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15he
. ragged edge
I Harold MacGrath
lie offered cigars, and Ruth
got iip. She always left the ta
ble when they began to smoke.
Spurlock had not coached her
on this line of conduct. Some
where she had read that it wras
the proper thing to do and that
men liked to be alone with their
tobacco. She hated to leave; for
this hour would be the most in
teresting. Both Spurlock and
McClintock stood by their chairs
until she was gone.
“Yes, sir,” said McClintock,
as he sat down; “that’s South
Sea stuff, that yarn of yours. I
like the way you shared it. I
have read that authors are very
selfish and self-centred.”
“Oh, Ruth couldn’t put it on
paper, to be sure; but there was
no reason to hide the source.”
“Have you told her?”
“Told her? Told her what?”
Spurlock sat straight in his chair.
“You know what I mean,”
•aid the trader, gravely. “In
•pots you are a thoroughbred;
but here’s a black mark on yo\ir
ticket, lad. My friend the doc
tor suspected it, and so do I. You
are not a tourist seeking adven
ture. You have all the earmarks
of n fugitive from justice.”
Spurlock grew limp in his
chair. “If you thought that,
why did you give me this job?”
•—Bis voice faint and thick.
I ne doctor and 1 agreed to
give you a chance—for her sake.
"Without realizing what she has
3one, she’s made a dreadful mess
of it. A child —as innocent as a
child! Nothing about life; be
mused by the fairy stories you
writers call novels! I don’t know
what you have done; I don’t
care. But you must tell her.”
“I can’t! I can’t—not now!”
“Bat!—can’t you see that
she’s the kind who would under
stand and forgive? She loves
you.”
The walls appeared to rock;
bulging shadows reached out;
the candle flames became mock*
ing eyes; and the blood drummed
thunderously in Spurlock’s ears.
The door to the apocalypse had
opened 1
“Loves me? ... Ruth?”
“Why the devil nob? Why do
you suppose sho married you if
she didn’t love you? While you
read I watched her face. It was
in her eyes—the big thing that
comes but once. But you! Why
the devil did you marry her?
That's the thing that confounds
me.”
Uod help me, wliat a mud
dle!“ The cigar crumbled in
Spurlock’s hand.
“All life is a muddle, and we
are all muddlers, more or less.
It is a matter of degree. Lord, I
am sixty. For thirty years I
have lived alone; but once upon
a time I lived among men. 1
know life. 1 sit back now, letting
life slip by and inusing upon it;
and I find my loneliness sweet.
I have had my day; and there
were women in it. So, when I
toll you she loves you, I know.
Supposing they find you and
take you away?—and she unpre
pared? Have you thought of
that? Why did you marry her?’’
“God alone knows!”
“And you don’t love her!
What kind of a woman do you
want, anyhow?”—with rising
anger. He saw the tragedy on
the boy’s face; but he was merci
less. “Are you a poltroon, after
all?”
“That’s it I I ought to have
died that night!”
“Or is there a taint of insanity
in your family history? Alone and
practically penniless like your
self! You weren’t even stirred by
gratitude. You just married her.
Lad, that fuddles me!”
“Did you bring me down here
to crucify me?” cried Spurlock,
in passionate rebellion.
“No, lad,” said MeClintoek,
his tone becoming kindly. “Only,
what you have done is out of all
human calculation. You did not
marry her because you loved her;
you did not marry because she
might have had money; you did
not marry her out of gratitude;
you did not marry her because
you had to. You just married
her! But there she is—‘ with her
eyes full of sapphires and her
mouth full of pearls’1” McClin
tock quoted with gentle irony.
“What have you got there in
'A
your breast—a stone? Is there
blood or water in your veins?’’
The dam broke, but not with
violence. A vast relief filled
Spurlock’s heart as he decided
to tell this man everything which
related to Ruth. This island was
the one haven he had; he might
be forced to remain here for
several years—until the Hand
had forgotten him. He must win
this man’8 confidence, even at
the risk of being called mad. So,
in broken, rather breathless
phrases, lie told his story; and
when he had done, he laid his
arms upon the table and bent his
head to them. I
There followed a silence which
endured several minutes; or,
rather a tableau. The candles—
for McClintock never used oil in
his dining room—were burning
low in the sconces. Occasionally
the flames would bend, twist and
writhe cra/.ily as the punkaboy
bestirred himself.
McClintock’s astonishment
merged into a state of mild hyp
nosis. That any human being
could conceive and execute such
a thing! A Roundhead, here in
these prosaic times!—and mad
as a hatter! Trying the role of
St. Anthony, when God Himself
had found only one man strong
enough for that! McClintock
shook his head violently, as if to
dismiss this dream he was hav
ing. But the objects in his range
of vision remained unchanged.
Presently he reached out and
laid his hand upon Spurlock’s
motionless shoulders.
us a cruel tmng you ve
done, lad. Even if you were sick
in the mind and did not under
stand what you were doing, it’s
a mighty cruel thing you have
done. Probably she mistook you;
probably she thought you cared
I’m neither an infidel nor an ag
nostic, so I’ll content myself by
saying that the hand of God is in
this somewhere. ‘lie’s a good
fellow, and ’twill all end well’
You have set out to do something
which is neither God’s way nor
man’s. What’ll you be doing?”
“What can I do?” asked Spur
lock, raising his haggard face.
“Can’t you see? I can’t hurt her,
if . . . if she cares! I can’t tell
her I’m a madman as well as a
thief! . . . What a fool! What
a fool!”
A truer. McUlintock s initial
rtvulsion was natural; lie was an
honest man. But this revulsion
was engulfed by the succeeding
waves of pity and understanding.
One transgression; lie was sure
of that. The boy was all con
science, and he suffered through
this conscience to such lengths
that the law would be impotent
to add anything. All Ibis muddle
to placate bis conscience!
“Here—quick!” MeClintock
thrust a cigar into Spurlock’s
band. “Put it in your teeth and
light it. I hear her comng.”
Spurlock obeyed mechanically.
The candle was shaking in his
hand as Ruth appeared in the
doorway.
“I thought we were going to
have some music,” she said.
Her husband stared at her over
the candle flame. Flesh and
blood, vivid, alluring; she was no
longer the symbol, therefore she
had become, as in the twinkling
of an eye, an utter stranger. And
this utter stranger . . . loved
him! He had no reason to doubt
MeClintock’s statement; the Scot
had solved the riddle why Ruth
Enschede had married Howard
Spurlock. All emotions laid hold
of him, but none could he stay
long enough to analyze it. For a
space he rode the whirligig.
“We were talking shop,” said
MeClintock, rising. Observing
Spurlock’s spell-bound attitude,
lie clapped the boy on the should
er. “Come along! We’ll start
that concert right away.”
In the living room Spurlock’s
glance was constantly drawn
| toward Ruth; but in fear that
she might sense something wrong,
i he walked over to the piano and
struck a few chords.
“You play!” asked McClin
toek, who was sorting the rolls.
“A little. This is a good
pano.”
“It ought to he; it cost enough
to get it here,” said the Scot,
ruefully. “Ever play one of
thea* machines!”
“Yes. I’ve always been more
or less music-mad. But machin
ery will never approach tho
hand.’’
“I know a man . . . But
I’ll tell you about him some
other time. I’m crazy over
music, loo. I can’t pump out
all there is in those compositions.
Try something.’’
Spurlock gratefully accepted
the Grieg concerto; gratefully,
because it was brilliant and thun
derous. Papillon would have
broken him down ; anything ten
der would have sapped his will;
and like as not he would have
left the stool and rushed into the
night. He played for an hour—
Grieg, Chopin, Rubenstein, Liszt,
crashing music. The action
steadied him; and there was a
phase of irony, too, that helped.
He had been for months without
music of the character he loved—
and he dared not play any of it!
McClintock, after the music
began, left the piano and sat in
a corner just beyond the circle
of light cast by the lamp. His
interest was divided: while his
ears drank in the sounds, his
glance constantly roved from
Ruth to the performer and back
to Ruth. These amazintg in
fants !
Suddenly he came upon the
true solution: that the boy had
n’t meant to steal whatever it
was he had stolen. A victim of
one of those mental typhoons
that scatter irretrievably the bar
riers of instinct and breeding:
and he had gone to the rocks
all in a moment. Never any
doubt of it. That handsome,
finely drawn face belonged to a
soul with dean ideals_. AH in a
moment. McClintock’s heart
went out to Spurlock; he would
always be the boy’s friend, even
though he had dragged this girl
on to the rocks with him.
jjove ana lavenaer, ne inougnt,
perhaps wistfully. He could re
member when women laid away
their gowns in lavender—as this
girl’s mother had. lie would
always he her friend, too. That
boy—blind as a bat! Why, ho
hadn’t seen the Woman until to
night !
From the first chord of the
Grieg concerto to the finale.of
the Chopin ballade, Ruth had sat
tensely on the edge of her- clia^r.
She liad dreaded the begin
ning of this hour. What would
happen to her? Would her soul
be shaken, twisted, hypnotized?
—as it had been those olher
times? Music—that took out of
her sense of reality, whirled her
into the clouds, that gave to her
will the direetless en°rgy of a
chip of wood on stormy waters.
But before the Grieg concerto
was done, she knew that she was
free. Free! All the fine ees
tacy, without the numbing
terror.
Spurlock sat limply, his arms
hanging. MeClintock, striking a
match to relight his cigar, broke
the spell. Ruth sighed; Spur
lock stood up and drew his hand
across his forehead as if awaken
ing from a dream.
“I didn’t know the music had
such stuff in it,” said McClin
tock. “1 imagine I must have
a hundred rolls—all the otd fel
lows. It’s a sorry world,” he
went on. “Nobody composes any
more, nobody paints, nobody
writes—I mean, on a par with
what we’ve just heard.”
I he clock ticked ten. Shortly
Ruth and Spurlock took the way
home. They walked in silence.
With a finger crooked in his
side-pocket., she measured her
step with his, her senses still diz
zy from the echo of the magic
sounds. At the threshold of the
study he bade her good night;
but he did not touch her fore
head with his lips.
“I feel like work,” he lied.
What he wanted desperately was
to be alone.
‘‘But you are tired!”
‘‘I want to go over the story
again.”
“Mr. McClintock liked it.”
“He couldn’t help it, Ruth.
It’s big, thanks to you."
“You .... need me a lit
tle t ”
“Not a little, but a great
deal.”
That satisfied something of
her undefined hunger. She went
to her bedroom, but she did not
go to bed. She drew a chair to
the window and stared at the
splendour of the tropical night.
By and by she heard the screen
door. Rollo rumbled in his
throat.
“Hush!” she said.
Presently she saw Spurlock on
the way to the lagoon. He walk
ed with bent head. After quar
ter of an hour, she followed.
The unexpected twist—his dis.
closure to MeClintock—had giv
en Spurlock but temporary re
relief. The problem had returned
made gigantic by the possibility
of Ruth’s love. The thought al
lured him, and therein lay the
danger. If it were but the ques
tion of his reason for marrying
her, the solution would have been
simple. But he was a thief, a
fugitive from justice. On that
basis alone, he had no right to
give or accept love.
Had he been sick in mind when
he had done this damnable
thing? It did not seem possible,
for he could recall clearly all he
had said and done; there were
no blank spaces to give him one
straw of excuse.
Ruth loved him. It was per
fectly logical. And he could not
return this love. He must fight
the thought continually, day in
and day out. The Dawn Pearl 1
To be with her constantly, with
no diversions, to serve as barri
cades ! Damn MeClintock for
putting this thought in his head
—-that Ruth loved him 1
He flung himself upon the
beach, face downward, his out
flung hands digging into the
sand: which was oddly like his
problem—he could not grip it.
Torment!
And so Ruth discovered him.
She was about to rush to his
side, when she saw his clenched
hands rise and fall upon the sand
repeatedly. Her heart swelled
to suffocation. To go to him, to
console him! But she stirred not
from her hiding place. Instinc
tively she knew—some human
recollection she had inherited—
that she must not disturb him in
this man-agony. SJie could no$
go to him when it was Apparent
that ho needed her beyond all
other instances! What had caused
this agony did not matter—
then. It was enough that she
witnessed it and could not go to
mm.
By and by—as the paroxysm
subsided and he became motion
less—she stole back to the bunga
low to wait. Through her door
curtain she could see the light
from the study lamp. If, when
he returned, he blew out the
light, she would go to bed; but
if the light burned on for any
length of time, she would go si
lently to the study curtain to
learn if his agony was still upon
him. She heard him come in;
the light burned on.
She discovered him sitting up
on the floor beside his open
trunk. He had something across
his knees. At first she could not
tell what it was; but as her eyes
became accustomed to the light,
she recognized the old coat.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
PLAN AIR MAIL
TO AUSTRALIA
British Air Ministry Is Ar
ranging for 100-Hour
Service From London
London.—The British air ministry
Is making plans to inaugurate a 10,
000-mile 100-hour air mall service
between England and Australia, link
ing up a large portion of the British
empire.
Almost 2,000 miles of this route is
already being operated regularly. Im
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with Zurich. Next year this service
will be extended to Constantinople.
From there a short sea link will Join
up with the existing service between
Cairo and Bagdad and thence to
Calcutta.
For the trip from Calcutta to Ran
goon, a distance of 900 miles, all
metal flying boats are being con
structed, the metal construction being
proof against the ravages of tropical
weather. The remainder ef the route
will be by way of Singapore to Port
Darwin, in Australia, where the traf
fic will be distributed by the Austra
lian airways, who are already operat
ing more than 1,000 miles of com
mercial airplanes. _
No Medal*, No Heroe*
German Police Learn
Berlin.—No medals—no heroes.
That’s the experience of Commis
sioner Wollenberg. of the Berlin po
lice, who handles all accident and
life saving cases.
Since ttye German revolution swept
away all decorations, including even
the life saving medal, the number
of heroic deeds in which men risked
their lives to save others has de
creased considerably in Germany, ha
finds.
Instead of a medal, the heroes now
get a public commendation and a
reward of—$8.
“Most potential life savers instinc
tively get the thought that the re
ward Is not even sufficient to pay
them for the likely ruin of their
clothes," says Wollenberg. “The
thought inhibits quick action. They
hesitate and the other is lost.”
There Is a German LtfeBavers So
ciety at Dresden, which awards a
silver and bronze medal for heroic
deeds. Wollenberg finds that most
life savers prefer this private medal
to the public commendation and re
ward on the part of the state.
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Not Meant to Be Seen
"Why don't you put something in
your window?”
‘‘The window is not empty.”
“I can’t see anything.”
"That’s a display of invisible hair
nets and vanishing cream.”—Ex
change.
The Highest Talent
There is no higher talent than that?
of being able to maintain kindly and
helpful relations with uncongenial hu
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He who envies the happiness of oth
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*
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Accept only “Bayer” package which contains proven directions.
Handy “Bayer” boxes of 12 tablets'—Also bottles of 24 and 100—Druggists.
Aspirin Is the trade mark of Bayer Manufacture of Monoacetlcacidester of Salicylicacld
IAXATIVES and cathartics provide
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