The Master Man
By Ruby M. Ayres
“Perhaps you’ll send a wire
for Miss Rolf? She can easily
catch the seven train if she
hurries. You know the address?”
“Yes.” Chesney sped away,
and Milward looked again at
Patricia.
She wa? regarding him with
burning anger in her dark
eyes, and she broke out tremb
lingly :
“I don’t know what right you
have to arrange my affairs. I,
think it is great presumption. If
I go to-morrow morning it will
be time enough. I can do no
good; Mr. Rolf is dead.”
A little flame of anger filled
her eyes.
“You will go to-night, do you
hear?” he said almost roxiglily.
“You will catch that seven
o’clock train and your things
can be sent on.” He paused then
added: “Try and think about
somebody besides yourself—for
once.”
She gave a little choking cry.
“How dare you speak to me
like this? What right have
you?”
He laughed; her anger was
nothing to him.
“I am Chesney’s friend, and
that gives me the right,” he ans
wered. “And from what T know
of yon, I can thank God for his
sake that you have been called
away now.”
A wave of crimson flushed her
face from brow to chin.
t “I don’t understand. What
do yo\i mean?” she stammered.
For once her composure ,had de
serted her.
11 Milward'a face m * *ned un
willingly.
•' “I mean,” he said more
quietly, “that because Chesney
is my friend 1 do not intend you
to play the devil- with him and
ruin his life; he’s too good for
1hat. Now—will you go and get
ready?”
For a moment it seemed as it.
*he were going to clefv him, then
without a word she turned and
walked towards the Retreat.
Milward followed; his brows
almost met in a heavy frown.
Could she really he so heartless
he was wondering, with that
face, with that smile? How could
Nature make so perfect a face
and form, and forget to endow
it with a heart?
4‘We must leave here in fif
teen minutes, Miss Rolf,” he
called after her, but she did not
answer, and he crossed the lawn
again and went down the road
to a neighboring garage to fetch
his ear.
Chesney was at the gate when
he returned; he asked an agita
ted question:
‘‘Miss Rolf! Where is she?”
“I’m going to drive her to the
station—to catch the seven train
up to town.”
Chesney stared. “But she
can’t be ready! There’s only a
quarter of an hour.
“She’ll be ready,” Milward
answered; he was filling the
tank with petrol. “Sorry we
can’t take yon along ns well, old
chap,” he said without looking
up. “There’s no room, you see.”
Chesney grunted: Milward
had never paid Patricia the
slighest attention before, and
Chesney was inclined to be jeal
ous.
“I say, you know,” he broke
out boyishly, “it’s rotten luck;
whatever will she do? She hasn’t
anyone in the world but old
Rolf.Rotten luck, breaking
up her holiday like this!”
“Yes, I thought that was the
chief trouble,” said Milward
dryly.
Chesney’s face flamed.
“What do yon mean?” he
asked sharply.
The other man shrugged his
shoulders.
“Oh> nothing! What relation
was she to Rolf!”
“None—adopted daughter,
that’s all.”
“I see.”
“She’ll get all the old man’s
money,” Chesney said with a
note of constraint in his voice.
Milward did not seem im
?re8sed, and at that moment
’atricia came down the garden
and joined them.
She still wore her white frock
with a long coat over it, and she
was followed by a maid carry
ing a dressing-case. She ignored
Milward and spoke to Chesney.
“I am so sorry to have to run
away like this, but you do un
derstand, don’t yout I can’t
find Mrs. Chesney anywhere,
but you will tell her how it is,
won’t youf-.I shall write, of
2
course.”
Young Chesney flushed up to
his eyes.
“I’m sorry, too,” he said in a
low voice, “very sorry.”
He gripped her hand hard.
“Good-bye, and if there is
anything I can do for you, please
don’t hesitate to ask or
! send for me.”
And the next moment the
little car was racing away
through the warm evening.
“You’d better take the rug.”
Milward said impartially. “It’s
dusty down the road and you’ll
spoil your frock. You’ll find it
behind me.”
Patricia looked at him icily.
“Thank you, but it’s not
worth while.”
She was furious with him for
having made her leave, and fur
ious with herself for having
obeyed him.
Milward kept one hand on the
wheel and, half turning, drag
ged the rug from behind him and
flung it lightly across her lap.
“There is no sense in spoiling
an expensive frock like that,”
he said tolerantly.
She bit her lips; tears of angry
mortification in her eyes.
“You are not very sympathe
tic,” she said, in a quivering
voice. “I think you might at
least be.a little.sorry for
me. Mr. Rolf was the only
friend I had in the world.”
Milward looked down at her
dispassionately.
“I would sympathize with you
I would be sorry for you, If I
fhought, you really wished it,”
he said, “but I know you do
not.”
She gave a stifled cry, and he
went on quickly:
“Miss Rolf, why won’t you
be honest with me? I know that
Mr. Rolf’s death means little or
nothing to you; I know that un
less you had appearances to con
sider you would infinitely rather
stay here than go back home.
Tsn’t it rather.rather petty
in the circumstances, then, to
ask me to be sorry for you?”
There was a little silence; then
she said, in a changed voice:—
“I wonder why you hate me
so much ? I don’t think anybody
has ever really hated me before.”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“I don’t hat# you; I haven’t
any feeling one way or the other
except that ....”
He hesitated, and she looked
up quickly, “Yes?”
“Except that I should like to
appeal to you for Ohesney,” he
went on firmly. “He’s only a
boy—he doesn’t understand that
it’s quite possible for a woman
to pretend to care for a man
when she cares nothing at all.
Don’t you think it’s rather cruel
of you to deliberately lead him
on, at you have done, and then
show him that such a thing is
posible?”
She drew in her breath hard,
her hands clenched under the
light rug.
“Notiody has ever so instflt
ed me before,” she said quiver
ing.
“The truth is not an insult,”
he maintained. “If you choose
to consider that it is, I am sorry,
but.” He broke off, catch
ing Patricia’s arm in a rough
grip.
They had turned in at the
little station yard, and Patricia
had thrown open the low door
of the car and tried to get out
before he had brought it to a
standstill.
“Do you want to break your
neck!” he asked angrily.
She turned stormy eyes on
him.
“You wouldn’t care if I did,”
she said. “I believe you’d be
glad.”
Milward laughed outright.
The car was at a standstill
now, and he took her dressing
case and followed her into the
station.
“You’ll have to hurry—the
train is in,” he said .
He found a carriage for her
and deposited the case on the
rack.
There way only a moment be
fore the train started.
Milward. stood at the open
door, a little breafHless with his
hurry.
> “Good-bye, and trv to forgive
me,” he said. Patricia ignored
his offered hand.
“I hope I shall never see yot
again,” she said.
He stood back from the dooi
as the train'began to move.
“Oh, I think you will,” h<
answered easily.
CHAPTER II
“But it’s monstrous—mon
strous!” said Patricia. She
leaned forward, her hands
clutching the arms of the big
chair in which she sat, and star
ed at the man who had just fin
ished reading from the pile of
papers on the table before h*m.
Her face was colorless and her
beautiful eyes blazed.
“He must have been mad,”
she said again hoarsely. “He al
ways told me that everything
would be mine—everybody knew
it!” She tried to laugh. “Oh,
there’s some mistake, of course;
there must be another will.”
Mr. Philips shrugged Vis
shoulders.
“I am afraid there is no mis
take,” he said, with unwonted
gentleness. “This will was only
made a month ago, and Mr. Rolf
knew quite well what he was do
ing. It was a surprise to me, I
admit. I always looked upon
you as his heiress—everybody
did. I had no idea that Mr. Rolf
ever intended to change his wilL
I most certainly had no idea that
his son was still living.”
Patricia leaned back again in
her chair; she felt faint and gid
dy.
“I don’t believe he is alive,”
she forced herself to say. “I be
lieve it’s all some cruel joke—
he was always cruel! He told me
himself that his son had died
years ago. He never spoke of
him. Oh, I am sure that it can
not be true.”
Mr. Philips did not answer.
He felt very sorry for this girl.
He had done his best to persuade
his' client to leave her at least a
small income. He recalled his
own indignant words now as he
looked at Patricia’s stunned
face:—
“You have brought her up in
luxury; you have encouraged
her in extravagant tastes for
fourteen years, and now you
leave her without a penny!
What will become of her! WTiat
can she dot”
And a little shiver of distaste
shook him as he remembered
Peter Rolf's mirthless laugh as
he had answered:
“She can go back to where she
came from; it will do her good.
She never showed me any affec
tion—I owe her no considera
tion. Now, then, are you going
to draw up that will, or shall I
get someone else to do itt”
Peter Rolf had always been a
determined man and even while
he made his protest, Mr. Philips
had realized its hopeless futility.
So the will had been made,
leaving everything to this son
whom everybody had believed to
be dead.
It seemed a gross injustice.
Mr. Philips thought, as he look
ed at' Patricia. He wondered
what she would say if she could
Know how Peter Rolf had chuck
led to think of her discomfort
when the terms of his will be
came known.
He said again, gently.—
“I hoped to be able to make
him change his mind, or at least,
to leave you something, Miss
Rolf, but—-”
Patricia turned on him fur
iously.
“Don’t call me Miss Rolf—
don’t call me by his name; I
won’t have it. He must always
have hated me—I am sure now
that he dkl.” Her voice trem
bled suddenly. “What do you
suppose will become of met
What in the wide world can I
dot”
me lawyer cleared nis mroat
nervously.
“You will probably marry,”
he said courteously. “And of
course young Mr. Rolf will see
that something is done to pro
vide for you; I am sure that he
will do so.”
She laughed scornfully.
“If he is anything like his
father, he will hate me, too,” she
said. “Do you know himt Where
is he now t And does he know
GGalley Five.
about—about this—in justice t”
“I have not Seen him or heard
anything of him since he went
away, fifteen years ago. I al
ways understood that he was
dead. I can assure you that it
was as much of a surprise to me
as*—**
She interrupted Impatiently:
“But now—where is he now.”
“In Australia.”
“And he knows—about thist”
Mr. Philips shook his head,
v “I wrote—at Mr. Rolf’s wish
—as soon as this will was made,
but he cannot have got the let
ter. I have sent a cable, of
course. He will probably sail
i for England at once, but even
then it will be six ot seven weeks
bsfdre he can possibly get here.”
“And in the meantime what
i am I to dot Where am I to got”
“You will stay hero, natural
ly. I am sure it will be his wish
that you should stay here for
the present, at all events.”
Patricia did not answer. She
felt as if she were caught in a
trap from which there was no
possible escape.
She looked down at her slim
white hands lying in her lap and
a wave of bitterness swept
through her.
What would become of hert
If she had to earn her own living
she would starve! She had
never been taught to do any
thing—she had always had a
maid to wait upon her.
There was only one way out of
the tangle—marriage l
She thought of Chesney; she
did not care for him, but he was
fairly well off, and anything
would be better than having to
walk out of her present luxury
to face an unknown future in
which poverty seemed the over
whelming factor.
There were other men who
had wished to marry her, but
somehow at the moment Chesney
seemed to stand above them all.
His boyish admiration had
touched her heart as well as ap
pealing to her vanity; she liked
to read the adoration in his eyes
whenever he looked at her; she
was glad now to recall his last
words—“If there is anything I
can do for you please don't hes
itate to ask or send for me.”
A desire to laugh seized her.
Supposing she sent for him and
asked him to marry her! Mil
ward would be furious, anyway,
and it would be some sort of
satisfaction to know that she
naa angered him.
She thought again of the way
he had treated her when they
last met; no man had ever dared
to speak to her in such a man
ner before. A little choking sob
of anger rose in her throat.
Mr. Philips looked up from
the papers which he was stow
ing away in his dispatch case,
and his eyes were very kind.
“Don’t worry too much,’’ he
said. He laid his hand for a
moment on hers. “Don’t worry
too much, my dear young lady;
things will turn out all right for
you in the end, I am sure.’’
She raised her tragic eyes to
his face.
“All right for me!” she echo
ed. “With not a shilling in the
world, and nowhere to go.”
He did not answer, perhaps he
did not know how to answer,
and present he went away leav
ing her alone in the silent room.
Patricia sat quite still, star
ing before her.
She looked back over the
years, and their memories seem
ed to mock her.
Everything she had wanted in
the world she had had! Nothing
had ever been denied to her,
and now.
A servant came to the door:
“If you please, miss, a gentle
man to see you.”
A wild hope flashed through
Patricia’s mind that it might be
Chesney. She would have been
thankufl for his presence then,
grateful for the love with which
today she had only intended to
amuse herself.
“Who is itt** she asked eager
ly.
The maid came closer; she held
a tray with a card on it.
Patricia took it up eagerly—
it was Milward’s.
She flung it down again with
petulant anger and disappoint
mem.
"I will not see him," she said.
"Tell him I will not see him."
The maid turned to go. Patri
cia sat drumming her fingers on
the chair arms. How dared he
come after what had happened?
And why had he come? She had
not asked him to visit her; had
certainly not wished it. Why,
then, had he come? She turned
quickly.
"Marie, wait 1 Ask Mr. Mil
ward to come in."
He should not think she was
afraid of him at all events
She d'd not rise when Milward
entered, and he had to walk the
length of the room to her.
"I hope I am not intruding,"
he said, a little uncertainly,
"but I was driving papt this way
and so—I ventured to call."
He looked at her pale face. "I
am afraid you have been ill,"
he said gently.
Patricia laughed.
"No I" She looked away from
him, then suddenly she rose to
her feet and swung around.
"The other day," she said
passionately, “you taunted me
with being utterly heartless and
selfish. You said that I had
everything in the world I want
ed and so I never troubled to
consider anyone else. Well, per
haps, it will please you to know
that I have nothing any morel
Nothing 1 Mr. Rolf has not even
left me the proverbial shilling 1
Even this frock, which I am I
wearing for him, it not mine and
I cannot p&jr for it. He has cut
IJL <#ut of his will and left every
thing to his son.”
She stopped breathlessly.
“Well are you pleased!" she de
manded.
Milward had fallen back a
step. His eyes looked distressed ;
and incredulous.
“Oh, but there must be some
mistake," he said earnestly. “I
always understood that you—
that." -s
fehe made a gesture of im
patience.
“It doesn’t matter what we
understood, any of us I When I
walk out of here it will be with
nothing in the world belonging
to me and nowhere to go unless”
—a little gleam lit her eyes—
“unless I marry Bernard Ches
ney.
That roused him, as she had
known it would do. He broke
out angrily:
“You wouldn’t.™.you
couldn’t be so unjust.when
you care nothing for him—he
would be miserable. To marry
him just for a home_”
She laughed recklessly.
“Well,/and what else can I
do? You showed yourself so very
interested in my affairs the
other day, perhaps you may
have some better suggestion to
offer.” She looked at him
mockingly. ”1 am not going to
ask for your pity or sympathy—
a second time.”
MilwanS's eyes met hers
gravely.
“It is more a case for congrat
ulation, don’t you think?” he
asked. “All this money and
luxury have_ been the ruin of
you. I know that you..” He
stopped.
Patricia, was laughing hyster
ically.
(Continued Next Week
p (M
By Anns Campbell
The nursery figures on my wall
Do not behave themselves at all.
Baoh night when In my bed I lie.
They leave their places on the sly.
The Dutoh boy is the first to come!
You ought to see his windmill hum!
And then he makes a little bow
And helps her down—the old Dntch
frau.
Then darling little Wooden Shoes
Steps down, as gaily as you choose.
And through the night they speed
away,
And don’t come home till break of
day.
The old Dutch frau calls to her man
To run as fast aa e’er he can.
He jumps down from the border high.
They search for them while hours
go by.
Soon, by the patter on the pane,
I know these two are home again.
They stole out while they had the
chance.
To ijoin the fairies In their dance.
The old Dutch frau just spanks them
good,
And scolds them as a mother should,
And makes them hurry back so fast
They're on my wall again at last [
When sunbeams through my window
stream.
My mother says It’s all a dream.
But I am certain It is so!
1 saw them, so I ought to know!
(Copyright, North American News
paper Alliance, 1923.)
What Is the Freight on Apples?
From the Chicago Dally Joural. *
This spring the agrl&ltucal agent
of the Americas AailwAy Association
bought some northwest coast apples
from retailors In New York City and
paid from 10 to 16 cents each for
them. He found on Investigation that
the prower received abuot one cent
each for that quality of apples. The
freight from the shipping point to
New York was a cent and a quarter,
and the cost of distribution In the
city by truck afeout the same. With
a reasonable wholesalers’ profit add
ed, the cost of such apples to the re
tailer should be about five cents
each.
The railways present thts instance
as proving the injustlc of the com
plaint that high prices are due to .
high freight rates—and In a wide
range of articles, perhaps In all, the
railways are right. If the apples In
question had been carried free from
Washington or Oregon to New York
the consumer never would have
known the difference. Somebody
would have "taken up the slack,”
whether wholesaler or retailer, the
agent who made the Investigation
does not Indicate.
The dealers from whom that agent
bought, sell many things beside fruit.
They sell servioe and convenience.
Even with those Items added, the
“spread getween producer and con
sumer Is far too great; but Is not a
part of the remedy, at least, In the
consumer’s own hands?
The average American likes to take
an attitude of "dam the expense.” He
wants what he wants when he wants
It, and, even when being stung on
small items, oounts It bensath his
dignity to baggie. Naturally, be pays
for this Illusion of grandeur. The
primitive rule of business Is to charge
what the traffic will bear, and there
la a considerable group of Ameri
can buyers who will bear anything.
There are signs, however, that this
lordly attitude Is changing, Indica
tions that the American buyer Is
growing more concerned to get the
worth of his money, aadjmore ready
to resist hldup c bar ray. Such s
change—If it lasts— will bo to the
advantage of progressive retail busi
ness, as well as to the consumer;
and meantime, don’t blame the rail
roads for everything.
One of the most striking differ
ences between a cat and a lie la that
a oat has only nino lives, 41 ark
Twain
ASK THE FARMERS.
SO much conflict has existed re
cently in reports on what the
farmers want the government to do
for them that someone had an iaspl
ration. As a result, farmers in sev
eral sections of the middle west !
have recently had an opportunity,
perhaps- for the first time in a long
while, to tell Just what they want j
and expect the government to do for !
them. Their replies might prove
surprising to most of the self nom-1
inated champions of agricultural in
terests.
To the question whether the farm-:
ers themselves have formed any I
concrete idea as to how present con
ditions may be improved practically 1
every farmer replied in the nega
tive. Asked whether conditions on j
the farmB were worse this year than!
in any previous year the older farm
ers were practically agreed that
they were not so bad as in the
period from 1893 to 1897. Most of
them declared conditions are no
worse this year than last.
No farmer was found who had any \
legislation te suggest that would
bring relief. Practically none ot
them considered any more credit
needed or desirable. A large ma-1
Jority declared a government guar
antee ai a price, on wheat undesira
ble, though a few substantial farm
ers said it would be helpful. Practi- i
cally all were agreed that the farm
ers themselves are not looking to
legislative action as a way out of
whatever difficulties they now faoe.
Most important, perhajs, of all
f£ie questions asked was “What can
the farmer do to help himself out off
the present difficulty?” To this the
answers varied in detail; but the
theme of all of them was that the
farmer must buckle down to the Job
of farming; reduce his expenses to(
the minimum-; utilize the dairy cow j
and the hen, diversify bis farming j
operations and sit tight until the!
storm blows over.
These questions wefe propounded;
in various sections of the country by
a newspaper man sent out for that
purpose. They may not represent an >
accurate cross section of agrlcultur-j
al thought all through the middle j
west, but in the absence of more ao
curate information that might be as
sumed with comparative safety. It IS
respectfully suggested tbat those
who are doing so much demanding
of government action In the name
of the American farmers try at least
as careful an Investigation before
declaring these findings are not rep*
resentative of farmer sentiment.
LABOR AND POL1TIC8.
AN interesting event took plaoe
the other day in Minne
sota, the state of Senator Magnus
Johnson. The Minnesota State Fed-i
eration of Labor in convention a*,
sembled went on record without a
dissenting vote in favor of a nation
al farmer-labor party. Further lk|
Instructed its delegates to the con
vention of the American Federation
of Labor to do their utmost to swihjt j
the national body around to that;
view. Clearly it is not alone eim
battled* farmers who fill the ranks ox|
the Minnesota revolters.
If the Minesota delegates succeed;
in persuading the American Federa^
tion of Labor to indorse a national;
farmer-labor party, they will have |
brought about an abandonment of
the federation’s historic policy. Thatj
organization has stood firmly against;
direct participation in politics, striv
ing always to gain legislative ends i
by means of one or the other of the i
Sid parties.
In following this course the Amerl*,
can Federation has Bhown its vision |
and patriotism, two qualities for
which it sometimes has not received;
sufficient credit A labor partyv
whether linked with a farmer party i
or not, would exaggerate class strife j
in America—a development which,,
if persisted in, could end only in na
tional disaster. In these times of un-(
rest, when good judgment seems sus-;
pended upon occasion, the federation;
should be encouraged to stick to its j
traditional stand.
Records recently compiled shoWj
:hat Missouri farmers bought more,
motor cars last year than ever before^
and are out to break that record this,
year if the present demand keeps up,;
Election of a recruit to the LaFotv
lette-Brookhart bloo from that state,
seems doubtful, in the face of this'
report.
Blessed are the dead whloh die In i
the Lord from henceforth: Yea,,
ealth the Spirit, that they may rest
from their labors] and their works;
do follow them*—Revelations XI V.1t>
What qualities must a president!
have? what qualities of darln# and
recklessness, admirable on the battle,
field, must a president lack, or sup*
press, to keep the nation out «
trouble?
First of all, as trustee, he must
know the value of things already ao* .
eompllahed, and preserve them.
If he builds he must d» it without!
tearing down—not easy, although it
can be done.
He must have respect for law and,
for precedent. At the same time,
must realise that the law of today is
the will of the people of today, wlt&*
l in constitutional limits.