sea-viunds, going to the play, driving In hired rigs (ulways with two horses. If Simeon Peake had not enough money for a two-horse equipage be walked). When fortune hid her face they lived In boarding bouses, ate boarding-bouse meals, wore the clothes bought when fortune's breath was balmy. During all this time Sellna attended schools, good, bad, private, public, with surprising regularity considering her nomadic existence. ex-istence. She had a beautiful time. Except Ex-cept for three years, to recall which wns to her like entering a sombre Icy room on leaving a warm and glowing one, her life was free. Interesting, varied. She made decisions usually devolving upon the adult mind. She selected clothes. She ruled her father. fath-er. She read absorbedly books found In boarding bonne parlors. In hotels. In such public libraries as the times afforded. af-forded. She was alone for hours a day, dally. Frequently her father, fearful of loneliness for her, brought her an armful of books and she had an orgy, dipping and swooping about nmong them In a sort of gourmand's ecstasy of Indecision. In this way, at fifteen, she knew the writings of Byron, By-ron, Jane Austen, Dickens, Charlotte Bronte, Felicia Heuians. Her three dark years from nine to twelve were spent with her two maiden maid-en aunts, the Misses Sarah and Abbie Peuke, In the dim, prim Vermont Peuke house from which her futher, the black sheep, had run away when a boy. After her mother's death Simeon Sim-eon Peake had sent his little daughter back east In a fit of remorse and temporary tem-porary helplessness on his part and a spurt of forgiveness and churchly 8ELINA PEAKE Well, here's a etory br Edna Ferlier. Tht settles the quality queetlon. Probably there Is no more popular writer of Action In the whole country. As to ehort stories she's the woman "O. Henry." Hen-ry." And aa to novels why, ahe has ten or a dozen to her credit and they are very much to her credit. Anyone who hs not read "Buttered Kid Down," "Koaet Beet Medium" and "Fanny Herself" Her-self" has missed a lot of good reading. All her stories and novels nov-els are worth while clever In plot, well-written, clean, wholesome, whole-some, glimpses of real life. Kdna Kerber la called a "good scout'' by both men and women, whether among the peaks of the Colorado Rockies or In the canyons of New York and Chicago. "So Dig" la perhaps the bust of all her novel. nov-el. Anyway, It was one of the biggest lunrtuei of 1U24 possibly pos-sibly the blgKeBt. And that sue-cess sue-cess was deserved; It's a real story of real people, you would say. "'How big Is my babyf Sellna would demand senselessly, 'How big la my manT" "Then little Dirk DeJong, standing before his mother, would stretch Ills arms wide and squeal, Bo-o-o-o big:' In dutiful solo." When he grew to be one of the most correct young men of f'hl-cago' f'hl-cago' fashionable North Shore, he returned to hl apartment on night, from visiting his mother, and questioned himself: "How big?" His answer la th story. Chapter I Until he was almost ten the name stuck to him. He had literally to fight his way free of It. From So Big (of fond and Infantile derivation) It had been condensed Into Soblg. And Soblg DeJong, In all Its consonantal disharmony, dishar-mony, he hud remained until he was a ten-year-old schoolboy In that Incredibly In-credibly Dutch district southwest of Chicago known first ns New Holland and later ns High Prairie. At ten, by dint of fists, teeth, copper-toed boots, and temper, Dirk DeJong. The nickname had sprung up from the early and Idiotic question Invariably put to babies and answered by them, with Infinite patience, through the years of their infancy. Sellna DeJong, darting expertly about her kitchen, from wushtub to baking board, from stove to table, or, If at work In the fields of the truck farm, straightening the numbed back for a moment's respite from the close-set close-set rows of carrots, turnips, spinach, or beets over which she wns laboring, would wipe the sweat beads from nose and forehead with a quick duck of her head In the crock of her bent arm. Those great fine dark eyes of hers would regard the child perched Imper-manently Imper-manently on a little heap of empty potato po-tato sacks, one of which comprised his costume. Sellna DeJong had little time for the expression of affection. The work was always hot at her heels. You saw a young woman In a blue calico dress, faded and enrth-grlmed. Between her eyes was a driven look us of one who walks always a little ahead of herself In her haste. Her dark abundant hair was skewered Into a utilitarian knob from which soft loops and strands were constantly escaping, es-caping, to be pushed back by that same harried ducking gesture of head and bent arm. Her hands, for such use, ivere usually too crusted and Inground with the soil Into which she was delving. delv-ing. You saw a child of perhaps two years, dirt-streaked, sunburned, and generally otherwise defaced by those bumps, bites, scratches, und contusions that are the common lot of the farm child of a mother harried by work. Yet, In that moment, as the woman looked at the child there In the warm moist spring of the Illinois prairie land, or In the cluttered kitchen of the farmhouse, farm-house, there quivered and vibrated between be-tween them and all nbount them an aura, a glow, that Impurted to them nnd their surroundings a mystery, a beauty, u radiance. "How big is baby?" Sellna would d tnand, senselessly. "Ilow big Is my man?" Thud Shuffle -Thud Shuffle Up the Narrow Stairway. not yet come In. She was glad of that. She hod been fearful of being late. She regnrded her hat with some distaste, decided to rip off the faded spring roses, did rip a stitch or two, only to discover that the hat material was more faded than the roses, and that the uncovered surface showed up a dark Bplotch like a wall-spot when a picture, long hung, Is removed. So she got a needle and prepared to tack and day he was a very modern father. "I want you to see all kinds," he would say to her. "I want you to realize that this whole thing Is Just a grand adventure. ad-venture. A fine show. The trick Is to play In it and look at It at the same time." "What whole thing?" "Living. All mixed up. The more kinds of people you see, and the more things you do, and the more things that happen to you, the richer you ure. Even If they're not pleasant things. That's living. Remember, no matter what happens, good or bad, It's Just so much" he used the gambler's term, unconsciously "Just so much velvet." But SeJIna, aomehow understood. "You mean that anythlng's better than being Aunt Sarah and Aunt Abbie." "Well yes. There are only two kinds of people In the world that really count. One kind's wheat and the other kind's emeralds." "Fanny Davenport's an emerald," said Sellna, quickly, and rather surprised sur-prised to find herself saying It. "Yes. That's It." "And and Julie Uempel's father he's wheat." "By golly, Sele!" shouted Simeon Peake. "You're a shrewd little tyke!" tne onemnng rose in its accustomed place. Perched on the arm of a chair near the window, taking quick deft stitches, she heard a sound she hod never heard before, and yet, hearing It, recognized It by one of those pongs, centuries old, called woman's Instinct. Thud shullle thud shullle up the narrow stairway, stair-way, along the passage. She stood up, the needle poised In her hand. The hat fell to the floor. Her eyes were wide, fixed. Her lips slightly parted. The listening look. She knew. She knew even before she heard the hoarse man's voice saying, "Lift 'er up there a little on the corner, now. Easy e-e-ensy." And Mrs. Tebbltt's high shrill clamor: "You can't bring It Id there 1 You hadn't ought to bring It In here like this!" Sellna's suspended breath came back. She was panting now. She had flung open the door. A flat still burden partially covered with an overcoat carelessly Hung over the face. The feet, in their square-toed boots, wobbled wob-bled listlessly. Sellna noticed how shiny the boots were. He was always very finicking about such things. Simeon Peake had been shot In Jeff Hanklns' place at five In the afternoon. The Irony of It was that the bullet hod not been Intended for him at all. its derelict course bad been due to feminine femi-nine aim. Sped by one of those Over-dramatic Over-dramatic ladles who, armed with horsewhip horse-whip or pistol In tardy defense of their honor, spangled Chicago's dull '80s with their doings, It had been meant for a well-known newspaper publisher usually mentioned (in papers other than his own) as a hon vlvant. The lady's leaden remonstrance was to have been proof of the fact that he had been more vivacious than bon. Well, that's the end of her little world .V' Selina. What next for the orphan girl? (TO EB CONTINUED.) The child would momentarily cease to poke plump lingers Into the rich black loam, lie would smile a gummy though slightly weary smile and stretch wide his arms. Site, too, would open her tired arms wide, wide. Then they would say In a duet, his mouth a puckered puck-ered pink petal, hers quivering with tenderness and a certain amusement, "So-o-o-o big!" with the voice soaring on the prolonged vowel and dropping suddenly with the second word. ' Part of the game. She would run to him, and swoop down upon him, and bury her flushed face In the warm moist creases of his neck, and make as though to devour bim. "So big I" Hut of course he wasn't. He wasn't as big as that. In fact, he never became be-came as big as the wldo-stretched arms of her love and Imagination would have had him. You would have thought she should have been satisfied when, In later years, he was the Dirk DeJong whose name you saw (engraved) at the top of eavy cream l'oen paper, so rich and thick and stiff as to have the effect of being starched and Ironed by some costly American business process ; whose clothes were made by Peter Peel the Eniitlsh tailor; whose road- She Read Absorbedly Books Found In Boarding House Parlors. charity on the part of his two sisters. The two wemen were incredibly drawn In the pat.rn of the New England spinster of fiction. Mitts, preserves, Bible, chilly best room, solemn and klttenless cat, order, little-girls-mustn't. They smelted of apples of withered apples that huve rotted at the core. Something of this she must have conveyed, In her desperation, to her father In an uneensored letter. Without With-out warning he had come for her, und at sight of him she had been guilty of ! the only fit of hysteriu that marked her life, before or after the episode So, then, from twelve to nineteen she was happy. They had come to Chicago In 1885, when she was sixteen. There they remuiaed. Selinu attended Miss Fister's Select School for Young i Ladies. When her fattier brought her there he had raised quite a flutter In the Flster breast so soft-spoken was he, so gentle, so sad-appearing, go winning win-ning us to smile. In the Investment business, he explained. Stocks and that kind of thing. A widower. Miss I'ister said, yes, she understood Julie Hempel and Sellna Peake, both finished products of Miss Flster's school, were of an age nineteen. Sellna, Se-llna, on this September day, had been spending the afternoon with Julie, and now, adjusting her hat preparatory to leaving, she clapped her hands over her ears to shut out the sounds of Julie's lmportunings that she stay to supper. Certainly the prospect of the usual Monday evening meal In Mrs. Tebbitt's boarding house did not present pre-sent sufllclent excuse for Sellna's refusal. re-fusal. Indeed, the Hempel supper as sketched dish for dish by the urgent Julie brought little greedy groans from Sellna. "It's prnlrle chickens three of them that a farmer west of town brought Father. Mother fixes them with stuffing, stuff-ing, and there's currant Jell. Creamed onions and baked tomatoes. And for dessert, apple roll." Sellna snapped the elastic holding her high-crowned hat under her chignon chig-non of hair In the back. She uttered a final and quaverlug groan. "On Monday Mon-day nights we have cold mutton and cabbage at Mrs. Tebbitt's. This is Monday." "Well then, sill, why not stay 1" |