By Edna Fefber
(Pronounce This Title Zhix-o-lo)
Learn What a Gigolo lee-Enjoy This Swiftly Moving Story of Yearning Youth;
gigolo is slang.
f :\ [-‘rvnc‘h slang.
(“ - ,. :lw iii)! is pro-
, . . .- \tiyilll‘ l.“ not a
: ill}. ll is n
.J
~r;w:il<ing, is a.
“ uwliil'lt'fl money.
" ' .\. \V. :v gigolo.
leL'll/llv‘ll one of
llllllt'lll‘ mnle
“qr. who. for
mwn loss, would
'lll iiishlng to
1!. Hrs Inf [\llhllC
mlm‘i‘r rooms in
rwzlzmrunts of
l‘ tiiilsnme. ex-
.xlu; saw them
‘vn waists and
mm to plump.
t - millions and
.yuxvn fiuppers.
‘um imqu‘t‘lllbll'
“lilllnflllll'. (0V-
u I itxcll‘ to tho
.zrnmx gigolo in
llnl America.
:mtl :ii‘tt-r yours
mainlimivcrcii all
9- n to one.
Halli “no im-
.- t‘ l‘ \\'innch:igo.
Ill-vil'll tlilll_\' and
liw gill 5nd
nu ll.~ l'romcn-
(lirlcon
\‘. : .. nusml “'hy.
H. (inns worn in
lb-munut‘i’m’ were
w ‘1: mnnlpotont.
w: in Hm vain-
‘lm Horys. It
HHS:
.‘xili‘i'.
ins in the
luxurious old
. Wont. it was
' Hawking the
“Willi, the huge
Hm river
,uw. llllil been
a rich and
‘l;w. \V'iscon-
. . to tear
. r ‘ .. .‘Illil build a
' m l‘rilicri front
in most
\Vinne-
v disdained
,isi‘ loll. The
ulmn those
"l tho rear
"" - . wcrc n
' and fall
~ winter.
‘wwn. and yet
: know about
foreign play-
of us thought
of it at all. us
utch. llkc haggis.
2's and hardwood
still Htt-ppcd 0n
Hrwplm‘cs in bed-
. ‘ n. llkn characters
ml Hid Madame
> i‘wnt lonther foot.
. Ir‘ iml .‘l. sunshade
w liviwv-rs in the
rumored to
iltnncr. Gideon
' ’ .Hlni smoked ciga-
' ' -.r."1tn on them.
i: ll (4::
l...'ll,\y~
ui‘iv l'~\
‘l “'qu
«mull American
.m'.\. l'lvury smnll
. id's llli' savoury
-. m the rich table of
Thu you saw that
Gary, .lr., have
ruin where Mr.
V imlu. Mr. and
' . :liiuolinct- the
if :1 son. Gideon
'vr‘ of speaking.
illllti'll (iory, Jh.
. l 1. fl today for
‘ll'illilll. It is un-
lll will lw placed
ml. Mr. and Mrs.
' will by Madame
t is... for :1 week
n'v‘,
vl
l
‘,
‘i'l would have
I.‘ with would KTOW
w x 'ivrliillvlt' .VOUHK
: lw. illll, though
I'llilniiltlt‘ us he
.1 lmn, considering
.iml his mother in
Urn. for cxample.
- uu’n our-“ll (‘flr
' "I low-slung and
zr‘wlatm'y nnrl glit-
H llilll'Vo‘llf'd {it the
v .Hll hr swung its
' ! 'lw worm-rs of our
“4 dusts. He was
*‘v li:\_ with his thick
. spurt face. and
rm, mm». (in the
l‘mlily graced
.l.‘ lil‘i'fii‘ni‘fi you
iv. in
i
‘31:;
l
pursuing the
stick as a cue. nude a rather pretty
shot that hc‘had learned from Benoit
in London. Then he ranged the cane
neatly on the rack with the cues. He
even grinned a little boyishly. “You
win." he said. "My treat. What'li
you have?" '.
Which was pretty sporting for a
boy whose
been what Giddy's had been.
Giddy‘s father. on the death of old
Gideon. proved himself much more
expert at dispensing the paper mill
money than at accumulating it. After
old Madame Gory’s death just one
year following that of her husband.
“'lnnebago saw less and less of the
three remaining members of the royal
family. The frame house on the river
bluff would be closed for a year or
.more at n. time. Giddy‘s father rather
liked Winnebago and would have been
content to spend six months of the
your in the old Gory house, but
(liddy's mother, who had been a Ley-
(ien. of New York. put that idea out
or his head.
"Don't talk to me." she said. "about
your duty toward the town that gave
you your money. because you know
you don't mean it. It bores you worse
than lt’does me, really."
Her husband protested weakly.
don't care. I like the. old shack.- I
want to live in it—once in a while.
l'm used to it; I was brought up in
it. So was the kid. He likes it, too.
Don't you, Giddy?"
The
"1
boy worshipped his mother.
liut. also. he was honest. So, "Yeh. I
like. the ol' barn all righ.t" he con-
fcsscd.
Encouraged. his father went on:
“Yesterday the kid was standing out
there on the bluff-edge breathing like
,n whale. weren't you. Giddy? And
when I asked him what he was pufiing
about he said he liked the.smell of the
sulphur and chemicals and stuff from
the paper mills. didn't, you, .ltid?"
Shameofacedly. “Yeh.” said Giddy.
Betrayed thus by husband and
adored son. the lieyden did battle.
"You can both stay here. then," she
retortcd. “and sniff sulphur until
you're black in the face. I'm going to
London in May."
They. too. went to London in May.
of course. as she had known they
would. She had not. known. though.
that. in leading her husband to Eng-
land in May she was leading him to
his death as well.
"All Winnebago will be shocked and
grieved to learn." said the Winnebago
Courier to the extent of two columns
and a cut. “of the sudden and violent
dcath in England of her foremost citi-
zen, Gideon Gory. Death was due to
his being thrown from his horse while
hunting."
The widowed lieyden did not even
take the trouble personally to super-
intend the selling of the Gory place
on the river bluff. it was sold by an
ngent while she and Giddy were in
ltaly, and if she was ever aware that
the papers in the transaction stated
that the house had been bought by
()rson J. Hubbell she soon forgot the
rum and the. name. Giddy, leaning
the papers. and signing on the line in-
dicatcd by :1 legal forefinger.
have remarked:
“Huhbell. That's old Hubbell. the
drny man. Must be money in the dray-
ing line."
”He shauld have known that the
draying business was now developed
into the motor truck business with
great vans roaring their way between
“’inncbago and Kaukauna. Winne-
bago and Necnah. and even Winne-
bago and OshkOsh. He learned that
later.
Just now Giddy wasn't.
much of anything.
credit. the fact distressed him not a
little. His mother insisted that she
needed him. and developed a bad heart
whenever he rebelled and threatened
to sever the apron-strings. They lived
abroad entirely now. Mrs. Gory
showed a talent for spending the Gory
gold that must have set old Gideon to
whirling in his Winnebago grave.
Her spending of it was foolish enough,
but her handling of it was criminal.
She loved Europe. America bored
her. She wanted to identify herself
with foreigners, with foreign life.
Against advice she sold her large and
lucrative interest in the Winnebago
paper mills and invested great sums
in French stocks, in Russian enter-
prises. in German shares.
She liked to be mistaken for a.
French woman. - '
She was vainvof Gideon's un-Ameri-
can looks. and cross with him when.
on their rare and brief visits to New
York. he insisted that he liked Ameri-
learning
and. to do him
wiml other Win- can tailoring and American-made
.m. if not station. shoes. Once or twice. soon after his
i» \'.':i_\' he had father's death. he had said, casually.
.1. Still, training
. l in lead him into
M - \i’hcn he drop-
lv‘rml
r \ :mtplc.
-‘-r\ do}; for six
Worn hr- had Just
,.
is ii grind game of
leaning
' Hilldy.
all k. Flood watchlns
.u "wars: that 9133"
shack carrying
He bad
"You didn’t like Winnebago. did you?
Living in it, I mean."
“Like it!"
“W'ell. these English. I mean. and
French——they sort of grow up in a
place, and stay with it and belong to
it. see what I mean? and it gives you
a kind of permanent feeling. Not
patriotic. exactly. but solid and native
heathy and Scots-wha-hae-wi'-Wal-
lace and all that kind of slop."
- w w standing in at- "Giddy darling. don't be silly."
H’rll r-lrsrance. Each Occasionailsn too. he said. "Wk
:n me. his elbow here. Julia"——she liked this modern
.‘l‘ illl
w tho stick's length
r- lil.l}'PTS themselves
wins: step about the
:quh fellah. what a
wen hi my. neat, don't
‘l.
».
, "w inrnngrlmusly from
"‘lii'fl ll‘l’lanlln. whose
« !.r-nnigan House on
“ t.-
l'lifltlcrl
imitation of
method of address—"look here. Julia. I
ought to be, getting busy. Doing
something. Here I am, nineteen. and
I can't do a thing except dance pretty
well. but not as well . as that South
American eel we met last week: an:
a cocktail prety well. bathe: as good
a one as Benny .the bartender turns
out at Voyot‘s; ride pretty well. but
his opponent. drive a car—w” s
W iw‘nhorg. “Aw—fly She interrupted filni M- “9”" "
. " I" my s”. old thing." ear better than even an Italian chauf-
_,_, " (willy. “Excuse my not four.
. I n: on. deah boy."
. “3;; Was ended. Giddy-ma
‘ "0' and, "Sin: the Mending
Had yourtbsro. Giddy MM”
She undoubtedly use My darlhil
American training had
over her shoulder while she handled*
may i
knew,
upon him almost
it.
one of them and would have got
anician lay limp.
have managed a landing but the pur-
followed a. period of time that seemed
something that had been the mech-
anician, lay inside the German lines,
him worth the disentangling‘.
not as well as the English chaps; .
Illustrated by
C. H. Towne
trfcate inside ofga motor engine was
as delicate and unerring as that of a
professional pianist for his pet piano-
forte. They motored a good deal, with
France as a permanent background
and all Europe as a playground. A
pleasing existence, but unprofitable.
When the storm broke Giddy
promptly went into the Lafayette
Escadrille. Later he learned never to
mention this to an American because
the American was so likely to say.
“There must have been about eleven
million scrappers in that outfit. Every
fella you mect's been in the Lafayette
Escadrille." \
Mrs. Gory was tremendously proud
of him. and not as worried as she
should have been. Giddy looked
thrillingly distinguished and hand-
some in his aviation uniform. But
after the first six months of it Mrs.
Gory scarcely ever saw Giddy. She
knew, now. that there was more to
the air service than a becoming uni-
from. She Was doing some war work
herself in an incompetent. frenzied
sort of way. With Giddy soaring high
and her foreign stocks and bonds
fallinglow she rgight well be excused
for the panic thfi shook her from the
time she opened her eyes in the morn-
ing until she tardily closed them at
night.
“Let’s go home. Giddy darling," like
a. scared child.
“ 'here’s that?
he hurried to Paris and there
full impact of the past year’s
release.
got the
events. ,
Julia. Gory was dead and the Gory
money non-existent.
Out of the ruins—a jewel or two
and some. paper; not quite worthless__
he managed a! few thousand francs
and went to Nice. There he walked in
the sunshine. and sat in the sunshine.
and even danced in the sunshine, 3.
dazed young thing together with hun-
dreds of other dazed young things.
not thinking, not planning. not hoping.
The francs dribbled away. Sometimes
he played baccarat and won; oftener
he played baccarat and lost. He
mbved in a sort of trance, feeling
nothing. He was still sick in mind
and body. though he did not know it.
Driftwood. like thousands of others.
tossed up on the shore after the
storm: lying there bleached and use—
less and battered.
Then. one day in Nice. there was no
money. Not a franc. Not a centime.
He knew hunger. He knew terror.
He knew desperation. It was out of
this period that there emerged
Gedeon Gore, the Gigolo. ‘
This cheon Gore, of the Nice dan-
sants. did not even remotely resemble
Gideon Gory of Winnebago. Wiscon-
sin. This Gedcon .Gore wore French
clothes of the kind that Giddy Gory
had always despised. A slim. sallow,
sleek. sad—eyed gigolo in tight French
garments. the pants rather happy at
the ankle; et’fcminate French shoes
with fawn—coloured uppers and pat—
\-‘\
a forefinger. A piece of shell had
’pIOWed it neatly. The Russian boy
who called himself Orlofi'. had the look
in his eyes of one who had seen
things upon which eyes never‘should
have looked.
Sometimes Gedeon Gore .made ten
francs a day. sometimes twenty. some-
times’flfty. infrequently a hundred. He
did not think at all. .. He felt noth-
ing. Sometimes. down deep, deep in
a. long-forgotten part of his being a
voiCe called feebly, plainti'vely to the
man who had 'been Giddy Gory. But
he shut his ears and mind and con-
sciousness and would not listen.
The American girls were best, ,the
gigolos all agreed. and they paid well.
though they talked ltoo much. Gedeon
Gore was a favourite among them.
They thought ho was so foreign look-
ing, and kind of sad and stem and
everything. 'His French. fluent, col-
loquial, and bewildering, awed them.
They-would cnunciate. painfully:
"Je pense q11e—um——que Nice est le
plus belle—uh—ville de France.“
Giddy. listening courteously, his head
inclined as though unwilling to miss
one conversational pearl falling from
the pretty American’s lips, would ap-
pear to consider this gravely. Then.
sometimes he would answer:
“You said something! Some burg.
I‘m telling the world."
The girl, startled. would almost leap
back from the confines of his arms
only to find his face stern. immobile.
his eyes sombre and reflective.
“\Vhy! \Vhere did you pick that
up?" '
His eyebrows would go up. His face
,—
"Get out of here!" said Mezzetti, in French. to Gory. uYou pig! Swine! To intrude when l talbwith a lady. You
"Don't be cruel. America's the only
safe place now."
“Too darned safe!" This was 1915.
By 1917 she was actually in need of
money. But Giddy did not know
much about this because Giddy had.
roughly speaking. got his. One day.
he soared higher and farther than he
'and the two planes were
before he knew
They were not French. or Eng-
lish or Amerl n planes. He got
clean aWay if the. other had not
caught him in the arm. His mech-
Even then he might
suing plane got in a final shot. There
to cover, say: six years but\that was
actually only a matter of seconds. At
the end of that period Giddy. together
with a tangle of wire, silk. wood, and
and you would hardly have thought
’They did disentangle him. though.
and even patched him up pretty ex—
pertly. The bone in the lower right
arm. knitted promptly and properly.
being a young and healthy bone. but
they rather overlooked the matter of
arm nerves and muscles. so that later,
though it looked a‘ perfectly proper
arm. it couldn’t lift four pounds. His
head had emerged slowly. month,by
month, from swathings of gauze.
What had been quite a crevasse in
his skull became only a. scarlet sofas
that his hair pretty well hid when be
brushed it. over the bad place. But the
surgeon, having no real, way of know-
ing that-Giddy’s nose had been a dis-
tinguished and aristocratically hooked
Gory nose. had remoulded that wreck-
ed feature into a pure. Greek line at
first sight of which Giddy stood star-
ing weakly into the mirror. A well-
made and becoming nose. but. not the
original-feature. _
"Look here!" he protested to the
surgeon. months too’late. “Look here.
this isn’t my n'dse."
“Be glad.” replied that practical
person. "that you have any." ‘
.With his knewledge of French’and
English and German .Giddy acted as
interpreter during the months of his
invalidism and inter internment. and
things; ymnotsobodvnh hm. He
Land
are finished. Now she belongs to me.‘
cut-leather eyelets and yamps, most
despicable: a slim cane; hair with a
magnificent natural wave that looked
artificially murcelled. No. this was not
Giddy Gory. The real Giddy Gory lay
in a‘ smart but buttered suitcase under
the narrow bed in his lodgings. The
suitcase contained:
Item; one grey tweed suit with
name of a London tailor inside.
Item; One pair Russia calf oxfords
of American make.
ltem: one French aviation uniform
with leather coat. helmet, and gloves
all bearing stiff and curious splotches
of brown or rust-colour which you.
might not recognize as dried blood
stains.
Item: one handful assorted medals,
ribbons. orders, etc. '
All Europe < was dancing. PariS.
Nice, Berlin. Budapest. Rome, Vienna.
London writhed and twisted and turn-
ed and jiggled. And over all the
American jazz music boomed and
whanged its synco‘pation. So the
mannequins and marionetfes of Eur-
ope trled to whirl themselves into
forgetfulness.
The Americans thought Giddy was a ’
Frenchman. The French knew him
for an American, dress as he would.
Dancing became with him a profes-
sion—um. a trade. He danced flawless-
ly. holding and guiding his partner
lmpersonaly. firmly. expertly in spite
of the weak right arm—it served well
enough. He adopted now the manner
and position of the professional. Low-
er than Gideon Gory. of Winnebago.
Wisconsin, had fallen, could no man
fall.
Sometimes he danced in Paris. 'Dur-
ing the high season he danced in Nice.
Afternoon and evening ‘ found him
busy. in the hot, perfumed. overcrowd—
ed dance salons. He learned to
make his- face a. perfect blank—pale.
cryptic. expressionless. -Between him-
self and the other boys of his ilk there
was little or no professional com—
radeship. A weird lot they were.
of them had been in the war.
of them had been injured. There was
Aubin. the Frenchman. The left side
of Aubin's face had been done over by
an army surgeon ' who. though deft
Most
and scientific. .had,.,§}0t had a hand ex—r
pert as that of the Original Sculpto
Th wwas *‘Maszetti. the" Romain
Hearted his hslrlon‘ th wrong
All}
would express complete lack of com-
prehension. .“Pardon?”
Afterward. at home, in Toledo or
Kansas City or Los Angeles. the girl
would tell about it. “I suppose some
American girl taught it to him, just
for fun. It sounded too queer—because
his French was so wonderful."
Mary Hubbcll, of the “'innebago
Hubbclls, with her father. Orson J.
Hubbcll. 9. her mother, Bee Hubbell.
came to L one early in 1922.
The three Hubbells were thorough—
ly nice people. Mary Hubbell had done
a completely good job during the
1918—1918 period, including the expert
driving: of a wild and unbroken Ford
up and down the shell—torn roads of
France. One of those small—town
girls with a big-town outlook, a. well-
‘trained mind. a slim boyish body. a
good clear skin, and a steady eye that
saw. - ‘_
The well-trained mind and the
steady seeing eye enabled Mary Hub-
bell to discover that Europe wasn't Sb
gay-as it seemed to the blind; and she
didn’t write home to the effect that
you‘d never know there'd been war.
Orson J. and Mrs. Hu‘bbell had never
been in Europe before. and they en-
joyed themselves enormously. That
is to say, Mrs. Orson J. did. and Orson.
seeing her happy, enjoyed himself vi-
cariously. T'heyewent everywhere, did
everything. Mary boasted a pretty fair
French. Mrs. Hubbell conversed in
the various languages of Europe by
speaking pidgin English very loud.
They reached Nice in February and
plunged into its gaieties. “Just
think!" exclaimed Mrs. Hubbell rap-
turously. “only three .francs for a.
facial orra manicure and two fora
marcel. It’s like finding'them." ‘ '
“If the Mediterranean gets any
bluer." said Mary. “I do‘n'tthink 1‘ can
stand it. it's so lovely." - “
Mrs. Hubbell, at tea, expressed a. de—
sire- to dance. Mary. at tea. desired
to dance but didn't express it. Orson
.J. loathed tear and the early draylng
business had somewhat unfltted his
sturdy legsfor the lighter'movements’
of the dance. But he wanted only
their happiness. So he looked about a
bit. and asked some questions, ‘ and
acame back, .‘ ~ ' f ;__
'- Sachs there’s a 1oz~-cr mg chips
who make). business of'dancing with
the Wax-folks
ho haven’t dancing :._
“I do," said Mrs. Orson J. Hubbell.
“Then that's what all those thin chaps
are who have been dancing with those
pretty American girls. That’s unice-
looklng one, over there—no, no!—
dancing with the girl in grey. I mean.
If that's one I‘d like to dance with him,
Orson. Good land, what would ‘ the
Winnebago. ladies say! What do they
call ’em, I"wonder." ‘
Mary had been gazing very intent-
ly at the nice-looking one'over there
vmo was dancing with the girl in grey.
"They call them gigolos." she said.
slowly. Then. “Get that one Dad, will
you. if you canthou dance with him
first, Mother. and then I’ll—"
“I can get two." volunteered Orson J.
“No." said Mary Hubbell, sharply.
The nice-looking gigolo seemed to
be in great demand, but Orson J. suc-
ceeded in capturing him after the
third dance. It turned out to be a
tango.
The dance concluded, Mrs. Hubbell
came back breathless. but enchanted.
“He has beautiful manners." she
said, aloud. in English. "And dance!
You feel like a swan when you're
dancing' with him. 'Try him. Mary."
The gigolo's face, as he bowed before
her. was impassive. inscrutable.
But, "Sh!" said Mary.
“Nonsense! Doesn’t
word." '
Mary danced the next dance with
him. - They danced wordlessly until
the dance was half over. Then, ab-
ruptly, Marysaid in English, “What's
your name?" '
He said. in French, “Par'don?”
So. “W’hat‘s your name?"
Mary, in French this time. ,~
The gigolo with the beautiful man-
ners hesitated longer-than really beau-
tiful manners should permit. But
finally, “Je m'appelle Gedeon Gore.”
He pronounced it in his most nasal.
perfect Paris French. It didn't sound
even remotely like Gideon Gory.
“My name's Hubbell." said Mary, In
her pretty fair French. “Lra’ry Hub-
hell. I come from a little town called
Winnebago."
The Gore eyebrow expressed polite
disinterestedness.
“That's in Wisconsin."
understand a
said
continued
. Mary. ”and I love it..."
"Naturellement," agreed the gigolo.
stiffly.
They finished the dance without fur—
thcr conversation. Mrs. Hubbell had
the next dance. Liar-y the next They
spent the afternoon dancing. until
dinner time. Orson J.'s fee. as he
handed it to the gigolo. was the kind
that mounted grandly into dollars in-
stead of mere francs. The gigolo's
face. as he took it. was not more in-
scrutable than Mary‘s as she Watched
h'im take it.
From that afternoon. throughout the
next two weeks. if any girl as
thoroughly fine as Mary Hubbell could
be said to run after any man. Mary
ran after that gigolo. At the same
time one could almost have said that
he tried to avoid her. Mary took a
course of tango lessons. and urged her
mother to do the same. Even Orson
J. noticed it.
“Look here.“ he said, in kindly pro-
test. "Aren't you getting pretty thick
with this jigger?"
"Sociological study. Dad. I'm all
right."
"Yeh. you';e all right. But how
about him?"
“He‘s all right, too."
The gigolo resisted Mary's unmaid-
enly advances. and yet, when he was
with her, he seemed sometimes to for-
get to look sombre and blank and re—
mote. They seemed to have a lot to
say to each other. Mary talked about
America's. good deal. About her home
town-V7” . . . “and big elms and
maples and oaks in the yard . . . .
the Fox River valley . . . Middle
“'est . . Normal Avenue . . .
Cass Street . . Fox River paper
mills . "
She talked in French and English.
The gigolo confessed. one day. to un-
derstanding some English, though he
seemed to speak none. After that
Mary. when very much in earnest. or
when enthusiastic, spoke in her na-
tive tongue altogether. She claimed
an intense interest in European after-
war conditions. in reconstruction, in
the attitude toward life of those mil-
lions of young men who had actually
participated in the conflict. She ask-
ed qmstions that might have been
considered impertinent. not to- say
nervy.
“Now you." she said. brutally. “are
a. person of some education, refine-
ment, and background. Yet you are
content to dance around in these—
these—well. back home a chap might
wash dishes ..in a cheap restaurant or
run an elevator in an east side New
York loft building. but he'd never—"
A very faint dull red crept suddenly
over ethe pailor' of the gigolo's face.
They were sitting out on a bench on
the promenade, facing the ocean (in
direct defiance on Mary's part of all.
rules of conduct of respectable girls
toward gigolos). Mary Hubbell had
said rather brusque things before. But
now, for the first time. the young man
defended himself faintly.
“For. us," he replied in his exquis-
ite French, "it is finished. For us
there is nothing. This generation. it
is no good. I am no "good. They are
no good." He waved a hand in a ges-
ture that included the promenaders,
the musicians in the cafes, the
dancers. the crowds eating and drink-
ing at the little table's lining the walk.
"What rot!” said Mary Hubbell,
briskly. {‘Théy probably said exactly
the same thing in Asia after Alexan-
der had got through with ’em. I sup-
pose there was such dancing and gen-
eral devllmcnt in Macedonia that every
one said the younger generation had
gone to the dogs since the war, and
the world would never amount to any-
thing again. ‘ ”it seemed to pick
up. didn’t it?" ' - ' '
The boy turned and looked at her
squarely for the first time, his eyes
meeting hers. Mary looked at hhn.
She even swayed toward him a. little.
her lips parted. There was about her
a breathlessness, an expectancy. So
they sat for a moment. and. between
them the. air was. electric. "vibrant...
Then. slowly. be relaxed, sat back.
slumped a. little on the bench. Over
his face there. crept ass-in the look of’
defeat. of sombre indifference. At sight
of that look. Mary Hubbell's Jaw set.
She did not iook‘a’t the gigolo. but out.
across the blue Mediterranean. and.
beyond it: Her voice: was low and a;
little tremulous and she spoke in Eng:
lishitnly. . _ _
"It isn't » finished.»_here—here in
Europe. But,- it’s sick. ' Back home. in
America, .,-thqugh.i it’s alive. Alive!
And growing. I wish I mold make
you milder-stand. m t
t's v . . . . ,- » l
' you.
«3
proud of it. I don‘t say’I don’t up,-
preciate the beauty of all this Italy
and France and England and Germany.
mention of a name will get me back
hqme. This trip. for example. Why.
last summer four of us—three other
girls and I—motorcd from Wisconsin
to California. end we drove every inch
of the way ourselves. The Santa Fe
Trail! The Ocean-to-Ocean High-
way! The Lincoln Highway! The
Dixie Highway! The Yellowstone
Trail! The very sound of those words
gives me a. sort of prickly feeling.
They mean something so big and vital
and new. I get a thrill out of than
that I haven't had once over here. Why
even this." she threw out a hand. that
included and dismissed the whole
sparkling panorama before her, “this
doesn't begin to give the jolt that I
got out of Walla “’alla. and Butte.
and Missoula. and Spokane, and
Seattle, and Albuquerque.
all day, and ate ham and eggs at some
little hotel or lunch-counter at night.
and outside the hotel the drummers
would be sitting, talking and smoke
ing; and there were Western men.
very tanned and tall and lean, in those
big two-ga.llon hats and khaki pants
and puttees. And there were‘sunsets.
and sand, and cactus and mountains.
and campers and Fords. I can smell
the Kansas corn fields and I can see
the Iowa farms and the ugly little raw
American towns, and the big thin
American men. and the grain eleva-
tors near the railroad stations.
be it wasn't all beautiful. but gosh! it
was real. and growing, and big and.
alive! Alive!"
Mary Hubbell was crying. There, on
the bench along the promenade in
the sunshine at Nice, she was crying.
The boy beside her suddenly rose.
uttered a little inarticulate sound. and
vanished. completely, in the crowd.
For three days the Orson J. Hub-
bells did not see their favourite gigolo.
If Mary was disturbed she did not
look it. though her eye was alert in
the throng. Mrs. Hubbell and Mary
availed Weselves of the profes—
sional se ces of the Italian gigolo
Mazzetti. Mrs. Hubbell said she
thought his dancing was. if any-
thing, more nearly perfect than that
What's-his—name. but his manner
wasn't so nice and she didn't like his
eyes. Sort of sneaky. Mary said she
thought so. too.
' Nevertheless she was undoubtedly
affable toward him. and talked (in
French) and laughed with him. Maz-
zetti spoke frequently of his colleague.
Gore. and always in terms of dispar-
agement. A low fello A clumsy
dancer. One unworthy of Mary's
swanlike grace. l‘nfit to receive Or-
son J. Hubbell's generous fees.
Late one evening. during the mid-
week after—dinner dance. Gore appear-
ed suddenly in the doorway. Ii: was
ten o'clock. The Hubbells were dal-
lying with their after-dinner coffee at
one of the small tables about the
dance floor.
beckoned Mazzetti who stood in at-
tendance beside Mrs. Hubbell‘s chair.
She snatched up the wrap that lay at
hand and rose. “It's stifling in here.
I‘m going out on the Promenade for
a breath of air. Come on." She
plucked at Mazzetti's sleeve and ac-
tux-11150 propelled him through the crowd
and out of the room. She saw Gore's
startled eyes follow them.
She even saw him crossing swiftly
to where her mother and father sat.
Then she vanished into the darkness
with Mazzetti.
Gedeon Gore stood before Mr. and
. Mrs. Orson J. Hubbell. ‘Where is your
daughter?" he demanded, in French.
"Oh. howdy-do."*chirped Mrs. Hub—
bell.. “VVEII, it's Mr. Gore! We missed
I hope you haven't been sick.".
“\K’here is your daughter?" demand-
ed Gedeon Gore, in French. "Where is
Mary?"
Mrs. Hubbell caught the word Mary.
“Oh. Mary. \Vhy. she's gone out for
a. walk with Mr. Mazzetti."
“Good God!" said Gedeon Gore.
perfectly plain English. And vanish-
ed.
Orson J. Hubbell sat a moment.
thinking. Then, “Why. say, he talk-
ed English. That young French fella
talked English."
The young French fella. hatless, was
skimming down the Promenade des
Anglals, looking intently ahead. and
bdhipd. and to the side, and all around
in the darkness. He seemed to be
following a certain trail. however. At
one side of the great wide walk, fac-
ing the ocean, was a' canopied band-
stand. In its dim shadow, he discern-
ed a wisp of white. He made for it.
swiftly, silently. Mazzetti's voice low.
eager. insistent. Mazzetti‘s voice
hoarse, ugly, importunate. The figure
in white rose. Gore stood before the
two. The girl tookws. step toward him.
but Mazzetti took two steps and
snarled like a villain in a movie. its.
villain in a. movie could be heard to
snarl. .
“Get out of here!" said Mazzetti, in
French, to Gore. “You pig! Swine!
To intrude when I talk with a lady.
You are finished. Now she belongs
to me"
"The hell she does{" said Giddy
Gory in perfectly plain Americanand
swung for Mazzetti with his bad right
arm. Mazzetti, after the fashion of
like fashion with his feet. kicking at
Giddy's stomach and trying to bits
with his small sharp yellow teeth. And.
then Giddy’s left. that had learned
some neat tricks of boxing in the days
of Gory greatness. landed fairly on the
Mazzetti nose.
pain and rage and
zetti, a hand clapped to that bleeding
feature. fled in the darknws. 0
And. "0. Giddy!" said Mary, “I
thought you'd never come."
,“Mary. Mary Hubbcll. Did you
know all the tingei" You did, didn't
you? You think I‘m a bum 1103'!
you? Don‘t you?"
'Her hand on hisshoulder. “GiddY.
I‘ve been stuck on you’since I was nine
years old, in Winnebago. I kept track
of you all through the war. though I
never price w you. Then I lost you.
Giddy, when was a kid I used to look
hedge of the house on Cass. Honesta
'ly. ",Honestiy, Giddy." ~
"“B'ut' look at me ‘now. WhY. ms' _
I’m—I'mpo'good. Why, I don't so. _ .
how you ever knew—1' .
arm to-fool me. Gid. Do you. know.
left up in the attic of the Cass Street
house when we bought it. 1,”
thermal] by heart. Giddy. 7 '
= f ’ . Com’. 0 on home, Giddy.
:0 heme." .
But it‘doesn’t get me the way just the .
We drove '
May- .
Mary. keen—eyed, saw him first. She V
in‘
his kind, let fly in most unsportsman- ‘
And with a. bowl of .
terror the‘ Maz- ..
at you from the sidewalk through tho ‘
: .r‘l.t.,tskes morérthan s.’ new Greek
. nose and ,Fronchfclothes and a bifl
there were a lot of photographs of you“
y:
Norwalk Chronicler