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An, Mi Ah Ms thn The story thus far: Barbara Bush Atherton lives ith her father and sister Amy 'a modest little Bungalow in wood, Cal, Lincoln Mack, one in Barbar, but she, eh to | 3 gust, shows a ore ence for Barry du Spain, poet and dreamer. Marianne Scott, and sophisticated, comes to to visit her cousin, Inez Wilson, Link's wealth at- tracts her and she uses her wiles to bring him to her feet. Almost ainst his will he falls in love th her. And at the thought of Marianne Scott becoming Mrs, Lincoln M Barbara finds herself unaccountably distressed, On an impulse Barry and . bara marry. and go tb his old ranch to live, Resolutely Barbara adapts herself to the hardships of her new life and to the . ing moods of her ie husband, Link's wedding is de- ferred, as Marianne has revealed the existence of a husband from whom she is ting a' divoree, But Link, ising mow that it is y she ts, breal their engagement. Two years have sed since Barbara's mar. viage. She is now a tired, over- worked mother. And the restless Barry, with increasing frequency, seeks t in d INSTALMENT 20 When Barry had put on his muffler and coat and pulled down his cap, when he had kissed her affec- tionately and remarked with elab- orate carelessness: "I may be back in half an hour," and when she was left alone pith the baby, Barbara, obey- ing a sudden impulse, went up the patio's outside stairway, packed with wet leaves, and entered one of the dark, damp bedrooms above, Through the slits of its shutters she could look out across a flat pas- ture to the east, where, a quarter of a mile away, the Bettancourt cabin stood under some dismal plumes of eucalyptus, and the highway wound between two shabby lines of fencing, On the road near the Bettancourts' a muddy car was waiting ; Fox Madi» son's car, And toward it the figure of Barry, in his shabby overcoat with his cap pulled down, was making its way, "Well, what of it?" Barbara asked herself hardily. "I suppose that, in his place, Td do the same thing} And after all, I'm not Barry--I'm me. The thing for me to do is work my own way out, not his!" Barry and Fox had not gone a 'mile upon their WRIGLEY S P.K CHEWING SWEET 74 - BARBERRY BUSH One Girl's Marriage Problems . way before she and the baby were busy in the farmyard, raking, sing-~ ing, splashing about vigorously. aria Bettancourt came over with a letter for her, It was from Link Mackenzie, - Barbara opened it with a little thrill of pleasure, "Dear Barbara: "Would your baby like an Airedale puppy eenie: surprised us with our beauties a day or two ago--all males, If Kate would like i, Ti bring it' or send it down, I hope you farmers like this weather; every one here is sick of it, See you on, ¥ nk, That was all, But it seemed to make the whole world bright and happy for Barbara, It was like Link to think of this, and to remember "| her baby's name, The warm pleasantness of it re- mained with her all through the quiet lonely hours, But after a serene sup- er, a placid night and an unusual uxury of a bath before breakfast Barbara was angered and agitated again--and was distressed to find herself becoming so--by the chance discovery of an opened envelope in the wood box. It was from the office of Today's Verse, a little magazine whose editor was a great admirer of Barry, It was dated ten days earlier; and with- in it was a brief, cordial note, Mr, du .Spain would please find enclosed a check for $18 in payment for his sonnet, "The Bad Baby." Barbara stood with the note in her hand, absolutely transfixed with an- ger and surprise, Then she burned it and went slowly about her morn- ing. work again, . ut not in the bright mood in which the sunny, clear frosty morn- ing had first found her, She was sick with a sense of helpless resentment and shock, He had gotten a check for $18 and. had concealed it. He was spending: it now, perhaps, on a poker hand. And she and the baby --and the new baby--! "This is bad for mel" she said aloud as gusts of uncontrollable rage physically shook her, What did it matter, $187, No life was either made or unmade by $18. "Barry, why did you deceive me about that poem that Today's Verse took, and about meeting Fox Madi- son in the road yesterday?" she burst out suddenly, hours later. She borne all she could bear since his return; she had been ami- able, friendly and interested until she could put a force upon herself no longer, Barry had appeared at about 7 o'clock, once again vivacious and sweet tempered, full of town gossip, and eager to be of use, Again he had heaped her wood box and prais- ed her cooking; he had looked well, and had been full of his own pecu- liarly charming animation and high spirits, He appeared unrufiled, but she saw the color creep up under his clear skin at her first questions. : "I forgot the check," he admitted. "But where did you think I got the money to buy you the pew meat- chopper and Kate the little hot- water bag?" he added reproachfully. He had brought them both gifts; Barry was wonderfully sympathetic in his choice of presents. "I owed Tomas $3," he went on, and Bar- bara knew from his tone that he felt he was making his case and was gaining' confidence, "and yesterday, walking over to his house, to pay if, I saw Fox in the road" : "Waiting!" Barbara supplied bit- terly. 5 "Waiting nothing, he was stuck in the mud. I helped him get loose, and he Srove me into "town--that was She did not believe it, but there was no way of proving anything. "How could you give Tomas $3 out of an $18 heck?" Her tone was still hostile and distrustful. "I thought Tomas could cash it" Barry had her on every point; she was quite helpless in his hands. And the dispute had only served to rouse him to a sort of ugli- now, the Poett came or deghuially friend) charming with the ath 'Jihen eagerly, serving her and hes Joploca P ding. [J '| astically, [HE OSHAWA DAILY TIMES, MONDAY, DECEMBER 17, 1928 $s suzette arry ate everythin, ously and prais He wante raven and talked all the time, {| Barry and Barbara to move into Cot- tonwood again, Barry to take a half. day ob with his:own real estate firm, "You don't have to work morn- ings!" Harry assured him enthusi- "You can write poetry, mornings, And in the afternoon show Jeople the Manor Farmlets--they sell hemselves I tell you! Barbara'd be among her old crowd---they tell me Amy and Ward are coming up." The girl's heart soared at the idea, Oh, it didn't matter how plain a cot- tage they had to take, how poor they were, how many opportunities the ssips were given to say that Bars ara Atherton hadn't made much of a match of it, that she was pretty "small potatoes" these days! Just to be back among voices and people, electric lights and telephone bells, sidewalks and gas stoves again! Just to get a daily paper, to have one's eggs delivered in a box, one's milk in a bottle once more! "Barry'd get $85," she mused, "Yep, to start with, But commis- sions, Barbara!" Harry answered ea) rly, "He'd make a lot on the e, ; "We'd have to pay $25 rent," Bar- bara mused, "Well, yes, you'd have to pay that," Harry admitted, And Barbara saw that he secretly had thought that they would have to pay more, "That's what Mrs, Ossler pays, down near the Union high school," she continued, "Well, yes--if you'd live there, Barbara," Harry said doubtfully, in the tone of one who would not, ,"Oh, in a minute!" she answered, with a confident laugh. "Well, then!" Harry said, bright- ening, And immediately he added, to Barry, carelessly: "You couldn't come into town with me now and see Hol- liday? He's always at home Sunday afternoons and you could have a little talk." "Why, I don't know--I hate to leave Barberry Bush all by herself," Barry answered hesitatingly. Fired with brighter hopes than she had known for two long years, Barbara, however, insisted upon their both departing at once without an instant's delay. Leave the dishes-- she could do the dishes, she had no- thing else to do! "And, please, please, Barry darling, talk as if you were a Napoleon of finance," she pleaded with her final kiss, "Make Holliday think you can sell seven lots a day!" But when Barry came home the next day he brought a guest with him and there was no more talk of real estate, commissions, a move into town, or the little cottages down near Mrs, Ossler. The. guest was named Schofield; Barbara never heard him called any- thing else and never knew whether it was a first or last name. She had heard the pame often; he was one of the bohemian group that some- times entertained Barry in San Francisco. He was a small, weedy man of perhaps 40, a poet, in a small way, himself, and foremost among Barry's admirers. He had come by a coincidence to Cottonwood on this same Monday morning in the hope of getting in touch with Barry du Spain. They were in high spirits and Schofield proved a comfortable and informal guest; Barbara's first apologies were thrown away on him as even Barbara perceived, He helped intelligently in the kitchen and made an instant con- quest of the baby. "Are you a married man, Mr. Schofield?" "Yes ma'am. I've got to call this girl 'Barbara,' Barry. Old enough to be her father!" "I wish you would!" Barbara in- vited him cordially. "Yes, ma'am, I'm a married man and I have four of these people." Schofield indicated the baby, sitting y HE NEVER COULD * DIGEST HIS FOOD "PRUIT-A. TIVES" Brought or serenely in his arms. "I've got a married son," he admitted, "and a girl in college. The little ones, two girls of 15 and 14, are with their mother, "My wife," he added casually, "has- n't lived with me for ten years, She has a position in a library in Ber- keley, She was a great woman," he finished thoughtfully, "for dusting and having meals on time! 'My Lord, what that woman could do with a broom and a bucket of suds!" Barry laughed joyfully, and Bar- bara, although not without a . secret impulse of sympathy with the un- known Mrs, Schofield, laughed, too, Schofield stayed with them for four days, and they were happy days for every one. He made no secret of his admiration for Barbara as well as for Barry; he found the old haci- enda a place of enchantment, and with his friendly talk and compan- jonable help thc housework stemed nothing and the hours flew. Even Barbara's clear vision was blurred by his eager, convincing attitude, and it was not until the last day that she appreciated fully that it was really to Schofield that she owed Barry's complete change of attitude toward any regular work in Cotton- wood, To Schofield, Barry du Spain was the great poet of the century, the new Keats, Schofield pointed out to husband and wife that for Barry, the unknown, unheralded westerner, to have achieved the place he had al- ready made for himself among the younger American poets was proof of what he claimed. "But poets' wives and children must eat, Schofield," Barbara argued one morning when she and her visitor were with the baby in the kitchen, and Barry had disappeared to do some work in his own eyrie. "My dear Batbara, that doesn't sound like you! Let's not talk in the terms of Rotary clubs!" "Ah, but Schofield, one must when there's a child to consider. Nobody could have greater faith in Barry's genius: than I have. [I agree with you that he is entirely out of the ordinary--more," said Barbara, kneel- ing at the oven of the clumsy old range and gently drawing a rice pudding toward her to stir its creamy depths carefully, "more, I'd even ad- mit that Barry's the type that never ought to marry," she said, smiling, "although goodness knows that he is absolutely irresponsible, and if any man ever needed to have a woman look out for him, Barry's the man! But the fact remains that he is mar- "| $75--that isn't the i PAGE FIVE ried and he has a child, and there you e i "This 'San Francisco woman--this rich old freak who likes the idea that she is a patron of the arts," Scho- field persisted, returning to the ar- gument he never forced and yet never abandoned, "wants to send Barry to New York, She doesn't usually 'bother with married. men. But she's making an exception of Du Spain, He &ould meet his own kind of people there, he could get the re- cognition he needs to spur him on, and--above all--he could probably lace his, play. Now, you and I, arbara, who love him more than any other two persons in the world, we know that he ought to go--that this is the psychological moment when he must. go," "She offers him his trip and $100 a month," Barbara summarized, now busily scraping carrots at the sink, "He'd need every cent of it there, wouldn't he?" "He needs--freedom!"" Schofield stated, "If he could send me $25," Barbara mused, "I'd make it do," And in her anxious thoughts she added: "Even for hospital and nurse and some ar- rangement for Kate while I am ill, I'd make it do, Perhaps Amy would take te," "I doubt if he could manage on point anyway," Schofield reasoned, "We want him to be free, you and I, don't we? We want him to have his chance! He mustn't go on there with picayunish worries and cares about his family on his mind. It'll kill him if he at- tempts it. He's nervous and excited enough now," Barbara laughed, shook an obdur- ate head, "Next year, maybe." "Next year this old lady may be dead!" "Yes, and next year I may be dead,' too. No," Barbara decided cheerful- ly, "It isn't possible now, Schofield, delightful as it sounds. He'll have to take care of us this year, and stay at home, and write his poetry, and finish his play, as best he can, here! And some day he'll have another chance, and that time he'll be able to take it!" "People are apt to have so many chances of this sort in a life-time." Barry, who had come into the kitch- en unobserved, said quietly and bit- terly. Barbara, carrying a pile of clean garments to the bedroom bur- eau drawers, resolutely ayoided meet- ing his eyes. i (Copyright, 1928, by the Bell Syn- dicate, Inc.) (To be continued.) 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