The twice American]
By ELEANOR M. INGRAM
CHAPTER VII.
The Letter to a Lady Named Rose.
“You know, dear Hose, I promised
to wnta you of my experiences, and
what they did 10 me. Well, 1 have
kept my promise! And it has not been
easy to tell you. I would have liked
to keep this year hidden from you, of
all people on earth; and from your
father. Hut it would not be honest to
do so. You were always strong for
honesty, Itose. I don't mean only be
cause you may not care to write to
me again. There is something else. I
have just tolt* you how Nilo Valdez
said it was the duty of every citizen
o! the republic to repeat the story of
David Noel's generosity to everyone
who would listen. Rose, i have a queer
feeling—no logic to it—just a feeling
—that it would uot be Honest to Noel
to conceal from you his kindness to
me. I don’t know whether any one
elso could understand that feeling;
I know you will. I am a worm and
you are a firefly, hut we have some
mental meeting places, naven't we?
"1 have been in this house a month,
now. It is three weeks since Noel
came home for the first time after
bringing me here, was at work with
Nilo Valdez, in the evening, when I
looked up to see Noel in the doorway
watching us. Since then, he treats
me almost as he does Valdez.”
Corey Bruce straightened in his
chair with an unwarranted change of
color and pulled a blotter over the
letter on the desk before him.
“I—1 did not hear you come in, Dorn
David,” he stammered, with that guilty
embarrassment upon him which usu
ally overtakes a man when found
speaking of another, however inoffen
sively.
Noel sank into a chair opposite the
desk, motioning the other man to keep
his position.
"1 am interrupting you,” he re
marked perfunctorily. “You were
writing a letter, I see.”
"Yea. A letter home. You see, it
is a yoar since, since-”
"A year since your family heard of
you?”
Bruce faded he detected disapproval
in the tone. A flush colored his thin
face; he had the transparent com
plexion corresponding with his red
hair, rendered more transparent by his
long confinement. He nervously took
off his glasses and replace them be
fore replying.
"Oh, l really ineanth North,” he ex
plained. ”1 haven't a home, in the inti
mate sense. No parents living. No
brothers or sisters. A cousin and—
everyone has relations more or less
distant or indifferent, I suppose, but
they hardly make a home.”
”1 have no kin at all,” Noel stated.
He took a cigar from a humidor on the
resk, looking at it abstractedly. "Most
men have, of course Your first name
is a family name, is it not?”
“Yes, my mother's family name was
Corey.”
Noel continued to look at the cigar
he had taken, without lighting it.
•'Yes? You are a New Yorker, I
think you said?”
“A Philadelphian. Dom David,”
Bruce corrected. “But there are
branches of both sides of our family
In New York, both Bruces and Coreys.”
"Yes, I thought that possible.”
Struck by some Indefinable signifi
cance In his companion's tone, Bruce
peered at him, hesitating. Noel lifted
his gray eyes to the inquiring brown
ones for a moment, seeming to scru
tinize his features in a search for some
■vague resemblance. If he found what
be sought, ho said nothing. He re
turned his attention to the cigar with
out comment, yet the gleam of a new
idea enliglited Bruce's vision. Noel
was, or had been a New Yorker; he
himself had said so.
"Did—do you perhaps know some of
my people at home?" he wondered.
‘‘Perhaps," said Noel. “I was about
to ask you that question. No doubt
there are a good many people of that
name in the city, yet It is possible
that 1 did know—your family. There
was, perhaps still is, a brownstone
bouse on one of the avenues; a house
that used to have a large aquarium
in a front window."
‘Madison avenue!” Bruce eagerly
followed the lead. "Why, yes. My
father was born there.”
"Ah? There was a little girl named
Constance Bruce who lived there
once.”
"Mv cousin! Yes. You knew them,
then?”
”1 knew the little girl,” said David
Noel, his voice very quiet.
"Constance? But she is grown up.”
Bruce stared at Noel's strong vigorous
figure and incisive face. Certainly,
he, thought, Noel must have been a
boy when Constance was a child.
There could hardly be more ^han five
or six year's difference in age be
tween Noel and his counsin. What
could that time have to do with the
present?
"Yes, it was a long time ago,” Noel
answered the other's doubt. “She is
well, I hope; and happy? As a child
sho seemed both.”
Oh, yes! She was when I last heard
from her. That was some time ago,
though. The fact is"—Bruce fidgeted
with the desk fittings, then perceived
that he had uncovered a corner of his
letter and hurriedly moved the blotter
over it—“the fact is, Constance’s peo
ple are the wealthy branch of the fam
ily. I never saw a great deal of them,
after my mother died and I grew up. I
waa too busy. Working iny way through
6
college, and all that sort of thing. I
usually spent a short time there each
vacation. Constance is a handsome
girl, and kept on the social ruerry-go
rfrtind nawadays."
Noel nodded and at last proceeded to
light his cigar. He looked suddenly
uninterested, almost bored. The un
broken reticence of years concerning
that inner life wherein he cherished
the image of the princess of the little
shoes, the concealment of its very
existence, had developed jealous sen
sitiveness almost morbid upon that
subject. Noel did not like to hear Con
stance's name handled with cousinly
offhandedness; the jiame he himself
never spoke aloud. He had foun3 out
what he wanted to know about Cory
Bruce; now he wished to abandon the
subject. At least, for the present He
had not the slightest intention of tak
ing Bruce across the threshold of his
mind. ITe was even willing to take
elaborate precautions to prevent that
intrusion. Perhaps, also, ho was stirred
with his first misgivings as to the pos
sibility of making a childish dream
into the solid fabric of life for a man
and a woman. The Constance evoked
by Bruce’s speech was no phantom,
but an actual modern woman, perhaps
too actual!
“Senhor Ferraz will be here, this
evening, bringing more of those re
ports upon which you and Valdez are
working,” he remarked, laying his ex
tinguished match in the tray. "I mean
the secret census of the Germans in
this country. Remember, this matter
is not to be spoken of except to Valdez
or to me. The fact that the census is
being taken, is known to very few."
liruce hardly heard the caution. His
mind had been actively employed for
the last moments in egotistical human
fashion with his own affairs. He went
on, not with a reply to Noel's speech,
but with a continuation of his own
thoughts during the interval.
‘ Then that was why you came to Rio
Nabuco after me! That is why you
took me from the prison and brought
me here! Vou recognized my name as
one you knew.”
Noel's black brows knotted, his eyes
narrowed to (lashes of very light grey
In his dark faoe.
“I thought that I had told you why I
brought you here to work for me," he
retorted. “Was not once enough, Mr.
Bruce?”
Bruce shook his head, rising in his
excitement and resolve, so (that he
looked down at the man in the chair.
He could not, of course, know how
he intrq^fl in forbidden places.
“No, General Noel. You see, I can't
believe that at all. Why, it is not even
reasonable Why should you take a
convict from Rio Nabuco to prac
tise English with you? If you were
in earnest at all when you spoke about
my gossiping, why, you must havo
known there was nothing to gossip
about. You speak better English than
1 do, now; so if ever you do slip into
the wrong kind, you could laugh it off
and no one would ever imagine—any
thing." He floundered, and recovered
himself. “If you did choose to use
such a man for such a reason, why
should you bring him into your home
as a guest and treat him with the most
delicate kindness? Kindness! It's—
it's consideration! I do not know why
you like to hide your kindness and,
and masquerade as indifferent. Per
haps you are afraid I would expect
the impossible and ask you to turn me
loose. I shall not, of course. But I do
wish you would tell if I'm not right
in guessing that you took me from
Rio Nabuco because you know some
of my family. If I'm wrong, if you
only brought me here to use me as you
say, I’m content and grateful. But un
less It Is so, don't tell me that you
only trust me because you havo got
the prison to hold over me like a club.
That kills what poor self respect I've
got left; it, it is rank in every breath
I take. If it is so, why. I've nothing
to say. But if it is not, I wish you
would tell me so.”
The stammering, fervent protest
pierced Noel with a conviction of self
ish cruelty. He knew why he had mas
queraded, as Bruce called it; but he
had not known how hardly that mas
querade of his motives fell on the
other man. He had thought only that
he wanted no premature unveiling cf
his dream of the Princess Constance.
He did not want his romance known
before he made it known to her, and
if by some chance he failed in win
ning her, he could not bear that it
should ever be known at all. Nor
did he want her to suppose, when he
went to her eventually, that he had
tried to buy her favors by kindness
to her kinsman; but neither was he
willing to selter his own pride behind
Corey Bruce s humiliation. Simply, he
had not considered Bruce's point of
view. He rose now, with the extreme
southern courtesy which seemed for
mal in northern eyes, but which long
custom had made natural to him as to I
a Latin.
“You are right, and I was wrong,”
he conceded without reserve. “I might
have been more frank with you — I
should have been! Yet you must re
member that I knew nothing of you
personally, before I met you at Rio
Ndbuc. You might have been the kind
of man best left in prison; or best re
turned to it. There is no reason why
you should not know that your name
.caught my eye, in a set of registers
I had occasion to examine. I had in
vestigations made, and found you were
ai\ American engineer. I had the
minutes of your trial brought to me,
and read them over with Nilo Valdez.
Your trial did not seem to me to have
been conducted without prejudice,
neither did it to Nilo. Also, I knew
Hio Nabuco and what it would mean to
a white man. I should have investi
gated the case, had you been a stranger J
in every way. Suspecting you to be
of a family I respect, I thought investi
gation an urgent duty. So the next
time I was in that neighborhood, I rode ;
over to see you. Now, is the air clear
between us?”
Bruce gripped the hand offered him,
struggling with his usual inarticulate
ness.
“I am glad that you spoke frankly,"
Noel filled the empty moment. "We
will say that Rio Nabuco is forgotten.
If you are content in my house 1
am content also. Put it on the
ground that we are both American,
if you like. Have you seen Valdez
recently? In his room? Thank you.
I will see him there.”
Bruce did not at once renew his let
ter writing after Noel had gone, lie
sat down again and drew out the let
ter, then remained for a long time
leaning upon the desk, head in hand.
The attitude implied nothing of des
peration or grief. On the contrary lie
thought of all the loathsomeness of
Nabuco was drawing away from him
as he sat there, like an unseen pres
ence driven afar. Now he could feel
gratitnude to Noel without loss of self
respect. He could give rein to his cor
dial liking for Nilo Valdez. Had not
Noel said that he and Valdez had in
vesligatcd the trial, and had not .hen
verdict been expressed when the pris
oner was brought to their home, and
accepted into pleasant intimacy? Yes,
they were friends.
Fourteen years of his sentence re
mained to be served. His plans for
his life and career were, of course,
hopelessly shattered. He recognized
that, but he was still incapable of real
izing it; the present relief was too pro
found. He had recovered much during
the last four weeks, but he was still a
man exhausted mentally and physic
ally. It was almost, he thought, as if
he had died instead of the Indian
whom he had shot, and had awakened
in another world. The ambitions of
his former life seemed faint, futile
things; pathetic, perhaps, but too far
behind him to claim much considera
tion. Other purposes must fill the
coming years. Just now, to remain in
the Villa Noel was enough. That, and
to be able to write to Rose.
After a long time, he straightened
himself in his chair and rubbed his
hot face with his handkerchief. The
heat was unusual, even in the shaded
room. He thought of the probable at
mosphere in the underground cell at
Rio Nabuco, and recoiled with sick
disgust from the reply of his two ex
cellent memory. Suppose Noel had
not noticed his name on that prison
register? He shuddered in a horror
of the place, greater even than he had
felt when he dwelt there.
When his hand was steadier, he
drew towards him the letter; the un
finished letter to a woman called Rose.
He gazed at it soberly, then took up
his pen. At first he wrote slowly, then
more and more rapidly, his heart driv
ing his hand. When he fnally he
ceased, he was surprised and some
what dismayed at the number of
sheets of paper he had covered, throw
ing them about the desk in his excite
ment. He began to assemble and num
ber the pages, folding them together
with methodical neatness.
They made quite a formidable bulk,
altogether. Bruce snapped a rubber
band about the packet, then ruefully
contemplated the result. Decidely,
the letter resembled a legal document
rather than a dainty epistle to a lady.
He had a vision of small fingers tug
ging at the heavy band.
"It looks like most things I maul.
I do beat the Dutch at everything!”
We muttered aloud, petulantly choos
ing a large manila envelope as the only
possible container.
I-Ic hardly knew that he had spoken
his complaint aloud, until someone’s
shadow fell across the space before
him, putting out the little glittering
lights struck by the sunshine from
the crystal and copper fittings of the
desk. Expecting to see Valdez or
Noel behind him, and somewhat em
barrassed at his display of ill temper,
he turned, and collided with a man
who had stolen up to look over the
writer’ shoulder.
The two came together with con
siderably violence. Bruce's spectacles
were knocked away by the intruder’s
chin, so unanticipated by either man
had had been the collision.
The blinking American raised his
hand to replace the spectacles before
he thought of speaking, but a
brusque gesture of the other man's
struck his arm and sent the glasses
tinkling to the floor. Bruce uttered a
cry of- veritable anguish, stammering
in his angry distress.
“What—what? My glasses!”
The man made no answer; he was
neither Nilo Valdez nor Noel; even
Bruce's blurred vision at once dis
cerned that fact. He was pale, tall
and thinly made. He stood like a
pointer after the dog had flushed a
bird; straining forward, yet immova
ble. He was looking toward the desk.
Visitors were plentiful at Villa Noel.
Bruce's first thought was that here
was merely some guest less well bred
than usual. Puzzled and angry, he
leaned down to grope for the glasses;
afraid to step lest he tread on them
and complete their destruction.
The room was strongly lighted by
the noonday sun. Just as he located
what he sought, Bruce saw the shadow
of the man.’s arm extended towards the
desk. He snatched up the glasses
with his left hand, and sprang erect to
pinion the stranger’s wrist with his
right
“Here,” he exclaimed. “What a;.'6
you dofng***
He checked his speech in amaze
ment, for the man grasped the yellow
manila envelope containing the letter
to Hose.
“These papers are for me,” the man
stated, with a false mildness smooth
ing the surface of his gutteral voice.
"I was to call for them, Senhor. Par
don my clumsiness, I beseech you.”
Without releasing the man's bony
wrist, Bruce put on his spectacles,
shaking them into place with a jerk
of his head. He looked again, and
verified His first impression; the
stranger indeed grasped the yellow
envelope.
“You're crazy,” he snapped. “Paper?
You’ve got a private letter. A letter
of mine.”
The man's pale lips spread into an
ingratiating smile. He offered no re
sistance to Bruce's grasp upon his
wrist but he continued to hold the
yellow envelope. “Oh, there is no need,
of so much caution with me, Senhor! I
am in his excellency’s confidence. He
sent me for these.”
“He sent you—for what?” I tell you
that you hold a letter of my own.”
“So! And what you said when I
entered, what of that Senor?”
“Why, what did I say?"
The man repeated Bruce's vexed ex
clamation of a moment before, in
strongly accented, but correct English,
as it had been spoken:
“I do beat the Dutch at everything!”
“Well?” querried the puzzled Bruce.
“You perceive that I am well in
formed, Senhor.”
“I perceive that one of us is crazy,”
Bruce exclaimed in exasperation. “Let
go my letter.”
They were standing close together,
Bruce’s face almost touching the pale
bony face of the other with its pointed
yellow beard, as the American pressed
down upon the desk the hand he
had pinioned.
“His excellency sent me for it," the
man mildly insisted.
“He did nothing of the kind. What
ever he sent you for, it certainly was
not this letter”
“And, the Dutch, as you wrongly
name them?”
Bruce stared at his captive in com
plete bewilderment and irritation. The
allusion had no meaning for him. He
utterly distrusted the man, but he
could imagine no reason why anyone
should want to gain possession of his
lettre, and there was no other dcou
ment on the desk. Indeed, no docu
ments were kept in this little music
room. All of Noel’s work was done
in the library, all important papers
were kept in the safe, locked in by
the meticulously careful Valdez.
“If Dom David sent you here, why
did you sneak up behind me that
way?’’ he challenged, “and why did
you try to snatch the letter while I
was picking up my glasses? You are
not telling the truth. There is some
thing wrong.’’
“You doubt my word?” reproached
the man. “Ring for a servant, and
send to Dom David. Ask him if he did
not send for the papers.”
Shaken by the apparent candor of
his request, Bruce wavered. Certainly
he might send for Nilo Valdez and ask
him if the stranger had been sent
for any documents. There was no
reason why he should not do this.
Valdez would not ask to see the con
tents of Bruce’s letter, of course. Bruce
had poured out his shy and reticent
heart in those pages; the mere idea of
their being read by another than the
lady named Rose made his writhe. But
he could see no harm in accepting the
man’s suggestion; indeed it seemed
the only way to convince him that he
did not want this particular letter.
Slowly he released the wrist he held
and turned toward the call bell set in
the wall, keeping between the sus
pect and the door.
Scarcely had Bruce moved across
the room when the man leaped for the
open window. It was a well calculated
attempt; by no possible means could
Bruce turn and reach him in time to
prevent his escape. But the American
had not neglected to see that chance.
Catching up a light chair, he hurled
it spinning towards the fugitive’s legs.
The chair glided across the polishdd
floor like a sled, and struck its target
with accuracy. The awkward missile
was effective. The man went crashing
down. Before he conid recover and
rise, Bruce was upon him, grasping at
the letter. The man tried furiously
to free the envelope, striving to re
gain his feet and disentangle his limbs
from the projecting legs of the chair.
“Get up,” Bruce panted, savagely.
“Here-!”
The yellow envelope tore across, too
roughly handled. From between the
clutching hands it poured out its con
tents; the pages slipping and flutter
ing over the floor. Bruce promptly
dropped his man to make a wild dash
after the scattered letter. The other
made a similar move; then, arrested,
crouched staring dt the pages nearest
him as he stooped forward. Corey
Bruce wrote a round, legible hand, not
very small. From sheet to sheet the
man's glance shifted over the easily
read lines, gathering their obvious pur
port.
"Here!” the outraged Bruce repeat
ed, sweeping the pages into a head.
“What do you mean by that?”
The man uttered a gutteral ejacula
tion, started up, and setting his palms
on the window sill, vaulted out into
the garden.
(To be continued next week.)
! If the flood of letters which is dally
L reaching tine trustees of the 50,000,000 franc
rund given by Mr. Cognac, to be distrib
uted In lots of 25.0CO francs to families
consisting of more than nine children, is
to be taken as a criterion, then depopula
tion in France is not as bad as it lias
been, reported. Among the candidates to
the fund is a mother who boasts of 2'
children, born of the same wedlock More
than 2.000 letters from parerts i mills
a progeny of more than nine children hate
been received.
I
c a package
before the war
■
5c a package
during the war
|
5c a Package
NOW
THE FLAVOR LASTS
SO DOES THE PRICE!
» 17
MAY LEAD TO OTHER THINGS
Having Sewing Machines, Igorrotes
Possibly Will Send Forth Call for
the Fashion Magazines.
Wearing about as little clothing as
Is possible even in the least sophis
ticated part of the Philippines, the
Igorrotes of Bontoc in the mountain
province have little need of sewing;
but Bontoc at last has a sewing ma
chine. The first sewing machine ever
seen In Bontoc turned up there re
cently as a prize for the winning team
In a tug-of-war contest at a local cele
bration. Never did a crowd of nearly
naked villagers look with more inter
esl at a new object of curiosity than
did the simple Igorrotes when the won
der of the sewing machine was ex
plained to them; after which the tug
of-war was contested in the vigorous
fashion inherited from generations of
tribal ancestors to whom this simple
exercise had stood as a great tribal
sport. The winning team presumably
carried off the sewing machine, and
one may imagine that the natives are
proud to possess it as a rare and im
pressive curiosity. But the time has
yet to come when a sewing machine
will be of much practical importance
to the average Igorrote family.
Forgot His Cue.
Cholly—Is your sister in, Bohby?
Bobby—She’s either in or indis
posed, I can't remember which.—Bos
ton Evening Transcript.
The motto of some men is, “Give
me liberty, or give me debt!”
ntiiiuuimuauiiiHimmDiiiiiiniiiiDiiiciiiiiiimsiii
DEFY TIME BY KEEPING FIT i
Long Life and Health Offered to AH
Who Will Obey a Few Simple
but Imperative Rules.
When one has been overworking,
undersleeping, overdrinking, overeat
ing, and underexerclslng, germs mul
tiply rapidly because the “white
wings” of the human system are too
tired to clean them out.
A long illness follows.
Some day we will tell the truth in
death certificates and reports will be
made like this:
“Died after thirty years of over
eating.”
“Smothered himself to death. Work
ed and slept in unventilated rooms.”
“Burned out. Slept only six hours
a night.”
Good health is a luxury we all can
enjoy If we are willing to play the
game on the long law of .averages.
Eat lightly, drink lots of water, ^
breathe fresh air every night and day, <S
get plenty of sleep, keep clean inside
and outside, and Father Time will
1 pass you by.—The Fortunn Magazine.
Wouldn’t Improve His Looks.
Mrs. Styles—Don’t you hink tl’.js
now hat Improves my looks, dear?
Mr. Styles—I suppose so.
“But what makes you look so cross?”
“I’m thinking of the bill for that liaf.
You can’t expect that to improve my
looks.”
When a mule climbs Mount Popo
eatapetl he takes over 5,000,000 steps,
but we don’t know how many over.
iiiirtinanimiimianiimnniasuiniiimamimimmra
Sleepless Nights \
and coffee-drinking are closely
linked together with many
people. I
If your case is like that, try
Instant Postum j
—a wholesome cereal drink with
a really rich coffee-like flavor 1
that meets the test of taste, just
as the beverage itself meets the
test of health. g
Economical, Ready Instantly, Delicious 1
Made by t;
Postum Cereal Company
Battle Creek, Michigan I
Sold by Grocers and General Stores g
