JfQ jie ij rrwcrv ;
^HQUiituirty
fait Frances Shelley Wees
iW-«*/ *•> AwTTSg^r wV.u &e.n.w.c«r ~
SYNOPSIS
Bryn (James Brynlldson III), a
tall bronzed young man of wealth,
and his chum, Tubby Forbes, are
•discussing Bryn’s coming marriage.
Tubby believes it a scheme to get
Bryn’s wealth from him. Should the
girl, Deborah, whom Bryn had met
at the office of his attorney, Ted Hol
worthy, marry Stuart Graham before
her twenty-first birthday, she will
Inherit a vast fortune from her
grandfather. Stuart had greatly dis
pleased Deborah, who refuses to
marry him. Bryn, posing as an un
employed engineer, offers to marry
Deborah, as Stuart, for $50,000, they
not to live as man and wife. Twenty
three years previous. Anne Lamed
had eloped with an adventurer on
the day set for her wedding to
■Courtney Graham. Two days after
the birth of her daughter. Anne died.
Shortly after, the father died. The
Xarneds, grandparents, took the child
with them to Oregon where, without
child companions, Deborah grew up.
To safeguard her from some for
tune hunter, her grandfather had
arranged for her to marry Stuart,
-son of Courtney Graham, when of
age. When Deborah was fifteen, her
grandfather died. Securities had
been set aside to keep the family,
but a market crash left scarcely
enough for them to live on. This was
unknown to Deborah's grandmother,
an invalid, Gary, a servant, manag
ing the finances. At twenty, the
thought of marriage greatly fright
ens Deborah. Tubby and Bryn await
Deborah In a hotel In Frisco. Over
a period of one year the groom is
to prove he is no fortune hunter
and can make Deborah happy to the
satisfaction of her grandmother.
Otherwise, the fortune is to go to
charity. The will is somewhat ambig
uous as to whom Deborah is to
marry. The girl arrives with Hol
worthy. Tubby is surprised to find
her charming and sweet. The wed
ding over, the couple arrives at the
home of Deborah’s grandmother. The
grandmother and Bfyn, who she be
lieves to be Stuart, take to one an
other, which somewhat displeases
Deborah, who foresees difficulty when
they are to separate after a year.
Deborah remonstrates with Bryn for
hts familiarity and insincerity. Bryn
•declares he is sincere. Deborah be
lieves Bryn has a sweetheart wait
ing for him. Grandmother plans im
provements far beyond their means.
Bryn’s offer to borrow the money
from Holworthy is accepted. Bryn
takes Grandmother shopping.
CHAPTER IV—Continued
—5—
“Now,” he said, with a foot on
the running board, “how would you
like to come out and stroll down
the street, Grandmother? Nothing
shall happen to you. I promise.”
She looked up, her eyes sparkling.
“I ... I don’t think I would be
afraid, Stuart," she said haltingly.
Bryn came to a sudden decision.
He took her hand lightly in its
Black glove. "Will you do me a
tremendous favor?”
“Certainly, my boy.”
“Do you mind calling me by the
name I’ve always been called? If
you can believe it, almost nobody
has ever used the name Stuart.
Could you bring yourself to call me
Bryn? It’s what my friends say,
and I scarcely know myself by
‘Stuart.’ ”
“Its very strange,’ she said
thoughtfully. “I don’t understand
why you’re called Bryn. But I
don't mind using It. As a matter
of fact . . . ‘Bryn, Bryn,’ ’’ she re
peated. “You know, my boy, It suits
you, somehow.”
"Thank you, Grandmother. You
know how it Is. When you aren’t
accustomed to a name . . .”
He opened the door wider, and
■waited. She gave a little fluttering
breath and emerged slowly from
her long retreat.
Both together they saw the hat
In the window. It was a small win
dow of a tiny millinery shop at the
end of the street.
On a pedestal in the center was
one hat, a molded toque of gray vel
vet the exact shade of Grandmoth
er’s hair. Bryn felt her hand move
on his arm. He looked at the hat,
and then down at her face. He
turned, slowly, without a word, and
they went into the little shop.
“The hat In the window, please,”
he said. The girl put the soft gray
toque on the silvered hair. Grand
mother, startled, looked at herself
In the glass, and then turned to
Bryn. Her eyes were deep blue
and shining; her cheeks were pink.
“We will take it," he told the girl,
and handed her a bill.
“And now,” he said happily, “now
let’s go shopping.”
Grandmother was a little Intoxi
cated. She made no protests what
ever. She clung tightly to his arm
and followed where he led, and
Bryn enjoyed himself thoroughly.
He bought her a long soft gray
woollen coat. He took her to a
florist’s and bought her a bunch
of purple, scented violets to pin on
the new coat. He bought her five
pairs of gray gloves and a gray
suede purse to match. Grandmoth
er, by the time they were through,
was twenty years younger.
They proceeded down the strop'
toward the car. “I’ve got one <>•
1 two more things to buy," he decid
ed, and went Into a confectioner’s.
Grandmother accompanied him and
stood waiting.
“I want," he told the proprietor,
“a very nice box of chocolates and
a pound of your best tobacco and
a good pipe."
The proprietor knew what was
meant. The articles were selected
and paid for. He placed Grand
mother carefully in the seat and
got in himself.
On the sidewalk in front of the
car a small boy in clean faded blue
overalls came slowly along with a
very small dog on the end of a
leash. The dog shone like silk In
the late afternoon sun. It sniffed
the sidewalk happily.
The boy's eye caught Bryn. He
called out. "You don't want to buy
a good dog, do you, mister? This
here one’s for sale. Two dollars.”
"What is it, a cocker spaniel?”
Bryn inquired, regarding the floppy
ears, the water - waved coat, the
thumping tail,
"Yesslr, a real cocker. Ain’t that
a pretty color?”
“What’s the matter with It?"
“Well," the boy told him, drop
ping his voice, “it’s a lady dog.
And,” confidentially, "you know
what they’re like."
"Oh. A lady dog. What’s her
name?”
“Garbo.” The boy grinned. “Just
take a look at her.” He made a
little clucking noise with his tongue.
Instantly the dog sat up. paws
crossed limply before her, mouth
closed, silky enrs drooping, her eyes
sad and mournful and pleading.
Bryn looked. He began to laugh,
silently.
“Well,” Bryn decided, "she’s sold.
Here’s your money.”
CHAPTER V
BRYN, on the morning after his
trip to town with Grandmother,
paused in his systematic and care
ful examination of the grounds,
leaned against a tree down at the
lower corner, lit a cigarette, and
considered.
lie was remembering Deborah’s
face when they had returned yes
terday, he and Grandmother. White
and cold, she had met them In the
doorway and led Grandmother Into
the small sitting room to rest for
a moment before removing her new
coat and hat. Deborah was no long
er angry. While they were away
she had obviously come to some
agreement with herself; Bryn de
cided, as she smiled faintly and
took the box of chocolates, as she
put it down without a glance upon
the small table beside her, that he
preferred her angry. Ho had swung
on his heel, leaving her there with
Grandmother, and gone out to Gary.
Gary stood in the drive, his parcel
laid on the grass, watching the
puppy rolling over and over, wild
with excitement, and yelping with
joy at her release from the car.
“Perhaps you'll tell Miss Deborah
that the puppy is for her," Bryn
said curtly, and went back up to
his room.
But the puppy wasn’t having any
difficulty in penetrating these frosty
layers and discovering the real
Deborah. From his window yester
day afternoon Bryn had witnessed
their first meeting. Deborah had
come out to Gary, and at her ap
pearance the puppy had rushed
upon her with a ferocious threaten
ing growl which ended precipitate
ly as the little dog fell over her own
feet and tumbled in a heap before
Deborah’s. Instantly, unquestion
ing as a child, she had bent to lift
it in her arms. “Oh, Gary.” she
cried, “isn’t it a darling? Isn't it
a darling puppy?"
, She hugged it close, and It snug
gled for a moment comfortably un
der her chin. Then It put out a
pink tongue and kissed Deborah en
tirely without reserve.
“You're a bad dog,” she scolded,
but her voice was soft and laughing
and fender. Bryn drew a deep
breath. When she spoke to him
her voice wasn’t like that. “Where
did it come from, Gary?”
“She’s for yon. Miss Deborah. Mr.
Bryn brought her out from town."
“Oh," Deborah said. “Of course.
I might have known." But she did
not drop the puppy. She stood si
lent, thinking.
"Now look. Miss Deborah,” Gary
began, “I don’t think he means nny
harm, after ail. He’s only acting
natural.”
"Oh, hush!” Deborah cried storm
ily, stamping her foot. She held
the puppy close and ran off with
her, back of the house, down to
some hidden nook of her own which
always seemed to be her chosen
place of refuge.
That had been yesterday.
Bryn went down and got into the
' 'ar, standing on the drive. He
drew from Ids pocket the worn
piece of paper which . . . was It
only yesterday morning? . . . had
caused Deborah such woe.
His eyes traveled down the list
on the paper In his hand. Maga
zines, catalogues, tea, servants. Gar
deners, yes. The bank manager
was sending them out ns soon ns he
could tlnd them.
Gary came out to him.
"I must say," he said to Bryn,
"you got a way of getting things
done. And ... I’d like to thank
you for that tobacco, sir.”
“I suppose the electric light sit
uation is next,” Bryn said, unheed
ing. "Well, I think 1 can tlx that
myself. Several years of engineer
ing ought to prove of some value.
Lead on. Gary."
There was, as Bryn had suspect
ed, nothing seriously wrong with
the engine of the electric plant. He
opened the cocks to drain out all the
old oil, cleaned the connections, and
made a note of the few parts It
would be necessary to replace. Be
fore the motor was started, he de
cided, it would be wise to Inspect
the connections at the house.
“Where's there a ladder?” he
asked.
"Out on the edge of the orchard,"
Gary told him. "But you better be
careful of it. It Isn’t as good as It
might be.”
Bryn went out behind the house
and followed with his eye the line
of the electric wires as they crossed
the trees and the brook. He went
out to the orchard, lifted the ladder
lying half-hidden In the grass, car
dried it back and propped It up
against the wall of the house, be
neath the place where the wires en
tered. Trying each rung cautious
ly, he went up the ladder.
As he reached the top he turned
half-around as he took the pliers
from his pocket, and was just in
time to see Deborah emerge from
her retreat down near the bridge.
There was a sudden ominous
cracking which Bryn scarcely
heard; he was listening for Debo
rah's footstep on the path beside
him, wondering whether to look
down and smile or to continue ab
sorbedly with his work. lie was
spared the necessity of making a
choice; for, a moment after the un
heeded warning, the rung upon
which he was standing collapsed
into splinters, nnd Bryn fell neatly
through. He heard Deborah scream;
the puppy barked furiously; and
then he dropped Into oblivion.
He awoke, a few moments later,
with something cold dashing across
his forehead, and the sound of Deb
orah’s voice saying In a whisper,
“More. Gary, get more, quick I” The
sound of footsteps. Bryn lay motion
less, collecting himself. He was
not hurt. He knew he was not
hurt. The grass was thick, here,
and he had broken his fall; his
head had probably been whacked
just hard enough to put him out for
a minute or two. He did not open
Ids eyes. Deborah was beside him.
She put her hnnd on his forehead,
lifted the wret hair back from his
brow.
She bent over him. “Don’t die,”
she whispered like a breath. “Don’t
die, please don’t die."
He moved his head faintly, and
lifted his band. He would find hers
. . . with his wedding ring on it
... he would hold it firmly, and
tell her . . . her little white hand
... he groped for it.
Something soft and light fell on
his cheek, a delicate gentle touch.
“I’m Sorry You Fell and
Hurt Yourself.'*
He caught his breath and held It.
The touch came again, gentle, on
his cheek, at the side of his mouth.
He threw off his pretense of weak
ness, put his hand up quickly, opened
his eyes, his heart thumping;
and found himself clutching with
both hands the puppy, nosing him
in an anxiety of curiosity. Deborah
was gone.
He got up witli the puppy under
his arm and strolled grimly around
the corner, to meet Gary, wild-eyed,
approaching with a brimming dip
per of water.
“You aren’t hurt, sir?” Gary
gasped breathlessly. “Aren’t you
hurt?”
"Not a scratch,” Bryn replied.
“Sorry to frighten you.”
“Well, that is good,” Gary said
with heartfelt emotion. "I got a
terrible fright. And Miss Deborah
was coming to the house and saw
you fall. She . . ho stopped.
“She what?" Bryn ashed calmly.
“She's crying "
Evening came on e dinner
was served In the dining room,
brighter now with a host of tall
tapers. Grandmother was happy to
night, gay and light hearted. When
dinner was over she wnnted to go
for a little stroll.
It was a glorious night. The
moon had already risen, and hung,
a huge silver lamp, just over the
top of the lowest hill. The sky was
deep blue. Grandmother leaned on
Bryn’s arm; Deborah was on her
other side.
They came back to the front porch
at last, but Grandmother did not
stop. She did not seem to notice
their awkward silence. She walked
to the corner of the house, and
there, gently, she withdrew from
between them and tucked Deborah's
arm In Bryn’s.
“There, my darlings," she said,
with the ghost of a laugh. "Walk
together down the path beside the
brook. It’s a perfect night for lov
ers. I am going In now. Good
night!" and before Deborah’s hand
could stop her, she was gone.
“Very nice night," Bryn said for
mally.
“Yes," Deborah agreed after a
moment.
She glanced up at him In the moon
light, but Ids face was cool and un
moved. Wordless, she followed his
load, walking quietly beside him.
They went slowly down along the
brook.
They were almost nt the end of
the path. lie had not spoken. She
lifted her head. ‘Tin . . , I'm sorry
you fell and hurt yourself," she
said In that delicious low voice
with the tiny break.
"I didn't hurt myself,” Bryn said
calmly. "Sorry to cause a commo
tion.”
They reached the end of the path.
Bryn turned. Deborah hesltnted,
but, after a second, turned beside
him. Half-way to the house she
hesitated. "It was . . . kind of you
to remember tobacco for Gnry," she
said. “I didn’t realize why he
wasn’t smoking.”
Bryn did not reply.
Almost back at the house, she
spoke again. Her voice held a bint
of desperation. "It ... It Is a love
ly night. Isn’t It?" she said.
“I think It’s a little chilly," Bryn
replied. "Do you suppose your
grandmother thinks we’ve been out
long enough now?”
She stopped and looked up at him.
And as he looked down at her, she
turned away with a little droop in
her shoulders, and left him.
V V V v V V «
Deborah stood against the stone
railing of the balcony, surveying
the changes taking place in her lit
tle world, and was thoroughly mis
erable. Everyone seemd to be In a
conspiracy against her. Day by
day, slowly hut inexorably, all that
reminded her of the old peaceful
happy life was being removed, and
nobody seemed to realize or care
that she was being left alone in a
vacuum. Even Grandmother didn’t
care. Grandmother was very hap
py; her cheeks grew pinker every
day, her appetite had improved.
Grandmother, of course, thought
that Deborah was happy too. It
hadn’t occurred to her that this
dream of hers which had come true
had never been Deborah’s dream.
Yes, Bryn was making Grand
mother hnppy; but that was fright
ening. Because, at the end of the
year . . .
Deborah* fell to wondering what
Bryn’s own girl was like. She would
be beautiful, of course, and prob
ably tall and queenly, Instead of lit
tle and childish. It was difficult to
understand whnt her circumstances
were that she would allow him to
make money for her in such a
strange way. If she were wealthy,
surely they would have been mar
ried whether he had money or not.
If she were poor, one would think
that she would have been willing to
marry him and share his difficult
times with him. There must be
something about her that Deborah
didn’t understand.
Deborah moved suddenly from the
balcony railing and went Inside her
own pretty bedroom; and there she
flung herself on the bed and cried
miserably Into the silver and vio
let spread.
After a long time she sat up and
dried her eyes. There wasn’t any
thing to cry about. What if they
had laughed at her? She would
never see the girl, and the girl
would never see her. As for the
man, they were ns distant from each
other as any two people could pos
sibly be, who had to act at inter
vals an affectionate little comedy.
The other night she had tried, It
was true, to be friendly. lie had
been cold and unresponsive, and
she hated him for It. lint It was
better for him to he so. Far bet
ter. There wasn’t anything be
tween them but the relation of an
employer to a servant; he had said
so himself. That was the way he
wanted It to be.
She got down from the bed and
tiptoed to the door. No one was
about, she knew that. The maids
had been here for two days, ond
the cook as well, but they were nil
down In the living room with Gary,
putting it in order.
Deborah went through the back
door and down the path to her old
playhouse.
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Stir-n Truth
Jack—Poor Bill! Ho swallowed a
teaspoon.
Marry—Is he sick In bed?
Jack—Yea, he can't stir.—Wash
ington Post.
Ju«t So-So
“Well, Thomas, how are you?"
“I be better than I was. sir, but
I haln’t aft well as I was before 1
was as bad as I am now."—Tit-Bits
Magazine.
Nu Sooner Said
George—I’d like, the best in the
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HE DOESN'T WORK Sf
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jBgniuB
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7 SWITCH TO ,—'
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