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About The frontier. (O'Neill City, Holt County, Neb.) 1880-1965 | View Entire Issue (Feb. 5, 1925)
BREEME HOUSE __j By Katherine Newlin Burt i Aloe joining them presently lonnd Aline trying for the peg, her eyes full of laughter ami her mouth of gra -a. “AVliy can’t you leave ns alone, Alee?” she cried. “Sir Geoffrey and 1 are always having an idiotically good time when up you t ome with your long face and spoil it all.” Alee, for a fraction of a second, looked stung. “Don’t mind me. I like to watch idiots. You and Sir Geof frey have a gift for drawing each oth t out.” Brooke gave Trcmont a keen j glance. “How about your trip? Good fun?” inquired Brooke, fitting in bis eyeglass as lie spoke, and lfting bis eyebrows. “Very jolly trp,” said Alee. “Met .lane and Miss Wilton on the boat. Wonderful girl— | vvliat ?” “Charming,” said Sir Geof frey, and let fall his eyeglass. “I like her,” he went on. “We might liven up Dive Pastures for her, mightn’t we? What about a dance in my place, eh, Aline?” | “M- ss Wilton says that visit ing here is a holiday from liv ing,” Tremont quoted drily. ^‘Perhaps we’d better bestir our •selves. Where did you leave her, AH” “With the children.” “Vi ,nd Humphrey must be resting her,” drawled Tremont. “Hadn’t you better go back*” She stood up and started for the house without a world. But Ktr Geoffrey caught her, half sternly by the hand. “No, Aline,” said he, “you arc to come out in my ear for a •pin. I’ll fix it with Lady Brceme. It was Miss Wilton’s own idea to take your place for a bit, and I’ll bet a fiver she’s the sort, who’ll enjoy doing it, what’s more. She’s a topper Don’t undo her good deeds You’re coming with me.” Alec’s face was white as he watched them moving rapidly across the lawn. Aline did not speak till she found herself on the front seat of Sir Geoffrey’s motor, Brooke having arranged things with Lady Brceme. “Where are we going?” she naked him in rather a vague fashion. “Isn’t there going to be n shower?” “There is,” he answered cheerfully. I’m going to take ] you to see your sister. Ah! 1 thought that would delght you up a hit. We’ll have time to get there before the rain comes, I think. We’ll chat with Bet tie till it’s over, and he back in time for dinner. I’ve carte blanche from Lady Brceme.” They were off at a wicked speed. Aline clutched the side of the car. Her eyes shone. This was better than presiding over the nursery supper. As they swerved out of the gage a tall young man, just entering, nar rowly escaped with his* life by a dexterous backward leap. “Oh, I say!” called out Sir Geoffrey in a tone of apology, slowing down at once. “Don't mention it,” answered the other cheerfully, “it’s the most homelike thing that’s hap pened to me yet.” Aline looked back as they sped on. “lie’s going in at Brceme House,” said she. “Tourist, 1 fancy,” Sir Geof frey guessed; “American, lie’ll get caught by the shower, and will be invited to dinner, if I know Lord Brceme.” Claire Wilton, when a servant appeared with the children's supper and intimated that her reign in the nursery was at an end, strayed down to her beloved gallery. Claire leaned against the gallery railing, looking down at the portrait. Far off were the voices of Lord Tremont and his stepmother, in one of the eastern rooms. Cla re felt no desire to join them. To hide here, com <nuning with the soul of Breerae House, was her latest delight. She was conscious of a sharp sense of disappointment at the sound of nearing footsteps down stairs. She meditated flight, saw through the opening door that the intruders were Robins and a tall stranger, and decided to stay, while the tourist made tbs round of the old hall and listened to Robins'* pattered histories. Claire had often longed to re verse her rede as sightseer in European palaces, and to peep out at these eut-landish intruders upon one’s ancient privacy. She drew back a trifle into the shadows of the gallery. “That’s for you to let me look at the pictures by myself,” a quiet, determined voice.came up to her. Robins took something into his hand, hesitated an instant, and then discreetly departed, shutting the large door after him. The stranger drew a deep and audible breath. It was curiously expressive of victory arid pride, also of excitement. Claire leaned forward to get a clearer view of him. II is figure was as spare and hard anil useful *as a machine. There was nothing extra or orna mental about him. Not an ounce of his make-up, brain or sinew, that had not been tried to the limit of its strength. Life—yet be could scarcely be over thirty —had fitted his fine face with a mask of keen power. He held himself raihcT slaeky, and moved with the graceful ease of health mmmmr acveiopraunt. When the door was shut, and Robins’ footsteps well with drawn, the sightseer moved for ward like a man who knew his goal, and placed himself directly before the Van Dyke portrait. He stood feasting his eyes up on li»dy Jane’s silvery beauty. His whole attitude wus one of eager reverence. Claire V curiosity rustled audi bly to her own ears. She was possessed by a tense feeling of suspence. He struck one hand lightly into the other. “I’ve s ome back for you, lit tie English lady,” said he aloud, “it’s been a long wait, but from now on you're mine. Do you hear me? You’re mine!” Claire’s fingers tightened, she felt a. flame fly up into her cheeks; almost tangibly, Brito mart’s helmet settled on her brows. She set lance in rest for de fence of the Ladv Jane. CHAPTER VIII TREMONT OF SEATTLE While Claire Wilton was eaves dropping on the American tour ist-visitor in the picture gallery, Alee Tremont faced confession to his step-mother, Ladv* Breeme ••oncermiig liis financial fiasco. Hr stood bv one of the long windows, bis hands fidgeting be hind him. When Lady Breeme spoke his, muscles tightened in voluntarily. as though in expec tation of physical pain. He tried to harden himself into resent ment, bnt her first sentence cut sharply through his defences. “Do you not think your father is looking wretchedly ill?” she asked him, raising a fun between herself nod the fire, and looking coldlr at him over its edge. Tremont came over from the window and stood oy the hearth. “I didn’t notice ariv change,'* said he in a rebellious, troubled tone. “Father has never look 'd himself since his attack. I think that Miss Wilton has brightene 1 him. A wonderful girl, don’t you think?” The cold, level eyes above the fan ran over Alec. “Yes; she s charming. Her visit has distracted your father from his anxieties,” she said. “With his natural buoyancy, be throws things off. I hope you were successful in Canada?” Tremont. was silent. His face burned. Lady isreemc replied to her own question. “ Yon were not. I shall ask no questions but I am sorry, chiefly because of Jane. 8he should have been presented long ago. She should have a season in Lon don, and some pleasures in her life. Her future has been left too »meh to chance; yours has been candidly planned for. What money could be spared has al ways been yours.” Alee had taken up the tongs and was carefully rearranging the lumps of eoal. lie spoke in terse sentences between his move ments. “Nobody warned me to be careful at the start. Father al ways got me out of a fix with n« particular difficulty, that 1 could see. When I went to Ox ford I thought myself a rich man's son. it’s only lately that you’ve begun to come down on me. Might have pulled up years ago. Once you get started, it’s none so easy to pull up. I don’t care especially for debts, you know.” Here lie made an ex tremely nice arrangement of one large coal upon a smaller one— “Rather cut my bead off than let dad in for anything. Got any advice for me, or suggestions? I’ll take ’em-—lying down.” “That’s the most promising remark I’ve ever heard from you, Alee. I’ll think it over. Will you come to see me tomor row morning—in my room?” She had risen. He turned, tongs in hand, and looked at her composedly through his narrow ed eyes, the corners of his mouth tucked in to their queer, bitter little grin. “No' use, mother. I know what you’re going to advise. I’ve been advised already.” She smiled rather more warm ly. “By whom, please?” “By an old friend and precep tress of mine—a very sensible young woman.” “Aline?” He nodded, still looking at her with the queer grin. “Aline is a clever child. I be lieve she will some day be sensi ble for herself. Come Alec, draw up a chair and we’ll talk it over. Geoffrey Brooke—” What are you about, Robins?” cut in Alec sharply. His relief at the old man’s com ing was so great that it jangled his temper. Robins followed a visiting card, which he held at arm’s length, into the room. “A gentleman”-, said he care fully, “in the hall. He came to see the pictures, your lordship, and asked me to take his card to the earl.” “Confound him! Why didn’t you walk him out?” Alec took the card, strode to the circle of firelight, and scornfully glanced at the name just as he jerked it into the flames. It was with a sharp exclamation of surprise tlmt he rescued it at peril of burnt fingers. “Good Lord! Listen to this, mother: ‘Mr. Rufus Ross Tre mont, Seattle, Washington, U. S. A.’”. “Yes, your lordship”, said Robins, rubbing his chin. “I seen it myself, your lordship. Mr. Ru fus Tremont. Tremont, my lady!” “We aie to be punshed for our family crimes with a vengeance,” groaned Alec. “Some beastly lijtle Yankee drummer who’s worked it out that lie’s descend ed from our exiled earl. Oh, Lord! What shall I do writh him, mother? Scribble a polite mes sage of dismissal, eh?” He had his pencil out, Robins flushing and protesting with every wrnkle, but Lady Breemc stopped him. It’s just what your father delights in, Alec. Do go your self and see him, and, if he’s not too impossible—No, I don’t trust you. We’ll have him in here. Robins, Lord Breeme is resting. Will you tell Mr. Tremont— it’s really extraordinary—please, that, Lady Breeme and Lord Tre mont will see him. Alec, we shall have to keep him for din ner, if he is not too impossible. Nothing delights your father more than such unlooked-for happenings. If he’s a ludicrous creature, so much the better. This will amuse your father for a fort-night. Mr. Rufus Tre mont, of Seattle, t's quite too marvellous, really”. Alec looked at the scorched card with lifted eyebrows. Oh, if it pleases lather, of course—■” he shrugged. “Here he is”, lie added half sullenly a moment later; and Lady Breeme, turning, lowered her fan. The tall, grave young man came forward. “This is mighty good of you, Lady Breeme”, said he with simple directness. “I didn’t know Lord Breeme was au in valid, or i should not have sent in my card”. 4 “But you couldn’t have done better, Mr. Tremont”, said she in her coolly gracious fashion; “my husband will be delighted with the discovery of an Amen can kinsman. You must stop to dinner. And Alec”—Lady Breeme had made her decision promptly—-”have Mr. Tremont’s luggage sent for. You must stop with us. You will have to ex plain how you came by our name. That will be what Mrs. Chaun coy calls ‘one of the romances of the new world,' eh, Alee!” “Explain the Ross especially, i Mr. Tremont,” put in Alec, in specting the American tftrougn his narrowed lids. “You’ve do right to that, you know”. “I’ve a very tenacious hold upon it, though”, laughed the American. “How I came by il happens to be rather a romance, if you like. But—I’m stopping very comfortably at your inn down yonder. You’ll have enough of me this evening.” Lady Breeme bore down his protests. For herself, she hated a stranger, but she was quick to lay aside her prejudices for the sake of Breeme. She would have cut off her long hands for him with perfect coolness and satisfaction. Her impulsive seeming hospitality was merely a meehaneal imitation of her hus band’s manner. Alec, recogniz ing this, was inwardly amused. “She’d have asked the devil or a drummer to dinner”, he thought. “Lucky that our kins man from Seattle is a gentle man.” And he rang the bell and gave orders for Mr. Tremont’s comfort in a dry, jerky, off hand fashion that probably did not escape the notice of Rufus Tremont himself. The American’s luggage at the Breeme Arms was soon trans ferred, and Mr. Tremont, in the wide, eastern bedroom, .dressed thoughtfully and quickly. After wards he lit a cigarette, and stood by one of the deep-silled windows, an arm above his head. He breathed slowly and deeply, and his long, sinewy muscles re laxed. Outsidor, across the lawns, be yond the tall, wide-topped trees, a misty moon was coming up. It uas still dusk—a strange half light. Everything stood in an atmosphere that was neither light nor shadow. Rufus Tremont, thought of the silvery eyes of Lady Breeme. For him, too, as well as for Claire Wilton, this hour was a first holiday from living—or, perhaps, if the Eastern philoso phy is the truer, a first moment of living. He leaned his head against the lifted |rm, the fingers of which were twisted in the curtain, and a look that was neaily a smile softened his dear and sombre eyes. Rest and home! Why did the realiza tion of those two words brood so beautifully for him under this English roof and over theso quiet English laws? Journey’s end—and what a journey! He was not thinking of the more or less unexciting passage from New York to Liverpool. lie was thinking of that short, hard life-journey of his. The ache of it was scarcely out of his mus cles; only just beginning to relax its cruel grip on his will. (TO BTi CONTINUED) A Biographical Sketch of Edna Ferber (Material furnished by Doubleday, Page and Company) "I want to be allowed to sit in a rocking chair at the corner of State and Madison streets and watch the folks go by and I also want to live on a houseboat in the Vale of Cashmere—if Cashmere hap pened to have a water course—for there is something infinitely lovely and cushioned and exotic invoked by the music of the word.” These, Miss Ferber once confessed, were her secret ambitions. Trained in the newspaper school, Miss Ferber early developed a sense of dramatic values. At 17, she be came a reporter in the Daily Cres cent of her home town, Appleton, Wls. Reporting was not looked upon as a woman's job in those days and the opportunity came, so (he story goes, because the editor was im pressed with her essay presented on graduation from high school, an ex cellent bit of reporting covering the living’ conditions of women workers in a local mill. At 19, with her black curls still down her back, Miss Ferber was wanking on a Milwaukee paper, a live, yellow, evening journal of the breathless type, covering the police courts, schools, society, mar kets, and interviewing such celebri ties as came her way, encountering all sorts of people in every situation and almost always endeavoring to wrest from them something they did not wish to reveal, learning to sift fact from pretense, to recognize the elemental emotions and motives and impulses that control the complex drama of life. On sick leave for two weeks, she stayed home a year and, because writing had become so much a part of her daily life, she wrote a story which she sold to Everybody’s mag azine for $62.50, Dawn O’Hara fol lowed, and a series of stories for the American magazine. At 23 years of age she was on the way to suc cess Emm McChesney captured the imagination of magazine readers so completely that she continues to bo a living personality though she has not appeared in a story for years. Miss Ferber often gets letters ad dressed to Mrs. McChesney, letters from people who cannot believe that the courageous petticoat drummer was purely a flctltional character. Between this work and ‘‘The Girls” there is a wide gap and ‘‘So Big” has proved a best seller of the best type. I "Entry Picture jQ UU, a S'or/^jg Worn Out Since the Crip ? WEAK, nervous—just tired and miserable most of the time? Back lame and achy, too? Rhet> made pains torture you at every step ? 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