The Master Man By Ruby M. Ayres Patricia tore the letter to shreds and flung them from her. Oh, how she hated him! To coolly suggest pensioning her off as if she had been a servant or a poor relation; to settle her into the house which had always been looked upon as a kind of minor dower house in the days of Peter Rolf; to her passionate pride and impetuosity it seemed that he could have offered her no great er insult. To have all her friends pitying her; to have the whole country side laughing at her downfall. She would die rather than ac cept such nn offer I Why, in his father’s lifetime she had spent more than five hundred a year on frocks alone. She paced the garden in utter misery; there seemed nobody in all the world who eared what be came of her. there were other men who had professed to eare for her, but after Chesney’s letter she would rather have died than approach them in any way. She Avas sure that Michael had influenced Chesney—the more she thought of it the deeper grew her convic tion that in some Avay he Avas re sponsible. She took no notice of Mic hael’s letter, and had not Avritten to Mr. Philips. She hated them both—it made her AA’riihe to think that these two men had met and talked over her future, and calmly decided hoAv much she should be given, k Given! She Avould take noth ing I She would rather starve than accept a shilling from this man who had so insulted her; she would Avork for her living if needs be. She looked at her hands, siieh white, useless look ing hauds they were. Hquav could she even hope to turn them to any account! She passed another restless night, hardly sleeping at all, and in the morning she felt ill and wretched. When the maid brought tea. Patricia asked hopelessly if there Avere any letters. “Only one, miss—” The girl laid it beside Patricia on the quilt. Patricia looked at it eagerly, but the writing Avas only that of a girl friend, and she did not trouble to open the envelope until she was dressed. But later, as she read the rather effusive linos, her face changed a little. Patricia had always like Effie Shackle—they had been good friends, and she kneAv that Effie vvas fond of her. “I am grieved to hear of Mr. Rolf’s death, you poor deal!” so the letter began. “It must have been a terrible shock for you. Would you like mo to come and stay with yon for a time till things are settled down a little! Or will you come and stay Avith ns! Mother sends her fondest love, and says I must tell you hoAv welcome you will he. Come as soon ns you feel able, and stay as long as you like with your loving Effie.” Patricia’s spirits Avent up with a boAAnd; she Avondered Avhy she had never thought of the Shac kles before; she might have knoAvn how Avilling they would he to receive her; tears of relief rushed to her eyes. Here was a real friend at last! She sat down then and there and answered the letter gratefully. “I can’t tell you how glad I was to hear from you,” she wrote. “If you only knew how Utterly wretched I have been. Of course, you have heard that Mr. Rolf died without leaving me a shilling, and that his son, whom we all believed to have died years, ago, gets everything. He has behaved detestably to me, and. though he said I could stay on for the present at Clayton Wold, I shall be only too glad to accept your kind invitation, and come to you instead, until I can make some sort of arrangement for the future. Please give my love to Mrs. Shackle, and thank her so much for her kind mes sage. I will come on Thursday if that will be convenient to you. Mr. Rolf has been down to see me, of course, and today he of fered me 500 pounds a year and the little dower house to live in, but, needless to say, I am refus ing. I could not bear to live any where round here except at Clay ton Wold and as for taking any money from Michael Rolf, I would rather die! I am so happy (to be coming to you—I am long ing to so* *m, and tell you all ■I that has happened. Yours ever Affectionately, Patricia." She had just dispatched the letter when Michael Rolf arri ved; she heard the sound of his car in the drive, and her first impulse was to refuse to see him but the thought of Effie’s letter gave her more assurance. He should not find her downcast or distresed; she would just tell him that she had better friends to turn to than he could ever be. She did not rise from her chair when Michael came into the room, and she was quick to no tice the little frown that crossed his face. I wrote to you from town, he began rather abruptly. “I hope you got my letter.” “Yes, thank you.” She spoke very quietly and almost in a friendly way, and Michael was relieved. He thought she was going to bo amenable and listen to reason after all; he had felt that he had not behaved quite kindly; after all, she was young and she had been abomin ably spoilt. He pulled up a chair and sat down opposite her. “I hope my suggestion was agreeable,” he said anxiously. AVe can make the little house quite pretty and comfortable, and you are more than welcome to any furniture you care to take from here”—he hesitated. “I assure you that I really want to make things comfortable for you. I can’t see that we need to be bad friends—I hope you will believe that I shall do everything possible for your happiness.” Patricia’s eyes gleamed. “You have already begun to do that, haven’t you?” she ask ed quietly. He looked at her, not under standing. “What do you mean?” “I mean by advising Bernard Chesney not to have anything more to do with me, by advising him to go to the other sid<_ of the world rather than marry any one so worthless-as I am!” She laughed bitterly, rising to her feet. “Tt’s rather a farce, isn’t it, Mr. Rolf,” she asked. “You see I’m not quite so easy to de ceive as you thought. I know perfectly well that you went straight to Mr. Chesney after you left me the other day, and that.*’ Michael rose to his feet. “Bernard is my friend,” he said. And only that morning you had said that you wished to be mine,” she reminded him. “Don’t you think it was rather a strange way of proving it? However.” she shrugged her shoulders, it really doesn’t matter very much.” He looked at her angrily. “If it doesn’t matter, I won der you troubled to speak of it,” he said, curtly. “And I am not in the least ashamed to admit that I told Chesney that you meant to marry him for the sake of a future and a position.” Patricia set her teeth. It hurt her to think how readily Ches ney had believed it; how easily he had taken this man’s advice against all that she had offered him. So much for his boasted love. f There was a little silence. “We shall both be much hap pier now you are going to be reasonable,” Michael Rolf went on. “I am very glad indeed that you will accept .my offer—I am very glad. . .” Patricia turned round. “I have not accepted,” she said, calmly. “I have no inten | tion of accepting anything from you, either now or at an^ time. As I told you before, I am quite capable of arranging my own future.” His face flushed with anger. “I am your natural guardian now my father is dead,” he said. “It’s preposterous. What in the world do you propose to do? A girl like youl I absolutely refuse to allow you to go your own way. You will have to take my advice and allow me to pro vide for you.” Patricia laughed. “Shall I? We shallow!” He paced th,» length of the room agitate^. “What do yon object to in my offer?” he demanded, presently. “If you think five hundred is not enough, I am willing to make it more. If you dislike the thought of the house I suggested there are others for you to choose from. For heaven’s sake be rea sonable! What do you suppose people will think of me, and say, if it is known that you will take nothing from me?” “Is that all you are afraid of— what people will say!” “I am not afraid, I have never cared twopence for anyone’s opinion, but this is beyond all reason. Come, Patricia, be rea sonable!.I know you dislike me, but...” She interrupted. “I don’t. I just don’t consider you at all.” ^ He bit his lip. “You say hard things,” he said, after a moment. “And I don’t think I have deserved them all. . . If my father had left you Clayton Wold and his money, as you always believed he would, I suppose you would not have re fused t oaccept them?” She looked at him. “Certainly not! Why should I?” lie made a gesture of impa tience. “Then why refuse now? What difference is there? I am my father’s son. ...” “Mr. Rolf did not mean me to have anything or he would have said so in his will.” “He was an eccentric man. He probably did not know what he was doing when he made that will.” “T*think he knew quitv well,” said Patricia, quietly. He paced away from her and came back. “Has your—dislike for me— anything to do with your refus al?” he asked. She shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t dislike you,” she said, obstinately. He smiled cynically. “Well, you will hardly pretend that you like me!” he submitted, dryly. “I don’t like any men,” she answered, deliberately. “I think they are all selfish, horribly sel fish—” “And the women?” Michael asked. She did not answer, and he frowned impatiently. “Aren’t you going to offer me tea?” he demanded. “It’s your own house,” said Patricia. “You have only to ring the bell and tell the maids what you want.” Michael came back to where she stood, and looked down at her with wrathful eyes. “I should like to shake you.” he 3aid. Patricia met his eyes steadily, though her heart beats were a little uneven, and the thought flushed into her mind that she was afraid of this man—afraid of the strength of his personal ity—but she forced herself to smile disdainfully. “I don’t think even you— would dare to do that,” she said. Michael Rolf laughed. ‘ * I hope for your owh sake that that is not a challenge,” he said.* He was so much taller than she,. and so much stronger, that Pat 'ricia involuntarily fell back a step. Michael turned away. “I shall send Philips to see you,” he said, after a moment. “Perhaps he can persuade you to be sensible, where I have fail ed.” “It won’t be any use,” said Patricia, defiantly. • • • • Mr. Philips came and used every argument he knew, but it was useless. Patricia clung to her refusal. “I have said I won’t take the money, or anything else, and I won’t,” she said, over and over again. “Then what are you going to do?” Mr. Philips asked helpless ly “For the present I am going to stay with my friends, the Shack les,” Patricia answered. “They are glad to have me, at any rate —” and for a moment tears swam into her eyes. “They really like me.” \ Mr. Philips looked distressed. “If only you would be reason able!” he said. “I am reasonable! Mr. Rolf never meant me to have anything and so I will not take anything.” “I should like to shake you, my dear,” said Mr. Philips. A ghost of a smile lit Patricia’s quivering face. “That is what Michael Rolf said,” she told him,”but he did n't dare, any more than you wbuld.” She parted with him on friend ly terms. She liked Mr. Philips, and was sorry He should be so concerned about her. “I shall be all right, and very happy with the Shackles,” she told him, cheerfully. But he shook hia head, and went sadly away. “If you’d only be reasonable 1” were his last words. Patricia went upstairs and be gan to pack. She was glad to be leaving Clayton Wold, and yet the tears rose in her eyes at the thought that this was the last night she would ever spend in the house that had been her home for so many years. In the cool of the evening she wandered round the gardens, saying good-bye to each familiar spot. She had never realized until now how beautiful a garden it really w;as, and rhe stood still, with a deep sigh, to take a last long look at it all—the velvety lawns, and the flower beds, and the rose garden on the other side of the old yew hedge. “Miss Rolf . . . are you there, please, Miss Rolf ? ’ ’ Patricia started from her dreaming and turned. One of the maids was callinar to hep. She went back reluctantly, brushing the tears from her eyes. She did not want anyone to think that she minded leaving or that she had a single regret. The maid approached with a letter on a tray. “It’s an express letter," she explained. “So I thought I ought to find you and give it to you at once, miss." The envelope was addressed in Effie Shackle’s writing, and Patricia smiled as she opened it. It was like Effie’s thoughtful ness to express a reply, she thought, and her heart warmed towards her friend. But Effie had written:— “My dear Patricia,—Your let ter has just come, and of course we are all horrified to hear the dreadful news! We always thought that Mr. Rolf would leave you Clayton Wold and everything! How hateful of him. and whatever will you dot I am so sorry, but some cousins have just wired to know if we can have them for a month, as one of the boys is down with scarlet fever, and they have to go away, of course; so in the circumstan ces I am sure you will understand if we ask you to put off wour visit. Perhaps later on yowwill be able to spare us a week-end! Mother sends her love and says you must be mad to refuse Mr. Rolf’s offer. How on earth do you suppose you are going to live If you won’t take his help! In great haste, yours affectionately, Effie Shackle." CHAPTER IV The maid who had brought Ef fle Shackle’s letter to Patricia pausing for a oment on the other side of the old yew hedge to ad mire the roses, heard the sudden sound of desolate sobbing. ~ She looked round startled. As far as she knew there was nobody anywhere near but her young mistress, and it seemed impossi ble somehow to connect that broken weeping with Patricia. She was always so proud, so re served. But, after a moment’s hesitation, the girl retraced her steps doubtfully. , Patricia was crouched on the grass, her face hidden in her hands, her whole slender figure shaken with convulsive weeping. There was not much of the haughty beauty about her at that moment, and the maid’s first im pulse was to go to her and see what she could do to comfort her, but after the first quick step for ward she stopped. Patricia would only be angry and resent it, and Patricia’s anger was a thing to be feared, as all the servants knew. So she turned away again, and went on towards the house. Some- ! thing must be seriously the mat ter, she thought uncomfortably, and her kind heart was distressed because she knew there was noth ing she could do to help. At the door of the house she en countered Michael Rolf. She had never spoken to him in her life, but she admired him im mensely from a distance, and privately she quite agreed with the under-housemaid, who was young and romantic and who devoured every novel she could get hold of, that he was the “lost heir" type down to the ground. She was rather pleased there-' fore when Michael spoke to her. “I am looking for Miss Rolf— they tell me she is in the grounds somewhere—have you seen herf” She answered readily enough that Patricia was in the rose garden, and then, impulsively, she added— “I'm afraid something is the matter, sir—'' she hesitated, searching his face with her kind eyes as if to make sure first whether he was likely to prove a sympathetic hearer. Then she went on quickly, apparently satisfied— “I took Miss Rolf a letter • moment ago, and now .. oh I she was crying dreadfully when I came away.” “Crying!” Michael flushed darkly, and without another word he strode off across the grass in the direction of the rose-garden. The sky was painted with sun set colours, and incongruously Michael thought of the evening, nearly twenty years ago now, when he had walked just this way out into the world. He could remember as if it had been yesterday, how his father had followed him to the door of the house after their stormy part ing, and shouted after him through the quiet evening: “And don’t you ever darken my doors again. You’ve made your bed, and now you can lie on it. Son or no son, I never want to see you again—” And he never bad! Michael thought now of the bitterness that had been in his own heart as he strode off, with his head high, and his spirits down to zero. He had hated his father then for having him turned out of the home he loved, and he wondered if Patricia was hating him now for having been the means of; driving her away. And yet—what was he to do? The place was his, and obviously they could not both stay there, unless .. . Then he laughed aloud it the thought that had unwit tingly strayed into his mind. She was the last woman on, earth he should ever wish to marry, not in the least the sort of woman he admired, or even respected; she was too selfish, too much a woman of the world. Then he turned the corner of the old yew hedge suddenly and saw Patricia. (Continued Next Weift Treasure Beyond Price W. M. Maupln In Goring Midwest ✓ Life Is full of computations. I have a lot of things that money could not buy. I wouldn’t trade the sight of my little kiddles racing to meet me after my day’s work 1st done for all the money Jawn D. has. And Hank Ford’s money couldn’t buy what Is mine for nothing—the laughing greeting that Glady Neely’s little ones give me every time I go by his house. Haven't I a right to be proud that little Wad Raser likes to walk by my side and talk to me; and haven’t I a right to feel proud because half the kiddles In town wave to me when they see me, and aren't a bit afraid to peep through my office window and smile when I look at them? And the fact that my own kiddles would rather take a walk with me than to play with their companions is some thing I treasure more than much fine gold. Here I am nearly 60 years old, and Just as free hearted and as care free as I was when a happy-go-lucky boy of 15. I refuse to take my worries to bed with me, and my slumbers are as dreamless as that of any child. I like to play with the kiddles be cause It keeps me young, at least young at heart. 1 have an appetite and a good digestion, and I wouldn’t trade them to Rockefeller for his dyspepsia and his four score years and three, with all his millions to boot. I never see one who is halt or maimed or blind without sympa thlzln gwlth him, and then thank ing the good God that I am free from aches and rheumatism; that I can walk or run or jump, and that I have two reasonably good eyes. Rich? I am beyond compare. Rich in family, rich in friendship, rich in health, rich In opportunity. I am so thankful for all these bless ings that I haven’t any time to waste in whining or repining. To live de» cently, to provide for mine own, to serVo as well as I can, to cherish friendships, and play the game fair and square—that Is my religion. If I can but live up to It I will answer the final summons without fear. The cheapest thing Is not wheat, German marks or rubles. It Is hu man life. The International News tells about John Miller of West Vir ginia who sold his wife and and sevep children to Michael Davis. You cart buy a human baby any day for less than you would have to pay for a second class pup, German labor Is paid a decidedly low wage, according to reports from that country. Despite numerous strikes for more pay the highest rate per hour IS around 1% cents. American workmen are paid |1.25 an hour for the same kind of work. More oxygen is to be found In thq first six feet of the earth’s crusty than in all the atmosphere above. In the bones and their arrangement there Is a close resemblance oetween the flipper of the whale and the hu man hand. ForSumraer II Trout le Blended for ovary condition of which trouble la hut Sold Tablet* or Cuticura Soap Clears the Skin and Keeps it Clear SmP 25c, Okteoat 25 ud 50c, Talcm 25c. 1C VHIID Uses "Cutter's” II I Ulin SenimsmdViccInejhjij WWB* doing hit best to conserve your VETERINARIANS#2 The Cutter Laboratory 1-abtratTy that Mn»ivi JVttv" Berkeley (U.S. License) California Forced to Own Bible. The first Bible printed in Scotland was issued complete in 1579. In tha same year, ly act of parliament, every man, householder, and others—“Worth thrie hundraih merkis of yerille rent or abone,” find every yeoman and bur* gess with $£,500 had to provide, under a penalty of $50, “a Bible and psalrne buque in v^lgare language in thalr houssls for the better Instruction of tliame selffi> and thair famelljs in tha knowledge of God.” And to see that the provisions of the above act were carried intc effect, the following year a searcher vas appointed with power to visit th* houses of those signified by the act, '‘and to require the sicht if their Psoipie Buikis and Bybllis.” Wage Slave. The wife of a certain prominent member of the Los Angeles Athletie rlub buttonholed her husband th® other day with tears In her eyes. “Darling,” s>„e murmured, "every day this week I’w been looking In the win flow of a srtore near the club where there’s a perfect dream of a hat, but the price \.£tg so tremendous—” “Perhaps,” began the fond husband, "Yes, deart But there Isn’t any per haps. I paid the cook this noon, and what do yov. think? she marched tight down fcnd bought herself that very hat I” Family Skeletons Costly. A profiteer