The Saturday Evening Post 1906-06-09: Vol 178 Iss 50

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST % : IS PUBLISHING COMPANY, PHILADELPHIA

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- CHA

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the company, the pr ict of whi Ss inter- woven with the world's history The new COLT is positive ked against accidenta discharge It ates ONLY \ yo pull the trigger Has the COLT 1 COLT balance ind the COLI a i ‘ l COLT is known YOLICE OSITIVE CALIBRES .32 and .38 Six Shots w for erear * descrites this and all mode's Catalog * ‘Pistols’ PATENT FIREARMS COLTS ui CO. HARTFORD, CONN. 15a Pall Mall, London, S. W. ror" @ blades “Ever-Ready ” Safety Razor Sets at $1.00 $ i Seven ys new des for 7 cE a ; ones and 25 we ce 12 85 Special States } 50. Ever Ready dealers every where «+ American Safety Razor Co., 301 Broadway, New York “Coatless” Suspender Under the Overshirt Over the Undershirt we ' ' ‘ r n 50 cents ; Beware of Imitations Crown Suspender Co. 847 Broadway, New York City t Makes Boys and -? Ss Girls Healthy. Glascoc Racer Three Exercise Motions: kK v'H Gilascock er Bros. ae Mfg. Co. Encased Muncie,Ind Moving Picture Machines N yp NS } BIG ee MONEY Entertaining the Public 1 ¢ es Our Entertainment Supply « Jatalog y ex SS" Sat cont free CHICAGO PROJECTING COMPANY 225 Dearborn Street, Department L, Chicago, li Foreign Subscriptions Subscription Expires |; Py ns THE SATURDAY EVENING POST —THE EDITOR’S COLUMN ~ 423 io 427 Arch Street, Philadelphia By Subscription $1.50 the Year. Five Cents the Copy of All Newsdealers For Countries in the Postal Un Si Remittances to be Made by gie Subsc thor $2 International Postal Money Orde “When Tees nF. = pr Three weeks before a subscription expires we inclose a renewal blank on G which you may write your order for the renewal, and in the last copy sent | , ’ on the old subscription we again inclose a similar blank. | A : When we first notify you teat you nn d , 1 t ll ex e s i P G ld " r r } t Ne / ‘ ‘ nor be e lue t the / t t tle / ‘ “ € te W € r t t i if ) e ‘ t CA ex r ve t tiva An Accidental Plutocrat It was Mr. Doty who became a plutocrat a pudgy finger under Mr. money. Then there were the Vanstarvesynts, who had and turned up their aristocratic noses at the Huggs and the Dotys ginghams, lard, thread, nutmegs, and the like. Of course there were the younger Huggs and Dotys and Vanstarvesynts — fine looking girls and stalwart young men He hated plutocrats and said so, shaking Hugg’s nose. Mr forefathers and ancestry t Marooned on a desert island the fun begins. Doty has all the things the others need; so he becomes a plutocrat But Hugg is a high financier, and he shows Doty what high finance can do without finances. And Mrs. Doty would sell het soul to get into the Vanstarvesynt social set. So there are complications a-plenty ; especially among the younger set, who proceed to fall in love without taking their parents into consideration. The Accidental Plutocrat is by George Randolph Chester and there is a laugh in every line and joy in every paragraph It will appear week after next fate a? dbatee Se Hugg happened to be wallowing in burn, dealers in = Send for the Book Trip tothe Orien Japan-China Fells you what you want t tt t cent (28.000 new twin screw ter tear ) Mint tons Shortest 1 t « Following the mild Japan Current Seattle to Yokohama It tells you all abou ind how 1 Sul xe or other accommodations. The Great Northern ‘Seeametiip Faceted operates in connection with the Great Northern and Northern Paciiic — s. Nhe k | be sent free if C. G. Burnham, G. A., 209 Adams St., Chicago, or Gireat Northern Steamship Agents 413 and 319 1 N 2 208 Dla 207 Wast t ( 21 RY 7ilé . li. G McM t t \ 2i W. W. King, Gicneral Passenger Agent, Seattle, Wash. sails from Seattle July 25th S. S. *‘ Dakota”’ Ss. S. ‘* Minnesota”’ sails from Seattle Sept. ind | oe he. S abe cee AQSEN PAF ie piven puss M Cr nl Improved ] It's fre« A. SCRIVEN CO. N.Y 16 East 15th St, DRAWERS.

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t THE SATURDAY EVENING POST June 9, 1906 The [ruth about the Mutual Life HIS is a matter of great interest to the public, and of still greater interest to thousands of individuals. People with the fairest minds—and that means most people — have been disturbed and unsettled by the developments and denunciations of the past few months. What these people want is the truth—the plain unvarnished truth. To give them this truth is the object of this announcement. The Mutual Life Insurance Company was organized in 1843, the first of its kind in America. In 24 years it had become the largest in the world. For 39 years, in spite of the keenest com- petition, it has held the lead, passing unharmed through panics, failures, strikes and wars; meeting with promptness its every obligation and having 460 millions of assets to-day. The recent Insurance agitation was unique. The investiga- tion certainly was thorough. As every one knows the Mutual Life was on the firing line. The smoke has now cleared away. What do we find ? In the first place we find that the Mutual Life is still the largest and staunchest Life Insurance Company in the world. Without defending or in the least belittling the abuses and extravagances recently brought to light, everybody should keep in mind the fact that the solvency of this Company has not for a moment been affected thereby. Concerning the work of the finance committee which has been attacked in the press, this Company's auditing committee consisting of Messrs. Truesdale, Auchincloss, Fish and Dixon stated on February 15th, 1906: * The Committee certify that the investments of the Company are of the highest order and u ell selected,”’ and = have found the valuation given safe and conservative, in many instances less than the market value and in none in excess of such value.” In the next place, extravagance has been stopped, and those responsible for it have gone; a new management has been in- stalled, and retrenchments have been effected that have already saved vast sums of money and will save much more as time goes on. Legislative reforms have likewise been anticipated, and the Company is now as sound at the circumference as it always has been at the core. The Mutual Life Insurance Company of New York New York In the next place, the ending of the first quarter presents an excellent opportunity for comparing this year with last. The amount paid policy holders is $9,608,436.50, an increase of $1,070,835.26. The receipts for premiums were $15,022,484.57, a decrease of $857,995.29 for the period. This is a shrinkage of less than 5'2 per cent. The amount paid for expenses was $2,935, 552.44, a reduction of $1,547,279. 36. This remarkable showing is a good thing to be kept in mind by everybody —those now insured in the Mutual Life, and those who should be. It cannot be accounted for by the smaller amount of new business written. Of the saving for the quarter, the sum of $390,961.52 is in items not connected with the ob- taining of new business. In the next place we find that this Company is doing busi- ness — more business than any other company in the world with one exception. Far from being paralyzed or demoralized it is forging right ahead. Policies by the hundred are being written each day ; honest trustees, keenly alert, are directing its affairs; faithful and experienced men are doing its intricate work ; loyal agents are explaining its advantages and discriminating people are obtaining its protection. In the next place we find that there need be no question as to the future. A policy in the Mutual Life is just as good as gold. No obligation could possibly be better. A bond of the United States Government is no safer. It will, therefore, be a misfortune if any one is misled by the writer who prints for rev- enue or for notoriety, or by the attorney who is out for his clients, or the competitor who is out for himself, or even by the gentle- men who have organized themselves into committees under an honest misapprehension of the facts. Such incidents may tend to hinder business, but need deter no one who needs insurance. With economy, which means rapid improvement in regard to earning of- surplus for dividends, everywhere at work in the Mutual Life; with its immense size as the basis for moderate general expenses; with smaller liability for renewal commissions to agents than any other Company; with the cost of new business limited by law for all Companies, how can any one possibly better provide for the uncertainties of the future than through a policy in the first Insurance Company in America, and the strongest in the world — The Mutual Life has devised and placed on the market at a notably low rate, a policy which provides protection more far-reaching than an ordinary contract. Send your address and let us inform you as to the particulars.

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST in the United States and Great Britain as Second~-Class Matter Published Weekly at 425 Arch Street by THE CurTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY London: Hastings House, 10,Norfolk Street, Strand,W.C. Copyright 1906, by THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY, Founded A°D' 1728 by Benj Franklin Entered atthe Philadelphia Post-Office Volume 178 PHILADELPHIA, JUNE 9, 1900. unin Oe THE NOOSE sg ene ‘ * The Kettle Hole Ranch @ i HE Kettle Hole Ranch house e saddle-bags and a tooth-brush on facesa wide, treeless valley and A Story of Love and the Alien slicker; hanged if he don’t usé is backed by an equally bare too! ; hill. To the west the purple peaks That's what I like about hin of the Rampart Range are visible. she answered defiantly We're all isco: By BAMEIN GARLAND *=S: persed cabins--not Western enough we live. I wish he'd jack us al to be picturesque, and so far from a bit.” being Eastern as to lack cleanliness or even comfort, and the young Englishman who Truly Fan was under conviction, brought to a realization of her slouchiness by Lest rode over the hill one sunset was bitterly disappointed in the ‘‘ whole plant.”’ care of his own room as well as by his lofty manners. She no longer wore her dress opet ‘I shall stay here but one night,”’ said he as he entered the untidy house. at the throat, and she kept her yellow hair brushed, trying hard to make each meal ; He stayed five years, and the cause of this change of mind lay in the person of Fan little less like a pig's swilling. She knew how things ought to be done, a little, for at Blondell, the daughter of the old man who owned the ranch and to whom young Lester ‘‘The Gold Fish Ranch" and at Starr Baker's everything was spick and span (Mrs. Bal had been sent to ‘‘learn the business”’ of cattle-raising. especially was a careful and energetic housekeeper), but to keep to this higher ke Fan was only seventeen at this time, but in the full flower of her physical perfection. every day was too great an effort even for a girl in love. She dropped back, now a Lithe, full-bosomed and ruddy, she radiated a powerful and subtle charm. She had the again, weary and disheartened face of a child—happy-tempered and pure -but every movement of her body appealed It was her mating-time. She leaned to Lester from the first glances The strang with dangerous directness to the sickly young Englishman who had never known an _ ness of his accent, his reference to things afar off, to London and Paris, appealed to h hour of the abounding joy of life which had been hers from the cradle. Enslaved to her in the same way in which poetry moved her—diml aguely it his hands, his eye at the first glance, he resolved to win her love his tender, low-toned voice won her heart. She hovered aby } hen he wa His desire knew no law in affairs of this kind, but his first encounter with Blondell home, careless of the comments of the other men, ignoring the ting f put a check to the dark plans he had formed —for the rancher had the bearing of anaged, mother. She had determined to win him, no matter what the f f moth-eaten, but dangerous old bear. His voice was a rumble, his teeth were broken — her all men were of the same social level and she as good as the ee 1, she | fangs, and his hands resembled the paws of a gorilla. Like so many of those Colorado no other world than the plains of Colorado, for she was bort the little dugout whiel ranchers of the early days, he was a Missourian, and his wife, big, fat, worried and com- _ still remained a part of the kitchen. The conventions of ‘ i not nt with he plaining, was a Kentuckian. Neither of them had any fear of dirt, She was already aware of her power, 1 nd v ed amor and Fan had grown up not merely unkempt, but smudgy. Her gown rough men of her acquaintance with the p of an Amazonian que was greasy, her shoes untied, and yet, strange to say, this carelessness unafraid, unabashed. She was not in awe of Lester; on the exercised a subduing charm over Lester, who was fastidious to the trary, her love for him was curiously mingled with a certain sist point of wasting precious hours in filling his boots with ‘‘trees’’ and almost maternal, pity; he was so ea flustered He was, i folding his neckties. The girl’s slovenly habits of dress indicated, to certain sense, on her hands like an invalid his mind, a similar recklessness as to her moral habits, and it some- She soon learned that he is Wax beneath her palm — that times happens that men of his stamp come to find a fascination in t h of at I rm made | uneasy of eye and tr ' the elemental in human life which the orderly no longer possess. of lir It ar ed her experiment with hit { mmand hit Lester, we may explain, was a ‘‘remittance man’’-—a youth sent to demand speech of him when he is I ingry and disgusté to America by his family on the pretense of learning to raise cattle, h th e he was livir That he des} 1} ither and mothe but in reality to get him out of the way. He was not a bad man; on she did not |} v, but that he wa I boys and tl the contrary, he was in most ways a gentleman and a man of some i he did know, and she understood q is Well as if he | reading — but he lacked initiative, even in his villainy. Blondel] at ilread 1 her that she ne kept him fr ‘ nit ce once called him ‘‘a lazy hound’’— provoked thereto by Lester's slow- Der tr me other manner of earning a | This reali ness of toilet of a morning, and had it not been for Fan —backed " her pride and by the fifty dollars a month which Lester was paying for ‘‘instruc- She had but one jealousy — he admired and trusted Mrs. Baker ar tion’’—-he would have been “‘ booted off the place.” occasionally rode over there to talk with her--and Fan could not Fan laughed at herfather. ‘‘ You better goslow; George Adelbert understand that he sought intellectual refuge from the mental is heeled.”’ squalor of the Blondells. but she perceived a difference in his gl Blondell snorted. ‘‘Heeled! He couldn’t unlimber his gun in- on his return. Mrs. Baker, being a keer hted, practical little side of fifteen minutes.”’ woman, soon fell upon the plainest kind of speech with tl “Well, he can ride.” The Rancher had the Bearing of Englishman f The old man softened a little. ‘‘ Yes, he can ride, and he don't an Aged, Moth-Eaten, but This is no place for you,”’ she defiantly said The rest of complain once he gets mounted, but he carries ‘pajammys’ in his Dangerous Old Bear are all more or less born to the plains and farm-life — but you're not }

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a THE SATURDAY EVENING POST you're just ‘sagging’--that’s all. You're getting deeper into the slough all the time.” “Quite right,’’ he answered, ‘‘but I don’t know what else I can do. I have no trade—I know nothing of any art or profession, and my brother is quite content to pay my way so long as he thinks I’m ona ranch, and in the way of learning the business.” She, with her clear eyes searching his soul, replied: “The longer you stay the more difficult it will be to break away. Don't you see that? You're in danger of being fastened here forever.” He knew what she meant, and his thin face flushed. ‘‘I know it and I am going to ask Starr to give me a place here with you, and I'm about to write my brother stating full reasons for the change. He might advance me enough te buy into Starr’s herd.” She considered this. ‘‘I'll take the matter up with Starr,”’ she replied, after a pause. ‘‘Meanwhile, you can come over and stay as a visitor as long as you please — but don’t bring Fan,” she added sharply. ‘‘I can’t stand slatterns, and you must cut loose from her once for all.” Again he flushed. ‘Il understand-——but it isn’t easy. Fan has been mighty good to me — life would have been intolerable over there to get up in the morning. So you better vamoose to- morrow.” Lester received his sentence in silence. At the moment he was glad of it. He turned on his heel and went to pack- ing with more haste, with greater skill, than he had ever displayed in any enterprise hitherto. His hurry arose from a species of desperation. ‘‘If I can only get out of the house!”’ was his inward cry. ““Why pack up?”’ he suddenly asked himself. ‘‘ What do they matter—these boots and shirts and books?”” He caught a few pictures from the wall and stuffed them into his pockets, and was about to plunge out into the dusk when Fan entered the room and stood looking at him with ominous intentness. She was no longer the laughing, romping girl, but the woman with alert eye and tightly-closed lips. ‘‘ What are you doing, Dell?” ‘“Your father has ordered me to leave the ranch,” he answered, ‘‘and so I’m going.” ‘“‘No you’re not! I don’t care what he has ordered! You're not going’’— she came upand put her arms about his neck -‘‘ not without me.”’ And feeling her claim to pity June 9, 1906 on the table, his hair unkempt, his face glowering, a gloom- ing contrast to his radiant and splendid daughter who faced him fearlessly. ‘‘Dad, what do you mean by talking this way to George Adelbert? He’s going to stay and I’m going to stay, and you’re going to be decent about it, for I’m going to marry him.” *‘No you're not!”’ he blurted out. ‘‘Well, Iam!”’ She drew nearer and with her hands on the table looked down into his wind-worn face and dim eyes. “‘T say you've got to be decent. Do you understand?” Her body was as lithe, as beautiful, as that of a tigress as she leaned thus, and an unalterable resolution blazed in her eyes as she went on, a deeper significance coming into her voice: ‘‘Furthermore, I’m as good as married to him right now, and I don’t care who knows it.” The old man’s head lifted with a jerk and he looked at her with mingled fear and fury. ‘‘What do you mean?” “‘Anything you want to have it mean,’’ she replied. ‘*You drive him out and you drive me out — that’s what I mean.” Blondell saw in her face the look of the woman who is willing to assume any guilt, any shame for her lover, and, dropping his eyes before her gaze, growled a curse and left the room. but for her.” ‘*T should think life would have been intolerable with her,’’ Mrs. Baker an- swered with darkening brow, and then they talked of other things till he rose to ride away. He headed his horse homeward, fully resolved to give notice of removal — but he did not. On the contrary, he lost himself to Fan. The girl, glowing with love and anger and at the very climax of her animal beauty, developed that night a subtlety of approach, a method of attack which baffled, and in the end overpowered him. She was adroit enough to make no mention of her rivals; she merely set herself to cause his committal, to bend him to her side. As the romping girl she played round him, indifferent to the warning glances of her mother, her shining, her cheeks glowing, till the man he was, the life he had lived, the wishes of his brother, were fused and lost in the blind passion of the present. ‘*This glorious, glowing creature be mine- what does ali the rest matter?’’ was his final word of renunciation. In this mood he took her to his arms, in this madness he told her of his love, committing himself into her hards declining into her life, and in the end requested of her parents the honor of their daughter’s hand Mrs. Blondell wept a tear or two and weakly gave her consent, but the old ranchman thundered and lightened. “What can you do for my girl?” he demanded. ‘As I understand it, you haven't acent— the very clothes you've got on your back are paid for by some- body What right have you to come to me with such a proposal ?”’ To all this Lester, surprised and dis- concerted, could but meekly answer that he hoped soon to buy a ranch of his own that his brother had promised to “‘set him up” as soon as he had mastered the business. Blondell opened his jaws to roar again when Fan interposed, and taking a clutch in his shagg¥ beard ssid calmly: Now, Dad, youhush! George Adelbert apd I have made it all up and you better fallin gracefully. It won’t do you any eves can else! Fan turned to her lover with a ring- ing, boyish laugh: ‘“Tt’sallright, Dell; he’ssurrendered!”’ Wm | patton passed the month before his marriage in alternating uplifts and depressions, and the worst of it lay in the fact that his moments of exaltation were sensual-—of the flesh, and born of the girl’s presence — while his depression came from his sane contemplation of the fate to which he was hastening He went one day to talk it all over with Mrs. Baker, who now held a dark opinion of Fan Blondell. She frankly advised him to break the engagement and to go back to England. “Tl can’t do that my dear Mrs Baker —-I am too far committed to Fan to do that. Besides, | know she would make a terrible scene. She would follow me. And besides, | am fond of her, you know. She's very beautiful, now and she does love me, poor beggar! | wonder at it, but she does.”” Then he brightened up. ‘‘You know she has the carriage of a duchess — really, if she were trained a little, she would be quite presentable anywhere.” Mrs. Baker shook her head. ‘‘She’s at her best this minute. Look at the mother: that’s what she’ll be like in a few years.” “Oh, no—not really! She’s an im- provement a vast improvement on the old people, don’t you think?” ‘You can’t make a purse out of a sow’sear. Fan will sag right down after marriage. Mark my words. She’s a slattern in her blood, and before the honeymoon is over she'll be slouching around in old slippers and her night- gown. That is plain talk, Mr. Lester, but I can’t let you go into this trap with your eyes shut.” Lester went away with renewed de- termination to pack his belongings and bolt, but the manly streak in his blood made it impossible for him to go with- out some sort of explanation to her. The other hands, who called him ‘George Adelbert’’ in mockery, were more‘and more ¢ontemptuous of him, and one or two were sullen, for they good to paw the dirt and beller.”’ Lester grew sick for a moment as he realized the temper of the family into which he was about to marry, but when Fan, turning with a gay laugh, put her round, smooth arm about his neck, the rosy cloud closed over his head again. “ YLONDELL was silenced, but not convinced. A penni- Fan was his only child, and the big ranch over which he presided was worth sixty thousand dollars. What right had this lazy Englishman to come in and marry its heiress? The more he thought about it the angrier he grew, and when he came in the following night he broke forth. “See here, mister, I reckon you better get ready and pull out. I'm not going to have you for a son-in-law, not this The man that marries my Fan has got to have and wit enough less son-in-law was not to his liking season. the enough to round up a flock of goats It's No Use” “Pull up, Dell. he took her in his arms and tenderly pressed her cheek upon his Then she began to weep. “I can't live without you, Dell,” she moaned. He drew her closer, a wave of tenderness rising in his bosom. heart. ‘‘I’ll be lonely without you, Fan —but your father isright. I am too poor —we have no home - “What does that matter?’’ she asked. ‘‘I wouldn't marry you for any amount of money! And i know you don’t care for this old ranch —/°// be glad to get shut of it. I'll go with you, and we'll make a home somewhere else.”’ Then her mood changed. Her face and voice hardened. She pushed herself awayfromhim. ‘‘No, I won’t! I'llstay here and so shall you! Dad can’t boss me, and I won't let him run you out. Come and face him up with me.” So, leading him, she returned to the kitchen where Blondell, alone with his wife, was eating supper, his elbows loved Fan and resented this ‘“‘lily- fingered gent,’’ who was to their minds ‘after the old man’s acres.’”” Young Compton, the son of a neighboring rancher, was most insulting, for he had himself once carried on a frank court- ship with Fan—and enjoyed a brief, half-expressed en- gagement. He was a fine young fellow, not naturally vindictive, and he would not have uttered a word of protest had his successful rival been a man of ‘‘the States,”’ but to give way to an English adventurer whose way was paid by his brother was a different case altogether. Of George Adelbert’s real feeling the boys, of course, knew nothing. Had they known of his hidden contempt for them they would probably have taken him out of the country at the end of a rope--but of his position with Fan they were in no doubt, for she was very frank with them. If they accused her of being ‘‘sweet on the bloody English- man’”’ she laughed. If they threatened his life in a jocular way she laughed again, but in a different way, and said:

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‘‘Don’t make a mistake—George Adelbert is a fighter from way back East.’ And once, in a burst of rage, she said: ‘‘I won’t have you saying such things, Lincoln Comp- ton—I won't have it, I tell you!’ No one could accuse her of disloyalty or cowardice. In his letters home Lester had put his fiancée’s best foot forward. ‘‘She’s quite too good for me,”’ he wrote to his brother. ‘‘She’s young and beautiful and sole heiress of an estate twice as big as our whole family can muster. She’s uncultivated, the diamond in the rough, and all that sort of thing, you understand, but she'll polish easily.” He put all this down in the sardonic wish to procure some sort of settlement from his brother. He got it by return mail. Edward was suavely congratulatory, and in closing said ‘I’m deucedly glad you're off my hands just now, my boy, for I’m confoundedly hard up. You're doing the sensible thing —only don't try to bring your family home —not at present.”’ Lester was thrown into despairing fury by this letter, which not only cut him off from his remittances, but politely shut the paternal door in his own face as well as in the face of his bride. For the moment he had some really heroic idea of setting to work to show them what he could do. “The beggar! He squats down on the inheritance, shoves me out, and then takes on a lot of ‘side’ as to his superiority over me! He always was a self-sufficient ass. I'd like to punch his jaw!”’ Then his rage faded out and a kind of sullen resignation came to him. What was the use? Why not submit to fate? ‘‘Everything has been against me from the start,”’ he bitterly complained, and in this spirit he approached his wedding day. The old man, acknowledging him as a son-in-law pros- pective, addressed him now with gruff kindness, and had Lester shown the slightest gain in managerial ability he would have been content—glad to share a little of his responsibility with a younger man. In his uncouth, hairy, grimy fashion Blondell was growing old and feeling it. As he said to his wife: ‘‘It’s a pity that our only child couldn’t have brought a real man, like Compton, into the family. There ain’t a hand on the place that wouldn't ‘a’ been more welcome tome. What do you suppose would become of this place if it was put into this dandy’s hands?” “I don’t know, pa. Fan, for all her slack ways, is a purty fair manager. She wouldn’t waste it. She might let it run down, but she’d hang on to it.” **But she’s a fool about that jackass.’ M O R iv T WAS cold in the train—icy cold, B and in spite of his fur coat Sir . 4 Richard found himself shivering. Only his arm hanging in a splint burned with the fires of hell, as if imps with red-hot pincers were slowly tearing apart the nerves. Sir Penniston, sitting opposite, smiled encouragingly at him. There were several people in the carriage. The lamps had been lighted and in the corner, beside a large black case, containing instruments probably, sat Jermyn. Next to him came Joyce, looking exceedingly respectable and very solemn. But the other three he did not remember to have seen before—that tall, white-whiskered man in the otter collar: he probably had been presented and Sir Richard had forgotten. Then there was a big, broad-shouldered fellow in a soft cap, and next to him a slender, white-faced youth whose chin was buried in the depths of his coat collar and whose hands were thrust deep into his pockets. The big man looked out the window occasionally and inquired the time, but the youth beside him kept his eyes fast shut and hardly moved. Had he not been sitting bolt upright Sir Richard fancied that the latter might have been taken for a corpse. ‘*‘Woxton next stop, gentlemen!” annvunced the guard, opening the door for an instant as the train paused at a way station. A cold blast of air followed and Mortmain’s teeth chattered. It was quite dark in the compartment and he felt very weak and miserable. He could not remember getting aboard the train, but the purport of it all was unmistakable. The agonies of the morning rushed back across his memory, and his hand throbbed and twisted within the splint. He felt sick and faint and the atmos- phere of the carriage seemed suffocating. ‘“‘How much farther is it?’’ inquired the man in the otter collar. ‘We've been traveling for hours!”’ “Only eight miles,” answered Crisp cheerfully. ‘‘It certainly has seemed an unearthly distance.” There was a long silence punctuated only by the puffing of the engine and the shriek of the whistle. Suddenly the pale young man whimpered. The sound sent a chill to the marrow of Sir Richard’s spine. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST She Sowed Her “ Bids" Broadcast ‘*She is now,” answered the mother, with cynical empha- sis -which she softened by adding Dell ain’t the kind that would try to work her.’ He sighed with troubled gaze and grumbled an oath ‘*T don’t know what to think of him! ’ And in that rather mournful spirit he went about his work, leaving the whole matter of the marriage festival in the hands of the women. Ina dim way he still felt that haste was necessary, although Fan's joyous, as careless, and as innocent as a child's. As she galloped about the country with her George Adelbert she sowed her ‘bids’’ broadcast, as if wishing all the world to share her happiness. There was nothing exclusive, or shrinking, or parsimonious in Frances Blondell He pits me face was as Iv HE marriage feast was indeed an epoch-marking event inthecounty. It resembled a barbecue and was quite as inclusive. Distinctions of the were few in Arapahoe County. Cattle-rustlers and sheep-men wert debarred of course, but from these unfortunates practically the whole population of men, women, children T M social sort aside ARTHUR TRAIN “Tf thy right hand offend thee, cut it off, and cast it from thee “; whispered the Then he fell to sobbing in the depths of his collar, but without opening his eyes ‘‘Come, come, my man! None of that!’ cried Crisp angrily. ‘‘ You're a lucky fellow! Why, as good as made.” Mortmain shuddered. ‘‘If thine hand offend thee “If thine hand offend ‘ youth. your fortune is ’ he repeated to himself. Then he became conscious of still another presence somewhere —a presence that watched him furtively, but hungrily, with eager, greedy eyes. He stared along the seats and into the crannies. Could it have been a face at the window? No, the black night rushed by steadily and blankly. And yet he could not convince himself that another face had not been there a moment before The train slowed up W ith a screeching of the brakes and vametoastop. The door was fiung open; his companions hurriedly arose, and the broad-shouldered young man placed his arm protectingly about the baronet and assisted him tothe platform. A fine snow was sifting down silently over the lamplit road and upon two large depot wagons standing beside the station. Again Mortmain was con- scious of a presence. He glanced quickly platform and thought he saw a shadow spring from a rear carriage and leap into the darkness of the bushes **What was that?” But the others paid no attention, being busily engaged in deporting their cases and portmanteaus. The train started on again. Only the station-agent left, his lantern making an opaque circle in the intense darkness of the snow-filled night. The horses champed impatiently, and as quickly as was possible the party divided and climbed into the wagons, Crisp, the nurse and Mortmain entering the last. The doors were slammed to and they started. Still Mortmain felt convinced that they were not alone. Looking back across the he gaspe d was babies marriage and assembled in the The repeated several times Blondell found it a hard day, fo was to be co,” as the Limon the roasting ox and the ice and the beer he was almost t busy to say hello to his guest Fan had contrived to get a clean shirt on him by the trick of whisking away his old one and substituting a white one in its place He put this on without realizing how splendid it was, but rebelled flatly at the collar, and by the time the ox was well basted his shirt was subdued to a condition which left him almost at ease with himself Fan received the peo} le at the door of the shack her mother being too busy in the preparation for dinner to do more than say ‘‘ Howdy to those who deliberately sought her out -but Fan was not embarrassed or wearied. It was her great day —she v 1 when s only a little disturbed George Adelbert fled to h ra little relief from the strain of his position for he lacked both her serenity of spirit and her physical health Once Lester would have enjoyed the action and comment of these people as characters in a play, but now the knowl edge that he was about to sink to their level and be nailed there filled him with a fear and disgust which not even the radiant face and alluring body of his bride could conceal or drive out These lumbering ranchers, these tobacco-chewing, drawling lumpkins, were they to be his companions for the rest of his life These women with their toothless, shap: mouths, these worn and weary mothers in home-made calico and cheap millinery, were they to be the visitors at his fireside What kind of woman would they make of Fan By one o'clock the corrals were fuli of ponies and the sheds and yards crowded with carriages all faded by the pitiless sun and sucked dry by the never-resting wind of the plain. Meanwhile the young women had set long tables in the back vard and covered them with food contributed chicken, home-made biscuit, cake and pie, while the young fellows had been noisily working at constructing a ‘‘ bow ery”’ for the dance which was to follow the ceremony at three And at last Fan raised a bugle all for firtne “4 and they all came with a rush rhe feast did not last long, for every ons hungry and ate without permitting delay Nearly all remarked on having had a very early breakfast, and they certainly showed capacity for not merely beef and beer, but was or distraction n etonl A IN just as leaving the dim lights of the stat could have sworn that he saw the figure of a man running steadily along behind, crouching low against the road. To the south a distant glow bespoke the lights of a village, but the wagons swung h urply to the north and plunged into a wood \ drowsiness had come over the baronet and he pressed close to the nurse, terrified and shaken by the dread of some approaching peril This hired man seemed nearer to him than any other living soul. He cried softly, fearing to be observed, and the tears coursed down h hot cheel and lost themselves in his furs. Now and then he would listen intently for the sound of some one running, but he could hear nothing save the crunch of the wheels and the le of the harness. Yet he knew that just behind them, clinging sing that mysterious figure to their wheel, was pre leaped into the darkness beside the tation After what seemed an hour, a bend in the road di losed a single light not far ahead and in a few moments the wagons stopped before a high wall. The part t out and Crisp Mortmain fixedly down the to creep swiltly opened the gate into view Here we are!”’ cri¢ until I notify the ita moment As the surgeon hastened up the paved walk to the cottage, the wagons turned and started back at a brisk trot, like a home-going funeral processiotr All the windows were dark and Mortmain clung sobbing to the nurse's arm Hit’s all right, sir whispered the latter ! pathet ieally Hit’s all right!”’ Slowly the party made their way to the porch A light appeared in the lower windows, then the door was opened The nurse, half-carrying the baronet, he Ipe d him into the hall and seated him upon a wooden chai As the door closed Mortmain saw a shadow at the gate. **Look! Look!” he cried. The warm air swallowed him up; he felt a rush of blood to his neck and face; the figures about him swayed and swam in the dim light; there was a stabbing pain in his hand and he knew no more

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He Became Conscious of Still Another Presence When Mortmain was able once more to reappear in society he was astonished to find that the murder of Lord tussell was no longer a matter of interest or of discussion. The temporarily shocked and horrified community had apparently within a short time placidly accepted it, and, apart from occasional references in the newspapers, it was rapidly becoming a mere matter of history, taking its proper chronological place in the long list of London’s unsolved mysteries. It had been given out at the time that the horrible death of his old friend had so prostrated the baronet that he had been threatened with total collapse, and had only been restored to health by remaining in bed under the constant care of acertain distinguished physician. At times Mortmain was almost inclined to believe this himself, for the ghastly night at the lonely farmhouse, his ensuing illness and slow recovery, seemed, in the full swing of the London season and contrasted with the brilliant colors of its festivities, less like actuality than a dreadful nightmare which continually obtruded itself upon his recollection. But he had assumed his place in fashion- able life with the same inevitable assurance as of old, and, picking up his cards where he had left them lying face downward upon the table, had resumed the deal as if nothing had occurred But Sir Richard was not the same. His glass showed him to be pale r than of yore, his eves more dee ply sunke n, his hair touched at the edges with a ghost of white, the lines of his mouth more firmly marked. His friends jokingly told him that he was growing old. He had paid a heavy price for what he had bought, yet it was not loss of vitality, not physical shock alone that had thus aged him, but a ghastly, damning fact that never left him for an instant, waking or sleeping: the fact that the man had died. They had not told him at first—it might have affected his cure. The result upon his spiritual being when he learned of it had been no less disastrous. The man had died. There was no longer any pensioner to claim his annuity; no creditor even to demand the price of his awful bargain; no witness to testify to its hideous terms —he had fled the jurisdiction of all earthly courts. Sir Richard was free. Sut the thought of that life forfeited to his own egotism was a millstone about his neck, bowing him forever to theground. rlowever, Mortmain was not a person to permit what he regarded as mere sentimentality to get the better of him. Within a week he was again ‘“‘among those present”’ at every gathering of note, and he had dropped hints of his intention to give a new and unique musical entertainment which was to surpass anything of the kind theretofore attempted. He had also resumed his attentions to Lady sella Forsythe with a definite purpose—that of rendering himself financially impregnable He intentionally talked frankly of Lord Russell. The old man had been highly respected and, indeed, moderately prominent in philanthropic circles. Mortmain had made a point of going personally to see the bas-relief erected to his memory He learned that the next of kin was a Devon man who never came up to town, and that the executors had taken possession almost immediately and disposed of the house to an American millionaire, who was even now remodeling the historic mansion, inserting Grecian columns and putting on a Chateau de Nevers roof. Of course he inspected this with friends, was properly disgusted, and seized the opportunity to gratify his curiously morbid hunger for the details of the murder. He learned that, though few of the facts were known to the public, opinion had crystallized intoasettled acceptance that the murderer had made good his escape and that the identity of the ii THE SATURDAY EVENING POST murderer was known. In fact, the silence of Scotland Yard was rendered nugatory by the reward of £1000 offered by the County Council for the apprehen- sion of Saunders Leach, the re- cently discharged secretary of the philanthropist. Nothing had been heard of him since Lord Russell’s butler had ad- mitted him to the house, an hour or two before the murder, upon his representation that he had come to look over some papers at the re- quest of his erst- while master. The butler, a most respectable person, had introduced him into the library, where Lord Russell was, and departed. He had recalled afterward —it had come out at the hearing at the Central Criminal Court that he had heard the sound of voices raised at a high pitch, but, as his master was at times somewhat querulous, this had not particularly attracted his attention. An hour later, when he had brought the evening papers, he had discovered the aged man lying face downward upon his desk, and a window, bearing the bloody traces of the assassin, open to the night. And Leach had vanished as if he had never lived. But the thing most puzzling to Sir Richard, as to every- body else, was the failure of any apparent motive for so ghastly a deed. Leach, according to old Floyd the butler, had been a very decent sort of fellow, rather sickly Floyd took him to be, without any particular faults or virtues. It seemed to outrage reason to suppose that an anwemic little clerk could have murdered a helpless old man simply out of revenge for having lost his place. And then nothing had been stolen—that is, nobedy but Sir Richard knew that anything had been stolen. Yet the public and the London County Council pronounced unhesitatingly as estab- lished fact that Saunders Leach was the assassin, and that he should be hunted down to the very ends of the world and, if need be, followed into the next. Only Scotland Yard remained silent after annexing the contents of the room, the windows, the carpet, and even portions of the faded paper from the very walls themselves. Then Parliament had gone into a convulsion over a proposed excise alteration and London had forgotten the murder of Lord Russell in its feverish interest in the expected legislative abortion. There had been an appeal to the country; a Premier had retired to Italy; some few thousands had been added to the credit column of the national ledger at the expense of a ministry, and once more the advent of royalty at St. James had dazzled the cockney eye and filled the cockney mouth to the stultificaticn of the cockney brain. Lord Russell was forgotten—as completely as Saunders Leach —as totally as an isle sunk beneath the waters of oblivion. The first time Sir Richard had essayed to write he had been deliciously horrified at the ease with which his pencil had followed the pressure of his new fingers. His recent clothes added an extra inch to his sleeves and his broad cuffs fully concealed the white seam that ran around his wrist. The hand itself served his purposes well enough, but unmistakably it was not hisown. He never laid the two together — never let his eyes fall upon the vicarious fingers if he could avoid it, for inevitably a sickening sensation of repulsion followed. His own fingers were long and tapering, the nails fine with pro- nounced ‘‘crowns,”’ the back of the hand slender and smooth; the new one was broad and hairy, the fingers shorter and square at the ends, the nails thick and dull with no ‘“‘crowns,”’ and the veins blue and prominent. There were too many pores! He loathed the thing, tell himself as often as he would that it was nothing but a mechanical device to supple- ment Nature. He felt somehow as if he were married to an ugly, coarse, vulgar widow after having been divorced from a beautiful wife. Physically he felt as if he were wearing a glove that was too small for him, into which he had been forced to stuff his hand. This seemed to produce a tight, swollen sensation which was the only indication of his abnormal condition. He ate, drove, used his keys, articulated his fingers, and even wrote with the same muscular freedom as before. His June 9, 1906 chirography actually and undeniably exhibited the same general characteristics, only intensified and with less certainty of stroke and pen-pressure. The letters which had previously been merely somewhat original in structure as suited a man of fashion, now became humpbacked and deformed. It was as though the spiritual qualities of Sir Richard’s penmanship had shrunk away, leaving only the grotesque residue of a dwarfed and evil nature. But apart from the question of chirography one other manifestation constantly reminded Mortmain of his crime. This was an itching in the grafted hand whenever its possessor became angry or excited. Even hard physical exercise produced the same phenomenon. It seemed as if Nature, having provided for the circulation of a certain amount of blood, found on reaching this particular ex- tremity that the supply exceeded the power of reception. If angered, he found himself indulging in almost ungovern- able fits of passion, with his eyes suffused and his head buzzing. At times he experienced an almost irresistible impuise to throttle somebody. On the slightest provoca- tion the fingers of his right hand would curve and clutch, and a fierce longing seize him to compass the extinction of life in some animate being —to feel the slackening of the muscles in some victim —an emotion elemental, barbarous, cruel, but keen, masterful and pervading. He had an ex- hilarating sensation of strength and vitality new to him. Moreover, his attitude toward his fellow-men had imper- ceptibly altered. Before his operation he had hated all evil-doers and been strongly loyal to government and law now he sympathized with the lawbreakers. In defying society and deliberately violating its statutes, he had al- lied himself with its enemies. This he realized and accepted. At any moment he might be called upon to face a criminal prosecution for the felony of mutilation; and there was still the peculiar and inexplicable silence of Flaggs in regard to the papers which he had taken away with him on the morning after the murder. No word had ever passed between them on the subject, and yet the notes were outstanding and in the hands of a more dangerous holder than even Lord Russell himself. By merely handing them to the executors, Flaggs could not only throw Sir Richard into bankruptcy, but could place him in the awkward position of having suppressed the notes at the time of Lord Russell's death. That, too, would lead to a still further and more delicate complication. He would naturally be asked how he had secured possession of the notes. It would be clear that they were in Lord Russell's hands at the time of the murder. Flaggs would explain that he had procured them from Sir Richard. So far as he was concerned, he had been safely ‘“‘jugged”’ at the time of the murder. He could call a score of sergeants, matrons and bobbies to prove that, and es- tablish it by the police records themselves. Where, then, people would want to know, had Sir Richard obtained them? It would be a hard question to answer in such a way that the answer would carry any sort of conviction with it. No one, of course, would believe that he had found them, as infact was the case. Any such explanation would excite instant suspicion. If he should say that he had paid them and had received the notes from Lord Russell's lawyers, inquiry would at once demonstrate that the lawyers had never had possession of the notes, or received any money from Sir Richard. If he said that he had taken the money to Lord Russell and received the notes from him, his own evidence would place him upon the scene of the murder at approximately the moment of it. Further, no draft in The Dead-White Hand Twitching and Throbbing — Until He Thought a ‘3 , He Should Go Mad . \

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payment of the notes would be found among Lord Russell's papers, and the suspicion would immediately arise that he had proffered a forged draft to secure possession of the notes, and then murdered the old man to get it back. It was indeed a predicament of the In Sir Richard the horrible unfairness of it hatred for a society in which such things were possible. He looked at any moment to find himself made the defendant in a criminal prosecution, just or unjust the unjust the difficult of the two to escape. He needed money — money to fight with, money to live on, money to ke hollow pretense of respectability. And as his attitude toward society gradually changed, the dead-alive thing at his wrist with the white seam throbbed and itched until Mortmain longed fiercely to tear it off. At night he would dream —and this dream repeated itself over and over again that he was fastened to some miserable convict, shackled by the wrist in such a way that somehow they two had grown together, and as he struggled in his sleep his fellow would turn into the grinning, jeering image of Flaggs Flaggs fastened to him by a bond of burning, itching flesh Flaggs joined to him like a Siamese twin, flesh of his flesh, blood of his blood —until by some unnatural evolution he became Flaggs and could see his own wretched shape writhing at the other end of their mutual arm. Then shaking, chilled and covered with perspiration he would awake and look for Flaggs beside him, and hold his hand to the blue night-light only to find the seam about his wrist and the dead-white hand throbbing until he thought he should go mad By day he was haunted by the vision of Flaggs watch- ing his house and following him along the streets. He could not get the fellow out of his mind. This terror of the drunken clerk became a As he walked the streets or drove in his brougham through the park he was constantly plan- ning out what he should say when they should finally come together - when Flaggs should call for him, summon him as his own. Could he defy him? Could he palliate WOPsL sort. bred a more p up his positive obsession. him? The hand twitched at the thought of it. He fan- cied that Flaggs followed him everywhere in various disguises, running swiftly behind, dodging into door- ways and up side streets when he turned around. And this habit of turning around and glancing fur- tively up and down grew on Sir Richard, and with it grew the itching in his hand, until he suspected that peo- ple shook their heads and said that his illness had undermined his health more than they had supposed. It was no bodily illness that thus affected Sir Richard, but spiritual degeneration. He went from dinner-party to dinner-party and from musicale to musicale, paying court to Lady Bella Forsythe as if no grotesque face were peer- ing from behind the arras of his brain. Yet in reality he was preparing to meet Flaggs in the final struggle for su- premacy. Flaggs, like death and the tax man, when? He could not tell, but inevitably. And he must be ready, armed cap-d-pie to meet him on every ground. He had at last resolved to marry Lady Bella. It was an essential in his campaign to defeat Flaggs. There must be plenty of money—money, that was what he needed, what he wanted. It was partly for Lady Bella that he had planned his musical entertainment, for, in addition to its practical desirability, if he purposed to retain his position in the social world, it would afford an excellent opportunity for presenting himself to her as a person worthy of her own high station and acquaintance. His own music ! Alas, the brain was willing, but the fingers were powerless Where before he had produced the most delicate of har- monies there now resulted nothing but harsh The hand would not stretch an octave! The Milbank Street house blazed into the early evening with a thousand lights. All day long wagons of roses and asters had stood before the doors, and aproned men had staggered into the hall with pots of flowers and stands of palms. Confectioners’ wagons, loads of camp chairs, and now a large awning were the indubitable evidences of what was afoot. Night cameon. The white cloth on the carpet across the sidewalk was trampled to a dirty gray. The orchestra began to arrive, and, shedding their coats in the was coming dise« rds. THE SATURDAY EVENING POST servants’ entrance, toiled up the | stairs and tenta- tively made their way through the flower-banked halls to the conse rvatory =r Rich irda sitting w nis Gen and awaiting the arrival of his first gu could hear the musicians tuning their Dases and testing the wood But there was no music in Sir Richard's sou All d he had been haunted by the ghost of Flaggs s« behind him, and his hand had seemed swollen and discolored Well, if he could but get through the 1 i | in his suit with Lady Bella, he would away and Perhaps he would leave London forever —Lady Bella very fond of Rome. The sounds of more confused and louder, the violins mingling with the others. Occasionally the trombones would boon it and the kettles rumble ominously. Outside splashes of rait began to fall against the windows, and the wind, catcl in the hollow column of the awning, swept into the |} and through the open door into the der Mortmain | ed at his watch and found it was ten o'clock People would be arriving soon. His hand twit« hed and he lighted a cigarette. There was a great deal of traffic in the front hall—too much. He closed the door and poured out a thimbleful of brandy. Well, a day or two and he would be rid of Flaggs forever! Then he knock. He tried to cheat himself into the r that it was Joyce. >in,” he tood befor« heard a low cried ut his voice wa “Cor husky. le I ives “I Think Not, Mr. Flages!" I have been expecting you,’’ said Mortmain. It did not seem strange that he should make this declaration “Yes?” queried Flaggs ‘‘What do you want?’’ demanded the baronet. “Ten thousand pounds,’’ answered the clerk. ‘‘To- morrow.” Mortmain broke into a harsh laugh ‘“‘Ha! my good fellow! What do you think I am a Croesus? I'll give you fifty—and I get Come, come, the notes, eh?” ‘*Ten thousand pounds,” ‘by to-morrow noon, or I kand you ¢ The blood jumped into Sir Richard's face and his hand throbbed and tingled. ‘You miserable blackmailer! How you know that I could / be the wi re!) Take ind I'll summon the police myself.” ‘Not so fast, not so fast, with a white face. ‘‘] don The look on the scowling face repeated Flaggs stubbornly, ver to the police dexter You wretched Do And no one would ever off with you o1 rascal!’’ he cried. dare you come into my house if your ser a few po and be Sir Richard,’’ muttered Flagg ‘t think you'll call the police before him told Sir Richard that the fellow meant to do his business. A haunt ar seized hold upon him like that which he had experienced in the depot wagon—a feeling that behind this grotesque dwarfed figure of a man lurked the hand of Fate. ‘‘That’s right. Be reasonable,’’ said Flaggs soothing! ‘*Some folks would think ten thousand pounds was cheap to escape the gallows,”’ he added in lower tones. ‘‘Gallows!”’ cried Sir Richard, his anger rising. He knew the fellow’s game now. Hewas being liedto. Flaggs w t to frighten, to bully hir Ihe " Iren ce at t punis! Tt r teior ! s eve ackn B ! ck 1 Pf ig “ a i N i Sir | ‘ H rx ( He | I } Fla ‘ la h | ne ‘ I ht ded and h ] he bar Mo ul! read and } ! the ligh u aT erlined in red inl Weil I he word ick in his throat Well i th It plain enough, isn't it? What mor 41 It isn pial! ic KE il Maiming i tek \ You k w that Flynt told you so The fell that ld that hand of your died of it, did I Mortmain tt d exclamation horror. He looked down at fearful th ! be the color of atl rt cal ‘ cried faint ; : ' ls done remarke l I saw | ur f i He l then ‘ I } i You ain! pe M t room reeled a Flag, Ss danced bet i pibt ! with £ ‘ t ght darkened ar ntene avaina i Seemet Vj circle Pu elf togethe Ss Richar remarkec Fla mocking! *Pul ‘ elf wether! Isn't rth thousand pour ‘ or hundred thousar I i But I'm rea able Onl t th al pounds! Come, come I have he ed Mortr N 1 die for j You he tor at Flag the s¢ ad of the ddl cume thr rh tt COs a of the ud Lhe « the la t and th il ‘ ‘ ‘ ar and it parting « e from the front You will die for it, a there is a God in Hea if | choose! Mortma too ' He had ] t I what Fla Was golr t Sal 4 word fror me contit at ithe « rk ind yo ! I f the murde f Lord Russell kive one kt hated hit I t, Joyce and I | 1 sa 1 woul kill hin You owed him sevent e thousand pour and it Was two da overad He ould fave ru next da The officer sav ou on the pot wit \ minutes of the al o did I rh was nothir taken but the me notl rh rh found DOSSESSI( the ne n He he ret. there The is cor t The x { I ther lhe alr r 10 te i tr 4 4 ] 1 I ten the d pound \ Li I 1 Mortr nging toward | The door ft he ha la J ‘ ! irm |! al at 1 wal Lis Bella has ar ed, Sir Ric he ar i Pell her I am « aid M a rth \\ } } KF] I I ‘ I Wa J e hadr t M mal! iw cl i ] 1 A rif te! ioOusal 1 a t ma man Who cal escape WI u fool!”’ eried Mort1 lder regainit } elf-control Such evidences aluek M worth ten times ove I tha 1 did't the notes int house I say th are the And I believe 1 are!” Notsofast! Notsofa le 1Fla You kn I was ‘in quod’ at the time 1) fe that! Ar (

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THE SATURDAY EVENING POST June 9, 1906 THREE OF “THE FINEST” OUNDSMAN Anthony R Mountri was the “ Black / Hand” expert of the Police Department. The reports which he submitted on his in- vestigations into the character, origin and scope of this black- mailing society were voluminous (j b and interesting, as well as highly \ " creditable to his imagination. ; tq Now, when Gilhooley became chief of police he happened to stumble on Mountri’s literary efforts, and read some of them with hugeenjoyment. Gilhooley had been on the Force over thirty years, and had risen from the bottom of the ladder to the top, so that he knew a thing or two about the business. He sent for Melvor, who had charge of the Detective Bureau. ‘Say, Tom,”’ he asked with a broad grin, ‘‘ what's all them Old Sleuth stories here, pub- lished in typewritin’ by The Anthony Mountri Publishing Company?” He read one or two passages, by way of illustration, in which the Mafia was described as ‘* the largest, best-organized secret society in the world, covering all Europe and America.” “Them is the reports on the Black Hand,’’ answered Mcl vor with becoming gravity. “Reports on your grandmother!”’ snorted the chief. ‘Is that all Tony does to earn fifteen hundred a year?” ‘That's ail.” “‘H’m! He ought to work for a Sunday paper. They pay high for fairy tales. Send him to the precinct. If he kin kid Jim Phelan along like that, he’s a peach.” “He knows a good deal about them Italian gangs, Chief,”” remonstrated the inspector. ‘*He does, eh? Well, there are lots of them in Jim Phelan's precinct. Knows a lot about ’em, don’t he? And only made five arrests in a year! 1 think he’s in with those Dagoes himself. Anyway, he’s had that snap long enough."” The chief wheeled around in his chair, and began sorting papers once more. It really was nothing more than a coincidence, but Mountri felt certain, when he heard of the transfer, that it was made in order to give his enemy an opportunity to repay a grudge of long standing. For Sergeant James F. H. Phelan, acting captain of the precinct, did not view his new subordinate with great favor. Years ago, when Phelan was a wardman, Mountri had carried tales to headquarters, and it was principally as the effect of his tes- timony in the trial on charges which resulted that Phelan had been dismissed from the Force. Not that Mountri’s testimony was entirely false, but that where the truth was insufficient he did not hesitate to give free play to his WA Se. Kitty O’Brien fancy. That Phelan deserved punishment there can be no doubt. The judge who reinstated him, after a hearing on tiorart proceedings, was not conferring a benefit on the municipality. Still, it was equally certain that the roundsman had not been animated by any very creditable motives in turning informer, but was simply currying favor with a new police administration, and, to obtain it, did not secruple to sacrifice a brother officer. He lied a great deal on the witness-stand, and he guessed at a great deal more. To be sure, many of his guesses were not far from the truth, but that, of course, could not palliate the offense in Phelan’s eyes. That, however, all happened a long time ago, and the acting captain was not of a revengeful disposition. “You played me a dirty trick, Tony,” he told the former sleuth, ‘‘and I won't pretend I've forgotten it, for I haven't. But you're going to get a square deal here; there'll be no paying off old scores. So if you've worried any on that account, you can quit right now. I didn’t get you transferred here to get revenge, although you may think I did.” His surmise was vorrect. Tony came from a section of the globe where the vendetta is part of the code of honor, and his faith in human forgiveness was not very great. “Square deai I'll get —not,”’ he thought, and met Phelan’s advances with grim incredulity. When Roundsman Anthony Mountri returned to the station-house after doing the late tour he was pretty thoroughly exhausted. To patrol the crowded streets of that section of the city, on a warm, muggy according to the Rules and Regulations, is not the pleasantest task one can imagine, even under a three-platoon system. Years of service as a Black Hand investigator had softened his muscles and unfitted him for regular patrol duty. That is one of the dis- advantages of a pleasant detail. The dawn of the new day brought with it a blessed little miniature hurricane, which blew away the low-lying, sticky fog and cleared the humid atmosphere. The weary officer reported to the desk sergeant, i. d then climbed heavily up the stairs, unbuttoning his blouse as he went. There was a cool, snow-white cover on the broad, iron cot —it afforded him unutterable delight. Quickly he stripped and jumped into bed, and as he did so several small, hard, black objects fell to the floor. Well, it was an unpleasant trick, and there was really very little that was humorous about it. On the other hand, it was, at most, only a rough practical joke. But Mountri was a Sicilian, and such things sunk deeply into his heart and turned to gall there. He sat quietly on a chair with the quilt wrapped around him while the matron removed the coal from the mattress, and changed the covers which had been thoroughly saturated with water. There were several men in the room, and one of them laughed out loud. Tony couldn't tell which one it was, but he thought how pleasant it would be to draw his revolver and kill them all as they sat there. Not against them, how- ever, was his deepest resentment directed. ‘*Phelan’s work,” he thought; and, even though it occurred to him that some one else might have been the actual perpetrator of the joke, he concluded it must be at his enemy’s instigation. He brooded over the matter for many hours as he lay in bed, and rose several times curing the night, tor the fire in his heart would not let him sleep. Once he walked toward the door, intending to find Phelan; then he remembered his dress and went back to bed. He could not sleep all night. Phelan heard of what had occurred, and was very much troubled. ‘*Who did it?”’ he asked. Now there is no sergeant more beloved of his men than Jim Phelan. So Horigan confessed. To be sure, Tim did not expect a very severe reprimand; he had been in the “Green Light”’ precinct when the wardman was dismissed through Mountri's efforts. ‘Guess I’ve got to plead guilty, Captain,” he said, grin- ning amiably. “That's a fool trick, Tim,”’ reproved Phelan tartly. ‘‘What’s more, I can’t see anything funny in it. I mean this. I want to act right by that fellow; nothing that happened in the past counts. If you want to please me, leave him alone. He gets a square deal in this precinct while I’m running it.’”’ Horigan expressed repentance. Like Mountri, however, he was by no means convinced of the captain's sincerity. ‘*Look out for the Dago,”’ he advised. ‘‘ You oughi-a heard him last night —so mad he couldn't sleep all night runnin’ round the room, wavin’ his hands, talkin’ to him- self. Thinks you did it —I hear him say so.” “You did?” queried Phelan tartly. ‘Well, then, why don’t you tell him you did it? Not afraid, are you? And after this, just mind your own business and don’t butt into my affairs. I ought to give you a complaint for this."’ Whereat the patrolman withdrew, abashed and highly incensed. “Afraid, am I!"' he muttered. ‘‘Throwin’ me down for a carey! I'll show him who's afraid!’’ He sought out Mountri at the very first opportunity and,told him all about it. ‘‘Now give me a paper if you like,” he said, sticking out his jaw aggressively. ‘Who told you to do it?”’ was the eager question. “No one!” “You lie!” The Irishman took the insult coolly. ‘‘An’ evenif anny wan did, d’ye think I’m a squealer, too?”’ And with this parting shot he turned on his heel and walked away, while Mountri stood staring after him for quite some time. night, with uniform-coat closely buttoned By ANDPEW I. ALBERT A Station-House Feud The next day Tony caught Horigan off post —of course. The week following came two more complaints, and on the succeeding Sunday the roundsman found Tim in a saloon, in full uniform — quite a serious matter, for it was not only a violation of police rules, but of the Excise Law as well. “The Society for the Cultivation of Virtue in Others”’ heard of the affair (probably through Mountri’s disinter- ested efforts), and so, on their representation, the Deputy Commissioner was unusualiy severe. In the Society's eyes, a violation of the precious Excise Law was worse than murder in the- first degree. Horigan was fined ten days’ pay, and received a severe reprimand besides. **An’ he ain’t done poundin’ me yet,’’ he told Kelly, his side-partner. ‘“Why don’t you speak to the captain about it?” ‘‘Why? Because I ain’t knucklin’ to nobody. Because he knows what’s goin’ on, an’ if he wanted to help me he’d do it without my askin’ him.” Which was perfectly true. Phelan did know what was going on, but, for reasons which it would occupy too much space to explain, he would not and, in fact, could not interfere. After the last heavy fine, however, Mountri rested, appar- ently satisfied with the injury he had inflicted. But the mischief was already done: the ten days’ fine barred Hori- gan from the examination for roundsmen which was shortly to take place. Now, promotion examinations are few and infrequent, occurring at intervals of from three to five years. Tim had prepared for the next one faithfully, and it is therefore not strange that he became gloomy and despondent. Efforts to have the fine remitted in the usual way were fruitless. ‘It’s the Society,”’ explained the boss of the ward after several visits to Mulberry Street; ‘‘they’re looking for a chance like this to get into the papers, Tim; they’d holler murder-watch if your fine was struck off the records. Wait until everybody's forgotten about it, and I'll try again.” Tim explained profanely that if he waited he would be too late for the next examination. Then he went out, drank, and so temporarily forgot his troubles. This was an unusual proceeding for Tim, who was a sober, hard-working fellow —never intoxicated except on Christmas, the Fourth of July, and other important holidays, when he considered it a matter of patriotic duty. It was the grown-up child’s way of being ‘‘bad’’ after punishment, in order to be revenged. Thereafter, Horigan’s periods of sobriety were few and far between. Scharton and Dietrich, the other two rounds- men of the precinct, found him twice in a condition which A Bareheaded Man Broke Through and Ran Away at the Top of His Speed Ne ee

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{ | i i | ) } , made patrolling as easy as flying, and warned him. Result saloon on his post, where he drank more than ever, to prove that he was an independent American citizen. ‘*He used to have lucid intervals,’’ Kelly reported mourn- fully to the captain, ‘‘ but he’s always stewed now. Ifsome- thing ain’t done soon, it’s good-by Tim.” Then the devoted Kelly went upstairs and loyally put ice on his side-partner’s head and called him bad names, which revived Horigan to such an extent that he abused Mountri most foully before all the men of that platoon, and would in fact, have assaulted him had not Kelly thrown Horigan on the bed and sat on him until he fell asleep. Mountri searched every saloon and cigar-store on Tim's post next day, but could not find his man until Von Hauser told him. Von Hauser had found the friendship of an able- bodied policeman, who has made up his mind to Horigan transferred his profitable patronage to another THE SATURDAY EVENING POST She dimpled in pretty confusion and delight at the evi dent sincerity of the compliment ‘You're an awfully nice man,” she said frankly, and Phelan patted himself in delight and mock approval Then the tears came to her eyes again: ‘‘And do you really think Tim will lose his position, Captain ? ‘*That should not make much difference to him while he's got you,’’ answered Phelan gallantly But I'm afraid it's going to be hard to do anything; that’s a pretty discourag- ing note I got from the chief.’’ He held the piece of paper so that it was necessary for her to stand quite close to him in order to read it. “Oh, I didn’t know-—have you tried already? Oh, aren't you good!’’ She read the short, curt, typewritten epistle which had come from Mulberry Street. ‘‘Oh, then, they will dismiss him!"’ she cried despairingly for mé Then he added with deep gloon But she a throwin’ herself away on me; she give me back the a week ago. an’ | don’t blame her Neither do I! Tim, this is the fin me you've even hall-sober in three weeks, isn t it Silence Tin continued the captain in his most amiable you aren't a mar ure a pi rim nodded meekly ‘You've got a yellow streak in you. Instead of facing your troubles like a man, you run away and get drunk. | used to think you had some sand in you, Tim He paused a moment to let his words sink deeply, and then resumed You pretend to love and respect this girl, don't you ‘Yes,’’ was the fervent reply And yet you go around to see her as drunk as any ordinary, common, dirty barroom loafer Do you avoid sobriety, rather ex- pensive. “IT stoot for all der peers he could trink,”’ ex- plained the aggrieved German, “‘ put ven he vill have sherry und egg und sherry und egg und noting else—dot costs too much.” So the next time Mountri came in Von Hauser nodded his head toward the next room which was quite sufficient. And right here it may be stated that, after this breach of professional ethics, Von Hauser did not open his doors, front or rear or side, on a Sunday, or after twelve o'clock, for many a long month. Horigan was sitting alone in the small dark room, brooding deeply over his troubles. He was just at that stage of intoxication when a robust man becomes quar- relsome. An uneasy feel- ing of being gazed at caused him to look ad ate, es * a > Vie ee expect a good, clean girl around. ‘Drunk again,” said Mountri, smiling amiably. At the words and sneer, prudence, fear, the training of years were swept away before an ungovernable torrent of rage. Outside the door the saloon-keeper stood quaking with fright at the sound of falling chairs and tables and the stamp of heay y feet. Then the noise ceased suddenly, and he stepped aside, just in time, as the roundsman came flying through the door, bareheaded, face bleeding, uni form coat torn open, and several gold buttons missing The patrolman followed more slowly. He was in scarcely better condition, but he paused a moment to put on his helmet and arrange his clothing before he went. Von Hauser breathed a sigh of relief as the outer door closed behind his unwelcome guest. ‘‘Good-py dot feller’s chob,”’ he remarked. Then he looked ruefully at a sadly-depleted stock of eggs. ‘‘Id cost too much; | couldn’t afford id,’”’ he protested, and the bar- tender nodded sympathetically. “Tim Horigan,” said Katharine O’Brien, ‘‘ you’ve been drinking again.” Tim denied the accusation loftily. ‘You have, too. No, don’t touch me; don’t touch me Your breath smells from liquor. 1 won't keep company with a drunkard.” ‘“‘Do I undershtand,” asked Mr. Horigan with great dignity, ‘‘that you deshire to break engazhment?”’ ‘“You understand me correctly, Mr. Horigan.’’ Where- upon Mr. Horigan said ‘‘Good-by, forever!"’ in a very dra- matic tone, and walked out of the room, while his sweetheart sat down and wept. That was two weeks ago. The repentant suitor came back twice to beg forgiveness, but each time the telltale fumes hardened Kitty’s heart. So she sent him away indignantly, and then fled for consolation to her mother. A week after the last visit came the news that Patrolman Horigan had assaulted his superior officer, and was to be dismissed from the Force, and about an hour after this intelligence had been communicated to her impulsive little Kitty stoed before Acting Captain James F. H. Phelan in his private office. ‘*And has that old Mick got a girl like you?”’ asked the captain, looking with admiration at the black-eyed, rosy- cheeked girl, with her tall, trim figure, and air of unaffected grace. ‘‘ Well, some people are born lucky!” “T'we Squared You, Tony; He's Down” ‘Not until I’ve had another try,”’ averred Phelan touched by heremotion. ‘I'll go and see Corry to-day, and maybe he can persuade the Deputy Commish to be eas) The girl’s face beamed again. ‘‘ And Mr. Corry will tell them not to dismiss him, won't he? Oh, you are a perfect dear!’ She moved closer to him “1 don’t think 1 would mind,” she said, the blood rushing to her face and you are a good old man! i The n she bent down and deliberate ly kissed hin Phelan sprang to his feet, laughing he cried ‘After that, just let them try to break hir He shook his fist threateningly But I'm not ar girl: you must take that back Kitty apologized sweet! At the door she turned some embarrassment “7 you—that is— please, don’t tell Tir Vas het Captain Why?” ** Because because we had a q iarrel; he was a /itth not quite sober She made the admission with reluctance and then, tossing her head coquettishly, added Besides 1 don’t want him to think I car Phelan grinned in open delight. ‘Allright, then; mum's the word. Sh!” “Good-by, Captain.” ‘*Good-by, Katharine.”’ A gleam of perfect teeth, a smile that seemed to light up the room, and Kitty was gone, leaving Phelan to look after her with the last smile still reflected on his face **Ain’t he the lucky Mick?”’ he said aloud Phelan sent for Horigan. That gentleman answered the summons somewhat tardily. “Tim, your girl was here— Kitty O’Brien, I mean.” ‘‘No!"’ The patrolman sat suddenly erect, while his heavy eyes lit up with joy ‘*Yes,”’ contradicted Phelan. ‘‘ But if you tell her I told you, Tim, I'll knock your brains out with this. See it? He held out a heavy night-stick. ‘“‘l won't say a word, Cap. What'd she say?” ‘‘Never you mind what she said; it’s a shame that a girl like that should waste herself on a beast like you.”’ Horigan’s face expressed complete assent to this senti- ment. ‘‘That’s a fact, Cap'n; she’s a whole lot too good a . 7 like that to care for a man whose breath would knock a cow over, and who can't walk straight ? Why, | should think she'd be so disgusted she couldn't look at you.” Horigan rose to his feet, his face wrinkled with shame, anger and re- morse That's enough from you, Jim Phelan! he said hoarsely. ‘You kin call me down as much as you like ‘bout police business, but you ain't got no right to speak to me like that ‘bout my private affairs —captain or no ¢ iptain! rim,’’ said Phelan to- tally unmoved, “you're a fool, or vou'd know I wasn't speaking to you as your captain, but your friend. Sit down; | want to show you what a beast you are, so that you'll wonder how | food, pure girl like Kitts © Brien can trust her hi and happiness to a mar ~ that’s shown himself ca pable of falling as low a you have It took some time to reduce Horigan to what the captain tt ight Was a prope state of humility, but after he had succeeded, and the contrite Dbluecoat Was hgurati I roveling in the d } peri } ht fit t i ra ot nf pe ! ( ! ! i p tor 4 ‘ ‘ ad tha I thar it j ul (ih, | ‘ was pound pa ich i i into | hi | \ ill I i ip t« ! il ‘ Lai i be care ! | she as [ I} 1 ‘ Vhich ‘| j tn ifte i ! ! ir i i i and ch " } d i llevrow? It the night pr ing pr ( and, ha i It ‘ He t around Witt ar } i | had bet mad I ' nad A i lemni ! iY i iin ! charges | iSSaultir M ! ‘ pe tried th ‘ day, and Tim told k with me pride, tha here iS a position already waiting for him if the worst happened It was an ideal lovers’ mght he September W soft and cool and of the deepest blue the tar seemed smaller, but brighter and more numerous than usual lr some portions of the heavens the were ver malland very numerous, and hitt looking dreamily upward, thought they looked like a shower of gold-dust that had beer thrown into the al ind floated ipward t the blue Now and the n, when the came to a portion of the avenue where the tall tenement-houses did not obstruct the view, they caught a glimpse of the full moon, moving like a huge lamp through the sky, lighting up for human eyes the picture painted by the Master's hand It’s never the same picture,"’ said Kitty sometime it’s deep blue, and blue, and nothing but blue, and the next night it’s much lighter in color, and there are white cloud and maybe less stars, or maybe they'll look larger, and the moon is different, and oh, it’s different in every way — but just as beautiful.” And Tim answered nothing, but drank deeply of the cup of oy which it 1 riven man t it once I 1 liletime to taste

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10 They walked and walked for many hours, forgetful of time, of the cares and troubles which the new day must bring, living only in the present, content each with the other. It was quite late when they turned their faces homeward. The streets lay white and still beneath the white rays of the moon, and the double row of.lamp-posts stretched away in two long, symmetrical lines until they vanished in the distance. The crowds of political henchmen, weary from the day’s work on behaif of their political bosses, had long since retired. At a certain street-corner a huge silk banner was stretched across the street. O’Reilly’s name was blazoned thereon in letters of gold. Only a dozen feet behind it floated a second banner—and that was the cause of the trouble. For it represented the political ambi- tions of another enterprising son of Erin, who had thrown down the gauntlet to the ruling sachem of Tammany Hall. O'Reilly resented bitterly this attempt to deprive him of the control of the ward, and expatiated at length upon the ingratitude of his antagonist, to whom, in times past, he had not been ungenerous in the award of political sugar- plums, A crowd had gathered beneath the second banner, and as Tim and Kitty drew near they saw that a man was climbing one of the posts by which it was supported. ‘Is he going to tear it down, Tim?” asked Kitty —and just then a uniformed officer ran by them, crossed the street, and dove impetuously into the crowd. ‘See that roundsman?”’ asked Horigan. ‘‘The one that just passed “ied Kitty nodded. : ‘Well, that’s Mountri. He’s up agin’ it, too; that’s the Limpy Jack gang, all Dagoes; they'll knife him as soon as look at him." But Mountri apparently had no fear of being knifed; nor did the gang show any hostility toward him, at first. In faet, they seemed to know him, and to be on friendly terms with him. They talked and gesticulated a good deal, but the roundsman waved‘them aside and shouted a command to the fellow who was climbing the post. The latter, after a moment’s hesitation, descended. A tall man, in a high silk hat, pushed his way through the crowd, and said something to the officer in a loud voice. ‘‘Looks like Osborne, the man who’s runnin’ agin’ O'Reilly. He's tellin’ Mountri to arrest that feller —the one that tried to cut down his banner,” explained Tim. Suddenly the silk hat disappeared, the crowd surged for- ward, anda moment latera bareheaded man broke through and ran away at the top of his speed, followed by a chorus of hoots and howls and derisive shouts. Horigan laughed aloud. “ Let's go over and see the fun, Kit,’ he proposed. They crossed over to the other side and stood in a doorway several feet from the crowd. “They're coming toward us,”’ Kitty cried suddenly, and shrank against him in fear. The roundsman was being pushed toward the sidewalk; by his side walked a heavily- built, swarthy fellow, with a long, red sear on his face. ‘* He's got the nippers on Limpy,” said Horigan, growing more thoughtful. ‘*There’ll be trouble now, for sure.”’ Then he added suddenly, ‘‘And I hope they knock his head off.” “No, you don’t,” said Kitty sharply, but her companion only glowered in sullen disagreement. At the saloon door on the corner Mountri stood at bay, his prisoner still fastened to him. The two spectators were only a few feet distant, and could see and hear almost all that transpired. A dark, slim young fellow, wearing glasses, who seemed to be the leader, was talking in earnest tones to the roundsman, who only shook his head stubbornly. “Can't do it, Filipo,”” he said; ‘‘ Limpy’s under arrest, and he’s going to the station-house; I ain’t going to runa chance of josing my job for any body .” Then, as the crowd pressed closely around him, pulling at his prisoner, he lifted his night-stick and drove them back. “Will they hurt him, Tim?” asked Kitt, anxiously. “Don’t know and don’t care,” answered Horigan shortly. “But I don’t think they will; he’s callin’ them by their first names like they were his brothers —-some of his Black Hand friends, maybe.”’ And, indeed, the gang showed a reluctance to resort to force or violence, which was not at all in keeping with their reputation. They gathered around the officer and his prisoner once more, but the latter suddenly cried out in pain, and spoke rapidly in Italian to his would-be rescuers, who thereupon retired a few feet and began consulting earnestly. **Guess he twisted the nippers on Limpy and Limpy told them to go away,”’ explained Horigan. Seeing the street unobstructed before him, Mountri started off again, his prisoner by hisside. He had gone only a few ste ps, however, when they overtook him once more. Hither and thither they hustled the officer, pleading and threatening, but he remained obdurate. ‘You can't have this man unless you leave half his hand behind,”’ he shouted, and Kitty, hearing him, exclaimed in admiration: ‘Isn't he brave!" He's only doing what any cop would do,”’ answered Horigan, who would not admit any good qualities in his ener THE SATURDAY EVENING POST The gang was fast beginning to lose its temper, but when Mountri struck a particularly troublesome fellow over the arm with his club, the whole mob retired in apparent uncertainty. Tap! tap! tap! went the roundsman’s stick on the flagstones, ringing out an appeal for assistance which would be heard by patrolmen on their posts for many blocks around. The signal roused his antagonists to sudden activity. ‘‘We got to have that man!”’ shouted the spectacled leader, and he led a second rush on the plucky officer. Knives and black-jacks appeared as if by magic; it was evident that the gang was growing desperate. The girl had grown pale and frightened, and was watch- ing the struggle with painful intensity. ‘‘Tim, you must help him!” she said suddenly. But Horigan only shook his head. ‘‘Not him,” he replied; ‘‘ he wouldn’t lift a finger to save me from being murdered.” A quick-witted spectator raised the cry of ‘‘Chigamaroo, chigamaroo, the cops!’’ and in a moment Mountri was alone with his prisoner. Only for a moment, however, for the ruse was quickly discovered, and his assailants gathered once more. Tap! tap! tap! went the night-stick again, ringing out its loud appeal. Horigan shifted on his feet uneasily, fight- ing against the police instinct which would send him to answer the well-known signai. The gang hustled the roundsman and his prisoner away from the door, and some one struck him from behind, caus- ing the blood to flow from a cut under the eye. Mountri turned around, but the coward who had done it was gone. Wild with rage, the policeman sprang forward sud- denly, unheeding the anguished cries of his prisoner, whose wrist was lacerated by the sudden pull. The vigorous F Brooding Deeply Over His Troubles blows of the night-stick drove the crowd into the street once more, after which Mountri returned to the shelter afforded by the door of the saloon. “If you don't go and help him, Tim Horigan, I'll never speak to you again so long as I live!’’ The blood had re- turned to the girl's face, her eyes sparkled with anger, and her little fists were clenched. Tim shifted on his feet un- easily, but made no reply. The gang was preparing for a new attack, when a slim, well-built young fellow sprang to the curbstone before them. ‘‘That's Weintraub, the county detective,”’ said Horigan, breathing sharply. Weintraub had a pistol in his hand, and he fired twice before the infuriated men reached him. The foremost man dropped, and another limped away, howling with pain, but his companions sprang forward, threw the detective to the ground and began deliberately kicking him as he lay unconscious at their feet. Mountri started forward bravely to aid the fallen man, but before he could reach him Horigan was among the crowd, his short pocket-billy dealing deadly stabs to right and left. **A fly-cop, a fly-cop!’’ At the cry, the mob surged back- ward, giving Horigan time, with Kitty’s assistance, to drag Weintraub to Mountri's side. and again, and still once more, the night-stick’s clarion appeal rang out. Help should have arrived long before this. “Go 'way now, Kitty,’’ pleaded Horigan; ‘‘this is men’s work. How kin I fight when you're around?” Tap 4 fap , fap f June 9, 1906 But Kitty only shook her head and directed her attention to reviving the wounded man. ‘If I only had a little cold water,” she said longingly. ‘Better go away, miss,”’ began Mountri in a respectful tone, but just then Horigan shouted, ‘‘ Look out!’’ and sprang forward. Mountri was not an inch behind him. The next moment they were fighting for their lives. The spectacled leader struck at Mountri with a black-jack, and when the blow landed the roundsman’s right arm dropped limply to his side. Horigan stabbed the assailant in the face with his short club, and he fell to the ground. In des- peration the policeman finally drew his revolver, and at the sight of it the gang retired, carrying their unconscious leader with them. “Hurt, Tony?" asked Horigan. ‘Right arm broken,”’ was the terse response. ‘“‘Pass me your night-stick then, if you can’t use it.” A moment later the heavy club was in his hand. ‘‘ Where’s your gun?” ‘Ain't got it. One of 'em picked it out of my pocket.”’ **Glad I got mine.’”” Tim examined the chambers of the pistol carefully, and Kitty, kneeling behind him over the wounded man, cried out hysterically: ‘‘Shoot them, Tim; shoot them!” A pistol-shot rang out, and Mountri dropped with a groan, dragging his prisoner with him. Horigan’s revolver an- swered twice, and he cried out exultantly: ‘I’ve squared you, Tony; he’s down.” “Get together, get together!’’ shouted one of the gang, and, as the cry was repeated, the girl sprang up and stood in front of the police officers. Horigan grasped her gently by the arm and forced her behind him. ‘No time for foolin’ now, sweetheart,” he said; ‘‘they’d just as lief hit a woman as a man.” One of the gang came forward and shouted something in Italian. Then he repeated in English: ‘‘ Will ye give-a dat man up?”’ Horigan looked down inquiringly at Mountri, who was sitting with his back propped against the wall. ‘*What do you say?” he asked. ‘‘He’s your prisoner “Tell them to guess again!’’ answered Mountri with a sob. The tears were streaming down his face, and he was crying with rage at his helplessness. ‘*Good boy!’’ shouted Horigan, and transmitted the message to the waiting crowd, with additions of his own ‘Don’t talk to them that way, Timmy,” implored the girl. She was weeping now, and her hands were around his neck. He extricated himself gently, and turned around to console her. ‘There, there, be a brave little girl. The patrol wagon’ll be here pretty soon now.” She cried out a warning to him, and he turned quickly. A heavy brickbat struck him on the knee-cap and drove the blood from his face, so that he had to lean against her, while his revolver dropped to the ground and exploded harmlessly. **Poor little Kitty!'’ he murmured, and then lost con- sciousness. Gently she lowered him to the ground, and sprang before him, her eyes blazing with anger. There were several hundred bystanders, yet not one of them dared come to her assistance. One of the gang put his hand on the girl’s shoulder, and she beat at him madly, whereupon another threw her back- ward across the prostrate forms behind. Mountri shouted something in Italian at that, and tried to rise, but the same man kicked him and threw him backward, so that his wounded arm bent under him, and he fainted from |the pain. But his prisoner was still firmly fastened to his left wrist; never for a moment had the plucky Italian thought of letting go. Limpy was in a pitiable condition, for the band of the nipper had worn into the flesh to the very bone. He groaned and cried out when the men who were trying to release him started up, jerking his arm suddenly, as some one cried out a loud warning. The tardy patrol-wagon had come swiftly and silently down the avenue, with only the clatter of the horses’ iron hoofs to betray its approach. A dozen brawny policemen tumbled out almost before it came to a standstill, with Phelan at their head. Kitty grasped and clung desperately to the thug who had thrown her down, and when he broke away Phelan, who was not far behind, overtook him before the fugitive had covered ten yards of ground. **Pretty good for an old man!” he remarked to Kitty as he led his prisoner back, and the girl smiled wanly at him through her tears. The sidewalk in front of the saloon looked like a minia- ture battlefield. Six of the gang had been captured, besides three who were so injured that they were unable to make even an attempt to escape. The man Weintraub had shot was dead; the county detective himself breathed his last on the way to the hospital. Horigan recovered conscious- ness in a very short time, and Mountri also opened his eyes before the ambulance arrived. “Tony,” said Tim, who went with him to the hospital, ‘I’m dead sorry about that trick I played on you; I didn’t mean nuthin’ by it.” Concluded on Poae ”

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| iv REAKFAST at Shot- B over, except for the Y luxurious sluggards to whom trays were sent, was served in the English fashion—any other method or compromise being impossible. Ferrall, reasonable in most things, detested custems exotic, and usually had an Englishman or two about the house to tell them so, being unable to jeer in any language except his own. Which is partly why Alderdene and Voucher were there. And this British sideboard breakfast was a concession wrung from him through force of sheer necessity, although the custom had already become practically universal in American country houses where guests were entertained. But at the British breakfast he drew the line. No army of servants always in evidence would he tolerate either; no highly ornamented human bric-a-brac decorating halls and corners; no exotic pheasants hustled into covert and out again; no fusillade at the wretched, frightened, bewil- dered aliens dumped by the thousand into unfamiliar cover and driven toward the guns by improvised beaters. ‘*We walk up our game, or we follow a brace of good dogs in this white man’s country,”’ he said with unnecessary emphasis whenever his bad taste and his wife’s absence gave him an opportunity to express to the casual foreigner his personal opinions on field-sport. ‘‘ You'll load your own guns and you'll use your own legs if you shoot with me; and your dogs will do theirown retrieving, too. And if any- body desires a Yankee’s opinion on shooting driven birds from rocking-chairs, or potting tame deer from grand- stands, they can have it right now!”’ Usually nobody wanted his further opinion; and some- times they got it and sometimes not, if his wife was within earshot. Otherwise Ferrall appeared to be a normal man, energetically devoted to his business, his pleasures, his friends, and comfortably in love with his wife. And if some considered his vigor in business to be lacking in mercy, that vigor was always exercised within the law. He never trans- gressed the rules of war, but his headlong energy sometimes ianded him close to the dead-line. He had already break- fasted when the earliest risers entered the morning-room to saunter about the sideboards and investigate the simmer- ing contents of silver-covered dishes on the warmers. Into this company sauntered Siward, apparently no worse for wear. For as yet the Enemy had set upon him no proprietary insignia save a rather becoming pallor and faint bluish shadows under the eyes. He strolled about, exchanging amiable greetings, and presently selected a chilled grapefruit as his breakfast. Opposite him Mortimer, breakfasting apon his own dreadful bracer of an apple soaked in port, raised his heavy, inflamed eyes with a sig- nificant leer at the iced grapefruit. He was always ready to make room upon his own level for other men; but the wordless grin and the bloodshot welcome were calmly ignored, for as yet that freemasonry evoked no recognition from the pallid man opposite, whose hands were steady as though that morning’s sun had wakened him from pleasant dreams. Sylvia was talking to the head gamekeeper when he emerged from the house, but she saw him on the terrace and gave him a bright nod of greeting, so close to an invitation that he descended the steps and crossed the dew-wet lawn. “T am asking Dawson to explain just exactly what a ‘Shotover Drive’ resembles,” she said, turning to include AUTHOR OF IOLE, ETC Siward in an animated conference with the big, scraggy head keeper. ‘‘ You know, Mr. Siward, that it is a custom peculiar to Shotover House to open the season with what is called a ‘Shotover Drive.’”’ “TI heard Alderdene talking about it,’’ he said, smilingly inspecting the girl’s attire of khaki with its buttoned pockets, gun-pads and Cossack cartridge loops, and the tan knee-kilts hanging heavily plaited over gaiters and littl thick-soled shoes. He had never cared very much to see women afield, for, in a rare case where there was no affecta- tion, there was something else inborn that he found un- pleasant something lacking about a woman who could take life from frightened wild things, something shocking that a woman could look, unmoved, upon a twitching, blood-soiled heap of feathers at her feet. Meanwhile, Dawson, dog-whip at salute, stood knee-deep among his restless setters, explaining the ceremony with which Mr. Ferrall ushered in the opening of each shooting season. **It’s our own idee, Miss Landis,” he said proudly ; “‘ one’t a season Mr. Ferrall and his guests likes it for a mixed bag Tis a sort of picnic, miss; the guns is in pairs, sixty vards apart in line, an’ the rules is: Walk straight ahead, dogs to heel until first cover is reached; fire straight or to quarter, never blankin’ nor wipin’ no eyes; and ground game counts as feathers for the Shotover Cup.” “Oh! It’s a skirmish-line that walks straight ahead?”’ said Siward, nodding. “Straight ahead, sir. No stoppin’, no turnin’ for hedges, fences, water or rock. There is boats f'r dee p water and fords marked and corduroy f'’r to pass the Seven Dreens Luncheon at one, miss-an hour’s rest then straight on over hill, valley, rock and river to the rondy voo atop Osprey Ledge. You'll see the pole s and the big nests, sir It’s there they score for the cup, and there, when the bag is counted, the traps are ready to carry you home again.” ‘ And to Siward: ‘‘ Will you draw for your lady sir? It is the custom.” **Are you my ‘lady’?”’ he asked, turning to Sylvia. **Do you want me?”’ In the smiling lustre of her eyes the tiniest spark flashed out at him--a hint of defiance for somebody, perhaps for Major Belwether, who had taken considerable pains to enlighten her as to Siward’s condition the night before perhaps also for Quarrier, who had naturally expected to act as her gun-bearer in emergencies. But the gayly-veiled malice of the one had annoyed her, and the cold assumption of the other had irritated her, and she had, scarcely knowing why, turned her shoulder to both of these gentlemen with an indefinite idea of escaping a pressure amounting almost to critical importunity. ‘I’m probably a poor shot?” she said, looking smilingly straight into Siward’s eyes. ‘‘But if you'll take me ‘**T will with pleasure,” he said. ‘‘ Dawson, do we draw for position? Very well, then’’—and he drew a slip of paper from the box offered by the head keeper. ‘Number seven!”’ said Sylvia, looking over his shoulder ‘‘Come out to the starting-line, Mr. Siward. All the THE SATURDAY EVENING POST i THE FIGHTING CHANCE ROBERT W. CHAMBERS #.°wree' ground have we ahead Dawson Kind 0’ stiff, miss,”’ grinned the kee per . Pit y your gentleman ain't drawed the meadows an’ Sachem Hili line Will you choose your dog, sir ‘You have your dog, you know observed Sylvia de murely And Siward, glancing among the impatient setters saw one white, heavily-feathered dog straining at | leash, and wagging frantically, brown eyes fixed on hin The next moment Sagamore was free, devouring hi master with caresses, the girl looking on in smiling siler and presently, side by side, the man, the girl and the dog were strolling off to the starting-line,where already peopl were gathering in groups selecting dog fowling piece comparing numbers, and discussing the merits of their respective lines of advance And now Ferrall was climbing into his saddle beside his pretty wife, who sat her horse like a boy, the white flag lifted high in the sunshine, watching the firing-line 1 the last laggard was in position ‘All right, Grace!’ said Ferrall briskly. Down went the white flag; the far-ranged line started into motion straight across country, dogs at heel From her saddle Mrs. Ferrall could see the advance strung out far afield from the dark spots moving along the Fell boundary to the two couples traversing the salt meadow to the north. Crack! A distant report came faint] e: the uplands against the wind ‘Voucher,”’ observed Ferrall probabl i snipe Hark! he's struck them again, Grace Mrs. Ferrall, watching curious! aw Siward’s gun fly up as two big dark fl irom t! irsh ar en swinging over ' Crack Do heered the black spots, tumbling earthward out of the sh Duck,” said Ferrall a double for Stepher Lord Harry! howthat mancanshoot! | i pi ha He said no more; his pretty wife a de her th h bred sat siler vray eve hxed ¢ ne listar 1 ‘ of Svlvia Landis and Siward, now shoulder-deep in the reed ‘Was it ery bad last night he asked ina low ee Ferrall shrugged He wa offt e: he ilked steadily enough upstair When | went into } Y he lay on the bed as if he'd been struck lightnir And yet vou see how he is this 1 ! After a while } , i ilter hin some Ga lreadiull | ? Y 1 mea M mie Yes or Le ‘ As they turne eir | ‘ he high ad Mr Ferrall aid I) Kno ~ i nt I ting with Howard No,” replied her husband indifferent No She looked out acer I I ( ave gray eves brightening with ppresse¢ hief | I half suspect W hat ? Oh, all sorts of things, Kemy What's one of 'er isked Ferra ! i her: but his wife only laughed You don't mean she’s throwing her flies at Siward now that vou've hooked Quarmrier for her! I tl ignt he d pla ed him to the gaff

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‘Please don’t be coarse, Kemp,” said Mrs. Ferrall, send- ing her horse forward. Her husband spurred to her side, and without turning her head she continued: ‘‘Of course, Sylvia won't be foolish. If they were only safely married; but Howard is such a pill ‘*What does Sylvia expect with Howard's millions? A man?” Grace Ferrall drew bridle. ‘‘The curious thing is, Kemp, that she liked him.” Likes him?” ‘No, liked him. I saw how it was: she took his silences for intellectual meditation ; his gallery, his library, his smat- terings for expressions of a cultivated personality. Then she remembered how close she came to running off with that cashiered Englishman, and that scared her into clutch- ing the substantial intheshapeof Howard. . . . Still, I wish I hadn't meddled.” ““Meddied how?” “Oh, I told her to do it! We had talks until daylight. ; She may marry him--I don't know — but if you think any live woman could be contented with a muff like that!’’ “That's immoral.” ‘‘Kemp, I’m not. She'd be mad not to marry him; but I don’t know what I'd do to a man like that if I were his wife. And you know what a terrific capacity for mischief there isin Sylvia. Some day she’s going to love somebody. And it isn't likely to be Howard. And, oh, Kemp! I do grow so tired of that sort of thing. Do you suppose anybody will ever make decency a fashion?” “You're doing your best,”’ said Ferrall, laughing at his wife’s pretty, boyish face turned back toward him over her shoulder. ‘‘ You're presenting your cousin and his millions to a girl who can dress the part we ‘Don't, Kemp! I don’t know why I meddled! I wish I hadn't “Ido. You can't let Howard alone! You're perfectly possessed to plague him when he’s with you, and now you've arranged for another woman to keep it up for the rest of his lifetime. What does Sylvia want with a man who possesses the instincts and intellect of a coachman? She is asked everywhere; she has her own money. Why not let her alone? Or is it too late?” “You mean let her make a fool of herself with Stephen Siward? That is where she is drifting.” ‘Do you think ~ “Yes, I do. She has a perfect genius for selecting the wrong man; and she’s already sorry for this one. I’m sorry for Stephen, too; but it’s safe for me to be.”’ ‘‘She might make something of him.” ‘**You know perfectly well no woman ever did make any- thing of adoomed man. He'd kill her— I mean it, Kemp! He would literally kill her with grief. Why, just consider Sylvia fora moment. She has all the expensive training of the thoroughbred ~— and all the ignorance, too. She is cold- blooded because wholesome; a trifle skeptical because so absolutely unawakened. She never experienced a deep emotion. Impulses have intoxicated her once or twice as when she asked my opinion about running off with Caven- dish, and that boy-and-girl escapade with Rivington ; noth- ing at all except high mettle, the innocent daring lurking in all thoroughbreds, and a great deal of very red blood racing through that superb young body. But"’ (Ferrall reined in to listen) ‘if ever a man awakens her -I don't care who he is you'll see a girl you never knew, a brand-new creature emerge with the last rags and laces of conventionality drop- ping from her; a woman, Kemp, heiress to every generous impulse, every emotion, every vice, every virtue of all that brilliant race of hers.” ‘You seem to know,” he said, amused and curious. “I know. Major Belwether told me that he had thought of Howard asananchorforher. It seemed a pity — Howard with all his cold, heavy, negative inertia. ; I said I'ddoit. I did. And now I don’t know; I wish —almost wish I hadn't.” ‘‘What has changed your ideas?" “I don’t know. Howard is safer than Stephen Siward, already in the first clutches of his master-vice. Would you mate what she inherits from her mother and her mother's mother with what is that poor boy's heritage from the Siwards?" After all,’ observed Ferrall dryly, ‘‘we're not in the angel-breeding business.” "We ought to be. Every decent person ought to be If they were, inherited vice would be as rare in this country as smallpox!” She held her horse to a walk, riding forward, grave, thoughtful, preoccupied with a new problem, only part of which she had told her husband. For that night she had been awakened in her bed to find standing beside her a white, wide-eyed figure, shivering, limbs a-chill beneath her clinging lace. She had taken the pallid visitor to her arms and warmed her and soothed her and whispered to her, murmuring the thousand little words and sounds, the breathing magic mothers use with children. And Sylvia lay there, chilled, nerveless, silent, ignorant why her sleeplessness had turned to restlessness, to loneli- ness, to an awakening perception of what she lacked and THE SATURDAY EVENING POST needed and began to desire. For that sad void, peopled at intervals through her brief years with a vague mother- phantom, had, in the new crisis of her career, become sud- denly an empty desolation, frightening her with her own utter isolation. Fill it now she could not, now that she needed that ghost of child-comfort, that shadowy refuge, that sweet shape she had fashioned out of dreams to sym- bolize a mother she had never known. All was very well with Siward and Sylvia. They had passed the rabbit-brier country scathless, with two black mallards, a jack-snipe and a rabbit to the credit of their score, and were now advancing through that dimly-lit, enchanted land of tall gray alders where, in the sudden twilight of the leaves, woodcock after woodcock fluttered upward twittering, only to stop and drop, transformed at the vicious crack of Siward’s gun to fluffy balls of feathers whirling earthward from mid-air. Sagamore came galloping back with a soft, unsoiled mass of chestnut and brown feathers in his mouth. Siward took the dead cock, passed it back to the keeper who followed them, patted the beautiful, eager dog and signaled him forward once more. ‘*You should have fired that time,”’ he said to Sylvia — ‘that is, if you care to kill anything.” **But I don’t seem to be able to,”’ she said. ‘‘It isn’t a bit like shooting at clay targets. The twittering whir takes me by surprise —it’s all so charmingly sudden—and my heart seems to stop in one beat, and I look and look, and then— whisk! the woodcock is gone, leaving me breath- less - 3 Siward noiselessly sank to his knees and crouched, keen eyes minutely busy among the shadowy browns and grays of wet earth and withered leaf. And after a while, cau- tiously, he signaled the girl to kneel beside him, and stretched out one arm, forefinger extended. “Sight straight along my arm,” he said, ‘‘as though it were a rifle-barrel.”’ Her soft cheek rested against his shoulder, a stray strand of shining hair brushing his face. “*Under that bunch of fern," he whispered; ‘‘just the color of the dead leaves. Do yousee? . . Don't you see that big woodcock squatted flat, bill pointed straight out and resting on the leaves?”’ After a long while she saw, suddenly, and an exquisite little shock tightened her fingers on Siward’s extended arm. ‘Oh, the feathered miracle !'’ she whispered; ‘‘the won- der of its cleverness to hide like that! You look and look and stare, seeing it all the while and not knowing that you see it. Then ina flash itis there, motionless, a brown-shaped shadow among shadows. The dear little thing! : Mr. Siward, do you think — are you going to ——"’ “No, I won't shoot it.” “Thank you. watch it?” She seated herself soundlessly among the dead leaves; he sank into place beside her, laying his gun aside. ‘Rather rough on the dog,"’ he said with a grimace. “I know. It is very good of you, Mr. Siward ; to do this for my pleasure. Oh—h! Do you see! Oh, the little beauty!” “He'll fly the way his bill points,” said Siward. “Watch!” He rose; she sprang lightly to her feet; there came a whirring flutter, a twittering shower of sweet notes, soft wings beating almost in their very faces, a distant shadow against the sky, and the woodcock was gone. Quieting the astounded dog, gun cradled in the hollow of his left arm, he turned to the girl beside him. ‘That sort of thing wins no cups,"’ he said. ‘It wins something else, Mr. Siward—my very warm regard for you.’ “There is no choice between that and the Shotover Cup,” he admitted, considering hei ‘*T do you mean it?” *‘Of course I do, vigorously!" “Then you are much nicerthan I thought you. . . . And after all, if the price of a cup is the life of that brave little bird, I had rather shoot clay pigeons. Now you will scorn me, I suppose. Begin!’’ ‘My ideal woman has never been a life-taker,”” he said coolly. ‘Once, when I was a boy, there was a girl very lovely — my first sweetheart. I saw her at the traps once, just after she had killed her seventh pigeon straight, ‘ pull- ing it down’ from overhead, you know — very clever — the little thing was breathing on the grass, and it made sounds "He shrugged and walked on. ‘‘She killed her twenty-first bird straight; it was a handsome cup, too.”’ And after a silence, ‘‘So you didn’t love her any more, Mr. Siward?’’— mockingly sweet. They laughed, and at the sound of laughter the tall- stemmed alders echoed with the rushing roar of a cock- grouse thundering skyward. Crack! Crack! Whirling over and over through a cloud of floating feathers a heavy weight struck the springy earth. There lay the big, mottled bird, splendid silky ruffs spread, dead eyes closing, a single tiny crimson bead twinkling like a ruby on the gaping beak Might I sit here a moment to June 9, 1906 ‘You deal death mercifully,” said the girl in a low voice. ‘*T wonder what your ci-devant sweetheart would think of you.” ‘‘A bungler had better stick to the traps,’’ he assented, ignoring the badinage. ‘*T am wondering,” she said thoughtfully, ‘‘ what / think of men who kill.” He turned sharply, hesitated, shrugged. ‘‘ Wild things’ lives are brief at best —fox or flying-tick, wet nests or mink, owl, hawk, weasel or man. But the death man deals is the most merciful. Besides,’’ he added, laughing, “ours is not a case of sweethearts.” **My argument is purely in the abstract, Mr. Siward. I am asking you whether the death men deal is more justifi- able than a woman’s gift of death?’’ “Oh, well, life-taking, the giving of life—there can be only one answer to the mystery; and I don’t know it,” he replied, smiling. “on They had passed swale afterswale of silver birches, waist- deep in perfumed fern and brake; the big timber lay before them. She moved forward, light gun swung easily across her leather-padded shoulder; and on the wood's sunny edge she seated herself, straight young back against a giant pine, gun balanced across her flattened knees. ‘**You are feeling the pace a little,”’ he said, coming up and standing in front of her. “The pace? No, Mr. Siward.” ‘‘Are you a trifle—bored?”’ She considered him in silence, then leaned back luxuriously, rounded arms raised, wrists crossed to pillow her head. ‘This is charmingly new to me,” she said simply. ‘What? Not the open?” ‘‘No; I have camped and done the usual roughing it with only three guides apiece and the champagne inade- quately chilled. I have endured that sort of hardship several times, Mr. Siward.” In the silence the birds began to reappear. A jay screamed somewhere deep in the yellowing woods; black- capped chickadees dropped from twig to twig, cheeping inquiringly. She sat listening, bright head pillowed in her arms, idly attentive to his low, running comment on beast and bird and tree, on forest stillness and forest sounds, on life and the wild laws of life and death governing the great out-world ‘twixt sky and earth—sunlight and shadows moving, speech and silence waxed and waned. A listless contentment lay warm upon her, weighting the heavy white lids. The blue of her eyes was very dark now — almost purple, like the color of the sea when the wind-flaws turn the blue to violet. ‘*Did you ever hear of the Lesser Children?"’ she asked. ‘Listen then ‘**Multitudes, multitudes, under the moon they stirred! The weaker brothers of our earthly breed; ; All came about my head and at my feet A thousand thousand sweet, With starry eyes not even raised to plead; Bewildered, driven, hiding, fluttering, mute! And I beheld and saw them one by one Pass, and become as nothing in the night.’ ‘*Do you know what it means? ‘‘Winged mysteries of song that from the sky Once dashed long music down ‘*Do you understand?”’ she asked, smiling. ‘“‘Who has not seen in the high gulf of light What, lower, was a bird!’”’ She ceased, and, raising her eyes to his: ‘‘Do you know that plea for mercy on the lesser children who die all day to-day because the season opens for your pleasure, Mr. Siward?”’ ‘“‘Is it a woodland sermon?” he inquired, too politely. “The poem? No; it is the case for the prosecution. The prisoner may defend -himself if he can.” “The defense rests,’’ he said. ‘‘The prisoner moves that he be discharged.” ‘*Motion denied,”’ she interrupted promptly. Somewhere in the woodland world the crows were hold- ing a noisy session, and she told him that was the jury debating the degree of his guilt. ‘Because you're guilty, of course,”’ she continued. ‘‘I wonder what your sentence is to be?”’ ‘*T’ll leave it to you,” he suggested lazily. ‘Suppose I sentenced you to slay no more?” ‘Oh, I'd appeal ee ‘No use; I am the tribunal of last resort.” ‘Then I throw myself upon the mercy of the court.” ‘You do well, Mr. Siward. This court is very merciful. ; How much do you care for bird murder? Very much? Is there anything you care for more? Yes? And could this court grant it to you in compensation?”

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| | | | } i } He said, deliberately roused by the level challenge of her gaze: ‘‘The court is incompetent to compensate the pris- oner or offer any compromise.” ““‘Why, Mr. Siward?”’ ‘**Because the court herself is already compromised in her future engagements.” ‘‘But what has my — engagement to do with ‘‘You offered compensation for depriving me of my shooting. There could be only one compensation."’ ‘‘And that?”’ she asked, coolly enough. “Your continual companionship.” ‘*But you have it, Mr. Siward ‘‘T have it fora day. The season lasts three months, you know.” ‘“‘And you and I are to play a continuous vaudeville for three months? Is that your offer?" ‘*Partly.” ‘“‘Then one day with me is not worth those many days of murder?” she asked in pretended astonishment. * Ask yourself why those many days would be THE SATURDAY EVENING POST who stood doubtfully at the water's edge, looking back at Sylvia. Raising her dismayed eyes she encountered his; there was a little laugh between them. She stepped daintily across the stones to the water's edge, instinctively gathering her kilts in one hand. **Miles and I could chair you over,’ suggested Siward “Is that fair—under the rules?"’ ‘‘As long as you go straight, miss,”’ said the keeper So they laid aside the guns and the guide's gamesack, and formed a chair with their hands, and, bearing the girl between them, they waded out along the driven alder stakes, knee-deep in brown water Her arm, lightly resting around his neck, tightened a trifle as the water rose to his thighs; then the faint pressure relaxed as they thrashed shoreward through the shallows and landed among the dry reeds on the farther bank Miles, the keeper, went back for the guns. Siward stamped about in the sun, shaking the drops from fire, hesitated, wavered; then the possibility passed; th: vung fellow lowered the gun, slowly, gravely stood moment motionless, with bent head, until the rising « n his face had faded And that was all, for a while The astonished and di isted kee per stared into the thicket the dog lay qui ing, impatient forsignal. Sylvia's heart, which had seem« to stop with her voice, silenced in the gusty thunder of heavy wings, began beating too fast For the r crack of a gunshot could have spoken no louder to her the glittering silence of the suspended barrels; nor any promise of his voice sound as the startled stillness sounded now about her. For he had made something a trifle more than mere amends for his rudeness. He was overdoing everything — a litth He stood on the thicket’s edge, absently unloading the weapon, scarcely understanding what he had done what he had not don A moment latera far hail sounded across the uplands, and against the sky figure moved distantly doubly empty,” he said so seriously that the pointless game began to confuse her. “Then’’—she turned lightly from uncertain ground—‘‘Then perhaps we had better be about that matter of the cup you prize so highly. Are you ready, Mr. Siward? There is much to be killed yet including time, you know.” But the hinted sweet- ness of the challenge had aroused him, and he made no motion to rise. Nor did she. ‘l am not sure,”’ he reflected, ‘‘just exactly what I should ask of you if you insist on taking away’’—he turned and looked about him through the burnt-gold foliage “if you took away all this out of my life.” “IT shall not take it; because | have nothing in exchange to offer, . . . you say,’ she answered imprudently. ‘I did not say so,” he retorted. “You did — reminding me that the court is already engaged for a con- tinuous performance. ' “Was it necessary to remind you?” he asked with deliberate malice. She flushed up, vexed, silent, then looked directly at him with beautiful hos- tile eyes. ‘‘What do you mean, Mr. Siward? Are you taking our harmless, idle badinage as warrant for an intimacy unwar- ranted?” “Have I offended?" he asked, so impassively that a flash of resentment brought her to her feet, angry and _ self-possessed. ‘‘How far have we to go?” she asked quietly. He rose to his feet, turned, hailing the keeper, repeating the question. And at the answer they Alderdene and Marion Page,” said Siward “a believe we lunch yonder do we not, Miles They climbed the hill in silence, arriving after a few minutes to find others already at luncheon — the Page boys, eager, enthu ast recounting adven ture by flood and field Rena Bannesdel, tired and frankly bored, and deco- rated with more than her share of mud Kileen Shannon, very pretty, very effective, having done more execution with her eves than with the dainty fowling piece beside her Marion Page nodded to Sylvia and Siward with a crisp, businessiike question or two, then went over to inspect their bag, nodding approbation as Miles laid the game on the gra Eight full brace," she commented ‘We have five, and an odd cock pheasant—from Black Fells, I Suppose Ihe people to our left ha been blazing away lik« Coney Island, but Rena guide says the ferns ar full of rabbits that way and Major Belwether can't hit fur afoot You,” she added frankly to Siward “ought to take the cup The birches ahead of ’ are full of woodcock If you don’t, Howard Quar rier will. He's into a flight of jack-snipe, | hear Siward's eves had sud denly narrowed: then | both started forward, the dog ranging ahead through a dense growth of beech and chestnut, over a high brown ridge, then down, always down, along a leafy ravine to the water’s edge —a forest pond set in the gorgeous foliage of ripening maples. “I don’t see,” said Sylvia impatiently, ‘“‘how we are going to obey instructions and go straight ahead. There must be a stupid boat somewhere!”’ But the game-laden keeper shook his head, pulled up his hip-boots, and pointed out a tine of alder poles set in the water to mark a crossing. ‘‘Am I expected to wade?"’ asked the girl anxiously. ‘This here,”’ observed the keeper, ‘‘is one of the most sportin’ courses on the estate. Last season I seen Miss Page go through it like a scared deer the young lady, sir, that took last season's cup’’—in explanation to Siward, “Under that Bunch of Fern,”” He Whispered ; “Just the Color of the Dead Leaves water-proof breeches and gaiters, only to be half-drenched again when Sagamore shook himself vigorously ‘I suppose,”’ said Sylvia, looking sideways at Siward *‘vour contempt for my sporting accomplishments has 1 decreased. I'm SOrry ; I ( like to walk in wet sh ° even to gain your approval.”” And, as_ the keeper came splashing across the shallows: *' Miles may carry my gun. I shall not need it any longer The upward roar of a bevy of grouse drowned her voice Poor Sagamore, pointing madly in the blackberry thicket all unperceived, cast a dismayed glance aloft where the sunlit air quivered under the winnowing rush of heavy wings. Siward flung up his gun, heading a big quartering bird; steadily the glittering barrels swept in the are of ed, | ing Saga mor chet l « beli e I nal hoot r ead n i rT h id tur I { Vara tl ip at luncheor a he ree l } Quarrier wel h the ; cup . ran nse ‘ 5 sa.da Marion Page curt! yu it | are the cleanest shot I ever “aos kine And she raised Do You See?” her la ‘ hir ‘ k] and emptte hh the prec m characterist ot her \ 1 cup! W itt ill ’ hear | also drink to your icce M » ir ua s i il oice, liftur her ass in the inhignt l t! St yver Cup i 1 h it \ a t parkied aloft amid a gay tumuit ol vo. nil success, Sylvia dropped her voice, attur to his ear me succe | I the ‘ ip il 4 A 1 I t ite eT you wish success!"’ And she meant it ve kind His hand resting on his gla he at, smiling ent acknowledgment to the noisy, generous toasts: he tu i and looked at Sylvia when her lov once caught fis ear looked at her very steadily, unsmiling i

Page 16

- Senate. 14 THE SATURDAY EVENING POST FOUNDED A°D' 1728 PUBLISHED EVERY SATURDAY BY THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY 421 TO 427 ARCH STREET GEORGE HORACE LORIMER, EDITOR PHILADELPHIA, JUNE 9, 1906 A Rare Senatorship T IS difficult to credit the report that, as part considera- tion for the settlement of the Montana copper fight, Mr. F. Augustus Heinze is to succeed to Mr. Clark’s seat in the The report probably grew, by an easy but unwar- ranted inference, out of Mr. Clark's alleged intention to withdraw from the Upper House at the expiration of his term. The gossips of the Capital jumped to the conclusion that he would have a successor. In that case the proba- bilities obviously pointed to Mr. Heinze, who had more loose change than anybody else who could establish such shadowy claim of residence in the State as would be required to meet the proprieties, and who was understood to be as willing to be Senator as he had ever been to sit in any other friendly game. The report, therefore, could claim plausi- bility; but it seems to us that it overlooks the important contingency that Mr. Clark may decide to take his toga to New York with him. It cost him considerable worry and money. By very gradual and conservative degrees he has accustomed himself to it. Moreover, it is not only a rare garment, but there is every likelihood that it will become still rarer. Within twenty or thirty years there may not be another like it. Why should he give it up? Montana hasa more tolerant and liberal-minded attitude toward her togas than almost any other State. As between handing the mantle over to Mr. Heinze and Jetting Mr. Clark add it to the curios in his exceedingly curious Fifth Avenue house, we cannot see that she would have anything to lose by the latter course. If one could rely upon certain ante- compromise statements concerning Mr. Heinze the State might have a lot to gain by it. On the whole, we deem the report premature. Argument by Epithet HE present Administration is remarkably happy in the coining of telling epithets. To the Attorney- General we are indebted for the ‘‘immunity bath,”’ which describes in a homely American manner the only longing for cleanliness that our unregenerate trusts ever evince. The President himself has a knack of hitting off a phrase that will go whole into a newspaper headline; his latest contribution has been the celebrated ‘‘man with a muck- rake” that threatens to run the ‘“‘man with a hoe”’ clear out of sight. Now Secretary Taft swings into line with his trenchant phrase, the ‘‘ parlor Socialist.” It would be hard to pack into two words more contempt from the point of view of the ‘‘man who does things’’ than is contained in this last epithet. The single word parlor breathes a sneer. If the Secretary of War had said the ‘‘ drawing- room Socialist," or even the ‘‘kitchen”’ or the “ barroom Socialist,” we might still retain some respect for the weakling. A man might confess to socialist views in those resorts and still have some manhood in him, but from the parlor? Never! Translated into terms of prose, what Secretary Taft means to imply by his disdainful epithet is that those men who hold certain political or social views and content themselves with talk instead of getting out and doing something are of little account in this worid and entitled to little respect. The same sort of reproach is often made because professing Socialists fail to ‘‘divide up’’ whatever worldly goods they may have inherited or acquired in accordance with their supposed beliefs. Such slurs are based on the fallacy of thinking that men must be “‘ doing something”’ all the time to prove their sincerity or their worth. Why should a Socialist make a stern profession of faith by denuding himself of his private wealta because he THE SATURDAY EVENING POST believes in the collective ownership of property? To whom should he hand over his goods in the present state of society? Socialism is a social theory—faith in a reorganization of society. Before that reorganization comes about, if it ever does come about, there will be many millions of just such parlor Socialists as Secretary Taft despises, and their collective convictions and utterances will make it possible for the changed conditions of society to be. A man may be a moral force without ‘‘running things.” Argument by epithet is effective with a popu- lar and unreflective audience, but it is usually unfair and fallacious. The Lath-Sword Duo E WONDER how long this fiery antagonism between Senators Tillman and Spooner can continue without some shocking result. Fora good while it has been one of the continuous features of the Upper House. Correspond- ents are pretty certain of it as a resource for the brightening of a dull session. If the stalwart Carolinian arises —and he never takes the risk of cramps from sitting still too long--the gallery pricks up its ears and looks across the aisle to see what the eloquent Wisconsan is going to do. There would be great disappointment if Senator Spooner should make one of his frequent and impressive speeches without half a dozen galling interruptions from Senator Tillman. At times they are acrimonious—that is, in moments of great passion Senator Tillman has said that Senator Spooner was temperamentally inclined to take a conservative view, and Senator Spooner, being exasperated out of self-control, has expressed the opinion that Senator Tillman’s manners were abrupt to the verge of brusqueness. Then, always, both Senators have profusely apologized to each other, to the chair, to the Senate, to the press gallery, to the visitors’ gallery, to the country at large, and, once more, to each other. Personally, we have the highest regard for both Senators, feeling sure they are able, earnest, conscientious public servants, who are duly weighted with a sense of the responsibilities of their great office, and who would not, in any circumstances, interrupt public business for more than a week to twaddle pointless personalities at each other. Perhaps they suffer a little, however, from having uncon- sciously absorbed the views of some colleagues who think that the Senate exists solely for the benefit and pleasure of Senators. We hope they will moderate their heat. Otherwise, in the course of another decade of this sort of continu- ous practice, they may work up to the point where one will actually bite his thumb at the other. Turning of the Worm TRANGE things are reported from Chicago. Sixteen big railroads, we are told, have formed a die-in-the-last- ditch brotherhood to compel the Farm-Implement Trust to pay the $150,000 or so of demurrage charges that it owes them. ‘Leading railroad officials”’ are alleged to declare ‘openly ’’ that the Beef Trust has been beating them out of great sums by misstating the character of goods shipped, billing high-rate commodities as low-rate ones and the like. They also assert that the Glucose Trust has grossly imposed upon them, and that they are going to stop it. If these reports are true, evidently extraordinary and stirring times are in prospect in the greatest railroad centre in the world. The reports plainly indicate a turning of the worm, a re- bellion of the poor and oppressed railroads against the ruthless tyranny of the big shipper. The heartless inge- nuity and the infinite variety with which this tyranny has long been exercised is now a familiar story to all students of contemporaneous transportation literature. We cannot pretend to tell what direction the rebellion will take, or whether it will succeed; but we can vouch for the rare old Colonial mettle of some of the men upon whom its fortunes must depend. The country may expect to behold Mr. Hughitt of the Northwestern reénacting the midnight ride of Paul Revere with all the ardent gallantry of the original feat. When it comes to Lexington, Mr. Ripley of the Atchison, and Mr. Earling of the St. Paul, will certainly be among the first of the embattled railroad presidents to fire a shot heard 'round the world. The foe is numerous, well organized, and wonderfully well supplied with ammunition; but, if the roads are really going to stand upon a declaration of independence, the thin red line at Chicago will certainly give an heroic account of itself. Too Easily Scared T IS the peculiar misfortune of the Bourbon mind that it cannot tell the difference between a proposal to trim its hair and one to decapitate it. Its feelings are equally hurt by either. Whatever hysteria we are now suffering from is mostly discoverable on the side of those who wish no change in existing conditions, and who think that whoever does wish a change must be out of his head. Occasionally, of course, an overwrought performer on the June 9, 1906 other side delivers himself of a fit; but, generally speaking, the clamor that is wild-eyed with unreason is a monopoly of our friends, the enemy. Harkening thereto one might erroneously infer that the country was in imminent danger of turning a somersault out of the highway of experience; that it was rapidly taking the infection of a lot of new, untried, Utopian doctrines. This is not at all so. Disapproving thievery is really nothing new in human experience. Other peoples have done it and come out safe. Government regulation of railroad rates, municipal ownership of street-car lines, even an inheritance tax —all of these things are well within the bounds that have been marked out by practical tests. Whether any or all of them should be adopted is purely a matter of expediency that can be judged on well-tried grounds, and not at all a harebrained leap in the dark. Probably the temper of the time is revolutionary. Other- wise it must be an exceedingly stupid and unprofitable time. But it really proceeds carefully, intelligently. To appreciate this one need look back only a short time to the Greenback movement and the still more recent Free Silver propaganda. Both proposed essentially to create prosperity by fiat; to make people well off by giving them cheap dollars. With all this moan about departing from the solid road we may be in danger of forgetting that the gold standard was finally established by law only within the last decade, and that nobody now thinks of changing it. There is a world-wide difference between demanding that every fifty cents shall be called a dollar, and all possible demands which look simply to a freer opportunity to earn the fifty cents and a rather fairer chance of keeping it after it is earned. The currency is a dry topic. A survey of its history among us might, however, bring some cheer to the perturbed souls who think that the country’s strong pre- disposition is to run amuck. The Greatest Navy T IS a real comfort to be told occasionally that the Elders of the Country were blockheads. So Mr. Roose- velt’s recent speech, pointing out their supreme folly in failing to provide an adequate navy before the War of 1812 came along, was welcome for its own monotony-relieving self. We do not know whether the British Chancellor of the Exchequer read the speech before presenting his esti- mates for the ensuing fiscal year. If he did he evidently decided to brave the danger of posthumously suffering a like reproach from some statesman of the next century, for he insists that expenditures for the army and navy must becurtailed. To those of us who believe with the President this must seem a mere wanton flirtation with national destruction. But the Chancellor had something else in mind. He discovers that, since the Boer War, army and navy expenditures have increased at such a pace that, not- withstanding enlarged revenues, the Government has a ‘floating’ or unfunded debt amounting to the tidy sum of $280,000,000 — the carrying of which now and again causes a low groan of distress. And the burden seems bound to increase in exactly the proportion in which the Empire keeps ahead of the martially competing countries of Europe. As between courting ruin through not having a navy stronger than all other navies combined, and lugging ruin in bodily through national bankruptcy, the Chancellor appears to see some points in favor of the former course. What, he may argue, is the use of insuring ourselves against the losses of war if we have to ‘‘bust’”’ ourselves to do it? Perhaps the final usefulness of a matchless armor that breaks the wearer’s back is open to debate. Many people are dubious about strenuous athletics because it is so diffi- cult to tell exactly when you have trained to a perfect con- dition and stop short of the one stroke more which will make you live on gruel and go in a wheeled chair ever after- ward. Our national coach must be patient if we do lag a bit, and even persist in eating pie. What is Art? ERHAPS we should have a National Commission to determine whether or not Mr. Mansfield can act. For a long time this question appeared to be definitely settled in the affirmative—with the cordial approval and co- operation of Mr. Mansfield himself. So, after season we cheerfully paid the extra prices in the satisfying belief that we were enjoying a superior exposition of histrionic art. But of late a number of critics of more or less authority have declared very positively that this was a mistake; that Mansfield merely thinks he can act; that all the while we have been felicitating ourselves upon elevating our taste at his performance we have been actually debasing it. Presumably there is a Sanhedrin, a higher high priest- hood, a body of electest of the elect, who really know all the time what is art and what isn’t. But they have no way of getting themselves recognized. It seems that the rest of us might as well adopt Tolstoi’s view that art is something which isn’t —and muddle along with no higher aim than to take what happens to please us. season

Page 17

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST MEN @® WOMEN Teeth; Idle Teeth! For Revenue Only ARRY LEON WILSON, author of The Spenders, was domiciled for a summer in Connecticut with a colony of artists and writers, all of whom had to go into the city every day. Wilson was doing nothing but loafing He loafed artistically, and from time to time met and had fun with some of the natives of the place. One day he found two men in the road who seemed conge- nial and he struck up an acquaintance with them. He proposed a drive and they got a surrey and two horses. Can you drive?”’ asked Wilson. ‘*Sure,” one of his sudden friends re- plied. ‘‘I am a fine driver.” They got aboard and started down the road. Before they had gone half a mile the team was frightened by a passing automobile and ran away. The driver valiantly steered the horses into a tele- phone pole and Wilson and his two friends were thrown helter-skelter into the road. Wilson slowly gathered himself to- gether. One of his friends was sitting in the ditch rubbing his bruises and the ~ ( TTO VON GOTTBERG, the German journalist, went to Venezuela when the asphalt troubles One day he made the castle to were interesting arrangements to talk to President received by a man in a gaudy uniform, covered with gold b Gott berg Spanish and talked with this man about the internal and external affairs of Venezuela He Was knows a littl He noticed that the other gold-laced people in the room watched him cun oush) Finally, one of them came to Gottberg and touched him on_ the houlder My friend,” he said, ‘I can tell you of a much better one Much better what mystified Much better d one asked ( iottberg, barber,”’ said the gold lace o barber then conversing with one But I want 1 Pardon your time And Gottberg me, Sif why spend renee aap eee soon discovered that other stood in the middle of the road gaz- ing in tearful misery at two front teeth which he held in the palm of his hand. ‘Pretty lucky escape, wasn’t it?’’ asked Wilson, for want of something better to say. “Yes,” replied the man with the teeth, weeping afresh, ‘but please, oh, please, tell me, what shall I do with these?”’ Mr. Cortelyou’s Cigar HEN George B. Cortelyou, now Postmaster-General, resigned as Secretary of Commerce and Labor to become chairman of the Republican National Committee and take charge of President Roosevelt's campaign, he decided he must do something to get a hail-fellow standing with the politicians he must meet. Cortelyou had been a very busy man all his life. He had not had time to acquire any of the companionable vices; he did not drink or smoke. He knew most politicians did both. He would not drink, so he made up his mind he would smoke. He went into retirement for a few daysand learned tosmoke after a fashion, and with much distress. At the end of his experiment he could puff on a cigar with an enjoy- ment that was purely apparent and entirely unreal. He didn’t like it. His private secretary, H. O. Weaver, was a man with the cor- rect and abstemious habits of his chief. He never had smoked. ‘*Weaver,”’ said Mr. Cortelyou one day after he had begun to smoke, ‘‘I think you must learn to smoke.” ‘But, Mr. Chairman,”’ protested Weaver, ‘‘I never have smoked and I don’t want to learn.” “‘Oh, yes, Weaver,’’ Cortelyou insisted, ‘‘we are politicians now and we must smoke.”’ Poor Weaver struggled gallantly for a few deys and got to a condi- tion where he could smoke a small portion of a cigar without losing all interest in things. When a caller came Chairman Cortelyou would offer him a cigar — and he kept very good ones -take one himself and pass the box to Weaver. ‘‘Have a cigar, Weaver,” he would say Then both he and Weaver would light up and smoke until the visitor left. As soon as the door was closed both cigars would be thrown away. When the campaign closed Weaver rebelled. ‘I'll never smoke any more,” he Nor has Cortelyou His Grand Tour RANCIS BURTON HARRISON, the former Repre- sentative from New York, and Lindsay Dennison, the writer, went to Cuba. They arrived in Havana in the middle of the tourist season and had some difficulty in Edward Everett Hale Chaplain of the Senate said. And he hasn’t. Sir Chentung Liang-Cheng, the Chinese Minister, and His Attachés and Secretaries of Legation getting rooms at the hotel. Finally they secured accom modations at the Telegrifo, but found it impossible to get a place for Harrison’s valet, who was sent over to the Pasaje The name of the valet was Stanley Pinner He had appeared on all the other hotel-registers as ‘‘ And Valet but when he got to the Pasaje he arrived at the dignity of registering for himself. Pinner was an Englishman, very English and very valety Harrison ran for Lieutenant-Governor in New York in 1904, on the Democratic ticket, and had an idea that the reporters would be around to see him. He had to go out one afternoon and left Dennison on guard to talk for him if the reporters came. None came. When Harrison returned to the hotel he said: ‘‘Any of the new boys been around, Lindsay?” “Not one,’’ Dennison replied Then they forgot about it. Next morning, when they got the Havana Post, they found nothing about themselves but there was this paragraph Mr. Stanley Pinner, of New York, is at the Pasaje. He will remain in Havana for several days seeing the sights and will then continue his tour of the West Indies." The Goose was Yanked! HERE were some stormy times in the Congresses over which the late Speaker Crisp, of Georgia, presided, and it was occasionally necessary to invoke the authority of the sergeant-at-arms by bringing out the which is his emblem of authority The mace is a gilded bundle of sticks, bound around with a broad band and surmounted with a American eagle. When it is carried down the centre aisle of the House everybody is supposed to keep quiet or suffer the penalty. The House was in a turmoil one day and pape r mace, saucy a Southern Representative was presiding, having been called to the chair by Speaker Crisp. The veteran ‘Ike’ Hill wa acting as sergeant-at-arms The disturbance became so great that the temporary Speaker couid do nothing. Seeing Hill in the centre aisle he commanded: “Ike, yank the goose! A Question of Identity AY DURHAM, the theatrical manager, wa a Washington correspondent and worked for a Minne apolis paper. He was under orders to Jam Blaine every day, and he carried out his instruction One night he received a telegram reading Cease your attacks on Mr. Blaine.”’ The message was signed A.J Blethen.” Durham looked at the telegram in amazement. He had never heard of Blethen and he had specific instructions So he wired to the home office ‘“Who is A. J. Blethen and what right has he to instruct me about my work?”’ The answer came Iam A. J. Blethen. I bought this paper to-day and I no longer require your services.” formerly attack t (y the man he had been i President Castro's barber terviewing Wa had not Castro made him a general so he would him out of the ¢ A Long Way Off have to pay astro private purse ( NCE, when Chauncey M. Depew through the South his train at a desolate litth place in Arkansas in sight down a great expanse of red clay and a forlorn native was making a trip topped to cool a hot box There was nothing a few stunted tree but a tumble station who stood leaning against the side of the dilapidated building Mr. Depew walked around a bit and then spoke to the native Live here? he asked Yessuh Well, well,”” commented Depew I should hat fixed like that This place must be a mile from God knowledge Strange said the native, as he shifted f1 ne foot to the other it's a leetle furder nor tha The Hall of Fame € Senator Hansbrough, of North Dakota, was a reportet before he went into politics, and a good or @ Secretary Shaw, of the Treasury, ha x toes on each foot. So has “Slippers,” the White H ca c> Chentung Liang-Cheng he Chinese Minister to this country, is a baseball crank He goes to every game when the Washingtons are at home He ised to pla first base for Amherst, and it is col histery that h won a tight game with a two-base hit € Amzi Smith superintendent of tt Document Room at the Capitol, has a marvelous memor He is familia with all the countless bills and documents for many session hack, and can get the desired one at any time without consulting in dexes or file lists ree € Chaplain Hale frequently pla a clerical joke or the Senate Whenever a minister from abroad comes to visit him he invites the visitor to help him open with praye Thus, he has a respor ser four or five minutes lor while the Senator ho happen to be the chamber expect a half cs itor Bacor ot Creor a makes one joke a year rhis i the 1006 one Flir he said t the Senator from California, “are you going to speak to-morrow No,”’ Flint answered Why do yu ask ? Because,”’ said Bacor 1 see that Stone will speak, and I didn't know but you might al and see if, between the two atic ited couldn't strike a spar of Georgia

Page 18

SATURDAY EVENING POST June 9, 1906 \ Mabe: af ee jasdaas.. Aad —— - eee

tg FE SAM’S SMOKING OUTLAY last year was nearly $300,000,000. It included over 7,689,337,207 cigars. We have led in tobacco-growing since the day when tobacco was used as currency in Virginia. To-day we raise just six times as much as our nearest competitor, Russia, and one-fourth the world’s whole crop. rhis is big business. Do you wonder that Congress has been liberal with appropriations to study and improve tobacco-growing ?) Experts work on it constantly. Es pecially on cigar tobaccos, because they are our largest

import item. Every improvement in domestic cigar leaf keeps money at home ind ulds a big home industry bigger. So there are government lectures to growers of cigar tobacco, government soil analyses, government bulletins on fertilizers, seeds, insect pests — even a vernmen i machine at Washington that automatically smokes hundreds of cigars daily t » determine quality. O IMPROVE OUR DOMESTIC CIGARS, everything pertaining to their T manufacture from seed and fertilizer to tinished product, has been studied over ma over; avain and again by experts. Resu ts have been obtained better crops, in finer workmanship. But until a few years ago a curious gap irose between crop and factory to depreciate the finished product.

underdone. The highest qualities of the raw leaf were not brought out, and there was no uniformity. While the experts of Uncle Sam's agricultural department were making their experiments, these problems of tobacco growing, cur , aging and manu facture were also receiving attention independently from the American Cigar Company. This Company's position as the largest manufacturer and distributor of cigars in the world, its enormous consumption of leaf tobacco, its many famous brands, its highly paid scientific specialists, made it not only possible to gather information as widely as the government itself, but to do what even the government could not do. For where Uncle Sam had to stop short with bulletins and recommendations of better methods for curing cigar leaf, the American Cigar Company was able to act directly upon reforms.

The S

aturday Evening

THE UPLIFTING OF How Scientific Methods of Growing, Curing and Blending ESPECIALLY WRITTEN BY HROUGH A SERIES OF EXHAUSTIVE TESTS the American Cigar Company’s experts analyzed every type of tobacco from all parts of the world. They tested every method of growing, harvesting, handling, curing, grading, fermenting, blending and manufacturing — and studied the effects of each.

When it became clear that all future progress in cigar manufacture depended upon bridging the gap that lay between planters and _ factories, that gap was filled. The methods found to produce the best results, and the experiments which proved valuable, and the discoveries which these experiments disclosed, led to the construction of a great system of field warehouses where the raw leaf could be cured under conditions of temperature and humidity parallel to that naturally existing in Cuba, everywhere recognized as the ideal “tobacco climate.” Next, a system of “‘stemmeries” was added, to take the leaf after it left the field warehouses. In the “stemmeries” provision is made for sorting the tobacco into hundreds of grades and then subjecting it to an entirely new process of blending These “stemmeries”’ of the American Cigar Company represent the only equipment of this nature in the United States. HE BOUQUET OF A CIGAR depends on its blend. <A cigar made en tirely from tobacco grown in one district, for example, will lack the piquancy of true bouquet, even when the leaf is properly cured. The old-fashioned Under a system long followed our cigar tobacco went, at precisely the packer cured, by haphazard methods, tobacco from only a few farms as a rule. most critical point in its development, into the hands of middlemen often When such leaf came to the cigar-maker he made a rough blend by rolling sey nexperienced in handling eral varieties of leaf into ( the same cigar. But this They had raised was only a* tobacco sand erior ». The mar wich” at best. The next fox e1 vaiting te cigar he made was prob make cival be ably quite different in its ty them stood the old mixture. Thus the lack of fashic ker and job uniformity in the quality of fe he any one brand of ciga ripe r —| P whatever the price. here e ' ie 5 was no way of being e¢-ract \ ; — re | until the American Ciga hese details = jes if Company found one. stave = f Inthe American Cigar é | luc ~ = . Company's * stemmeries ”’ ( f ina Sees a a very different process Is ‘ SSS iis empk ed. Such tobacco, ripe na ! ‘ i . coming from the field ware < at ‘ t hemica nves house perfectly cured, ke th f tin ne combined in large quan tl S tities, and then stored in t a the |] s rooms where the climate Yet this process v eft to of Cuba is exactly duph men whose methods were cated. Hlere it remains in the words of a United for months—-for vears, if States government bull need be—the different tin, “largely a matter of varieties of leaf thor

chance.” ous ghly intermingled. It Pheir process was ripens, it ages, gains haphazard. It varied, smoothness and s avor, and and was never contro!led. Drying Process in one of the Great ‘‘ Stemmeries "’ of the American Cigar Company forms a true blend by long In some cases ripening Herve t F rough an fining process ng” ina constant warm, humid atmosphere contact. was overdone, in others ; ; sari italia ta ee The American Cigar Company’s far-reaching organization, and its importance as the largest purchaser of cigar leaf in the world, brings to its warehouses not only the choicest of each crop, but a range of different types that could never be assembled under old conditions. The Company’s immense production of all classes of cigars consumes the entire output of the best plantations in Cuba. Its leaf experts know every acre of tobacco land in the United States, and watch the progress of each crop from week to week. Its factories produce saitiions of cigars of every grade, from the cheroot that sells at one cent to the domestic perfecto that costs a quarter, Under such a system not only the choicest leaf is controlled, but even the cheapest stogie contains choice tobacco. What is rejected in Post Advertiser

Page 19

eee A GREAT INDUSTRY THE SATURDAY EVENING POST Tobacco Leaf Have Revolutionized the Cigar Business RICHARD WARD SNOWDON the blend for a famous panetela can be utilized in a cigar of less cost, and yet give the latter finer material than any manufacturer could put into it under a less comprehensive plan of operation. These scientific processes have improved the domestic cigar at least too per cent., giving a “ mellowness,” mildness, freedom from bitterness and a de veloped fragrance In 5c. Cigars, for example, which were by no means common even in the toc, cigar a few years ayo. t the 7 ) P He ti ; ( business A N the Industry NaS them t pi adulyvlo f pu the best rs pos / fo ma Furtherv : f d Business Fi 1 The men it the head of the American Cigar Company are good enough judges of hu Selection of Leaf Filler Another ‘‘Stemmery’’ Process man nature to of the American Cigar Company ippreciat The leat is kept intr AS, tiff? “blends” 4 flor the tact th compartment t the “st ré It ' s ( and graded, and cach grad sembled trucks meritorious SeTVICE th best and most permanent foundation for commercial success. If they give better cigars at lower cost than can be given by any other manufacturer, they secure, by perfectly logica and common-sense methods, what is virtually a franchise from the public to supply it with its cigars. A franchise based upon public preference is stronger and more enduring than an) that can be secured by legislative enactment, and it is this sort of franchise, obtained in this way, that the American Cigar Company seeks gaining success by deserving it. Cigar smokers know what they want. ‘Taste is constanth improving, demanding better goods all the time. There is no way of forcing people to purchase any brand of cigar which does not appeal to them on its own merit. From the beginning, the entire force of the American Cigar Company’s organization and equipment has been devoted to the problem of improving cigar quality and lowering cigar cost. HE UNMISTAKABLE IMPROVEMENTS thus brought about have been demonstrated to the smoking public with ever-increasing emphasis by the appearance of brand after brand of cigars selling at 5c. possessing a superiority which has made them instantly popular and permanently successful. ‘These are of different brand-names and of different characteristics, but are all marked with the “A” (Triangle A) merit mark and possess the fundamental qualities of fragrance and matured “ripeness” for which the ” (Triangle A) always stands. This “A” (Triangle A) is the American Cigar Company's merit mark. gy and organization of this s ’ Behind it is the entire power, knowledge, ene great corporation, The Saturday Eve The The Wire Screen Drying Trays in an American Cigar Company's ** } STIONE r os ngle A) mark, whe ind positive uarant } Fr f v1 ' \ I i \\ I H " The 1 ducts of every l t { « for-1 >the hig \ mr 1s ¢ a the ( ( l ( | fa M By Stemmery () ( \ ‘ tan e range of ch il ite depend ble vhatever brand s Phe Ameri ( pany has in m the cost of long-est organizat the b mproved n ji increase cost pel h eve nite rent It ngle A) me hat he is obtai , yf j ie PP The ‘ thy Ix ‘ ( \ I \ ' } Held, Ge TRIANGLE A Triangle A

Page 20

a eo ‘oe and ice cream, and when they shoved yack and lighted the cigars which Lester had provided with prodigal hand, they all —— that the barbecue was “up to the bills.’ The ceremony at three was short, almost hurried, so great was the bustle about the house and yard. Fan wore no veil and George Adelbert made no change from the neat sack-suit which he had put on at rising. At the close of the clergyman’s blessing he was called upon for a second time to pump the hard hands and stringy arms of his neighbors as they filed by to bid them both a hearty God-speed. After this painful procession was ended Fan dragged o away to the bower where the young folks were alre ady dancing w ith wrodigious clatter. ‘‘ How young she is! ie exclaimed as he saw her mix with the crowd of tireless, stamping, prancing cow- boys. As the dance went on he grew furious with her lack of reserve, her indelicacy. Her good-natured laughter with the men who crowded about her familiarly was a kind of dislovaity. She seemed at times to be exchanging doubtful jests with them; and at last, to protect her from the results of her own fatuity, he danced with her him- self, danced almost incessantly, notwith- standing the heat and the noise. At sunset they all returned to the tables and ate up what remained of the ox and the ples Lester was well enough acquainted with these rough youths to know that some devil- try was preparing, and already furious with his bride and distrustful of his future his self-command at last gave way. Drawing Fan out of the crowd he said sternly ‘I've had enough of this! I'm having Aglar harness the buckskins into the red cart and I want vou to go to the house and pack a few things — we're going to Limone to catch the early train for Denver.” ‘We can't do that, Dell; we got to stay here and feed this gang once more.”’ ‘Oh, hang the gang! m sick of them. Get ready, I tell you! Who cares what these beggars think ?’ ’ She laughed You're jealous of them.” Then, rising to his passion, she answered All right, 1’ ll sneak some clothes into a bag and we'll slide out and leave the gang. A half-hour later they stole away toward the back of the garden and out upon the prairie where a Mexican was holding a spirited team. Fan was giggling so hard that she was barely able to lift the valise which she carried in her hand. ‘Don't you tell,”’ she said to the Mexican. ‘If they ask, say we went to Holcombe.” “Allright. 1 sabe,’’ the Mexican replied. Even as he spoke the music in the bower ceased and voices were heard in question. Fan ‘They've missed us already.” Lester took the reins. ‘‘Send 'em south, Aglar,’’ and at his chirp the team sprang forward out upon the road, into the coolness and silence of the midnight plain sob red. Fan, clutching Lester's arm, shook with laughter ‘It's like eloping —ain't it?” The tone of her voice irritated him. ‘Good Heavens! how vulgar she is! And she is my wife,’ was his thought—and he took no pleasure in her nearness. Wild whoops reached them from the ranch house now hid in the valley behind them, and a few moments later the yells broke out again perceptibly nearer “They're after us!" cried Fan, vastly excited and pleased. “It’s a race now,’ and, catching the whip from his hand, she lashed the horses into a gallop. He said: “I'll turn into the Sun-Fish Trail; we'll throw ‘em off the track.” No use, Dell Injuns We might as well No use,” she laughed. they can read a trail like they're overtaking us. turn and go back.” His only answer was a shout t besides, o the horses He was burning with fury now. All his hidden one . his concealed hatred of the vulgarians behind him filled his heart It was like them, the savages, to give chase With shrill whoops in imitation of Co- manches the cowboys came on, riding their swift and tireless ponies; like skimming hawks they swept down the swells, and the bride, clinging to her husband's arm, called each of them by hisname. ‘Link Compton is in the lead—pull up!’ She reached a firm hand and iaid it on the lines. ‘ Pull up, Del]; it’s no use, =! (Concluded from Page 5) He tried to shake off her grasp, but could not. Her voice changed to command. ‘Don't be a fool!’’ she called sharply, and laying both hands upon the reins she brought the horses into a trot in spite of his furious objection, just as the first of the pursuing cowboys rode alongside, and seizing one of the horses by the bit cried out: ‘‘Come back; we need you!” Even as he spoke a whistling rope settled round the fleeing couple, and the team came to a stand, serouated by a hooting mob of mounted men. The tight-drawn was like a steel embrace, and Compton called: ‘Thought you'd give us the slip, did ye? noose Well, I don’t think!” ‘Leave us alone, you ruffians,”’ shoute od Lester, ‘‘or it'll be the worse for you! They all laughed at this and Compton drew the rope tighter, pinning Lester's arms to his side ‘Boys : ‘began Fan in appeal, but she got no further. Lester, wrenching his right arm loose, began to shoot. What happened after that no one ever clearly knew, but the team sprang wildly forward, and Compton's pony reared and fell back- ward and the bride and groom were thrown violently to the ground. When Fan opened her eyes she saw the big stars above her and felt a sinewy arm beneath her head. Compton was fanning her with his hat and calling upon her to speak, his voice agonized with fear and re- morse. Slowly it all came back to her, and strug- gling to a sitting position she called pite- ously: ‘‘ Dell, where are you? Dell!’”’ Her voice rose in fear, a tone no man had ever heard in it before. She staggered to her feet and dazedly looked about her. <A group of awed, silenced, dismounted men not far away and on the ground, lying in a crumpled, distorted heap, was her husband. With a shriek of agony she fell on her knees beside him, calling upon him to open his eves, to speak to her. Then at last, as the conviction of his death came to her, she lifted her head and with a voice of level, hoarse-throated hate she imprecated her murderers. “I'll kill you, every one of yoy! IT’ S kill you for this you cowardly wolves I'] kill — StLooK Vv HEY lifted them both up for dead, and Compton, taking Fan in his strong arms, held her like a child as they drove slowly back to the ranch. All believed Lester dead; but Compton, who held his ear to Fan's lips, insisted that she was breathing, and indeed she recovered from her swoon before they reached the house. Blondell, more powerfully moved than ever before in his life, after a swift curse upon the cuiprits, took his girl to his bosom and carried her to her bed As her brain cleared, Fan rose and, stag- gering across the room, took her husband’s head in her arms. “Bring some water. Dell is hurt —don’t you see he is hurt? Be quick!”’ “‘Has somebody gone for the doctor? asked the mother, to whom this was the raving of dementia. ‘‘Somebody go.” No one had, for all believed the man to be dead, but Compton exclaimed, “I'll go!” turning to vault his horse, glad of something to do—eager to escape the sight of Fan's agonized face. The dash of cold water on his bruised face brought a flutter of life to Lester's eyelids, and in triumph the bride cried out: ‘I told you so! He is alive! Oh, Dell, can’t you speak to me?” He could not so much as lift his eyelids, but his breathing deepened, and with that sign of returning vitality Fan was forced to be content. She was perfectly ee now and helped to bathe his crushed and bleeding head and his broken shoulder with a calmness very impressive to all those who were permitted to glance within the room. Slowly the guests departed. The cow- boys, low-voiced and funereal of mien, rode away in groups of three or four. The doctor came, hurrying down the slope about ten of the morning, his small roan mustang galloping, his case of instru- ments between his feet. He was very young, and luckily very self-confident, and took THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

| a ie charge of ‘‘the case”’ with thrilling author- ity. “The coma was induced,” he explained, “by the concussion of the brain. The shoulder is also badly contused and the collar-bone broken — but if brain fever does not set in the man will live. The treatment so far as it has gone is admirable.”’ Compton returned with him, or a little before him, and seemed to be waiting for arrest. He was a lean, brown young fellow with good, gray eyes and a shapely nose. “Yes, I threw the rope,”’ he confessed to every one. ‘It was all in fun, but he shot my horse, and as he reared up he jerked the people out of the buggy. I guess the broncos jumped ahead at the same time. But it was my fault. I had no business to rope ‘em. In fact, we had no business chasing “em up at all.” At last Blondell gruffly told him to go home. “If the man dies we'll come after you,” he added with blunt ferocity. “All right,’’ responded the young fellow with lofty spirit. ‘I'll be there—but I want to see Fan a moment before I leave. I want to know if there is anything I can do for her or him.” Blondell was for refusing this utterly, but his wife said: ‘‘ You didn’t mean noth- ing, Link—I’m sure of that—and I've always liked you, and so has Fan. She won't lay it up against you, I know. I'll ” tell her you're here. Fan, sitting beside Lester’s bed, turned at her mother’s word and saw the young fellow standing in the doorway in mute appeal. Her glance was without anger, but it was cold and distant. She shook her head and the young rancher turned away shaken with sobs. That look was worse than her curse had been. From the dim, gray region of his delirium and his deathlike unconsciousness George Lester struggled slowly back to life. His reawakening was like a new birth. He seemed born again, this time an American a Western American. In the measure of a good old homely phrase, some sense (a sense of the fundamental oneness of human- ity) had been beaten into his head. As he lay there helpless and suffering he was first of all aware of Fan, whose face shone above him like the moon, and was soon able to understand her unwearying devotion and to remember that she was his wife. She was always present when he woke and he accepted her presence as he accepted sunshine, knowing nothing of the slee aie *SS- ness and toil which her attendance involved a knowledge of this came later. At times, gruff old Blondell himself bent his shaggy head above his bed to ask how he felt, and no mother could have been more considerate than Mrs. Blondell. “What right have I to despise these people?’ he asked himself one day. ‘‘ What have I done to lift myself above them?’’ (and this ques- tion extended to the neighbors, to the awk- ward ranchers who came stiffly and with a sort of awe into his room to “pass a good word,"’ as they said). ‘‘They are a good sort, after all’”—his heart prompted him to admit. But his deepest penitence, his tenderest gratitude rose to Fan, whom care and love had marvelously refined. He was able to forget her careless speech and to look quite through her untidy ways to the golden, good heart which beat beneath her unlovely gowns. Nothing was too hard, too menial for her hands, and her smile warmed his midnight sick-room like sunshine. le was curiously silent even after his strength was sufficient for speech. Content to lie on his bed and watch her as she moved about him, he answered only in monosyl- lables, while the deep current of his love gathered below his reticence. As he came to a full understanding of what he had been and to a sense of his unworthy estimate of her and her people, his passion broke bounds. ‘Fan!’ he called out one morn- ing, ‘‘I’m not fit to receive all your care and devotion—but I’m going to try to be. I'm going to set to work in earnest when I get up. Your people shall be my people, your cares my cares." He could not go on, and Fan, who was looking down at him in wonder, stooped and laid a kiss on his quivering lips. ‘You get well, boy; that’s all you need to worry about,” she said, and her face was very sweet —for she smiled upon him as if he were a child.

June 9, 1906

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| : We will call anywhere ‘ ica : in the United States. Our salesman is specimen book, showing the white and tourteen deli- cate colors in which Old Hampshire Bond _ is These specimens are printed, lithographed, made. embossed and steel die stamped. Each tint is adapted to individual treat- ment for a distinctive letter- head eftect. We want to send this book to you. You can look it over, noting the ideas and sugges- tions contained therein. An- alyze the paper as you would Notice the strength; see how it tears in piece of cloth. comparison with your present letterhead. The ‘feel,’ the ‘crackle”’ all these points should be tested. will si to you immediately as a paper of superior merit. very printer and lithographer has this specimen book, but we want to send you one. Hampshire Paper Compan oa” Hampshire ds . 4, Hen IS YOUR Beautiful Lawn disfigured by ugly leaning clothes posts that are a constant eve sore? Get Hill’s drweped Lawn Dryer It alway nd tidy il 100 to 150 feet of e, ict ved atter More than 2 million people use them \lso Balcony and R of Dryer If ardware st te Cat HILL DRYE R co. 366 Park Ave., Worcester, Mass GHOSTS 22225 eniscing ices: Enigmas of Psyc hei al Research hs Sead feines 2 Hyslop, I 1 LIED 4 “Science and a Future Life’ "Price : $1.62 Herbert B. Turner & Co., Pubs, 200 Essex St Boston Mass handsome MOR T there’s one more bit of evidence that nails vou. You can’t escape. You're done I've got you. the murderer's thumb-mu on the glass! ‘The devil take you!"’ yelled Mortmain, the blood suffusing his eyes “The devil has you already!”’ retorted Flaggs. ‘‘He’s part of you. You ar the devil. Whose hand is that? Tell me that! W hose hand is that ?’ Mortmain turned an agonized face toward his tormentor. His spirit was gone He was ready to fall upon his knees, but he could not move. He raised his left hand pitifully as if to shield himself from the coming blow, and yet his parched lips uttered the soundless word: **Whose?”’ Flaggs gave a dry laugh. **It belonged to Saunders Leach!” With a sickening of the heart the baited baronet realized for the first time the terrible alternative which confronted him Should he seek to disprove the circum stantial evidence which pointed to him a the murderer of Lord Russell he must needs confess himself guilty of another and almost as heinous a crime — murder as the result of mutilation. Was ever rat s nicely trapped? The horror of the thing turned Mortmain into a madman. He sprang at the clerk in a delirium of rage, and his right hand clutched Flaggs tightl by the throat and its blunt fingers twisted into the flesh deeper and deeper. It was done so quickly that the clerk was unabl to escape. lis eyes started forward, his tongue protruded, and his mouth frothed as he made ineffectual attempts to break the baronet’s hold. “You've got me x eh? muttered Mort main, gritting his teeth. ‘Il think not, Mr. Flaggs!’ The door ope ned and Jovcee entered in much agitation. The orchestra had burst into a triumphant march and the sounds of many footsteps echoed in the hall outside ‘Everybody is arrivin’, Sir — ard!”’ exclaimed the butler, ‘‘an’ Lady lla ha gone into the music-room. His Grace of Belvoir was just askin’ for you. Here are two gentlemen who wish to see you im- portant, sir : He held the door open and two men in Inverness coats entered and stood irresolutely near the door. Mortmain released his grasp upon the neck of Flaggs, who stumbled toward the lounge in the corner behind a table and fell there motionless. “Sir Richard Mortmain?” inquired the taller of the two, a man of massive build and with iron-gray mustache and hair. “The same,’’ replied Mortmain, his fingers still twitching from the ferocity of his clutch upon the clerk. The two strangers bowed. ‘We have a card to you from Lieutenant Foraker—a friend of yours, I believe Permit me,” and the tall man stepped forward and extended a card to the baronet. Mortmain mechanically took it between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. It felt like celluloid and a trifle slippery But the stranger did not release his own hold upon it. ‘*Pardon me, I have given you the wrong eard,” he exclaimed apologetically, and withdrawing the bit of board from Mort- main’s fingers he opened a wallet and fumbled with the contents. As he did so he handed the first card to his companion, who stepped into the light of the lamp, and examined it carefully through a small mic roscope W hich he drew from his poe ket. ‘It is the same,” remarked the stranger of the microscope to the iron-gray man ‘*What is all this?’’ cried Mortmain in an unnatural voice. His head swam. Or the mantel the verdigris-covered dragon's face grinned mockingly at him—it was the face of Flaggs. ‘Sir Richard,” replied the iron-gray man gravely, ‘I am Inspector Murtha, of Scotland Yard.” Mortmain started back and his right hand twitched again. Through the silence came the measures of The Flower Song. “T regret to say,”’ continued the other, “that it is my most unpleasant duty to arrest you for the murder of Lord Gordon Russe i.’ At the same instant the veil of Sir Richard's mental temple was rent in twain; out of a blackness so intense that it seemed substantive he saw the two inspectors from THE SATURDAY EVENING POST MAIN Seotland Yard fleeing awa ind a r t n n size ntil ey seemed but puy ring at the edg an infini rf desert hen with equal velocity the carried 1 Vard agai row t ( il bigye! ! i the loomed like int ! mmediate tore ound swit ! ! et itars and Wa the ur the ur { the Ol $s change shouting so sharply that they ears, and Wave of light and c« ness over which sceintillated a dazzlir aurora followed one another in startling succession, until suddenly his soul, shot out of a tunnel, as it were, landed abruptly in ¢ warm meadow covered with daisies, which dissolved before his eve oO the tamiliar chamber on Milbank Street A gray mist floated hi sing up throw cm the chairs rocked with a str: tar ing and the two inspectors smiled cheerfully at him through a broad and painful band of London sunshine. He swallowed rapidly, and a horrible faintness seized him which gave place to a queer sort of anger rhere’s some mistake! he tut tered rhe chairs anchored themselves and the ceiling assumed its normal tint No mistake atall,”’ replies d Sir Pennistor Crisp Ihe proble m Was too much tor the bare net and he gave it up The murderer hand no longer twitched, but it loomed white and loathsome from the bed before him, as if dead already, somehow — part of a ¢ what were those things Bar “ave Crisp and Jerm) \ ok i bewilderment pass over the baronet’s face Did thev bring me here from the Old Baile) he asked Am | out on bail Crisp laughed lhat one way of putting it, he remarked Yes, you're out on bail, and n another second or two vou will be entire] free glad you're going to take that thir off agi said Mortmair How could u have done It’sallright,”’ returned Crisp soothingly Then Mortmain sudden] inderstood sut he waited shrewd] What day is this?"’ he asked in ar innocent manner December 5 replied Jermyn ‘When did I have that fall; vou know the one that made it necessary for you to amputate Your accident happened yesterday evening, but there is no necessity for amputation,’ returned Crisp. Now, n dear fellow, just lie back, will you? and don’t ask questions. That somni-chloride is still lingering in your head. 1 shall have to be going in a minut: Mortmain obeyed the surgeon's instruc- tions, but he was hard at work thinking the thing out logicall) There had been no amputation, no arrest, no Inspector from Scotland Yard. That scene with Flagys, horribly distinct as it still was, had had no actuality But where did fact end and illusion begin ? Had the notes been taken ? Had there been a murder? Was he a bankrupt? The different proposition entangled themselves helplessly with one another. At the end of a minute he asked deliberately ‘Miss Fickles, did a man take some papers from my table this morning?” es, Sir Richard,” replied the nurse Mortmain’s heart sank. ‘Er—was—did anything happen to Lord Russell?’’ he asked the surgeon faint] ‘Yes But don’t talk or think of it, Mortmain. I order you! Do you under- tand?”’ A ripple of perspiration broke out on his forehead and it seemed as if a film had led off his vision. Of course, he | taken the chloride ust after Miss Fickl had gone downstairs for him, and then Crisp and Jermyn had come He had felt so miserable! And now he felt so mucl better! He opened } eves the same Richard that hed inhaled the anzsthetic so obediently I am quite myself now, Sir Penniston, he asserted quietly l want to ask one more question. Flynt was not here, was he?” ‘No, of course not ‘“‘And we have not left the room? No railroad trip, eh?” No.” Making a Dress ae ee ee ee ae ee, ae ear YT KEEN KUTTER Shears and Scissors Scissor Book Sent Free Simmons Hardware Company Bt 1 i New York,U 8A ok’? COOKING IDEAL Combination STEAM Cooker and Baker FREE Book *! Tor i se COOK! R CO., Desk T, Toledo, Ohio Agents Wanted [ “ 50 CALLING CARDS $1 | HOSKINS e Ma L jaene ait ; 904-6 hestnut Street, Philadelphia PATEN’S that PROTECT | i 3 R.S. & A.B. 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“Thank you,” said the baronet. ‘‘May I have a cup of coffee?” What reply this preposterous demand would have invited will never be known, for at that moment a knock came upon the door and Joyce asked if Sir Richard could see Mr. Flynt. “‘IT must see him!”’ said Mortmain. ‘Oh, very well!’ laughedCrisp. ‘‘ You’re getting better rapidly.” Flynt entered with a breezy manner which he allowed himself to assume only when something really desirable had definitely occurred. ‘Good-morning, Sir Penniston! Good- morning, Sir Richard!”’ he remarked without sitting down. ‘‘I really had to come in and tell you the good news. The executors have just read Lord Russell’s will “Mr. Flynt! Sir Penniston. “Oh, it’s all right!” continued Flynt with alaugh. ‘Better than atonic. You see, Fowler, the only next of kin, was just sailing for New Guinea, and it had to be done at once. I really did Lord Russell an injustice. May I speak before these gentlemen?” ‘Certainly,’ whispered Mortmain, his eyes fastened fe vovtalay upon the lawyer. Well, to put it briefly, he has made youa great gift! Here, read it!’ ’ and he handed the baronet a typewritten sheet. Mort- main read it eagerly, although his eyes pained him somewhat: Mr. Flynt!”’ interrupted To my friend, Sir Richard Mortmain, I devise and bequeath the sum of five thousand pounds, and take it upon myself to express the earnest hope that he will before long publish his views upon art in such a form that the public at large may have the opportunity to profit by that which hitherto has been the privilege of the few. desire, moreover, to express my high personal regard for him and my admiration for his whole-souled devotion to the arts, and I hereby instruct my executors to cancel and destrvy all evidences of indebtedness owing to me by said Mortmain and to treat said indebted- ness as null, void and of no effect, provided, nevertheless, that within six months of my demise said Mortmain shall assign to the directors of the Corporation of the British Museum all his collections of ceramics, bronzes, china, chronometers, scarabs, includ- ing the Howard Collection, his cabinets of gems and cameos, including the famous head of Alexander on an onyx of two strata and the altissimo relievo on cornelian—Jupiter Aegiochus —the four paintings “ Watteau in his music-room, and the paintings by Corot and Whistler from his library. As the said moneys borrowed from me from time to time by said Mort- main were, to my knowledge, prin- cipally made use of by him for the purpose of purchasing and enlarging said collections, which have increased in value to no inconsiderable extent since he acquired them by virtue of his care and discrimination, I am prepared to regard said loans to him in effect as gifts impressed with a trust in favor of our National Museum, provided, however, that said Mortmain is prepared to accept the same and execute the terms thereof as heretofore set forth within six months; but nothing herein shall be taken to affect the right of said Mortmain to take up and pay off said indebtedness within said time, if he shall see fit to do so, in which case the provisions of this codicil shall be without any force or effect whatsoever, save that I instruct my executors to receive said moneys and hold the same in trust, however, for such scientific and artistic uses as sa:d Mortmain shall direct, preference being given to the needs of the British Museum along the lines of antique works of art and Egyptology. As Sir Richard laid down the paper his eyes filled and he turned away bia head. ‘** A good old man!” said Flynt reverently. ‘Indeed he was!" assented Crisp. “TI must know one thing,” whispered Mortmain after a few moments. “Did | you send your cle rk here this morning to ge t some papers?’ ‘Yes, to besure. I had almost forgotten. I sent Flaggs after an envelope which I fancied I dropped last evening,’”’ answered the lawyer.

THE SATURDAY EVENING POST

June 9, 1906

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Do you w themostglorious summer trip in all the world the cost n nous f p 5 ay tol a I sy t! t to ¢ Spr ext 2 : Ga f the Gods a Pik var rhe | doi ID t t N N I Pa 1 »M I Bla i ( r ri r ( g Y ‘ I } M kK I Th ) i railway tick f exclusive of side trips « a St ! coa t i five aud a half davs hote nthe Pa is only $85 from Chicago or St. Louis; only $79 from Missour: R ry s Kansas City to Omaha, inclusive Let me help you plan your vacation, by telling you in de about this ¢ mus trip. Dll glad io so on receipt of a postal with just the words ‘‘Colorado-Yellow ne | t and your name and P. S. Eustis, 374 «Q” Building, Chicago. Vacation

ant to know about

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See

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Flynt elevated his brows ‘Why, if you don’t mind my speaking of it, there were some old notes of yours which had been renewed at various times I make a practice of keeping the originals as a matter of precaution.” “Oh!” sighed Mortmain id notes?” ‘Old notes,”’ answered Flynt ‘Notes take on up and renewed by others.” ‘Ah!” sighed Mortmain again. ‘You iid drop them, but not in the study. | found them on the street. They gave me quite a turn.” ‘Well, we will tear them up now,” laughed Flynt. ‘Pardon me, sir,”’ said Joyce, opening the door and handing a long box to Miss Fickles; ‘‘some roses with Lady Bella Forsythe’s compliments, and ‘opin’ as ‘ow you'll soon be all right again, sir.” (THE END THREE OF aay. » FINEST” (Conclude rom Page 10) The Italian ros "himeetf on the unin- jured arm and looked at him steadily. ‘Did Phelan put you up to do it?” he asked. ‘He did not, Tony. What's more, he gave me old halle ujah when I told him.” ‘You had no business to do such a thing,’”’ was the sullen response, and Mountri lay back on the stretcher The irishman bit his lip at the rebuff. There was silence for a moment ‘Tony,’ resumed the patrolman with diplomatic enthusiasm, ‘“‘you certainly did put up a dandy fight! The papers’ll be full of it.” The compliment went straight to the Italian’s heart. ‘‘ You're no slouch your- self, Tim,’’ he answered, half reluctantly. Then he seized the outstretched hand and shook it heartily. ‘* Striking a superior officer,’’ commented the Deputy Commissioner, “‘is a very grave offense, and the punishment would, ordinarily, be dismissal from the Force But in view of your recent brave conduct in succoring the same roundsman whom you assaulted, and also because of his earnest representations in your behalf, I will let you off with a fine of two days also wish to commend you both for con- spicuous bravery. The matter will be brought to the attention of the Board Phelan, who was in the courtroom, came over and shook hands with both the complainant and the defendant. While they were talking Sheldon approached, seized the acting captain in a mighty grasp and literally hugged him until, breathless and Ps he begged aloud for mercy. Gosh, but it feels good to see you again, Jim!” exels aime dthegiant. Then he turned to Horigan. ‘You can go into that exam. for roundsman, Tim,’ he whispered. ‘Your fine has been remitted—the ten days.”’ Phelan overheard him, and nodded at Kitty, who stood near the railing, smiling and crying at once. ‘‘Order in the court!” shouted the com- plaint clerk. Sheldon grasped his friend and led him outside the railing, Tim and Mountri following behind them. ‘‘Stop staring at that girl, you old rake! admonished the detective sergeant. Phe- lan’s only response was a deep sigh. ‘‘Isn’t he the lucky Mick?” he asked aloud, and then brought Sheldon over to be introduced. EVENING POST LH’ RETOFORI the | yclopax ofa dilemma. When the ency« because it was too hig! When the encyclopedia was wrong. Inother wor NELSONS \CYCLOPEDIA! STRATED J Size of each Volume 7x 10 inches In addition to this, we offer of $3.50 - only $33.00 for the entire set instead of $42.00 first class work has ever been offered THOMAS NELSON & SONS 37 East 18th Street, New York Encyclopedia Problem Nelson’s Encyclopedia FRANK MOORE COLBY, M. A., New Vork ) Editors: GEORGE SANDEMAN, M. A., Edinburgh, Scotiand \ ia-Chiei With over 600 Contributors, each a specialist and an authority in his field The price of Nelson's Encyclopaedia is $3.50 per volume $42.00 for the entire set of 12 volumes, in cloth Compared with others, it is worth double this price, bat the wonderful developments in the art of manufacturing books and our method of selling direct to the reader enable us to offer this great work at this extremely low figure. 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i TRADE MARK Reb U.S. PAT. OFP. Summer Underwear unlocks the innumerable pores | of your body as with a key and |, bids the air “come in.” It lets your body breathe The tiny perforations in the fabric draw off the used air and draw in the fresh, cooling, cleansing and soothing the parched skin. Ask your dealer for Booklet in blue and gold, “From Dawn to Bed,” free to those who write for it. CHALMERS KNITTING CO, 1 Washington St., Amsterdam, New York Shirtwaist Book a tag | REE a hardson's Genns Prize Sewing Silk FREE / Ghirtweist Book, be oes $37) PREE viet Pr: ARDS, ~ rj \ ‘ Cu” é . Wage Co | Richardson Silk Co., Dept. P9, / 650 Broadway / NEW YORK CITY. N.Y CLVETT, PEABODY & CO 489 RIVER ST. TROY, N.Y MARKERS OF CLUETT AND MONARCH SHIRTS HARTSHORN SHADE ROL L — RS Kear the Hart Wood Rollers San F rancisco Booklet Post Cards ate A « Tin Rollers ‘ ‘ a ART rELY ND AD. 00. Dep 234-235 Broadway, NEW YORE THE SATURDAY EVENING POST THE FIGHTING CHANCE (Continued from Page 13) Then to the others, brightening again, he said a word or two, wittily, with a gay com- pliment well placed and a phrase to end it in good taste. And, in the little gust of hand- clapping and laughter, he turned again to Sy Ivia, smilingly, saying under his breath: ‘As though winning the cup could compen- sate me now for losing it! She leaned involuntarily nearer. mean that you will not try for it?”’ i an es. ‘That is not fair “Why not?” ** Because you.” “You need not, “You to me!”’ because I do not ask it of now that I know your | wish “‘Mr. Siward, I—my wish ——”’ Then Marion Page took possession of him so exclusively, so calmly, that something in her cool certainty vaguely irritated Sylvia, who had never liked her. “Stephen,” called out Alderdene, anx- iously “counting the web loops in his khaki vest, ‘‘what do you call fair shooting at these ruffed grouse? You needn’t be civil about it, you know.” ‘Five shells to a bird is good shooting,” answered Siward. ‘You have a better score, Mr. Siward,” said Marion Page, with a hostile glance at Alderdene, who had not made good. “That was chance—and this year’s birds. I've taken ten shells to an old drummer in hard wood or short pines.’’ He smiled to himself, adding: ‘“‘A drove of six in the open got off scot- free a little while ago. Miss Landis saw it.’ That he was inclined to turn it all to banter relieved her at once. ‘‘It was piti- able,’’ she nodded gravely to Marion; “his nerve left him when they made such a din in the briers.”’ Miss Page glanced at her indifferently. ““What I need is practice like the chas- seurs of Tarascon,’’ admitted Siward. “IT willingly offer my hat, monsieur,”’ Marion Page, impatient to start, had turned her tailor-made back to the com- yany, and was instructing his crestfallen lordship very plainly: “You fire too quickly, Blinky; two seconds is what you must count when a grouse flushes. You must say ‘Mark! Right!’ or‘Mark! Left! -Bang!’”’ **T might as well say ‘Bang!’ for all I've done to-day,”’ he muttered, adjusting his shooting-goggles and snapping his eyes. Then ex odien into raucous Lnateter he moved of southward with Marion Page, who had exchanged a swift handshake with Siward; the twins followed, convoying Eileen and Rena, neither maiden excitedly enthusiastic. And so the luncheon party, lord and lady, twins and maidens, guides and dogs, trailed away across the ridge, distant silhouettes presently against the sky, then gone. And olver a little while the far, dry, accentless report of smokeless powder announced that the opening of the season had been resumed, and that the Lesser Children were dying fast in the glory of a perfect day. “Are you ready, Mr. stood waiting for him at thicket. So he walked forward beside her into the “ ed light of the thicket. Nithin a few minutes the dog stood twice: and twice the whirring twitter of woodcock startled her, echoed by the futile crack of his gun. Beg pardon, sir ‘Yes, Miles?"’ with a glint of humor. **Overshot, sir—excusin’ the liberty, Mr. Siward. Both marked down forty yard to the left if you wish to start ‘em again.” No,” he said indifferently, ‘‘1 had my chance at them. They’re exempt, Miles; my nerve is gone. Such things happen. I’m allin. Come over here, my Rieak and look at the sun with me.”’ The discomfited keeper obeyed. ‘Where ought that refulgent luminary to scintillate when I face Osprey Ledge?’ ‘Sir? ‘The sun. How do I hold it?” “On the p'int of your right shoulder, sir. You ain't quittin’, Mr. Siward, sir? anxiously. That Shotover Cup is easy yours, sir!’’ eagerly. ‘ot's a miss on a old drummer, Mr. Siward? Wot's twice overshootin’ cock, sir, when a blind dropper can see you are the cleanest, fastest, hard- shootin’ shot in the hull country?” | said Sylvia. She the Siward?”’ the edge of ” But Siward shook his head with an absent glance at the dog, and motioned the aston- ished keeper forward. ‘Line the easiest trail for us,’’ he said; “T think weare already atrifle tired. Twigs will do in short cover; use a hatchet in the big timber. And go slow till we join you.” And when the unwilling and perplexed keeper had started, Siward, unlocking his gun, drew out the smooth, yellow cartridges and pocketed them Sylvia looked up as the sharp, metallic click of the et breech rang out. **Why do you do this, Mr. Siward?”’ *‘T don’t know; really, I am honest! I don’t know.” “It could not be because I —— ‘*No, of course not,” he said, too seriously to reassure her. “Mr. Siward”’ "Tear" ‘*What you do for your amusement can- not concern me.” ‘Right as usuai,”’ he said, so gayly that a reluctant smile trembled on her lips. “Then why have you done this? It is unreasonable—if you don’t feel as I do about killing things that are having a good time in the world.” He stood silent, absently looking at the fowling-piece c radied in his left arm. “ Shall we sit here a moment and talk it over?"’ he suggested listlessly. Her blue gaze swept him; was indifferently bland. “If you are determined not to shoot, we might as well start for Osprey Ledge,”’ she suggested; ‘‘otherwise, what reason is there for our being here together, Mr. Siward?”’ Awaiting his comment — perhaps expect- ing a counter-proposition—she leaned against the tree beside which he stood. And after a while, as his absent-minded preoccupation continued: ‘Do you think the leaves are dry enough to sit on?” He slipped off his shooting-coat and slaced it at the base of the tree. She waited for a second, uncertain how to meet an atti- tude that seemed to take for granted mat- ters which might, if discussed, give her at least the privilege of yielding. However, to discuss a triviality meant forcing empha- sis where none was necessary. She seated herself; and, as he continued standing, she stripped off her shooting-gloves and glanced up at him inquiringly: ‘* Well, Mr. Siward, I am literally at your feet.” ‘*Which redresses the balance a little,”’ he said, finding a place near her. “That is very nice of you. Can I always count on you for civil latitude »s when I stir you out of your day-dreams?”’ ‘You can always count on stirring me without effort.’ ‘No, I can’t. Nobody can. You are never to be counted on; you are too absent- minded. Like a veil you wrap yourself ina brown study, leaving everybody outside to consider the pointed flattery of your with- drawal. What happens to you when you are inside that magic veil? Do you change into anything interesting?” He sat there, chin propped on his linked fingers, elbows on knees; and though there was always the hint of asmile in his pleasant eyes, always the indefinable charm of breed- ing in voice and attitude, something now was lacking. And after a moment she con- cluded that it was his attention. Certainly his wits were wool-gathering again; his eyes, edged with the shadow of a smile, saw far beyond her, far beyond the sunlit shadows where they sat. ““Enchantment!”’ she said, under her breath. ‘‘Surely an enchanted sleeper lies here somewhere.” “You,” he observed —‘‘ unawakened.”’ “Asleep? I?’ She looked around at him. ‘‘ You are the dreamer here. Your eyes are full of dreaming even now. What is your desire ?”’ He leaned on one arm, watching her; she had dropped her ungloved hand, search- ing among the newly-fallen gold of the birch leaves drifted into heaps. On the third finger a jewel glittered; he saw it, conscious of its meaning— but his eyes fol- lowed the hand idly heaping up autumn gold, a white, slim hand, smoothly fascinat- ing. Then the little, restless hand swept near to his, almost touching it; and then instinctively he took it in his own, curi- ously, lifting it a little to consider its nearer ” in quick displeasure. his vague smile June 9, 1906 Dr. Goose— His Use and Mis-Use The Hot Flat-lron — Dr useful in restoring the finish to cloth and in smoothing it after the clothes are made - But —the mzs-use of the Flat-Iron, sad to relate, can be detected in 80 per cent. of all clothes; where defects in cutting or sewing are masked by shrink ing or stretching, as the may be Hence the fact that few clothes vetain Character or Style Flat-Iron work of this kind, is purely a makeshift, because it is far cheaper and quicker than sincere tailoring. Naturally, it is only /emporary, for Flat-Iron work wilts out under the influ ence of dampness and wear SINCERITY CLOTHES are made under the most perfect sanitary and industrial conditions, and any defect found in any garment, is revised by shears and honest Hand Needle-Work before we turn it over to the SIN- CERITY CLOTHIER as a finished garment To men who want assurance of qual ity as well as style, we offer our label as a safe guide. It's the clothes worth looking for. Find the label, faciion It'sin the garment, SINCERITY CLOTHES MADE AND GUARANTEED BY ; KUH, NATHAN AND FISCHER CO. ; (Goose is case SO ae — = ; make the label that and you will find satis and reads like this The “VARSITY” Soit Collar The comfort Sum "Neck Dress for only sensible ? Men, Women and Children Made of wl Oxford, in regular collar sizes 12 to 18. Soft, Cool, Comfortable. as easily, and | than a starched collar never gets saw edges, can be worn with any style tle warranted not to shrink. mercerized Does nots ists longer The — eyelets hold the collar and tie in their proper place Ask for Varsity’’ collar and insist that you get a pin free with each half dozen JESSE M. WEISSMAN & CO. 454 Broadway, New York Maker * Varsity"’ Neckwear and “* Varsity’’ Soft Collars Shui oe At Sve. ‘the pair. Ww D> pende ATENTS “"ahtnceyt®® EVANS, WILKENS & CO. Woshinaton, b Cc

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| Ivers & Pond PIANOS. Fashionand utility prescribe the Grand forhome use, wherever space will permit. The ‘Princess’? Grand is the finest musically and mechanically of all the small Grands In quality of tone, pre cision of action and powers of endurance it is unequaled Hear and see it before you buy. We can arrange to place on in your home on trial wherever you live Catalogue and pamphlets giving pictures and dimensions mailed fre¢ Write us IVERS & POND PIANO CO., 103 Boylston Street, Boston, Mass. If Your Face Feels Drawn t , and Feverish after Shaving, La COLGATE’S SHAVING STICK is WHAT you WANT It leaves that cool, comfortable feeling. Send 4cts (stamps) for Trial Stick to Colgate & Co. 55 John St., Dept. P,N.Y. Whitewash Your Buildings { At Lowest Cost || | i| } | spreading disinfectants, || destroying insect pests and diseases on trees, | vegetable and other $ $ te for lescr - Dayton Supply Co., Dept. L, Dayton, Ohio _| —FIREWORKS— ond ed 4 Crest assortment No. 1 $5.00 Special G;reat variety 15 ghiy colored pieces for evening display Selections of all kinds at lowest prices in out Illustrated Catalog. Sent o: t. = ml Write for it To-Day. FREE CREST TRADING CO. 21M Witmark Bidg., N.Y. C3 Print Your Own Cards > $5 mall newspape y iker, save All easy r } $18. Mone t r ‘ of presse THE PRESS CO. Mer paper, car e iden, Conn THE SATURDAY loveliness. Perhaps it was the une xpected- ness of it, perhaps it was sheer amazement, that left her hand lying idly relaxed like a white-petaled blossom in his. His bearing, too, was so blankly impersonal that for a moment the whole thing appeared incon- sequent. Then, as her hand lay there, scarcely imprisoned, their eyes encountered and hers, intensely blue now, considered him without emotion, studied him imper- sonally without purpose, incuriously acqui- escent, indifferently expectant After a little while the consciousness of the contact disconcerted her; she with- drew her tingers with an involuntary shiver “Is there no chance?” he asked. Perplexed with her own emotion, the meaning of his low-voiced question at first escaped her; then, like its own echo, it came ringing back in her ears, reéchoed again as he repeated it: “Is there no chance for Miss Landis?” The very revulsion of self-possession returning chilled her; then anger came, quickand hot; then pride. She deliberated, choosing her words coolly enough: ‘‘ What chance do you mean, Mr. Siward?” “A fighting chance. Can you give it to me?” “A fighting chance? For what?” voice was very low, very dangerous. ‘For you.” Then, in spite of her, her senses became unsteady; a sudden ringing confusion seemed to deafen her, through which his voice, as if very far away, sounded again: ‘‘Men who are worth a fighting chance ask for it sometimes—but take it always. I take it.” Her pallor faded under the flood of bright color; the blue of her eyes darkened omi- nously to velvet. ‘Mr. Siward,” she said, very distinctly and slowly, ‘‘I am not —even you.” “Then my chance is desperate indeed,”’ he retorted coolly me, Her “Chance! Do you imagine Her anger choked her. “Are you not a little hard?” he said, paling under his tan. ‘‘I supposed women dismissed men more gently—even such a man as I am.” For a full minute she strove to compre- hend. “Such a man as you!” she repeated vaguely; ‘‘you mean 4 crimson wave dyed her skin to the temples and she Jleaned toward him in horror-stricken con- trition. ‘I didn’t mean that, Mr. Siward! I—I never thought of that! It had no weight; it was notin my thoughts. I meant only that you had assumed what is un- warranted—that you—your question hu- miliated me, knowing that I am engaged knowing me so little —so ” “Yes, I knew everything. Ask yourself why I risk everything to say this to you There can be only one answer.” Then, after a long silence: ‘‘Have I ever’’—she began tremblingly —‘‘ever by word or look = No.”’ ‘Have I even No. I've simply discovered how I feel That’s what I was dreaming about when you asked me. I was afraid I might do thi too soon; but I meant to do it anyway, before it became too late.” ‘It was too late from the ve ry moment we met, Mr. Siward.’’ And, as he reddened painfully again, she added quickly: ‘‘I mean that I had already decided. W/y will you take what I say so dreadfully different from the way I intend it? Listen to me I1—I believe I am not very experienced yet; I was a-astonished—quite stunned for a moment. Then it hurt me—and I said that I was not sorry for you ” sorry, now.” And, as he said nothing: ‘‘ You were a little rough, a little sudden with me, Mr Siward. Men have asked me that question several times; but never so soon, so un- reasonably never without preliminary of some sort, so that I could foresee, be more or less prepared. — But you gave me no warning. I—if you had, I would have known how to be gentle I wish to be now. I like you—enough to say this to you, enough seriously to be sorry; if I could bring myself really to believe this —feeling ie Still he said nothing; he sat there list- lessly studying the sun-spots glowing, wax- ing, waning on the carpet of dead leaves at his feet. ‘* As for —what you have said,”’ she added, a little smile curving the sensitive mouth, soon some sorry for | EVENING POST r —— b j y é 4 Chicago, U. S. Use This Coupon R Haggard & Marcusson Co. 422 South Canal Street A. HERE'S EAL COMFORT The Comfort Chairs Rest You All Over Haggard & Marcusson Co., 422 South Canal Street, Chicago, L. S. A. re AE. NO HONING—NO GRINDING No new blades — no annual tax $2.50 MR Pir of $3.00 f Tw t ( $5.50 A. L.. SILBERSTELIN, 443-444 Broadway LONDON’S LATEST MAGAZINE Phe Occult Review Edited by RALPH SHIRLEY Analyzes, Examines and Discusses Psychological Phenomena 15« $2.00 AMERICAN AGENCY, 669 Sedgewick St., Ch MI 41.00 the first purchase price is the only expense NEW YORK # »( 20-Passenger Car 12-Passenger Car RAPID R. A. HENRY, $2,200 $1,600 Pp Sales Manager MOTOR VEHICLE Co, ‘ ,™M

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Send Ten Cents > me | Vacation Trips I" YOU are going away this summer, be sure to send for “Mountain and Jake Resorts,” a beautifully illustrated book of 144 pages issued by the Lacka- wanna Railroad. It will tell you how you can go, where you can stay, what you can see, and how much it will cost. It is a book that will help you in making your plans. In addition it contains a clever little love story, entitled: The Heart of Beverly ‘The cover is in three colors and the illustrations are by well-known artists. It 1s a book you will en joy having. It will be sent for 10 cents in stamps. Lackawanna Railroad Address T. W. LEE, General Passenger Agent, Department No. 7, Lacka- wanna Railroad, New York City. 30 Days Free Trial Ot the Sanitary, VU secetL rr Economical, Water Cooler Note Advan tecses Water cannot be come contam inated even if impure ice fs used Water flows directiy from bottle to faucet through pil of pure block tin and is cooled in traneit Price $6.00 NOTICE ; : $ u ee THE CONSUMERS CO., 3518 Butler St., CHICAGO Coo tlivere | f ‘ and New Yor If You Earn Less I can HELP your Salary or Income hy M pct ny er wee 88 Metropolitan Annex, N.Y Geo. H. Powe Per Week | attractive. THE SATURDAY | “itis japulaive, unconsidered, a trifle boy- ish, Mr. Siward. I pay myself the compli- ment of your sincerity; it is rather nice to | be a girl who can awaken the romance in a man within a day or two’s acquaintance. ; And that is all it is—a romantic impulse with a pretty girl. You see I am frank; I am really glad that you find me Tell me so, if you wish. We shall not misunderstand each other again. | Shall we?” He raised his head, considering her, fore- ing the smile to meet her own. ‘We shall be better friends than ever,”’ she asserted confidently. “Yes, better than ever.” ‘* Because what you have done means the nicest sort of friendship, yousee. You can’t ag its duties and responsibilities now, Mr. Siward. I shall expect you to spend the greater part of your life in devotedly doing things for me. Besides, I am now privileged to worry you with advice. Oh, you have invested me with all sorts of powers now!”’ He nodded. She sprang to her feet, flushed, smiling, a trifle excited. “Ts it all over, and are we the very ideals of friends?’’ she asked. “The very ideals.” “You are nice!”’ she said impulsively, holding out both gloveless hands. He held them, she looking at him, very sweetly, very confidently. ‘Allons ! Without malice?’’ she asked. ‘Without malice.” ‘‘Without afterthoughts?” ‘‘Without afterthoughts.” ‘*And—you are content ?”’ “Of course not,” he said. “Oh, but you must be!” ‘‘T must be,” he repeated obediently. “And you are! Say it!” ‘But it does not make me unhappy not to be contented me ‘Say it, please; or be unhappy?” Her small, smooth hands lying between his, they stood confronting one another in the golden light. She might have brought the matter to an end; and why she did not she knew no more than a kitten waking to consciousness under its first caress. “Say it,” she repeated, laughing uncer- tainly back into his smiling eyes of a boy. “Say what?” “That you are contented.” “tT can't.” “Mr. Siward, it is unkind; it is shame- Jess : ‘“‘T know it; I am that sort.” “Then I am sorry for you. Look at that!"’ turning her left hand in his so that the jewel on the third finger caught the light. “1 see it.” “And yet “And yet.” “That.” she observed with composure, “is sheer obstinacy. Isn't it?” ‘It is what I said it was: a hopeful dis- content ‘How can it be?’’ She spoke im- patiently now, for the long, unaccustomed contact was unnerving her — yet she made no motion to withdraw her hands. ‘‘ How can you ly eare for me? Do you actually that devotion —comes like that?’ **Exactly like that.” ‘So suddenly? It is impossible!”’ a twist of her pretty shoulders. ‘*How did it come—to you between his teeth Then her face grew scarlet and her eyes grew dark, and her hands contracted in his —tightened, twisted fingers entangled, until, with a little sob, she swayed toward him and he caught her. An instant, a minute--more, perhaps, she did not know she half lay in his arms, her untaught lips cold against his. Lassitude, faint consciousness, then tiny shock on shock came the burning revulsion; and her voice came back, too, sounding strangely to her. He had freed her; she remembered that somebody had asked him to-—perhaps herself. That was well; she needed to breathe, to summon strength and common- sense, find out what had been done, what reasonless madness she had committed in the half-light of the silver-stemmed trees clustering in shameful witness on every hand. Suddenly the hot humiliation of it over- whelmed her, and she covered her face with her hands, standing, almost swaying, as wave on wave of incredulous shame seemed to sweep her from knee to brow. That phase passed after a while; out of it she persuasively. do you desire me to really believe with ’” he asked EVENING POST emerged, flushed, outwardly composed, into another phase, in full self-possession once more, able to understand what had happened without the disproportion of emotional exaggeration. After all, she had only been kissed. Besides, she was a novice, which probabiy accounted, in a measure, for the unreasonable emotion coincident with a caress to which she was unaccustomed. Without looking up at him, she found herself saying coolly enough to surprise herself: ‘‘T never supposed I was capable of that. It appears that lam. I haven't anything to say for myself . . except that I feel fearfully humiliated. - Don't say anything now. ‘ I do not blame you, truly I do not. It was contemptible of me—to do it—wearing this———’’ She stretched out her slender left hand, not looking at him. ‘‘It was contemptible!” She slowly raised her eyes, sum- moning all her courage to face him. But he only saw in the pink confusion of her lovely face the dawning challenge of a coquette saluting her adversary in gay acknowledgment of his fleeting moment of success. And as his face fell, then hard- ened into brightness, instantly she divined how he rated her, and in a flash realized her weapons and her security, and that the situation was hers, not in the control of this irresolute young man who stood so silently considering her. Strange that she should be ashamed of her own innocence, willing that he believe her accomplished in such arts, enchanted that he no longer perhaps suspected genuine emotion in the swift, confused sweetness of her first kiss. If only all that were truly hidden from him, if he dare not in his heart convict her of anything save perfection in a gay, impru- dent réle, what a weight lifted, what relief, what hot self-contempt cooled! What vengeance, too, she would take on him for the agony of her awakening—the dazed chagrin, the dread of his wise, amused eyes eyes that she feared had often looked upon such scenes; eyes no doubt familiar with such unimportant details as the shamed demeanor of a novice. ‘*Why do you take it so seriously ?’’ she said, laughing and studying him, certain now of herself in this new disguise. “Do you take it lightly?” he asked, striving to smile. “TI? Ah, I must, you know. You don't expect to marry me, . . do you, Mr. Siward?”’ S "He choked up at that, grimly for a while. Walking slowly forward together, she fell into step frankly beside him, near him too near. ‘‘Try to be sensibie,’’ she was saying gayly. ‘‘I like you so much—and it would be horrid to have you mope, you know. And besides, even if I cared lors ou, there are reasons, you know--reasons for any girl to marry the man I am going to marry. Does my cynicism shock you? What am I to do? Such marriages are reasonable, and far likelier to be agreeable than when fancy is the sole motive—cer- tainly far more agreeable than an ill- considered yielding to abstract emotion with nothing concrete in view. Bas So, Vou see, I could not marry you even if I " (her voice was inclined to tremble, but she controlled it. Would she never learn her réle?) ‘‘ —evenif Iloved you id Then her tongue stumbled and was silent; and they walked on, side by side, through the fading splendor of the year, exchanging no further speech. Toward sunset their guide hailed them, standing high among the rocks, a silhouette against thesky. And beyond him they saw the poles crowned with the huge nests of the fish-hawks, marking the last rendezvous at Osprey Ledge. She turned to him as they started up the last incline, thanking him in a sweet, natural voice for his care of her—quite innocently-—until in the questioning, un- convinced gaze that met hers she found her own eyes softening and growing dim; and she looked away suddenly, lest he read her ere she had dared turn the first page in the book of self—ere she had studied, pried, probed among the pages of a new chapter whose familiar title, so long meaningless to her, had taken on a sudden troubling significance. And for the first time in her life she glanced uneasily at the new page in the book of self, numbered accord- ing to her vears with the figures 23, and headed with the unconvincing chapter- title, ‘‘ Love.” (TO BE CONTINUED) June 9, 1906 Superba Silk Cravats wrinkle less, shape more gracefully, look more aris- tocratic, and possess double wear-life. Here's their identity mark: SUPERBA HCC.4CO GRAVATS A ane rnavt 50 cents at vour Haberdasher’s — 24 rich plain colors é +8r— "eo There is no substitute for Superba Silk Cravats —they are the best for your money. If the nearest store cannot supply you, write us direct price and stating color desired t } enclosing f Free, H. C. COHN & CO. Makers of Superba Cravats, Rochester, N.Y. When the Celebrated QBOID The ORIGINAL Granulated Plug is the tobacco smoke ad. WILL NOT BITE THE TONGUE. Money Cheerfully Refunded If You Are Not Entirely Satisfied. We \ iy size | ost paid it the foil regul price if your dealer does not carry QBOID. 123 0z., 10 cts. 3' 3 02., 20 cts. 8 oz., 45 cts. Address Larus & Brother Co. Manufacturers Richmond, V ) A Perfect Smoke 9 French’s Mixture A f Nort Never bites the tongue Made ne ether ripene Send 10 cents est rade ng tuba in silver or tured. This is what makes it Stamps for a **The Aristocrat of large sample Smoking Tobacco" pouch and % Sold on direct te ke» booklet; both | will be a de- © light to you. a m% Triple Motion White Mountain Ice Cream Freezer —F FRENCH TOBACCO COMPANY Dept. P, Statesville, N.C. py White Mountain Freezer Co, Dept D, Nashaa,N.H

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Page 28

\\ WINNS | NAN Type D $2800 Four-cylinder air-cooled motor. 1800’ pounds, 45 miles per hour. What is ability? And why is this Type D on American roads the ablest of all five-passenger cars? Ability is more than power: It is available power— efhciency in proportion to demand; power that you want at the time that you want it; power that you Can Use. Definite distinctive features give Type D this ability in unequalled degree. The motor never over-heats. The hot gases of the explosion do not | and full engine speed can be maintained indefinitely under full load remain in Franklin cylinders half as long as in the standard cylinder of | The jar-eliminating Franklin wood sills and four full-elliptic springs a water-cooled car. The Franklin auxiliary exhaust discharges them | absorb road-shocks, save the power which they always shake out of any instantly after the explosion. Theyare not carried back through the com- | car less perfectly suspended or with a rigid metal frame, and give bustion-chamber. There isnoburning or pitting of the main valve, no con- | an easy-riding quality unapproached in any other type sequent compression leakage, no back pressure. A larger fresh charge | Unequalled motor-efficiency, and power always safely is taken into the cool chamber than is possible in a standard cylinder of | ably available, enable Type D to do more with five people on American equal capacity. There is a more powerful explosion. It is all utilized | roads than any other car ever built except a Frankl great Efficiency Contest the most important motoring contest ol Cal » and corafort In the Automobile Club of America’s ever held—the Franklin won the First Prize, the $500 punch-bowl, went farther than any automobile among 62 competitors, and farther on two gallons of gasoline than any other automobile ever went in the world. Four-cylinder Runabout $1400 Four-cylinder Touring-car $2800 Four-cylinder Light Touring-car $1800 Six-cylinder Touring-car $4000 f. o. b. Syracuse W rite for the motor-book which describes them all. H. H. FRANKLIN MANUFACTURING COMPANY, Syracuse, N.Y. Member Association Licensed Automobile Manufacturers