The Master Man
By Ruby M. Ayres
"Her—mother!” he echoed.
"But I thought—I always under
stood—good Heavens, do you
mean that she does not know?”
Mrs. Smith shook her head.
"I know it all sounds very im
^Bsible and perhaps absurd,”
•be said, in a voice broken with
emotion. "I know that her life
end mine are are far apart as
they well can be, but she is my
daughter all the same.”
t "AntJ my father*—did he
know—but, of ctfiirse, he must
have done?”
“Oh, it has been my thoughts
•o often,” she said. “It was my
voice. “I have blamed myself
•o often for ever consenting, but
at the time it seemed such an op
portunity for Patricia—”
looked at Michael apolo
geticalfy. "1 should like to tell
you all about if if it will not be
worrying you too much.”
“I am immensely interested.
I never had any idea—I always
thought Patrica was an orphan
when my father adopted her.”
Mrs. Smith sat down in the
armchair and clasped her hands
in her lap to hide their trembl
ing.
“If8 all so long ago,” she be
gan agitatedly.
" Patricia was only seven—
and, though she is my daughter,
she was tho prettiest child you
can imagine, Mr. Rolf."
"I am sure she was," Michael
agreed readily. He walked
away to the window and stood
looking out into the dingy street.
There was a queer feeling of ap
prehension in his mind. How
would it effect Patricia when
•ho knew the truth he wondered.
He turned eagerly again to Mrs
Smith.
"Yes, please go on."
"My husband had just died—
and I was very poor. I had
hardly any money, and I was
living in a little cottage in the
country with my two children.,
trying to manage as best I could,
When one f ter noon your father
came to the house—he had lost
his way. It was then that he
M Patricia.
^ "He asked her to go and sit
On his knee, hut she-stamped her
foot and refused, and he laughed
and said he liked her spirit. I
noticed that he kept staring at
her a great deal, and when he
got up he said: ‘How much will
?'0U take for your little Spittire
here!' I thought it was only a
joke, but he assured me he was
quite serious. ‘I’ll give you a
good price for her,’ he said. You
know his way, Mr. Rolf!”
Michael nodded.
‘‘Of course, I said that nothing
could ever induce me to part
with her, and ho went away.
But ho came back many times
afterwards and renewed his offer.
‘‘Well, things went on, and
* then I fell ill. Very ill I was,
and my little bit of money began
to dwindle, and then—oh, I need
not tell you how it all happened,
but in the end your father got
!iis way, and I gave Patricia up
to him.
‘‘Directly it was all agreed I
knew I must have been mad.
Mr. Rolf gave me £1,000, and
made me sign a paper to the ef
fect that I would never try to
aee her again. He wanted her
to forget me, he said! Oh, he
was very frank! ’He promised
that che should have everything
•he wanted—always, and I sup
pose he kept his word, but he
never told me that he was going
to turn her into a selfish, arro
gant girl.”
U Michael made a swift move
ment Of objection, hut he said
nothing, and Mrs. Smith went
On bitterly:
‘‘At any rate, she very easily
forgot me. I kept my share of
the bargain faithfully for twelve
years, anti then one day I had
the feeling that I must see her
and speak to her. I found an
excuse and an opportunity. I
wrote and asked if I might he
allowed to do some work for her
—I am clever with my needle.
She sent for me to go to Clayton,
and after that I often saw
her—”
“And my father knew!”
“He found out after a time,
and was furious, but he could
not do much, otherwise I should
simply told Patricia the whole
truth.”
“And Patriciaf You say that
•he did not know you! And still
does nott”
“She has no idea. She has
always been kind to me in her
own way—helping me and giv
ing me presents, but—oh, Mr.
~ a
Rolf, if you knew how I have
suffered all these years—and
all through my own fault—”
and she broke down Into bitter
sobbing.
Michael laid his hand on her
shoulder.
“But everything will be all
right now," he said cheerily,
because, of course, Patricia must
be told the truth."
Mrs- Smith sat up agitatedly.
“She must not—I refuse to al
low it. It would spoil her life;
fhe would get to hate and despise
me. She is so proud. Oh, Mr.
Rolf, you must promise that you
will not tell her."
Michael looked perplexed.
“But if she comes to live Here
—" he objected.
“She would never come if she
new the truth," Mrs. Smith
answered.
“Very well, then, she shall not
know, for the present at all
events,” Michael agreed.
“I have set my heart on Patri
cia coming here, so all you have
to do is to write and offer her
a home—and leave the rest to
me.”
Mrs. Smith started up agi
his kindly gaze.
“I suppose you are despising
me very much,” she submitted
humbly.
iou Know quite well I am
doing nothing of the sort,” he
answered vehemently. “I am
very glad to have met Patricia’s
mother—” He held out his
hand, and she laid hers in it.
“Then it’s all settled,” Mich
ael went on in a relieved tone.
“You write to Patricia at once—
I’ll give you her address.”
He moved over to the desk in
the window and scribbled it on
one of his own cards, then he
filled in a cheque for ten pounds,
and left them both lying there
together.
Mrs. Smith followed him to the
door.
It was only just as he was
leaving the house that she said:
“There is one thing I would
like to ask you, Mr. Rolf—per
haps you may not think it is my
business—but-—there used to be
a Mr. Chesney, who was very
fond of Patricia. Perhaps you
know him? I have so often
wondered why she never married
him.”
Michael frowned.
“Because she didn’t care for
him, in all probability,” he
answered rather shortly
“Yes, I know Chesney well,
but I hardly think he was the
man for Patricia.”
“I thought she always seemed
verytfond of him,” Mrs. Smith
answered Avistfully. “I only
saAv them together once or tAvice,
but he Avas such a gentleman.
I used to hope Patricia Avould
marry him.”
Michael did not answer, and
presently he was walking quick
ly aAvay from the house. Chesney
suited to her indeed! Surely
the girl’s own mother should
have known better than that.
He took a taxi at the corner
and was driven back to Mrs.
Flannagan’s. It Avas nearly
five o’clock then—Patricia
would probably be back.
Patricia Avas back! So Mrs.
Flannagan informed him in a
stage whisper. “But it’s not
shure I am that she’ll see ye!”
she added.
“If you’ll not mind waiting
I’ll just foind out!”
Michael stepped past her into
the narrow hall.
“Thank you,” he said coolly.
“I’ll find out for myself.”
CHAPTER Vll
Patricia Avas crouching over
the fire in an attitude of the
deepest dejection when Michael
entered the room.
She had taken off her lvatr but
she still wore her chat, and there
was something hopelessly dis
pirited in the droop of her shou
lders and the despondent manner
in which her graceful head
rested on her hands. •
She Avas sore and angry and
miserable. She Avas sure that
Michael had deliberately missed
his appointment with her; even
the fact that he had turned up
late did not mollify her. She
only shrugged her shoulders
when Mr^~ Flannagan drew an
elaborate picture of his deep dis
tress Avhen he found that she had
gone.
She had not had any lunch,
and the tray of unpretentious
cold meat and potatoes which
Mrs. Flannrgan had hurriedly
brought stood unappetisingly
on the table behind her.
"You can take it away, Mrs.
Flannagan,” Patricia said, with
out turning as Michael entered
“I don’t want anything—I’m
not hungary. You can bring me
a cup of tea, if you like.”
“It’s not Mrs. Flannagan,”
said Michael. He came in and
shut the door behind him, look
ing at her with a little uncertain
smile.
Patricia rose to her feet, angry
waves of colour beating into her
pale cheeks.
“I told Mrs. Flannagan I
would not see you. Who said
you could come inf”
“Nobody; I just came.” He
moved forward. I am more sor
ry than I can say about being
late this morning. I met Ber
nard Chesney, and could not get
rid of him.”
“And naturally you did not
wish to bring him to see me,”
she retorted. “I suppose one
could hardly expect you to be
proud to admit you know any
one living in a house like this.”
“You are quite right about
my not wishing him to see you,”
Michael answered calmly
“But as far as the house goes,
if it’s good enough for you, it’s
a thundering sight too good for
him. But we won’t argue. I
hope you accept my apology.”
“There is no need to apologise.
I did not expect you to keep
your word.”
mat, sam Micnaei, "is not
the truth. You did expect me—
you, were very angry and disa
ppointed when I did not come.”
“How dare you!”
Michael smiled.
“Come, Patricia, don’t he
childish. I thought we were go
ing to be friends. I was angry
and dissipointed, too. I had a
horrible lunch.”
He stood looking down at her
reflectively,
“Look here,” he said sudden
ly, “you’d be much easier to
talk to if you wouldn’t look so
determinedly uncomfortable.
Take off your coat and let me
fetch you a cushion.”
He drew the coat from her
shoulders and fetched the best
cushions the room could muster;
then he went down on his knees
and banked up the smoky fire.
“Have you given Mrs. Flanna
gan notice?” lie asked. %
“Of course, I haven’t;~~I’ve
got nowhere to go.
“Nowhere? With all the
many friends you must have?”
The ready tears sprang to
her eyes.
“You seem to like taunting
me'about my friends,” she said
bitterly. “I am beginning to
wonder if I ever really had
any.”
“I am not speaking of people
like Effie Shackle,” said Mich
eal gently.
Patricia looked at him.
“You don’t know Effie
Shackle.”
“I do. I met her on the road
ilear Clayton one night—the
very night before you ran away
I think it was. Something had
gone wrong with her car and it
„ was getting late and so I drove
her home, and they asked me to
stop to dinner.”
“Yes, they would—if they
knew who you were.”
“They didn’t know, till I told
i;.°m—and I don’t think Miss
Effii liked it when she know.”
“I should have thought she
would have been delighted.*’
A little smile crept into Mich
ael's eyes as he recalled the dis
may his announcement had
caused.
Patricia was wftching him
with faint ealousy.
“Have you ever been there
again?” she asked. “Not that
I care,” she hastened to add.
“I never supposed you would
care,” Michael answered, still
intent on his fire building. “But
I have not been, though they
gave me a pressing invitation
and a formal one came by post
this morning for dinner to
night.”
He rose from his knees and,
turning, faced her.
“Shall I go?” he asked.
Patricia tried to laugh uncon
cernedly.
“Please yourself—it is no
business of mine.”
“That’s what you say,” Mich
ael answered coolly. “And all
the time you know you don’t
want me to go—you know you
hate the idea of my going—at
least ... I hope you do,” he add
ed.
Patricia sprang to her feet.
- “How dare you! As if I care
—as if.
“Tea and a foine parcel,” said
Mrs. Flacnagan at the door.
Michael turned away, there
was a little pleased smile in his
eyes.
Mrs. Flannagan’s "foine par
cel” turned out to be violets.
"Floers they are, by the smel
ling of them,” she insisted, tak
ing a good sniff at the wrappings
before she laid them down in
Patricia’s lap.
Patricia looked at the little
hamper.
"There is no one at all likely
to send mo flowers,” she said,
but she cut the string rather
eagerly, and gave a little cry of
delight when she saw the mass
of violets.
She looked up at Michael.
"You sent them!” she said,
breathlessly.
"I plead guilty,” he answered.
He was pouring out the tea and
wondering why he felt so happy
and at home in this not very
comfortable room. Patricia bent
her face to the flowers.
"My favourites,” she said.
How kind of you I”
"Not at all. Do you take
sugar?” He added a second
knob to her cup absent minded
ly- You know there are lots of
little things I could do for you,
if yuo’d only be sensible and let
me.” He brought the tea over
to her. "It seems to me that
you’re uncommonly extravagant
with valuable time,” he added
smilingly. "Look at the good
times we might have had togeth
er already! Why, we might have
got so fond of each other that
you even have consented to come
and live at Crayton—if I’d ask
ed you,” he added, audaciously.
Patricia did not smile.
‘.‘If you still think that you’re
going to be ciever and manage
me—” she began, slowly,
“Bless your heart, I don’t!”
Michael drained his cup and sat
it down, “I’ve given that idea
up—given it up so completely
that if you’d like me to tell
Chesney where he can find you
I’ll go straight off when I leave
here and give him your address
—there?”
Patricia bit her lip.
“You mean that you want to
be rid of all responsibility of
me.”
“I mean that I hate to see
you unhappy, and to know that
jn your heart you are blaming
me for it.”
She sat very still. The scent
of the violets filled the room and
made her think of Clayton Wold,
and the gardens, and the woods, ■
and life as she had known it
there, and she-felt as if desolat
ing miles lay between her and
it—miles to which this man was
adding with every word he utter
ed.
He wanted to be rid of her—
he wanted her to marry Chesney
and settle down, and yet not so
long ago he had urged her
against this very thing—had
told her that she would not be
happy as Chesney’s wife.
“Thank you,” she said, coldly.
“But I am quite capable of send
ing for Mr. Chesney if"! should
ever want him, which is not very
likely after all that has hap
pened.”
“That disposes of Chesney,”
Michael said cheerily. “ And now
I’ve got another brilliant idea—
that we forget all that’s hap
pened, and you come back to
live somewhere near Clayton,
and let me make you an allow
ance.”
"Thank you, but of the two F
would sooner marry Bernard
Chesney.”
Michael went over to the
window; the drizzling rain had
begun again, and the narrow
street, with its rows of houses
that were all alike, save for
slight variations of curtains,
looked depressingly dreary.
This was no place for Patric
ia, he told himself angrily; and
yet—what could he do for her?
“And there is nobody—no
real friend, I mean,” he said
rather abrutptly; “with whom
you would rather live than—
with Mrs. Flannaganf”
“There is nobody that you
would approve of; not that I
care if you approve or not...”
“You mean that there is some
body ? ’ ’
“There is somebody I thought
of this morning>~when you did
not come....”
“When I came late, you
mean,” he corrected her.
“Very well, when you came
late.” She raised her dark
eyes to his face with a queer lit
tle smile in them.
“And who is this—someonet”
Michael asked.
“She used to make some of my
frocks—she used to come to
,'Clayton sometimes and work
for me.”
“A dressmaker!” said Mich
ael. He purposely spoke dis
pargingly; he knew Patricia
well enough to know that the
way to drive her to do a thing
►
was to appear to wish to prevent
It.
“And what if she is a dress
maker?" Patricia flashed out
at him.
“She was always kind to me,
and I know she really liked me,
no matter how strange it may
seem to you that anyone could
like met And she is a lady,
anyway—much more of a lady
than your friend Effie Shackle."
Michael turned away to hide
the smile in his eyes.
“Miss Shackle is not a friend
of mine," he said calmly. “And,
as to this other lady..."
“Her nams is Mrs. Smith,"
Patricia broke in defiantly. “I
suppose you will say the name is
common. She is quite poor, cer
tainly; so poor that I used to
send her my old clothes. If
you’ve got anything to say
against her....’’
“My dear child! how can I
possibly have? I am sure, if she
is a friend of yours, that she
is everything that is good and
charming, but as to whether
you would really be happy liv
ing— with her! Well, that’s
another question."
“I don’t suppose she would
like to have me, anyway," said
Patricia dispiritedly. “ Sh e’s
only written to me once since
Mr. Rolf died. I suppose, like
the rest of the world, she thinks
I’m of no use now I haven’t any
money. ’ ’
(Continued Next Week.)
Mrs. Oliver Belmont says: "For
20 centuries men have made a mud
dling Job of this world and Its gov
ernment." Quite true, not only 20
centuries, but 100 centuries.
But if Mrs. Belmont could realize
how much men have improved in the
Wnturies, she would have a more
kindly feeling for the inferior male
sex.
For instance, in Rochester, at the
edge of the canal, a new born naked
male baby is found dead. Eight de
tectives are put on the case.
Two thousand years ago it was le
gal to leave new born babies, dead or
alive, scattered around anywhere. If
dogs didn't eat them, anybody that
found them could bring them up as
slaves.
The Christian teaching that un
baptlsed babies can’t go to heaven,
which seems harsh to those that don’t
know how it began, saved the lives
of thousands of infants.
The mothers, taught that they were
Jeopardizing an immortal soul by not
having It baptised, stopped exposing
the babies.
Unions As Newspaper Owners.
From Editor and Publisher.
With British labor unions reported
ready to unshoulder the burden of
their London Daily Herald, their fel
low organizations in New York have
undertaken the business of conduct
ing the New York Call, long a Social
ist daily, as a union organ. Over
300.000 union members are reported
as having subscribed for stock of the
new organization in which the old
ownership retains a 15 per cent, in
For fifteen years the Cali has been
conducted, in the main by able news
paper men, as the only Socialist daily
in the city printed in English. It has
advocated what its editors believed
to be the tenets of their party and its
sincerity has not been questioned. Its
presentation of labor news has been
partial, of course, but It has been
complete, and the paper was read
closely by employers to whom know
ledge of their workers’ viewpoint was
vital. Yet, its most consistent cry
across the decade and a half has been
for funds with which to continue
publication.
Under its new ownership, the Call
can hardly longer be considered as a
newspaper. It is a quasi "house or
gan," a medium for dissemination of
information with a limited appeal. Of
somewhat similar nature is the weekly
paper called Labor, which, under the
management of the railroad crafts,
has built up a weekly circulation of
800.000 and carries no commercial ad
vertising. Labor is openly and avow
edly a medium for presentation, of In
formation of special interest to a
large, but nevertheless limited, group.
Oftentimes it gives space to news
that the daily press has overlooxed or
estimated as of insufficient Interest
for publication. Sometimes it has
been a source of undiscovered news
for enterprising dailies of the "capi
talist” class.
That the new Call can also he, but
its new owners will probably find
that expense exceeds Income for an
uncomfortably long time in the pro
cess.
It cannot supplant the dallies print
ed in English and other longues, for
its readers will not he satisfied with
a diet of pure labor news, that lacks
mental “vitamines.” It can supple
ment these newspapers and it can
correct them if they fail in an im_
partial presentation of industrial af
fairs as they have at times in the past
Those failures are less frequent
now than they were twenty or even
five or ten years ago, ana the few
er they become the better for the
country. Newspapers devoted to the
creation and maintenance of Indus
trial class interest, he it for or against
capital or labor, ils those terms are
loosely used, are not healthy Influ
ences in American life.
When Lincoln was a boy, a healthy
black man, unable to read but strong
enough to handle a hoe, was worth
$1,000. The average inhabitant is
worth a great deal more than three
times that today.
One single IDEA might be worth
$800,000,000,000—for instance, an idea
supplying men with unlimited free
power from sun or tides
There are many times 300,000,000,
000 worth of wealth below the earth
in mines, oil, gas, coal, and in the
earth’s thin crop producing carpet of
soil.
There are many times $300,000,000
worth of nitrogen in the air above
us. This is a rich country, but we ,
need more people and instead of en
couraging them to come in, we fo«t- 1
isbiy keep them out.
i
LLOYD GEORGE
SEES HOPE IN
HUGHES’PLAN
Favors Proposal to Have
Commission Fix Amount
of Reparations
BY JAMES R NOURSE
Universal Service Correspondent
Montreal, Que., Oct. 8. David
Lloyd George was asked Monday
night for an opinion regarding the
statement attributed to President
Coolidge that it is not too late for the
nations of the world to give con
sideration to the Hughes plan for
adjusting the German reparations
payments. He made! the following
statement:
“I regard this as extremely im
portant. In my opinion, this plan
is not too late for consideration, and
it is absolutely the best hope of the
settlement of reparations. Of course,
since the plan was first broached,
the ability of Germany to pay is
much less. The greater the delay the
closer the situation approaches
chaos.
"I hope that serious consideration
of Mr. Hughes’ plan may be taken
up, even at this late date, and I re
peat that it is the best hope of a
successful settlement.”
Calls for Commission
The Hughes plan, proposed by the
secretary of state In a speech at
New Haven, Conn., a year ago, sug
gested the formation of an in
ternational commission of economic
exports to fix the amount of re
parations which Germany should be
called upon to pay.
Lloyd George’s message to Canada,
delivered before an audience of
7,000 here Monday afternoon was a
plea for unity of action among all
races of the world to end war.
Describing the horrors of the late
conflict, and pointing to his own
whitened locks as an example .of
what war does to men who have a
part In It, the great leader of Bri
tain’s war forces declared it is the
destiny of civilized nations to pre
vent war in the future.
"No man can tety now what that
war will mean to the human race,”
he said. "The future is in the fog
rising from the forass of war, and I
cannot tell, no man can tell, what is
going to happen. But this I do know,
that the war altered the destiny of
mankind for generations, aye for
centuries to come.”
War is a crucible that tests the
courage, the determination, the loyal
ty and the readiness to sacrifice of
all those who participate in it, the
speaker added.
"It is a terrible business at best;
it is a rending business, a shatter
ing business, a ruinous business,” he
said.
Little Faith In Treaty
The former premier held out little
hope that the Versailles treaty would
settle any of the problems of the
war.
“The treaty is now in the testing,”
he said, “it may succeed, or it may
fall. No one can tell.”
The former premier was at his best
in delivering the speech. He was
humorous, hfe was stern, he was elo
quent and forceful. At times he had
his audience in uproars of laughter,
and again slight formed women in
black, wThose sons were given to the
war, could be observed silently weep
ing. It was a great speech, and it
brought to Canada from England the
expression of the empire’s gratitude
for the 400,000 sons of the dominion
who went abroad to fight on the
fields of France. It lasted exactly
one hour.
For the first time, Lloyd George
spoke into the receiving end of a set
of amplifiers suspended above his
head. His voice was so well carried
and he liked the apparatus so much
that he intends to have them supplied
to him when he makes his next cam
paign tour in England. This would
increase, by many thousand, the au
diences who would hear him^.
Divine Talks Back
Once he got too close to the
mouthpiece, and his voice became in
distinct. He backed suddenly away,
exclaiming: “I got too near it; it is
talking back to me insolently.”
As his speech was the first deliv
ered in Canada, Lloyd George devot
ed himself almost entirely to review
ing Canada’s part in the war, and
praising the work of the Canadian
expeditionary forces, whose com
mander, Gen. Sir Arthur Currie,
acted as chairman of the meeting.
He told of the saving of the channel
ports when they were threatened by
the German armies, and gave credit
to the untried Canadian fighters for
saving control of the ports to the
allies. An incident of the battle,
when the Canadian boys leaped over
the trenches to attack the enemy, he
described as the finest bluff ever put
up.”
in a touching sentence summari
zing Canada’s part in the war, the
former premier declared: ’’The Maple
Leaf was embroidered forever on the
silken folds of the banner of human
liberty.”
Of the united /jtion by all parts
of the British empire, he said they
all came without thought of race, or
color, or religion, adding:
“Every religion is good. It is
only no religion that is bad.”
The former premier had something
CLAIMS OF VETS
RAPIDLY BEING PAID.
Des Moines. Ia., Oct. 8.—Iowa world
tvar veterans have been paid approx
imately $16„428,000, in soldier bonus
claims, it is declared at the auditor
of state’s office. A total of 1,400
warrants were mailed out last week,
bringing the aggregate number to
date to 83,800. About 19,000 claims
remain to be disposed of.
