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T h e K i n g ’ s B u s i n e s s
October 1932
Ç!ffeari io Ç ^ fea r itelili ^ )u rY OUNG READERS . . . B y F lorence N ye W hitwell
Franz Josef flushed a little. He was not quite used to some American ways even yet, and his early, highly cor rect training made him blush a trifle for the fat man. Two minutes later, he was standing before the plaster statues—models, it seemed, of statues that stood on pedes tals up and down the Pacific highways. Far into the north and down to the Mexican border were these trophies of art to be seen. “ What are these?” enquired the art-trained European. “ These advertise ‘What-a-Shave.’ ” “ ‘What-a-Shave’ ?” “ Yes, sir! Smoothest article on the market!” Three hours later, the Princeling found himself em ployed. It would at least keep him, and he would be in the open until his Constance came back. In his pocket were instructions, as well as the verse which he considered an impossible doggerel, illustrated by the statues. “ It will not harm the brush,” was the first line. The paint must be renewed on the image of the gentleman in this group, who, surrounded by an admiring family, was ecstatically holding aloft his lathered brush. Commencing with this striking statement, the verse went on : “ It leaves a healthy flush.” This came with attendant statues, a hundred feet farther along the highway. And then the final smashing triumph, still farther along: “ Can use it with a rush—What-a-Shave!” “ And so I, enrolled in the What-a-Shave Company as Franz Schmiddel, am about to help obliterate the land scape,” brooded the Princeling. It did not help him to remember that the corpulent one had eagerly enquired whether Franz Josef and his father had not run a sign painting concern down in Pedro. “ You take to the business s o ! And you look like him —a European, too. Wasn’t your dad a painter ?” “ Well—a,” hesitated the Princeling, “ he knew a lot about painters.” ‘‘Thought so! Well, remember the farther north you go the better I’ll like it. Touch up mother’s bungalow apron in statue number three. G’b y ! Good luck!” * * * * * A new world to the Princeling! A world, first of all, of highway and plaster figures and a rackety old Ford, filled with paint pots and brushes in the rear! A world of gruff men, whose language was strange and terrible! Abysmal moral depths, which he but half comprehended and turned from with a shudder! But, worst of all, it was a Christless world. It was almost as if He had never come and given Himself—al most, but not quite, as yet. But the time could not be far off when even the faint glimmer that was left would be snuffed out. “ My dear boy,” said the keeper of an auto park to whom he had given a Gospel of John, “ I ’m strong for Christian ity, and believe me, there’s not enough of it. I ’ll tell you something: Unless a change comes pretty fast, some thing’s going to break.”
Dividing for an Inheritance the Land “ Only be thou strong and very courageous . . . turn not . . . to the right hand or to the left . . . this book . . . shall not depart __ but thou shalt meditate therein day and night . . . for then thou shalt make thy way prosperous, and then thou shalt have good success ” (Josh. 1:7, 8). he P rinceling looked forlornly after the train that gathered momentum so relentlessly. Right out of the sta tion it moved, just as steadily as if the dearest Constance in the world were not on board. Franz Josef turned sadly and walked away. When would she return ? Who could say! What had become of all the airplane plans, in which he was to have figured as a rising young mechanic? They seemed to have gone up in thin air—or rather, down in the depression. He realized this with his hands in two very empty pockets. “ Cousin Elizabeth Pepper very ill. Operation today. Come at once.” This was the message received yesterday morning from Constance’ mother in Boston, and this morn ing he had watched her go. Althea had gone with her cousin. And Althea’s mother had suddenly pressed every servant in the house into get ting her ready to depart with the girls. Cousin Elizabeth was too important a person to be seriously ill without her own individual attendance. This left the Princeling alone with Mr. Sumner. Mr. Sumner lived to play golf. Franz Josef was a welcome guest, but a lonely one. Memories of the happy daily hours of companionship, of talks about Christian service and the future, assailed him the moment he entered the house. The Thin Red Line were busy with the opening of the fall semester. “ I want work,” he told his host. “ That has become the national anthem,” chuckled Mr. Sumner, as he departed for the Country Club. He paused long enough to throw back the words, “Watch the news papers.” What was so funny, the youthful guest wondered. He did not know how Althea’s father rather relished his posi tion as host to this young ex-royalty. He enjoyed telling his friends about his ingenuous astonishment at American ways. He always ended with: “ A fine lad, frightfully in love with my neice.” * * * * * * Franz Josef was standing before a very fat man. “ I read your advertisement,” he said, and smiled. When the Princeling smiled, three things happened. First, his blue eyes beamed with a steady glow. Second, his whole countenance joined in the glad per formance, and wreathed the occasion with joyousness. Third, the heart of the beholder was warmed in a quite unusual way. Not many people really, truly smile. The corpulent advertiser smiled likewise. “What’d you think of it? So good that you chose it out of all the others in the column, wasn’t it ?” “ Yes,” replied Franz Josef, “ that’s why Pm here.” “ Well, advertising’s my business. I ought to know how to write ’em,” was the modest retort.
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