The Man Who Forgot
A NOVEL
By JAMES HAY, JR.
i_
GARDEN CITY NEW YORK
DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY
1915
CHAPTER XXV.—(Continued).
“Put I merely wanted to tell
yen." erpirluded the, Man Who
Could Ifiimlle It, “that nobody,
can handle ic. It’ll get you in the
lortg run or the short. The shorter,
the better. It may take a month
or it may take 10 year, but
some fine .morning you wake
up and find your master right
there at the side of the bed, and j
he reaches out and puts his cold, |
clammy fingerg around • your
throat amf leads you to the bottle.
When that happens, my friend,
it's all over but the shouting. You
belong to the saloons or the club
bars, and you wonder when the
Undertaker will come along and be
kind to you and bury you. You
hope it will be soon, but it never
comes quite soon enough. The
• stuff you could handle, handles
you quite thoroughly. It intro-1
duces you to the death-in-life.’’ He I
made an elaborate bow. “Remem
ber me. You can’t forget me.
You’ll see me every day, every-1
where the Man Who Could Han
dle It.’’
lie turned on his heel and went
down the street without a back
ward glance. Smith, looking up to
the sky, wondered how long it had
been since the Man Who Could
Handle It had been able even to
realize that there were nights
when the moon hung in a silver
sash.
That was a hard night for the
agitator. His office force, work
ing overtime every night now,
went home at 11. lie stayed on
until 12, laboring with his work,
fighting desperately against de
pression, denying himself to all
callers and telephone calls.
A few minutes past midnight
Waller came in and reported :
“There’s nothing from Shang
hai tonight.”
CHAPTER XXVI.
The agitator’s first thought the
following morning was of a wom
an's figure leaning toward him in
a doorway and swaying like a reed
in the flow of heavy waters. And,
immediately upon that, came the
picture of her as she had stood the
day before, grieved but valiant.
He. put the image of her out of his
mind, his effort in doing so being
as direct, and palpable as if he had
tried to lift a tremendous weight
with his right arm.
While he dressed and break
fasted in his rooms, he looked at
the headlines in the Washington
and New York papers which were
brought to him every morning.
There it was before him : the story
of himself, his confession and defi
ance, Mary Leslie’s story, all
topped with the big lettered head
lines that ran anywhere from two
columns wide to the breadth of the
whole front page. His photograph
and Mary Leslie's were repro
duced by each paper.
Few people have had the sensa
tion of being tried by the press. It
is, in a way, more terrible than be
ing tried by a court. In court there
is always the chance of appeal.
■ against the newspaper court there
is no redress. A man, sitting alone
at breakfast, sees bis face in the
printed page, reads the things he
has said and the things others
have said about him, realizes at
first imperfectly that he is the one
on whom the glare is turned, and
comes to know, finally, that he
must stand up and take it all. Big
men have spent years trying to
overtake the effects of a newspa
per article.and have not suc
ceeded.
Smith read Cholliewollie's ar
ticle to the end.
"Good boy!” lie thought grate
fully. "At least you don't drawl
when you write.”
He examined the otli.er head
lines and stories with what he
tried to make a judicial mind. On
the whole, he was immensely grati
fied. He had been given the best
of it so far. Several of the writers
had intimated that the woman’s
story and her demeanor could not
command belief. Others had built
their lead on Smith's contention
that, if her ‘ story were true, it
merely proved the righteousness
«>f his fight against whisky. One ot
the New York papers ran an edi
torial on the matter sounding «
ringing alarm against anybody
weakening in support of him at
21
such a critical time in the move
ment..
Thinking gratefully that the
world was very kind, he was lay-'
ing down a paper when his eye;
caught the Shanghai date line.
Evidently, from the small space
given to the dispatch, it had come
in too late to permit of its being
displayed largely.
There was, it said, a house with
the red-lacquered balcony on the
Foochow road, as Mary Leslie had
described it.
There was a Portuguese, Charlie
by name, who owned it, and now,
since the opium trade had been
discontinued, conducted it as a
restaurant.
The Portuguese was not rich in
details. His memory was vague.
But he remembered a wild Ameri
can named Gardner and a woman
who used to he seen with him. lie
did not know whether they were
married.
There had not been time, when
the cablegram was written, to
make any other investigation, in
the official records or elsewhere,
regarding the alleged marriage.
He was reading the dispatch for
the third time when a bellboy
brought him a note. The envelope
had not been stamped. It had been
left, late the night before, the hoy
explained, with directions that it
should he delivered to him early
in the morning.
On a sheet of notepaper was
written :
You are >our own tomorrow’.
It was signet! “Edith Mallon.”
Uix#bniiii reeled. The memory:
of her standing in the doorway, \
the fragrance of her hair the day!
she had stood close to him on the
edge of the river, the thought of j
her brave sweetness—these tilings:
came as a blessed relief from the
momentary but deep depression he
had felt after reading the cable
gram from Shanghai. He got up
and raised one of the windows so
that he might breath the fresh air.
He drank it into his lungs in great
gulps. A group of photogra
phers stood on the pavement be
low, waiting for snapshots of him
as he started to his office on what
everybody regarded as the deci
sive day in his career. He under
stood some of that.
He thrust Edith’s note into his
pocket and put on his overcoat
and hat.
As he left the room, he was
forcing through his brain the tri
umphant thought: “This is the
day! This is the fight!”
It was as if he called his own
soul to arms.
Once in his office, he became the
storm center of the country’s po
litical thought that day. Waller,
with both hands full of telegrams,
met him in the reception room.
Smith did not know it, but the
newspaper man had had only two
hours of sleep.
“You don’t have to read them,”
Waller said, the drawl in his Voice
not hiding his elation. “They’re
all good —all for us.”
| “This early!” Smith was sur
; prised.
“Most, of these are night letters,
sent after the afternoon’s hit the
street yesterday. But some, sent
this morning, have come in al
ready.”
They were in the inner office,
and Smith was taking off his coat.
“What do they say?” he in
quired impatiently.
“They say you're all right.
Those few words sum up more dif
ferent kinds of laudation, assur
ances of support, and genuine ad
miration than l ever saw on pa
per."
Smith gave him a swift, keen
[ look, with the question:
“And no other kind?"
“Oh, of course, some,” Waller
replied, his enthusiasm unabated,
“but, so far, we’re sweeping the
towns and outlying districts!”
The agitator sat down at his
i desk and opened the. first of the
letters that had been placed there
for him.
Cholliewollie looked at him a
moment in undisguised wonder.
"Sav! What is this you’re ex
hibiting, real nerve? Or are you
just numb and can’t think?”
“Why?”
“Here you are, up against the
hottest, bitterest fight in the world
and yon sit down to read your
! mail!”
"What else is there to do?”
I Smith inquired, eyeing him seri
! onsly.
“Don’t you want to read the
[telegrams?”
“If 1 did that, I'd put in the
whole day at it.”
One of the stenographers
brought in a new batch of yellow
envelopes.
“You see,” he added.
“Oh, I know!” Waller ad
mitted. “lint, can't you show sortie
nervousness, some excitement?”
Smit’s smile, was one of great
affection,
“I can’t,” lie said. “We’ve got
just a week to put this thing over.
The days aren't long enough to let [
ns do the work we should do. ft is
a hot fight, as .’s ou say. They think
they have a chance to ruin Ibis
demonstration. Well, I'm just a
little hotter as a fighter than they
are. Believe me, 1 am. And I’m
fighting now. I'm going through
this mail to see what needs atten
tion. After that, we’ll see what
else needs attention. Fighting is
working.”
“By Jove, you’re right!” Wal
ler agreed. “But what do you
want done with these messages?”
“If you'll do it, keep track of
them, read them all, and 'don't
bring any to me unless it deals
with some delegation wishing to
cancel its engagement to come to
Washington. If any others need
answering, you answer them. Will
you do that?”
“Certainly, you know I'll be on
this job until night. But”—he
held up several unfolded tele
grams "here’s one from a gover
nor, one from the biggest bishop
in the west, two from senators, one
from-”
“1 know, T know. But they
were to he expected, in a way.
weren’t they? Such men as those
stand for the cause, not for me.
That’s the thing I hate. I 'm afraid
of being a dead weight on the
movement, not a help to it.”
"You might be a weight,” Wal
ler drawled, smiling slowly, “but
not a dead one. And how about
the newspaper men?”
"I’ll see them at 11 this morn
ing, as usual, of course—and this
afternoon.”
As a result of tli^se arrange
ments, while the agitator, method
ical and effective, stayed at his
desk, dictating .necessary cor
respondence, conferring with men
and women on countless details of
the arrangements in town and out.
and maintaining his grasp on the
whole scheme, Cholliewollie be
came the buffer against which the
waves of the country’s sentiment
and opinions broke. He answered
innumerable telephone calls, local
and long-distance, meant to cheer
an<l encourage Smith. With the
aid of a stenographer, he opened
and read and, after a fashion, tab
ulated the telegrams. They came
from all sections, from every
where, delivered in batches of
fours, eights, and dozens. They
were from politicians, ministers of
the gbspel, wealthy men, promi
nent men, women, philanthropists,
city and state leaders in the pro
hibition movement, people repre
senting, it appeared, all walks of
life, all professions, and all call
ings.
The vast majority expressed the
determination of the senders to
stand by Smith and the demon
stration, no matter what was said
about him. A few called the story,
all of it, including Smith's state
ment, a lake pure and simple.
Others said they knew it was a
huge conspiracy hatched by the
whisky interests. Some demanded
to be told by Smith whether lie
really had forgotten who he was
or was trying to hide disgraceful
conduct behind a subterfuge.
From this shade of unbelief
others swung to ridicule and abuse
a few to vituperation. These were
the natural expressions of men
who had been opposed to him all
along and now seized on the op
portunity to harass him. However,
they were not strong enough nu
merically to dash Waller’s spirits.
“We’ve caught them right, so
far,” he thought. “Now. can we
stay on top for a week ? ”
A few minutes after the agita
tor’s interview with the corres
pondents at 11 — which brought
out nothing new — Cholliewollie
walked into the inner office. Ilis
face was solemn.
“Here,” he said, handing Smith
a telegram, “is the first message
regarding one of the delegations
to the parade.”
It was dated Seattle, Wash., and
was directed to the agitator.
Smith read it aloud : ,
Seven hundred leaving this state thte
afternoon for Washington. Seattle dele
gation escorted to train by bands and
thousands of men and women. We are
solid for you out here.
Waller grinned.
“That shows you,” he rejoiced,
“that there will be no deserters.”
The afternoon wore on, Smith at
his desk — conferring, arranging,
'directing, assuring himself by
I telephone and telegraph that the
special trains and railroad fare
were being provided as previously
.stipulated with the railroad com
panies. I he banks, and the county
and city managers of the move
ment -and Waller shouting fran
tically over the telephone or de
vouring with his eyes the incessant
flood of yellow paper on which
were printed fhe messages of good
cheer from almost everywhere.
At the (> o'clock meeting with
the newspaper men several showed
telegrams from their papers say
ing that the proofs of the marriage
in Shanghai had not yet material
ized.
When the usual routine of ques
tions and answers ended, Avery
moved a step nearer to the agita
tor. Snappily dressed, alert as
ever, and speaking in frank, terse
sentences, he made an impressive
figure.
“ Mr. Smith,” lie said, “we want
to tell you we are with you. We’ve
seen your work. We know you.
W e know what sort of a man you
are. And, from now on, you’ll get
all the help possible from us. We
wanted you to know that.”
Smith bowed to Avery and
swept the semicircle of faces with
a glance that seemed to single out
each man and thank him.
“Gentlemen,” he said, in a low
tone, “ ! cannot find words to bear
the burden of tijy debt to you. It
is you who can win this fight. I
thank you all. it is wonderful.”
He turned quickly and went in
to his private office.
Waller, arriving at his own of
fice a few minutes past 7, was told
by the managing editor:
“A crowd's gathering in front
of the agitator’s office. They've
got a band. They want to show
their confidence in him.”
“yes,” he replied, “I knew
about that.”
“I'll get somebody else to cover
that," the other went on. “What 1
want from you tonight is a blank
et story covering all the other
events of this kind throughout the
country. We’ve got bulletins from
nearly every city, saying there
will bo mass meetings tonight as
expressions of confidence in
Smiih. It ought to make a big
story.”
It’ll be a craekerjack,” Choi- j
liewollie assented.
All that evening Waller, gath- '
ering material for his story, read
the dispatches that came in from
the press associations and the pa
per's correspondents. From every
city came the news that .John
Smith's name had lit the fires of
enthusiasm. The office boy went
in and out. piling up the details of
the story. It seemed to Waller that
the spirit of the agitator rushed
from city to city through that
marvelous winter night. With his
actual physical eye he could see
the swaying of the singing, cheer
ing crowd as it swept down Mar
ket street in San Francisco. lie
could hear the singing, catch the
gleam of the banners under the
electric lights, feel the glow of the ]
people’s ardor.
The clicking wires changed the
scenes of the drama continuously.
It claimed no one city, no one sec
tion, for its setting. Washington
street in Indianapolis, Second ave
nue in Seattle, and the East Side
in New York were merely flashing
parts of the wave of feeling that
called men to the streets and made
them lift their voices to the stars, i
Fifth street in Cincinnati, Milk
street in Boston, Michigan avenue j
in Chicago, the public squares of :
smaller cities—all were places
devoted men and women, ignoring
the jeers and, at times, the missiles
of the other side, congregated to
show their scorn of. those who
fought against the cause and its
leader.
And the man whose glowing
spirit and unflagging zeal had
kindled an enthusiasm which
swept from coast to coast stood
at his office window, bowing his
thanks while a member of con
gress delivered an address from
the pavement below, and a band
played, and a crowd that flowed
far over into the eapitol grounds
cheered and sang.
The managing editor had been
right: It was a big story.
And the one-time bored and
blase Mr. Waller, having crammed
all the details of it into his brain,
sat down at his typewriter to
make it a “crackerjack.”
(Continued Next Week.)
By far the most beautiful of the trees
of Uruguay, South America, is the mi
mosa. This tree is an evergreen, and
grows to a height of about forty feet.
Even when not in flower it is hand
some, on account of its dark green
femlike leaves an(^ gray-green trunk.
The flowers are like little balls of gold
en yellow pollen, and they have a sweet
scent. They cover the branches of the
tree from top to bottom and at a dis
tance one would almost say the whole
thing was made of gold, or had been
transplanted from fairyland.
Sr ■ "
A BUSK
—
The Modern Day Farmer Applies
; Business Methods and Seeks
More Than a Living on
the Farm.
I A nation-wide cry is being made for
no re economy ami greater production,
and probably never was the nhed of
foodstuffs equal to that of the present.
Drain prices are the highest in the na
‘ion's history and today tiie agricul
tural fields of America offer induce
ments that are uncqualed iu any other
due of commerce or business. The
ideal life is that close to nature, en
joying the freedom of Don's great out
doors and fulfilling a duly to human
ity by producing from a fertile soil
that which is essential to the very .ex
istence of a less fortunate people who
are actually starving to dentil for food
si Ts that ran he produced so eco
nomically in the I'nilcd States and
Canada.
High prices for all grain, undoubt
edly, will be maintained for a number
of years, and it appears a certainty
that tlu* agriculturist will reap a
bounteous return for his labor and at
tiie same time carry out the demands
of patriotic'citizenship. A wrong con
ception has been generally noticed as
to “Life on the Kami#” It bus been,
to a large extent, considered as only
a place to live peacefully and afford a
living for those who are satisfied wtih
merely a comfortable exist cnee. Such
a wrong impression has been created
in a measure, by the lack of systema
tic business principles to farming in
general. Hut today farming and agri
culture have been given a supremacy
in the business world and require tiie
same advanced methods as any oilier
line of commerce. In no oilier busi
ness does a system adoption pay bet
ter than on the farm, and it is certain
that there is no other line of work,
that, generally speaking, needs it as
niueli. The old idea of getting a living
off the farm and not knowing how if
was made and following up the details
of each branch of farming to get the
maximum of profit, at the least ex
pense, is fast being done away with.
Farming is now being considered as
a business and a living is not sufficient
for the modern agriculturist ; a small
per cent on the investment is not*
enough, tiie present-day farmer must
have u percentag return tqual to that
of other lines of business. The prices
for produce are high enough, but ihe
cost of producing lias been the factor,
in many places, that lias reduced the
profit. It is tin application of a sys
tem to the cost of various work on Hie
farm that it is possible to give figures
on profits made in grain-growing in
Western Canada.
Mr. (’. A. Wright of Milo, Iowa,
bought a hundred and sixty acres of
land In Western Canada for $3,300 in
December. 11111, and took his first crop
from it in 1910. After paying for Hie
land in full and the cost of cultivating
it and marketing the grain. lie sold his
grain at $1.11 a bushel \n low price
compared with the present market),
had a surplus of $2,472.(17. His figures
are as follows:
4.1ST bushels worth
$1.55 nt Cham
pion .$0,054.85—*f!.*>54.»5
Threshing bill 11c
per bushel . 493.57
Seed nt 95c. 144 AI
Drilling .. ... 109.80
Cutting . 100.90
Twine . 50.00
Shocking . 40.00
Hauling to town
3c . 134.fi 1
Total isist . 1,182.IS
Cost of land .... 3,300.00
$4,482.18—$4.482.18
Net profit after
paying for farm
and all cost. $2,472.67
S. Joseph and Rons of r»es Moines,
in., are looked upon as being shrewd,
careful business men. Having seme
spare money on hand, and looking f«r
n suitable investment, they decided te
purchase Canadian lands, and farm
them.
With the assistance of the Canadian
Government Agent, at l>es Moines. In.,
they made selection near Champion.
Alberta. They put 240 acres of land
in wheat, and in writing to Mr. Hew
itr. The Canadian Government Agent
at Pes Moines, one of the members of
tlie firm says: “I have much pleasure
in advising you that on our farm fife
[ miles east of Champion, in the Prov
i ince of Alberta, Canada, this year
(1010) we harvested and threshed 10.
<500 bushels of wheat from 240 acres,
'this being an average of 44 bushels
and 10 pounds to the acre. A con
siderable portion of the wheat was
No. 1 Northern, worth at Champion,
approximately $1.8f> per bushel, mak
ing a total return of $19,610, or an av
erage of $81.70 per acre gross yields.
And by aid of a thorough system wore
able to keep the cost of growing wheat
at about 25 cents a bushel."
Messrs. Smith & Sons of Vulcan.
Alberta, are growers of wheat on a
large scale and have demonstrated
that there is greater profit in Western
Canada wheat-raising than probably in
any other business anywhere. Speak
ing of their experience. Mr. Smith
says:
"I have 1hree sections of land at the
present time and am farming yearly
1.200 to 1.400 acres of land. M.v re
turns from the farm for the past two
years have been around 200%, that is
for crery rf<»rf)ir I have spent f fmvd
reeelvi d three, now I do not know
where yon ran dq Hint well.
"This is surely the country for the f
man with Hie small capital as Hie land
is still reasonable in price, payment*
in long term and work of all kinds fol
every man to do. I feel Hint if I was
turned out here without a dollar that
in less than ten years I could own e
section of land and have it well
equipped.”
Western Canada's soil and climate
is suitable to graining large and prof
itable yields of wheat. Many so largt
Hull those not acquainted with the
facts hesitate to believe tjic reports
sent out by ihc farmers in Hint conn
try. As an evidence of their sincerity
in ivpnrling correct yields affidavit*
of a couple of grain growers are repro
dured.
"!. Newell .1. Noble, of tile town ol
Nohleford, Province of Alberta, dr
sub-miily declare that from t.oito acre*
oi wheat on the said farm then- was
in the season of 191(5. threshed At."OS
bushels of wheat, being at the average
; of At bushels and 2." pounds per acre.
And that from 394,(59 acres of oats or
#
the said farm, there was threshed in
the said season of 191(1. 18.50(5 bushels
of oats, being at the average of 122
bushels and :J0 pounds per acre.
“And t make this solemn deefara
tion conscientiously, believing il In he
true and knowing that it is of the
same force and effect as if made un
der oath and by virtue of The Canada
Evidence Art." NEWEL,E .1. NOBLE. 1
A Woman Takes Affidavit as to
Yields.—Oil January -I. 1017. Mrs. Nan
cy Cm- of Nohleford made oath as fol
lows ;
In the matter of yield of wheat, oats
and llax on my farm for harvest of
.191(5. f, Nancy Coe-, of the town ot
Nohleford, Province of Alberta, di- sol
emnly declare that f threshed from
115 acres on my farm (5,110 bushels of
wheat (machine measure, which It is
believed will bold out in weights fully
—about Ifiree-fourtbs of the emu al
ready having been weighed), being at
Hie average of oil bushels and J#
pounds per acre, and Hint from -4-M
acres of llax ori stubble ground. I
Ihreshed !)!)i> bushels of Wax. being at
an average of 20 bushels and MS
pounds per acre, and that from 5.0(5
acres of oats I threshed 58(5 bushels,
machine measure, being at an average
of 115 bushels and 27 lwumds per acre.
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A square framework is made of nar
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, ’ i*he idea is excellent," Mr. Lorenlz
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Too Deep for P^tvv.
Little Willie—Say. paw, why is an
amateur concert called an entertain
mem ?
Paw—My son, I cannot tell a lie; I
d* ««t know.
NERVOUSNESS
1NU BLUES
Symptoms of More Serious
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