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THE HIGHWAYWOMAN

NO WRITER ATTRIBUTED

Comes winter and with it boardwalks and debutantes, theses and racoons--and Eleanora Sears awalking. From Boston to Providence, from the Biltmore to Beacon Street and all the time with swinging arms and vigorous stride. Like hour exams Miss Sears' pedestrian expeditions have become traditional, if superfluous. She walks fastest who walks alone degenerates not only into a trite axiom but even into a prevarication when Miss Sears takes to the road; a tennis star and four--count 'em four--pacers accompany her, and behind trail two "massive automobiles". This is walking de luxe. But if Trudie merits a jazz band why not pacers and motors for Eleanora?

She walks and for some strange reason she walks to Boston. One recalls places more alluring. There are the White Mountains and then, again, there are the Green Mountains. "There is, or at least was, Coral Gables. And Semerfield, N. J. has its charms. As a last resort there is Roumania. But she chooses Boston, thus proving that you never can tell. To the Herald her accomplishment is a signal for an extra; to the American it means a high life expose. The residents along the Post Roard stand on their porches, shivering in the November dawn, chatting and awaiting the Sears cortege. After it has passed, headed by the ambitious lady, they so back to bed. And by the time they have fallen asleep the parade is miles beyond. For sic transit gloria mundi, gloria pedes and gloria Eleanora.

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