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About The frontier. (O'Neill City, Holt County, Neb.) 1880-1965 | View Entire Issue (April 16, 1936)
JfQiiQ ij m&mv / i^teuntcUrL' Frances Shelleij Wees iy Fr*»<9t ^ w N.u __ CHAPTER I DRYN finished his story. Tall, "lean, bronzed, he stood before the big crystal mirror hanging over the stone fireplace and examined tils chin critically. It was a very nice chin, but Bryn was not In the least concerned with its niceness; he was trying to determine whether Bnrch had or had not nicked it in finitesimally. It seemed not. Burch had done his usual perfect job. Tubby, his eyes round and dis tracted, dropped into one of the deep morocco armchairs and stared out at the dusk. It was pouring like smoke across the bay, sifting through the Golden Gate to blot out the sunset. The daily fleet of fishing vessels, their sails a row of tiny dark triangles against the dimming face of the sun, slipped out once more to brave the perils of the vasty deep. Below the house the waves lapped idly at the white clitT, gentle and harmless. Tubby was not a philosopher, and he had very little imagination. To Tubby a horse was a horse, usually with four legs and a tall. It was not something over which kingdoms might be lost or with which prin cesses might be rescued. Waves to Tubby were waves, always wet and often chilly. But now, as he stared down through the wide plate glass window, there was a look of posi tive inspiration on his face, as if he were telling himself that these waves, at least, might sometimes wash the shores of China, the far, far, dangerous shores of China; that these waves might easily, umall and tender though they now fappeared, might easily puff and swell and lift themselves to fall with thunder and fury on one of the innocent little vessels drifting now so serenely past the sun. Life was like that, Tubby was convinced. Tubby put his head down into his hands and groaned. “Look here, Bryn,” he said in a woebegone voice, ‘‘you can't go through with it. I won’t let you. That’s final.” } “Tut, tut," Bryn responded amia bly. He pressed a bell on the man telpiece. Burch, bland and serene, opened the door noiselessly. “Burch, I am being married this evening.” There was a moment of dead stillness as if even the waves had halted in their Irresistible course. Then Burch swallowed, and said ■ohly, “Indeed, sir? Do you wish me to procure a maidservant, sir?" Bryn looked up, startled. “A maid servant? Do we need a maid servant?” “I was thinking of your wife, sir.” “My wife?” Bryn repeated, his eyes coming sharply to Burch’s face. Then, "Ah ... no. She will not be coming here.” “Very good, sir. What shall I pack?” Bryn looked down at the gray suit with which, Tubby had Insist ed, he was desecrating the evening. He considered. "Well, shirts and things. Nothing else, except those old golf trousers I got so much mud on at Tahoe." “Yes, sir. Nothing else? No guns? No fishing tackle? No golf clubs?" “Nothing. By the way—I am a young engineer out of work be cause of the depression. Anything a young engineer out of work be cause of the depression wouldn’t have, I wouldn’t have. I’ve pawned It.” Burch drew a noticeable deep breath. “Very good, sir. Shall you be here to breakfast?” "Certainly.” "And . . .” "No, 1 said she wasn’t coming.” “Ah . . . yes, sir. Lunch?” “No lunch. I shall be leaving im mediately after breakfast, and you needn't prepare dinner until ap proximately a year from tonight. I shall be away during that time.” “Yes, sir. And the orders for Morton?” Bryn swung round from the glass. He regarded Burch thoughtfully. “That’s so,” he said meditatively. "1 might have forgotten. Tell Mor ton to take a spanner, will you, and remove the paint—not all of It, hut large, uneven portions—from the Bellaire. Tell him to take a chisel ^ and give it some nice deep ’ scratches. Tell him to make it look like a car I might have bought for about forty-two dollars and fifty cents from a bankrupt gangster. He might hash up the fenders, and if anything further occurs to him,,.” “The Bellaire, sir? The new Trench motor? The black car?” “All of those things,” Bryn said nalmly. Tubby stood up. His eyes rested on Burch’s agitated countenance, lie drew a deep breath. "That’s all,” Bryn said crisply. “Yes, sir," Burch muttered de spondently, and went out. Tubby was staring at Bryn. “Any body would think you were in love with the girl," lie snld. “Would they? How nice. It sounds so much better. So much more romantic and idyllic. To be in love with one’s bride Instead of marrying her for her money." "Money!" Tubby said bitterly. "Money!’’ He shook his head mis erably. "You're making some kind of a damned fool out of yourself. Bryn. You’re letting some gang pull a fast one on you that’s what you’re doing. Do you think for a minute that that girl doesn’t know who you are?” “She doesn’t,” Bryn said calmly. Tubby snorted. “That’s a bright remark, isn't it? Very bright. Now, if I ask you, how in God's name could anybody on the Pacific coast help having seen your ugly mug in the papers, how could anybody who can read help knowing about James Weldon Shipley Brynildson Third and his speed boats and his ele phant tusks and his seven cars and his polo ponies?" "I’m sure she can read," Bryn re plied, unruffled. “The first time I saw her she was reading over a lot of legal documents up In Hoi worthy's office.” Tubby eyed him for a long mo ment. Then he said gustily, "Look here, Bryn. Did it ever occur to “Did It Ever Occur to You That Ted Holworthy Might Be Engi neering Thia Beautiful Mix-up?” you that Ted Holworthy himself might be engineering this beauti ful mix-up? Did it?" “I can’t say that it did.” “All this talking he’s been doing about her. What did he tell you about her for In the first place? Oh, I know he said It was an Interest ing case, but that was just to get you listening.” “Didn’t you think It was an in teresting case, Tubby?” “Well, if It was a case, yes. Cer tainly. Of course. I thought my self it was interesting. But you no tice I didn’t get all wrought up about it and start hanging around to get a look at the girl, and even if I had 1 wouldn't even dream of stepping into a game like this and marrying her myself.” "Neither did I,” Bryn said. “I never dreamed of such a thing. But I was curious, I'll admit that. You haven’t any curiosity becuuse you haven’t got any imagination. If you had, you’d have been hanging around, too. You’d have wanted to look at the man in the case, when he arrived for this wedding to a girl he’d never seen, and then when you saw the man you’d certainly have wanted to get a look at the girl, and when you saw the girl . . .” Bryn paused. Tubby looked at him curiously, but Bryn coughed and went on immediately. “When you saw the girl you would most assuredly have wanted to know how it was all going to come out. She . . . well, she wasn’t ids type, Tub." “You're saying just what I’ve been trying to say,” Tubby cried. “Ilolworthy’s been working on your imagination. He knows what you're like. Well, it’s succeeded. Every tiling’s gone according to plan You're roped. Tonight you're go ing to marry this girl that you’ve only seen three times, a girl you don’t really know a darn thing about, just because she has some kind of cock-and-bull story about having to get married before her twenty-first birthday and the man she's supposed to marry doesn’t happen to take her fancy. Of course he wouldn’t take her fancy wdth you around. Certainly he wouldn’t. That’s what It's all about, you darn Idiot. You, Janies Weldon Shipley Brynildson Tldrd. Ye gods and lit tle fishes, aren’t there enough men on the coast who would marry her for this fifty thousand dollars she’s supposed to be paying you, without you stepping into It? It’s so damned absurd. What are you doing it for? Fifty thousand dollars doesn’t mean anything to you! And they’ve got it all worked out so that there’ll be plenty of publicity and trouble when you want a divorce . . . you going up into the Oregon back woods to live with her for a year. So romantic! And she'll turn out to be a cheap little crook, but she'll be married to you all the same and entitled to a lot of your property when the break comes and your name as well. Doesn't it sound beautiful?” Don t be an ass,” Bryn saiu com fortably. ”1 happen to know that this business is on the level, be cause I’ve known about the case for years. I met the old gentle man himself, Deborah’s gratidfa ther. when he was here eight years ago fixing the will up with Ted’s fa ther. It was Just when I was tak ing over my property and spending a good deal of time in Holworthy's office. The old gentleman was a most Interesting old chap, and we had several long conversations, lie was intensely concerned about this will he was making, and very anx ious to make sure that he was do ing the right thing. The old man put the thing up to me ns a hypo thetical case and asked me what I thought of it. Being a young fool, I thought it sounded fine.” "So now,” Tubby said, eyeing him, “when it doesn’t look ns If It might he so fine, you feel respon sible? Is that it? Is that why you’re throwing yourself aVvay like a sack of soft potatoes?" Bryn sighed. "I do wish you'd go and change your clothes," he said. "You can’t be my best man in a white tie and tall, not when I’m wearing a lounge suit. We’d probably have another earthquake." "And what about Pilar?” "Well, what about her?” "For two years you’ve carted her around. Everybody thinks you’re going to marry her. Site’ll go blooey when she hears this. Have you told her tynythlng at all?” “How could I tell her? I wasn't sure myself until two hours ago. And there’s no reason why I should. I’ve never asked her to marry me, or even hinted about it." “Well, I don’t have to tell Iter, do I?” “That’s a bright Iden," Bryn said happily. “Thanks, old man. I’ll do the same for you one of these days. Now, on your way. Tubby. Go and get dressed. Burch will bring you your cocktail, and lend you one of his shirts and a collar. You can wear my pants if you’re careful not to take a deep breath, but I don’t think you’d better try buttoning the coat. All in keeping . . . she’ll think you got them second hand." *•••••• Twenty-three years previously, Anne Whittaker Larned hud eloped, on the morning of tiie day of her wedding to Courtney Graham, and had married a young man, who, had he been a woman, would nev er have been received in the so ciety in which the Larneds moved. The consequences were disastrous. The young man had no money, bat he had expected to have a great deal when the Larneds relented and forgave their only daughter. How ever, he encountered unexpected difficulties with the daughter her self; for when she discovered why he had married her, she crept away from him, her heart as nearly bro ken as a physical organ can be bro ken by human unhappiness, and when her daughter was only a few days old, she died. Fortunately, the young father—who never knew that he was a father—was kicked In a vital spot by a horse, and died before he could cause any more misfortune; thus strengthening the belief of a number of people in the vengeance and justice of God. The aged and broken grandpar ents took their daughter's child and also the blame for their daughter’s unhappiness. If, they told them selves, miserably, they had guard ed her well, she would never have met this handsome young scoun drel, and all would have been as they had planned. She would have married Courtney Graham, scion of an old and spotless family, and all her ways would have been ways of pleasantness and all her paths would have been paths of peace. The Grahams were among the first people of Boston. Nowhere on their escutcheon could be found a blot, and even the erasure marks were so carefully done as to leave no trace. A perfect marriage, it would have been. But their daugh ter was dead, and their hitter re gret was in vain. However, they still had the child, and over the mother's grave they vowed to them selves that nothing should mar this girl’s life. They dedicated their remaining years to her. It seemed to them that they must creep out of the world with her, hide her, and find for her a sanctuary. They had sold the historic man sion in Boston, and with their beau tiful old household goods, had gone west as far as they could go, out to the Oregon wilderness. There, in the most glorious natural surround ings, they had built a huge stone house. They were miles from the nearest town, and cut off from all easy contact with civilization. Here the child, Deborah, grew up, with only her grandparents and the servants for her companions. In the early years, when she was yet ii small child, she went Infrequent ly with her grandparents over the rough mountain roads to the little country town, or was perhaps al lowed to accompany old (lary, their servant, on a marketing expedition; but as she grew older, and her mother’s beauty began to evidence itself in her, she was kept more and more closely at home. There were quite often guests at the.great house when Deborah was a child, but they were grave elderly people like her grandparents, so that she grew up completely cut off from companions of her own age and generation. She had, however, a library full of books, and three peo ple entirely devoted to her welfare. It must be admitted that of the three. Grandfather, Grandmother and Gary, it was Gary who taught her the most Interesting things. Grandfather taught her history, and science, and geography, and politi cal economy. Grandmother taught her needlework, and a number of things that made them both blush and over which they skipped as hastily us possible. Hut Gary— Gary told her stories of people. Yes, there was Gary. Grandfa ther and Grandmother kept the Iron gates leading to the world locked and barred, but Gary lifted the shut ters of a thousand little windows, magic casements, all of them, open ing on the foam of perilous seas. But no matter how stuunchly Grandfather and Grandmother kept the Iron gates locked ngnlnst the world, they knew that some day they would have to be. opened, even if only to allow themselves to pass through, on their last Journeys. For many years the question of Debo rah’s future, when the iron gates should be opened, gave them anx ious hours of discussion. She would have a fortune greater than her father’s before her, since It had grown through the years. She had no relatives other than her grand parents. Deborah must be com pletely secure. So, when she was thirteen, eight years ago, Grand father had gone away to San Fran cisco on a Journey, and when he re turned he lind stopped frowning, and they told her that her future happiness was taken care of. Courtney Graham, less than a year after the marriage of Debo rah’s mother, had taken unto him self n wife. For him to do so had been a blow, but after tnlklng it all over for a number of yenrR, Grandfather nnd Grandmother had consoled themselves by saying that of course Anne, as far as Courtney knew at the time of his marriage, was happy; that If she had been dead, Courtney would ltave devot ed his life to mourning her loss, would have considered himself a widower. No; Courtney had been n perfect New England gentleman and he had done no wrong. He had a son, born two months after Deborah herself. The boy’s name wns Stuart, and now at thir teen he was a tall handsome lad of great promise. His father and grandfather both thought that a second attempt at an alliance be tween the two families might prove a happy one. So it was understood that if the young people were will ing, they should marry each other when they grew up. (TO BE CONTINUED) Deborah Enters a Great Adventure HONEYMOON MOUNTAIN by Frances Shelley Wees OUR NEWEST SERIAL Far up in the mountains of the Pacific Coast, in the old-world atmosphere of a secluded estate, the lovely, unsophisti cated Deborah had been reared. Instead of marrying the fortune-hunting suitor named by her family, she offered another man $50,000 to act as substitute for one year to satisfy the stipulation of a will. But he fell in love with herl START READING THIS FINE STORY NOW Cross Stitch Kitchen Towels That Are Fun to Embroider—or Give Awav 90 .. i --- - . 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