The frontier. (O'Neill City, Holt County, Neb.) 1880-1965, August 23, 1923, Image 6
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<ucal 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.