THE COPPER HOUSE
A Detective Storn
i* by .
JULIUS REGIS
AUTHOR OF "NO 1S TOR-ONI"
I
“Don’t you mean tot” she
Baked, with a rapid glance
from a*pair of eyes that just
then struck *him as being as
dark as night.
“Not unless you ask me to
•gain, ” he replied boldly.
The girl stopped and turned
found. “Things haven’t al
tered, you know,” she said, and
walked on. Leo looked round
%lso. The two forest .guards
wore still standing among the
trees, looking down at them,
but a third had joined them,
and each 6f the three men held
bis gun in his hands.
The young man felt a little
Bhiver pass through him. Ahead
©f him, though still some way
off, he could sec the greater
part of the old avenue, which
etrctehed for more than a mile
from Karka gates to the house
Itself, which was still hidden
behind some rising ground to
the left. He thought he caught
Bight of two or three figures
patrolling the avenue under
the shade of the trees, but they
vanished before he was quite
certain. He began to wonder
whether the girl by his side
bad given him the full explana
tion of the scene in the wood,
but his thoughts took another
turn, for now, through the
thick foliage, he had a glimpse
of the ponderous gables of the
bouse, looking as though they
were molded in green copper.
The house, at all events, had
fcot changed in appearance. He
•topped on the terrace with its
crumbling balustrade, and his
eyes drank in the familiar
Beene, till the dust of years was
blown away, and he was a hoy
©nee more. There was the
square, massive building, its
walls weather-stained and gray
with age. supporting the steep
eopper-sheathcd roof, which,
from its cpiecr slope, seemed
half as high as the house, and
looked like a medieval helmet,
profaned by two tiers of win
dows; there were the two cop
per statues of Fortune with her
cornucopia, and Mercury with
his winged heels, a forgotten
figure on either side of the
steps, gazing blankly and si
lently at one another from
their never-changing positions.
CHAPTER V.
In Which It Is Obvious That
the Owner is a Quest in
His Own House
Leonard Grath entered the
Copper House like a visitor,
hat in hand. A sunbeam lay
right across the polished oak
floor of the hall, and in the
middle of the patch of light
stood a tall, old lady, as up
right as a grenadier, and as
thin and dark as a Bedouin,
who fixed a penetrating glance
upon the newcomer. She went
on crocheting a piece of lace,
the other end of which was
hidden in an old-fashioned bas
ket-work satchel that hung on
her left arm.
Leo stopped short, as though
her look was an actual barrier,
and bowed.
“Sonia Andreievna,” said
the old lady, in the tone of a
drill sergeant on parade,
“where have you been!”
The girl shot a covert glance
at the young man, and threw
down her riding whip.
“Aunt Lona,” she replied
meekly, “this gentleman has
just, been mistaken for a squir
rel....H
“Sonia Andreievna”... .the
sharp voice interrupted,
“speak sensibly; you know
that I detest riddles.”
“My name is Leonard
Grath,” the latter interposed,
hastily, bowing again and feel
ing somewhat embarrassed.
The crochet needles came to
s standstill, and their owner
look two-strides towards him,
and stared unblinkinglv into
his eyes. He noticed that, in
spite of her iron-gray hair and
lean, dried-up looks, she could
hardly be more than GO, Her
, “Up to Now,
Prom New York World.'
The news that former Governor
Smith has signed a contract for the
book publication of his autobiogra
phy promises one forthcoming vol
ume that ought to be unique. We
have had many and diverse political
autobiographies in this country.
The authors range from Davy
Crockett, son of the backwoods, to
George Frlsbte Hoar, son of Massa
chusetts’ austerest cultural tradi
tions; from Thurlow Weed and
Tom Platt, adepts in crooked poli
ties. too. La Follette and Tom L.
Johnson, apostles of reform. Some
are as fascinating as Carl Schurz’s.
faftrne its dry as John Sherman’s
I
imperious eyes still flashed
with youthful energy, every
movement betokened strength,
and her whole bearing was that
of a well bred lady, even
though she might be a bit of a
martinet. Like her nice, she
was plainly dressed in black,
with white ruffles, and a neck
lace of jet beads, which clicked
gently as she moved.
“Leonard Grath,” she ech
oed; “the owner?”
“Yes, I am afraid I have
arrived rather unexpectedly,
and if I have in any way....”
“Sonia Andreievna! pick up
your whip at once” (the young
man was quite startled) “and
put it in its place. Yes, Mr.
Grath, I cannot deny that you
have taken us by surprise.”
“Oh dear, I certainly never
meant_”
“Sonia Andreievna! Do you
see what time it is? Have I not
told you a thousand times
that we have a fixed hour for
dinner?”
Her remarks seemed to Leo
to be emphasized by a perfect
regiment of exclamation points
and he did not wonder that the
girl darted away like an arrow
from a bow. But to his sur
prise, no sooner were they
alone, than the old lady’s tone
became almost cordial.
“I am Lona Ivanovna Ber
nin, and as your tenant I bid
you welcome to the Copper
House. You will give us the
pleasure of your company at
dinner? Good, let us have a
cigaret while we are waiting.”
Still wondering, Leo allowed
himself to be ushered to an
armchair in the familiar old
Empire drawing room on the
left side of the hall. Lona
Ivanovna offered him a cigaret
case, and herself took a Htis
sian cigaret, which she lighted
with one hand. Leo was think
ing what to say next, when she
forestalled him.
nave you come from
abroad?”
“Yes, from California.”
“Ah. California; a magnifi
cent climate, I believe. No
doubt you have become tired of
living out there?”
“Not exactly, but 1 felt in
clined to come borne.”
“Hrn—Do you think of mak
ing a long stay?”
“That depends. You see, it
isn’t a question of climate, ex
actly_”
She pursed up her mouth
and frowned.
“In my opinion, the climate
of California is far prefera
ble,” she remarked, looking
sharply at him.
“Very possibly, but this visit
will be quite a change for me.”
“How so?”
“Oh, there is so much that is
new, I mean... .a whole lot of
strange_well, in short_”
Leo stopped short in confu
sion, and puffed away furious
ly at his cigaret. The old lady
blew a perfect ring, looked
quizzically at him through it,
and said dryly: “Young man.
whatever you do, don’t go and
fall in love with Sonia!”
Leo stared dumbfounded at
his cigaret. The conversation
dropped, and silence reigned
in the room, broken only by the
buzzing of a stray bee on the
window pane.
Dinner was over, and Leon
ard Grath the richer by several
experiences. First of all, he
had proved the truth of the old
adage that: “Guests are hosts
in the host’s house,” for was
not be a guest and stranger,
and moreover a thoroughly un
welcome one. in his own home?
It seemed to him as though the
girl and her aunt took it in
turns to keep an eye on him;
he could see them exchanging
glances and whispers whose
meaning was unintelligible to
him, and what struck him as
strangest of all, in the whole
of that spacious house and its
| some as specious as Ben Butler's,
■ some as honest as U. S. Grant’s.
But In the whole shelf there is no
book quite like that A1 Smith
should write.
For A1 Smith’s career is unique.
It is not merely that he was a prod
uct of the east side, a fact his biog
rapters have emphasized. It is the
fact that he was politically a prod
uct of Tammany hall—Tammany
by . figin, Tammany by education,
Tammany still by loyalty—who
carved out a career independent of
and transcending Tammany. He
was part of the most famous of
machines which had long thrived
in America by invisible government:
, lie rose to national eminence bv
adjoining Dunnings mere ap
peared to be no living creature
except the two ladies. He in
quired, as a matter of polite-,
ness, for Mr. Andrei lJernin,
who was stated to be in bed in
his own room, and far too un
well to see the honored guest.
As soon as the dinner was
over, Sonia, obeying a signal
from hpr aunt, proposed a turn
round the garden, and the two
young people strolled along for
a while in silence. It was get
ting towards sunspt, and the
rural orchestra was in full
chorus: birds were fluting in a
medley of youthful emulation,
bumblebees droned in their
drowsy baritones, and in the
grass the crickets added their
violin notes to the evening con
cert.
Now that Sonia Bernin in
the flesh was alongside of him,
Leo found her 10 times more
interesting than when he had
first seen her portrait on Wal
lion’s table; her boyish uncon
straint, add 'd to a lissom, al
most kittenlike grace, and her
ready wit, gave him a delight
ful sensation of comradeship—
but the minute lie attempted to
strike a note of intimacy, he
ran up against a barrier of
chilly reserve, and the pose of
the boyish, black bead became
all of a sudden alarmingly
ladylike. Whatever the reason
might be, she appeared totally
unimpressed by his masculine
superiority, and this was a
very novel exj*'t'ienee for the
spoiled young man.
“At length be remarked: “I
had thought of staying some
time at, the Copper House, but
it sppius to me I am rather ‘de
1 trop’ here.”
She twisted a leaf between
her lips like a eigaret. “How
so?” she inquired.
“Oh, tbpre’s no doubt about
it. The man at the gate showed
it quite unmistakably — for
one.”
“With his gun, yon mean?
It was too bad; but you see, lie
naturally took you for an im
postor, having heard that the
owner of the Copper House
was in America. I expect he
will be discharged, in any
case,” she added.
“And you told me yourself
to go away, as soon as ever you
knew who I was,” he contin
ued.
“Wasn’t it kind of me to
warn you, when it is so dull
here?” laughed the girl.
“It is not dull here, and that
is not why you warned me,”
he retorted. She looked up,
and their eyes met. For the
second time that day, Leo saw
hers dilate and darken. She
did not reply, but hurried on
a little, as though to evade
him, but he kept step with her,
and proceeded:
“As you know, your father
wants to buy this property; it
is a pity I can’t have a talk
with him about it. Your aunt
is reticent, and you are mys
terious. Won’t you have a
little pity on me?”
They had walked to the top
of a slight rise, from which
they could see down the great
er part of the avenue. The
girl stood still, panting a lit
tle. Suddenly she asked:
“Have you seen Mr. Tas
sler ?”
Leo shook nis head, and they
were silent again. The girl
seemed to be listening to some
thing. rather uneasily. Far off
in the sunlit stillness a rhyth
mical throbbing sound became
audible; it approached with
uncanny rapidity, getting
louder every minute, then sud
denly censed altogether.
“Did you hear that*’’ whis
pered the girl.
“Yes,” he answered. “A
motorcycle has a p p a r entlv
stopped at Karka gates; it’s a
pity we can’t see them from
here, it must be someone from
Stockholm.”
As he said this, he remem
bered the young man with the
attache-ease, whom he had so
unintentionally startled with
Sonia’s photograph, but as lie
was about to tell her of the
occurrence, there was a dra
matic interruption. A shot was
fired at the gate, and it was
followed by a long, thrilling
cry. A few seconds later, a
eight years in Albany In which he
did more than any other man of his
time to destroy Invisible govern
ment—not temporarily, but by per
manent reorganization. He kept on
one side the passionate devotion of
district politicians while winning
on the other the passionate devo
tion of reformers who hated mach
ine politics. Above all. he kept al
ways in touch with the masses, be
coming the first great representa
, tive of the old urban section of
Jacksonian democracy, and releas
; ing its political strength as no one
; else has ever done,
j The prime requisites of good
autobiography are honesty and in
1 sight- If AJ Smith exh(Wfj!n an'*
man came uasnmg up uic a'-o
nue as though he was running
fur ills life. Leo at once recog
nized his fellow passenger, and
the girl cried out in a voice of
terrified dismay: “Sergius,
Sergius !”
The fugitive raised his face,
which was deathly pale, and
without slopping, he ex
claimed: “llastakov!”
The girl turned round to
Lpo, and said in a rapid stifled
voice: “Hide yourself; and,
mind, you have seen nothing!”
With that, she sprang down
fitorn the little hill, followed
by the fugitive, and both dis
appeared. Almost immediate
ly afterwards, two more men
came running up the avenue:
one was the porter who had
threatened Leo with the same
gun that lie still carried in his
hand, and the other was a tall
fellow dressed as a motor cy
clist. They also vanished in
the direction of the house.
Without further delay, Leo
hastened back along the same
path by which he had come,
and in five seconds he came in
sight of the terrace in front of
the Copper House. He saw
the man with the case run up
the steps, hesitate for a mo
ment, then dash into the house.
The girl followed on his heels,
and the porter and the cyclist
reached the terrace to find it
deserted. Then, as though by
the touch of a magic wand,
some more men appeared from
both sides of the house. These,
with the two men already
mentioned, made a party of
nine, of whom four carried
guns. They approached the
house at the double. The cy
clist called out some order in
a commanding voice, and be
gan to mount the terrace steps.
Leo reached the spot at the
same moment, and exclaimed:
“Wlist’s wrong?”
The motor cyclist took no
notice of him.
Again a shot rang out, this
time inside the Copper House;
most of the men had passed out
ot earshot on the other side of
the house, but the cyclist, the
porter, and one other unknown
man, ran into the hall, together
with Leo.
The old lady advanced to
meet them, with a revolver in
her hand. She looked firmly
an* monaeimrly at the intruder
and said: “Rastakov, did I in
vite you to come in?’’
The cyclist halted.
“Who fired. Lona Ivanov
na?” lie demanded.
“I did.”
“Where is he?”
“Whom do you mean?”
“Oh, you know perfectly
well, that thief Bernard Jenin;
what have you done with
him ?”
Iona Ivanovna thrust the re
volver into her workbag,
looked resienedly at the cy
clist, and said: “You may look
for him.”
Leo, who understood noth
in? of this hurried interchange
of questions, looked on be
wildered. Rastakov caught
sight of the fugitive’s case ly
ing open on the floor, caught it
up, and flung it against the
wall with an oath, for it was
empty.
“I will have him, dead or
alive,” he shouted, “and the
damned document, too!”
lie ran halfway up the stairs
to the first floor, but turned
round as though he had re
membered something.
“And what’s more,” he
cried across the hal, “I know
how pigheaded you are, Lona
Ivanovna! All right, if you
would rather have the chief to
deal with, just let me know!
But beware of meddling with
Tnrraschin’s memorandum, for
it means death!”
With that he disappeared.
Lona Ivanovna took Leo by the
arm, and drew him with unex
pected force, though not un
kindly, into the dining room
after her. .
“It’s a case for the police!
he began.
“Don’t mix yourself up in
this,” she said kindly. “Sonia,
they want to search the house;
you must see that Mr. Grath is
spared hearing anything more
of Rastakov.... ”_
(TO B». CONTINUED)
qualities In office they were honesty
and a realistic shrewdness. It will
not be easy to carry them over Into
a book. it will take both courage
and a special knack. But If they
are carried over we shall learn
something more about not merely
A1 Smith but some of the most im
portant currents in our modern
American life. ^ ^__
Hard to Suit
From Tit-Bits
Golfer—Who has just gone round
In 112: Well, how do you like my
game?
Caddie—I suppose it's all right,
but I still prefer gilf.
TIIE PERIOD “DOLLS *
1860.
A small maid sat in candle light.
By the fire's dying glow;
Her dress was sprayed with spring*
of pink.
Her par.t’lets peeped below.
Her childish voice had a woman’®
tones,
A-croonirg soft and low,
As she rocked to sleep her old rag
doll,
With the joy that mothers know.
Its eyes were dots. Its face quite flat,
Its hah a hank of tow;
Its shoes were made of woolen cloth,
Its dress, a rag or so.
1890.
Another maid, at tiny desk,—
‘Twas ‘speakin’ day” at school;
Her spreading skirts were ruffed
and frilled.
Her hair adorned with tulle.
Her arms about her modish doll.
She glanced toward teacher’*
stool;
Then softly breathed in dolly’s ear,
“Don’t whisper! that’s the rule."
A doll of bisque with a baby’s face,
Its eye a limpid pool;
Its slippers flat, of leather bronzed.
And dressed in something cooL
1929.
A flaDper paced the crowded streets,
Her flaunting charms to try;
Her arms were bare, her legs were
nude,
Her skirt above knee high.
Upon her arm a lanky doll
Smirked up at passers by;
A languid lid made dark with kohl,
Part veiled each luring eye.
A vamping doll, with a woman’s
face,
Coiffure of henna dye;
Its patent pumps had heels like
spikes,
Its dress, a belt and tie.
—Sam Page.
Earlier Missouri River.
From Minneapolis Journal.
All of North Dakota, and most ot
South Dakota and Montana, were
once in the Hudson’s Bay water
shed, says a recent bulletin from
the Department of the Interior.
This is not strictly new3, since It
dates back several million years, to
the era before the Great Ice Age,
but the theory of the government
geologists will be news to most
Northwestern people.
Evidence now leads geologists to
believe that in that distant period
the upper Missouri and the Yellow
stone flowed toward the northeast,
their waters finding a way eventu
all to Hudson’s Bay. The Red
River fowed northward then as it
does today. The head of the Mis
souri was about where the James
river now joins it, in South Dak
ota, so the Missouri in those days 1
was a comparatively short and
puny stream.
Then came the Great Ice Age.
The great sheets of ice spread
south westward, blocked the north
ern outlet of the Missouri, and
dammed up its waters until they
finally broke through to form the
gorge now followed by the Missouri
through the Dakotas. The Red
River, as man has known for some
time, was turned southward by the
ice and poured its waters through
Big Stone and Traverse lakes and
by way of the Minnesota river to
the Mississippi at Fort Snelling,
cutting in a few centuries the pic
turesque basin of the Minnesota.
At this time some of the drain
age between the Red river and the
Missouri was diverted southward to
form the James river, joining the
Missouri.
When the ice sheets reeeded, the
Red river, rather reluctantly,
turned to flow northward again,
but the Missouri and the James
had made their beds and preferred
to lie in them. The map of the
Northwest after this ‘temporary’'
shift of a few centuries, took on its
present aspect, which man of today
is satisfied to call permanent.
Thus, if the geologists are right,
came the vast length of the mighty
Missouri which with the lower
Mississippi forms the worlds long
est river.
, . .... ♦ #■- *
Marriage Contracts.
From Kansas City Star.
A promissory note containing the
clause that the signer wouldn't be
obligated to pay in case he had had
any financial setback would be of
somewhat limited value to the
payee. That setback would be pretty
certain to come—and to be genuine,
so far as the giver of the note is
concerned. It isn’t wholly different
when the parties to a marriage con
tract, which at one time was an
even more serious matter than the
making and signing of a note, agree
in advance that if affections should
by chance be diverted to someone
else or other similar contingency
should arise, the contract would be
null and void. Here is anticipating
failure of an agreement at the time
it is made, a condition that should
mean no agreement to begin with.
So we may not be surprised that
Mrs, Eugene O’Neill is suing her
playwright husband for divorce.
For it was understood at the time
of the marriage and so nominated
in the bond that love for another
by either party would nullify the
agreement. The wonder is that this
"sacred” contract has held for a
matter of some eleven years. But
the playwright now is reported to
have found another more to his
liking and the original contract is
to be terminated at Reno.
Here is the fatal weakness in the
logic of the companionate marriage
enthusiasts. It's about like a deter
mination to steer away from the
ditch while keeping the eyes fixed
upon it at the same time. Our coun
sel to the imaginary modernists is
that they had better go into the
thing—marriage, not in the ditch—
for keeps, or steer clear of it al
together.
Q. Where is the "graveyard of the
iceberg?” H. R.
A. After the icebergs get out of
the Labrador current, disintegration
goes on naturally and more and
more rapidly until the bergs finally
disappear about 400 miles south of
Nova Scotia. This region is called
the graveyard of the iceberg.
Proof Enough.
From Loughborough, England, Her
ald.
Magistrate: Are you sure he was
intoxicated?
Policeman: No, sir. not positive,
but his wife says he brought home
a manhole cover and tried to play
it on the gramaphone!
It All Depends.
From Answers.
Mistress: Did I see you kissing
somebody in the garden this morn
ing, Starah—the milkman or the
postman?
Maid: Er—ah—was it abom half
past seven, ma'am, or a quarter past
etarht *
I What Will
When your
Children Ciy
for It
There 13 hardly a household that
hasn’t heard of Castoria! At least live
million homes are never without It. It
there are children in your family,
there’s almost dally need of its com
fort. And any night may find you very
thankful there’s a bottle in the house.
Just a few drops, and that colic or
constipation is relieved; or diarrhea
checked. A vegetable product; a baby
remedy meant for young folks. Castoria
is about the only thing you have ever
heard doctors advise giving to infants.
Stronger medicines are dangerous to a
tiny baby, however harmless they may
be to grown-ups. Good old Castoria!
Remember the name, and remember
to buy it. It may spare you a sleep
less, anxious night. It is always ready,
always safe to use; in emergencies, or
for everyday ailments. Any hour of the
day or night that Baby becomes fret
ful, or restless. Castoria was never
more popular with mothers than it
today. Every druggist has it.
Automobile Puzzle
“Have we plenty 01 gas now before
we start?”
“The indicator says one-half—but 1
don’t know whether that means half
full or half empty.”
To Cool a Burn
Use Hanford's Balsam of Myrrh
Money back for lint bottle if not euited. All donlera.
‘‘Into the Trade”
Many tilled English women have
‘gone into trade.” One of them is
a barber, although she styles herself
“coilTeurer.”
Near Pnmambuco, Brazil, is a ban
flit who, since ]9:20, lias terrorized five
Brazilian states and remained uncap
t tired.
Contrary men won’t sign petitions;
and that’s a commendatory word said
for contrariness.
Folks like to move from one flat to
nnother until they tiud it doesn’t do
any good.
Few ran resist the temptation to
flaunt culture.
Makes Life
Sweeter
Children's stomachs sour, and need
nn anti-acid. Keep their systems
bweet with Phillips Milk of Magnesia!
When tongue or breath tells of acid
condition—correct it with a spoonful
of Phillips. Most men and women have
been comforted by this universal
sweetener—more mothers should in
voke its aid for their children. It is a
pleasant thing to take, yet neutralizes
more acid than the harsher things too
often employed for the purpose. No
household should be without it.
Phillips is the genuine, presorlp
lional product physicians endorse for
general use; the name is important.
“Milk of Magnesia'' lias been the U. S.
registered trade marie of the Charles
H. Phillips Chemical Co. and its pre
decessor Charles H. Phillips since 187Cl
Phillips
* Milk
of Magnesia
HAROLD SOMERS. B r o 0” Hr” '“nT* «.
