Americus Times Recorder

SATURDAY, DECEMBER 22, 1923

THE TIMES-RECORDER DAILY STORY

Published in Installments of Two Columns Each. Copies of Back Installment Available On Application at This Office.

The best book by American best woman writer

BLACK OXEN

GERTRUDE ATHERTON

Published by arrangement with the Associated First National Pictures, Inc. Watch for the screen version produced by Frank Lloyd with Corinne Griffith, as Countess Zattlany,

Copyright 1923 by Gertrude Atherton

1.

She whirled round again. "Do you think you're in love with that
rejuvenated old dame who's granny's age if she's a day?"

XXXIII (Continued)

"How did you get in?" he asked.

"That's not easy in this house."

"I just got in the lift and told
the boy I was your sister just arrived from the South and he let
me in with the pass key. He took
me for sixteen and said that as
you weren't one for chickens he'd
chance it."

"He'll get the sack in the morning."

"I don't care what happens to
him." Suddenly she burst into
tears, her face working like a
baby's, and flung herself into her
father's arms.

"Make him marry me, daddy.
Make him! I want him. I want
him."

Oglethorpe put his arms about
her, but his sympathies were equally divided, and he understood men
far better than he did young girls.

"You wouldn't want to marry a
man who doesn't love you," he said
soothingly. "Where's your pride?"

"Who cares a damn about pride?
I want him and that's all there is
to it." She whirled round again.

"Do you think you're in love with
that rejuvenated old dame who's
granny's age if she's a day? She's
hypnotized you, that's what. It
isn't natural. It isn't. It isn't."

"I certainly shall marry Madame
Zattiany if she will have me."

"O-h-h." Tears dried. She
showed her teeth like a freed cat.
Her eyes blazed again and she
would have precipitated herself
upon him, but her father held her
fast. "Oh! Oh! Oh! It can't be.
It can't be. It's as unnatural as if
you married granny. It isn't fair.
How dare she come here with her
whitewash and sneak young girls'
lovers away from them?"

"Really, Janet."

"Oh. I know, you thought you
didn't care for me, but you always
did. and I'd have got you in time.
I knew there was no chance for
Marian and Anne; they're old
maids. and I'm young-young. If
I'd cut out the fun and concentrated on you I'd have got you. I
wish I had! I wish I had! But
you were such an old flat tire I
thought you were safe."

"What in heaven's name makes you think you're in love with
me?" exploded Clavering.

"Your opinion of me is anything but complimentary, and I'm everything but what your chosen companions are not. You
don't want me any more than I
want you. You've simply been
playing some fool game with yourself."

"It's not! It's not! It's the real
thing. I've been in love with you
since I was six. Ask daddy, Daddy. didn't I always say I was going
to marry him?"

"Yes, when you were little
more of a baby than you are
now. Can't you imagine how absurd it would be of such an undignified performance as this?"

"Am I ashamed? Not much. I always intend to do just as I please
and damn the consequences."

"A fine wife you'd make for Lee
or any other man."

"I'd make him the best wife in
the world. I'd do everything he
told me. No, I wouldn't. Yes, I
would." Sheer femaleness and the
spirit of the age seesawed inconclusively. "Anyhow, I'd make you
happy, because I'd be happy myself," she added naively. "Much
happier than your grandmother"

"Perhaps you will oblige me by
leaving Madame Zattiany out of it."

"No. I won't. And the first time
I see her when there's a lot of
people round I'll tell her just what
she is to her face."

"If you dare!" Clavering advanced threateningly and she
swung herself behind her father,
who, however, took her firmly by
the arm and marched her to the
door.

"Enough of this," he said. "You
come home and pack your trunk
and tomorrow we take the first
steamer out of New York. If there
isn't one, we'll take the train to
Canada."

"I won't go."

"It's either that or a sanitarium
for neurotics. I'll have you snapped down and carried there in an
ambulance. You may take your
choice. Good night, Lee. Forget
it, if you can."

As Clavering slammed the door
behind them he envied men who
could tear their hair. He had
wanted to spend a long evening
alone thinking of Mary Zattiany,
dreaming of those vital hours before him, and he had been treated
to a double nightmare. For the
moment he hated everything in
petticoats that walked, and he felt
like taking a steamer to the ends
of the earth himself. But he was
more worn out than he knew and
was sound asleep fifteen minutes
later.

XXXV

Janet had her revenge. Words
have a terrible power. And Janet's
vocabulary might be as primitive
as lightning, but unlike lightning
it never failed to strike.

"That old Zattiany woman."

"She's a thousand years old and
nobody cares what she does."

"That rejuvenated old dame who's
granny's age, if she's a day."

"Much happier than your grandmother." The phrases flashed into
his mind when he awoke and echoed in his ears all day. No doubt
similar phrases, less crude, but
equally scorching, were being
tossed from one end of New York
Society to the other. If Janet knew of his devotion to Madame
Zattiany others must, for it could
only have come to her on the
wings of gossip. He was being
ridiculed by people who grasped
nothing beyond the fact that the
woman was fifty-eight and the man thirty-four. Of course it would be
but a nine days' wonder and like
all other social phenomena grow too stale for comment, but meanwhile
he should feel as if he were frying
in a gridiron. Anne Goodrich
would merely exclaim: "Abomination!"
Marian Lawrence would draw
her nostrils and purr: "Lee was
always an erratic and impressionable boy. Just like him to fall in
love with an old woman. And
she's really a beautiful blonde—
once more. Poor Lee."
As for
Gora and Suzan Forbes-well,
Gora would understand, and im-
pale sympathetically in her own
way; and Suzan would read
endocrines, blend them with psychology, and write an article for the Yale Review.

He avoided the office and wrote
his column at home. Luckily a fa-
vorite old comedian had died re-
cently. He could fill up with remi-
niscence and anecdote. But it was
soon done and he was back in his
chair with his thoughts again.

It had been his intention when
he awakened on Sunday after a
few hours of unrefreshing sleep to
dispatch his work as quickly as
possible, take a long walk, and
then return to his rooms and keep
the hours that must intervene un-
til Monday afternoon, sacred to
Mary Zattiany. But if man wishes
to regulate his life, and more par-
ticularly his meditations, to suit
himself he would be wise to retire
to a mountain top. Civilized life is a vast woof and the shuttle pursues its weaving and counter-weaving with no regard for the plans of
men.

(To Be Continued)