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About The Loup City northwestern. (Loup City, Neb.) 189?-1917 | View Entire Issue (Aug. 14, 1913)
FRAN BY JOHN BRECKEM3ME ELLIS H.LUSTB ATION S BV o • mwiN • mEEJS - 'N'Vx --v II SYNOPSIS. Fran irrtve* at Hamilton. Gregory's homo in HitUeburK. but finds him absent •onducting the choir at a camp meeting. She repairs thither in search of him. itaughs during the service and is asked to Icavv Abbott Ashton, superintendent of «choulfC escorts Fran from the tent. He cells her Oregdry is a wealthy man. deoply interested in charity work, and a pillar of the church. Ashton becomes : interested in Fran and while tak !ing leave or her, holds her hand and is? seen by Sapphira Clinton, sister of Rob ert Clinton, chairiiian of the school board. ■Frun tells Gregory she wants a home with him. Grace Noir. Gregory’s private •secretary, takes a violent dislike to r ran and advices tier to go away at once. "Fran hints at a twenty-j-ear-oUl secret, and Gregory in agitation asks Grace to Heave the room Fran relates the story ■of liow Gregory married a young girl at iSpringiietd While attending college and then deserted her. Fran is the child of what marriage Gregory had married his •present wife three years before the death if Fru.r»'» mother. Fran takes a 'liking to Mrs Gregory- Gregory explains that iFrnn is the daughter of a very dear friend •who is dead. Fran agrees to the story. 'Mrs Gregory insists on her making her ihoiiie with them and takes her to her •arms It is decided tiiat Fran must go to ■school Grace shov.s persistent Interest in Gregory's story of his dead friend and thirds that 1‘Yan may he an imposter. [Fran declares that the secretary must go. Orate begins nagging tactics in an effort to drive Fran from the Gregory home, but 'Mrs Gregory remains stanch in her ffrieridsitip. Fran is ordered before Super inlendenf Ashton to be punished for In .•oihorrtinatlor. in school. Chairman Olin irori is present. The affair ends In !• ran Heaving the school in company of the two men to the amazement of the scandal mongers of tlie town. Abbott, while tak ing • walk alone at midnight, finds Fran on i bridge telling iter fortune by cards. She tells Abbott that she is the famous lion turner. Fran Nonpareil. She tired of dreus life rnd sought a home. Grace tells • d seeing Fran come home after midnight with a man She guesses pari of the story and surprises the rest from Abbott. She decides to ask Bob Clinton to go to Springfield to investigate Fran's story. Fran enlists Ablioit in her battle against Grace. CHAPTER XIM-—Continued. T don’t understand how you mean that I know Mr. Gregory's work would be seriously crippled.’ And it would be a great biow to Walnut street church—she’s always there." ■'•Still, you see she can’t stay.” "No, T don’t see. You and Miss •Grace must be reconciled." "f)h, Abbott, can’t you understand, or i. d (hat you just won’t? It isn’t on my account that Miss Noir must leave this house. She’s going to tiriug trouble—she's already done it. IVn had lots of experience, and when I see people hurrying down hill, 1 ex jiect to find them at the bottom, not ■ieeatise it's in the people, but be cause it,*3 in the direction. I believe some mighty good-intentioned men are stumbling down hill, carrying their re ligiou right into hell.'' "Hush, little friend! You don't un derstand what religion is." "if I can't fiud out from its fruits, I don't want to know.” “Of course. But consider how Miss ■Grace’s labors are blessiug the help less." "Abbott, unless the fruits of relig ion are flavored by love, they're uo more account than apples taken with Grace Looked Down Upon Mrs. Grefl' ory as If Turned to Stone. bitter-rot—oot worth fifty cents a barrel." Abbott, asked slyly, "What about your fruit, out there in the world?” "Oh.” Fran confessed, with a gleam "we're not in the orchard-business al all, oot here," ' Abbott laid his hand earnestly npor her arm. "Frau! Come in and belj us spray.” "You dear old prosy, preachy pro feasor'” she exclaimed affectionately "I have been thinking of it. I’ve nal a mind to try, really. Wouldn’t Greet Noir just die? . . . O I.<ord, there she comes now!” FTsn left the disconsolate young man in wild precipitation, and flew into the house. He turned off In an other direction, and Gregory and Grace came slowly toward the house, having, without much difficulty, eliminated Simon Jefferson from their company. In truth, Simon, rather than be im proved by their conversation, had dived down a back alley, and lound c-ntrance through the side door. When F^milton Gregory and his secretary carae into the reception hall, the old bachelor lay upon a divan thinking of his weak heart—Fran's flight from the choir loft had reminded him of it— and Mrs. Jefferson was fanning him. as if he were never to be a grown man. Mrs. Gregory sat near the group, silently embroidering in white silk. Fran had hastily thrown herself upon the stairway, and, with half closed eyes, looked as if she had been there a long time. “Frau." said Mrs. Gregory coldly, “you left the choir practice before we were two-thirds done. Of course I could hardly expect you”—he looked at his wife—“to stay, although your presence would certainly have kept F'ran there; and it does - look as if we should be willing to resort to any expedient to keep her there!” Flow would a lock and chain do?" F^-an inquired tnpekly. 1 don't think she came straight home, either.” remarked Grace Noir significantly. “Did you, F’ran?" “Miss Noir.” said Fran, smiling at her through the banister-slats, "you are so satisfactory; you always say just about what I expect. Yes, 1 came straight home. I'm glad it’s your busi ness. so you could ask." Hamilton Gregory turned to his wife again, with restraint more marked. “Next Sunday is roll-call day, Mrs. Gregory. The board has decided to revise the lists. We’ve been carry ing so many names that it’s a burdeu to the church. The world reproaches us. saying. ‘Isn't So-and-so a member? He never attends, does he?* 1 do hope you will go nqxt Sunday!” Mrs. Gregory looked down at her work thoughtfully, then said. "Mother would be left—’’ "It's just this way,” her husband in terposed abruptly; “If no excuses, such as sickness, are sent, and if the people haven’t been coming for months, and i don't intenu coming, we are simply ! determined to drop the names—stiike 'em out. We believe church members should show where they stand. And— and if you—” Mrs. Gregory looked up quietly. Her voiee seemed woven of the silk threads she was stitching in the white pattern. “If 1 am not a member of the church, sitting an hour in the building couldn't make me one." Simon Jefferson cried out. "Is that my sister Lucy? Biessed if I thought she had so much spirit!” “Do you tail that spirit?" returned Gregory, with displeasure. “Weil!” snorted Simon, “wiia: do you call it, then?” "Perhaps.” responded Gregory, with marked disapprobation, ‘perhaps It was spirit." Grace, s ill attired for the street, looked down upon Mrs. Gregory as if turned to stone. Her beautiful face expressed something like a horror at the other's irreverence. Fran shook back her hair, and watched with gleaming eyes from be hind the slats, not unlike a small wild creature peering from its cage. "Oh,” cried Fran, “Miss Noir feels so bad!” Grace swe'pt from the hall, her rounded figure instinct with the suffer ings of a martyr. Fran murmured. “That killed her!” “And you!” cried Gregory, turning suddenly in blind anger upon the other—"you don't care whose heart you break.” “I haven't any power over hearts." retorted Fran, gripping her fingers till her hands were little white balls. "Oh. if 1 only had! I'd get at epi if 1 could—like this . .” She leaped to her feet. ' "Am I always to be defied by you?” | he exclaimed; "is there to be no end to it? But suppose I put an end to it, myself—tell you that this is no place for you—" “You shall never say that!" Mrs. Gregory spoke up, distinctly, but not in his loud tones. She dropped her work in some agitation, and drew Fraa to her heart. “I have a friend here. Hamilton—one friend—and she must stay." “Don't be uneasy, dear one," Fran looked up lovingly into the frightened face. "He won’t tell me to go. He won’t put an end to it. He won't tell me anything!" “Listen to me, Lucy," said Gregory; his tone altering, "yes, she must stay —that’s settled—she must stay. Of course. Hut you—why will you refuse what I ask. when for years you were one of the most faithful attendants at the Walnut Street church? I am asking you to go next Sunday because —well, you know' how people judge by appearances. I’m not asking it “I Want to Be Your Secretary.” for my sake—of course I know your real character—but go for Miss Grace's sake—go to show ber where you stand.” "How is it about church attendance, anyway?” asked Fran, with the :;ir of one who seeks after knowledge. “I thought you went to church for the Lord’s sake, and not for Miss Noir's.” "I have given you my answer. Mr. Gregory," said his wife faintly, "but I am sorry that it should make me seem obstinate—" He uttered a groan, and left the hall in despair. His gesture said that he must give it up. Mrs. Gregory folded her work, her fact; pale and drawn, her lips tremu lous. She looked at Fran and tried to smile. "We must go to rest now,” she said—“if we can." CHAPTER XIV. Fighting for Her Life. The next day found Fran the biuest of the blue. N’o laughing now, as she sat alone, half-way up the ladder lead ing to Gregory’s barn-loft. She meant to be just as miserable as she pleased, since there was no observer to be de ceived by sowing cheat-seed of merri ment. "The battle’s on now, to a finish,'’ muttered Fran despondently, ‘‘yet here I sit, and here I acrooch.” Fran's thoughts were at the abysmal sta^e of discouragement. For a time, there seemed in her heart not the tiniest taper alight, and in this blackness, both hope and failure w-ere alike indis tinguishable. “But we’ll see,” she cried, at iast coming down the ladder, “we’ll see!” and she clenched her fists, flung open the barn-door and marched upon the house with battle in her eyes. Gird ing up her loins—that is, smoothing her hair—and sharpening her weap ons for instant use, she opened the library door. She knew Grace Noir had gone to the city with Robert Clinton, and yet her feeling on seeing Hamilton Gregory alone, was akin to surprise. How queerly lonesome he looked, with out his secretary! She found the phil anthropist immersed in day-dreams. The thought of the good his money and influence were accomplishing - (COPYRIGHT 1912 ^ BOBB5 - M ERt? ILL CO.) thrilled ills soul, while through the re flat'd ether of this pious joy appeared the loveliness of Grace Noir, lending something like spiritual sensuousness to his vision of duty. He did not want the applause of the general public any more than he wanted his past unearthed, it was enough if his philanthropy was known to God and Grace Noir. She stood, to his mind, as a symbol of religion— there can be no harm in reverencing symbols. Fran's eyes drew him abruptly from. his reverie. ‘ Fran,'1 he said, as if she had ap peared in answer to a summons, “I am unhappy about you. Your deter mination to have nothing to do with the church not only distresses but em barrasses me. You have insisted on coming into my life. Then why do you disgrace it? You pretend that you want to be liked by us, yet you play cards with strangers at night—it's out rageous. You even threw a card in my yard where a card was never seen before.” ' Do you think cards are so very wicked?” asked Fran, looking at him curiously. "You know what 1 think. 1 look on gambling as immoral. But it ought to be enough for me simply to formd it.” She closed the door, and placed her back against it. She looked him in the eyes, and said abruptly— ”i want to be your secretary." Hamilton gripped his chair. “I have a secretary," lie retorted, looking at her resentfully. He checked words he would have liked to utter, on reflecting that his secret was in Fran's keeping. How Grace woijjd shrink from lnm. if she knew the truth—how that mag niflcent figure would turn its back upon him—and those scornful, imperi ous, never-faltering eyes. Fran drew nearer. She seated her self upon the arm of a chair, one foot on the floor, and spoke with restrained intensity: "I'm well enough educated. I can take dictation and makegood copy.” He allowed his tone to sound defi ance—"I already have a secretary.” Fran continued with an effort. Mother didn't like studying, very well, | but she was determined to get me out 1 of the condition I was born in; she I Taught me all she knew. Wasn’t she | splendid! So patient—” Fran paused, ; and stared straight before her, straight !. into the memory of her mother's eyes. I Gregory reflected—"If this child had not come, had not intruded herself I upon my life! Haven’t I suffered j enough for my follies?” wnon mouH’r uiea, r ran resumed, “she thought maybe Uncle Ephiaim had mellowed, so I went to him, be cause I thought 1 couldn’t get along without love.” She shook her head, with a pathetic little smile. “Put I could! t'ncle Ephraim didn’t meilow, he dried up. He blamed me for being born—I think, myself, it was a mis take. He turned me out, but I was so tough I just couldn’t be winter killed. After that I went back to the show and stocked up in experience 1 mention it to point out that a mild job like being your private secretary wouldn’t strain a muscle.” Gregory’s voice cut across hers. “My secretary must be in sympathy with my work. To exercise such talents as 1 have, is my religion, and I need a helper whose eyes are fixed upon the higher life. This is final, and the sub ject must never be reopened. 1 find it very paiuful.” • Fran’s discovery that he had not hftard her plea, crimsoned her face. She jumped from the arm-chair, breathing rapidly. "Then,” she cried, “if you won’t have me, get another. The one you have must go.” “She shall do nothing of the sort,” he coldly responded. “Yes,” Fran retorted violently, "I tell you she must go!” He struck the table with his palm. “Never!” “Shall I use my last resource?” Fran's eyes gleamed ominously. The hand upon the table became a fist. That was his only reply. “I would entreat you,” said Fran, faltering, “and with tears—but what good would it do? None. There’s no use for one woman to weep if another 'ey woman is smiling. Dismiss your sec retary.” He leaned toward her from over the table, and spoke in a low, level lone: “1 am going to appeal to your better nature. Think of the girls of the street who need rescue, and the wom en of the cities who are dying from neglect and vice, if you hinder ray work, let the souls of these outcasts be upon your soul! You can rum me, but not without ruining my good works, i don't ask you to keep silent on my account—what am I but an in strument in the hands of Providence? —but for the sake of the homeless thousands. 1 have atoned for my past, but the world, always ready to crucify the divine, would rejoice to point the Anger of scorn at me. as if I were still the fool of twenty years ago." ‘‘Hut your secretary—” "She is a vital factor in my work. It would bo impossible to replace her.” Fran made a step toward him—"My mother was replaced." He started up. "You shall not speak j of that. She lived her life, and 1j demand t'ue right to live mine, i tell j you, the past is ended." "But I am here,” returned Fran., "I have net ended. Can't you look j into my face and see my mother iiv- j ing? She paid for her secret tnar- j riage. wandering over the face of the j earth with her baljy, trying to find ] you. 1 don’t deny that y ou’ve paid for! all—yes. even for your desertion and j your living a hidden life in this town j Maybe you've suffered enough. But I that isn’t the question. Look at me. I am here. I have come as truly out of your past as out of the past of my darling,.uncomplaining—what did you call her?—’friend.' And being here I; ask, ‘What will you do with me?' All 1 want is—just a little love." The long loneliness of her life found expression in the eager voice, in the yearning eyes. As he stared at her. half-stupefied, he imagined she was holding out her arms to him in plead ing. Fran thought his covered face a to ken of weakening. “You must lave loved my mother once, is it ail so dead and forgotten that there is none left for your child?" But she was seeking to play upon strings that had long sinc-e ceased to vibrate. He could not bring back, even in retrospect, the emotions in spired by Josephine Derry. Those strings had been tuned to other love- j harmonies. To remember Fran's moth- . er was to bring back not the rapture j of a first passion, but the garish days ; of disillusionment. He could not tell i Fran that he had never loved her j mother. The dead must not be re- j proached; the living could not be de nied—so he was silent. His silence inspired Fran with hope. “I Am Going to Appeal to Your Better Nature.” “I am so lonely, so lonely!” she mur mured plaintively, “so very lonely! There seem? a reason for everybody but me—I can’t be explained. Thai's why I am disliked. If there could be one heart for me to claim-whose heart should it be? Does no sort of feeling tell you whose heart it should be?” (TO BE CONTINUED.) Paint which sticks to glass can be removed with vinegar. "MOVIES” FOR THE FAMILY Time Not Far Off When Provision Will Be Made In Home for Picture Shows. A prediction may safely be made that, in the very near future provision will be made for moving pictures in the home. When a man decides to build a house to cost, say, $25,000 or more, the architect will plan the pic ture room in which the family and their guests can enjoy a select pro gram of latest productions. It may be in connection with a dancing room or it can be accommodated in much less space. A projecting machine suit able for the home will not be very costly, and the films will doubtless be delivered each week by companies or ganized for that special purpose. Trav elers returning from abroad will dud pictures of cities and scenes they liave visited a wonderful relp in reciting to friends and relatives incidents of the places they have visited. Another neyv industry which will soon come' into existence in all the larger cities will be film photography. Children s birthdays, garden parties, weddings and other functions which will in later days or years recall pleas ant memories will be thus perpetu ated by the film photographer. He will eventually be considered as much, a necessity as the orchestra. Un doubtedly one of the most acceptable wedding presents in days to come from parents to bride and bridegroom will be a set of progressive dims showing the children as they advanced from infancy to high school days. As a feature of the wedding festivities these pictures would afford both amusement and entertainment.—Popular Mechan ics. Greek View of the Unfit. In connection with the prevalent dis position of great corporations to ex clude drinking men from their employ ment, consider this remark which Xenophon credits to Socrates: "If my friends, when a war was coming upon us. we should wish to choose a man by whose exertions we might ourseives be preserved, and might gain the mas tery over our enemies, should we se lect one whom we knew to be unable to resist gluttony, or wine or sensual ity, or fatigue or sleep? Or, If. being at the close of life, we should (wish to commit to anyone the guardianship of our sons or the care of our unmar ried daughters, or the preservation of our property, should we think r.n in temperate man worthy of confidence for such purposes?” The Greeks were above all things reasonable. Temperance to their clear vision was one of the greatest of vir tues. Verbatim. This, from my Cambridge messenger boy friends, is reproduced verbatim: “The old bridge works field is getting a foundation laid for a new building witch is getting built by the Boston bridge work and company. When the boys of Bast Cambridge used to get chased away from the Sixth street bridge where they UBed to go swim ming they used to run into this field and get there cloths on before the po liceman caught them. So they will lose a good place to get away from the police when they get chased next sum mer.’’—Boston Post. BIG SURPRISE TO MONARCH First Experience With Seidlitz Pow ders Produces Startling Scene in Court in 'Delhi. On the first consignment of seidlitz powders in the capital of Delhi, the monarch became deeply interested in the accounts of the refreshing draught. A box was brought to the king in full court, and the interpreter explained to his majesty how it should be used. Into a goblet he put the contents of the twelve blue papers, and, having added water, the king drank it oft. This was the alkali, and the royal countenance expressed no signs of satisfaction. It was then explained that in the combination of the two powders lay the luxury, and the twelve white powders were quickly dissolved and as eagerly swallowed by his majesty. With a wild shriek that will be re membered tfhile Delhi is numbered among the kingdoms, the monarch rose, staggered, exploded, and, in his full agonies, screamed, "Hold me down!" then, rushing from the throne, fell prostrate on the floor. There he lay during the long-con tinued effervescence of the compound, spurting like ten thousand penny worth of pop. and believing himself in the agonies of death—a melancholy and humiliating proof that kings are mortal. He Took the Coat. Chester Thomas, colored, was being tried before Judge Ambler on the charge of stealing an .overcoat. He began: “I was walking down Charp street when a man I never saw befo' comes up and says, ‘Here, feller, is a good overcoat.’ I takes the coat from him.” Judge Ambler interrupted, saying: “Thomas, you do not think I am going to believe any such tale as that? If you had pleaded guilty and made an honest statement I might have been considerate.” Thomas shouted: ‘‘If that's the case. Judge, I took the eoat" He was paroled.—Baltimore Dis patch to New York World. THREE PRETTY MORNING DRESSES Models cf flowered material and black and white checked voile. Lace and sailor collars with sashes of taffeta. EXCELLENT FOR TENDER SKIN Victim of Sunburn Will Find Relief in This Preparation, Which Is a Home Remedy. A preparation that will suit most tender skins or skin that has been sunburned is made by mixing togeth- j er four ounces of pure almond meal, an ounce of powdered orris, two j ounces of powdered castile soap, one- j half drachm oil of bergamot, tour | drops of bitter almond oil and a quar- ] ter of a drachm of extract of musk, j Only tepid water should be used on the- skin and after wetting it rub on j some of the above preparation in stead of using soap, using the hands to make the application because a wash cloth usually causes friction and ! this, added to a sunburned skin. | would make it sore and tender. More water is used and the skin is cleansed ■ with the hands and finally rinsed sev-] era! times and with old soft towels j patted dry. Then a mere suspicion of cold cream is massaged into the skin and so left for the night. Any girl or woman who will be careful to protect her skin and care for it as just described even though it is naturally of a dry texture will not burn or tan nearly as quickly as | will the girl with the oily skin. One j would think that a girl with oily skin would not burn as readily as the girl | with the dry skin on account of suffi cient oily moisture, but nevertheless It has often been proven that she burns even more quickly. Why this is so is because of the difference in the skin tissues. SMART TAILOR-MADE SUIT Model of black and white checked I shepherd goods with cutaway jacket. Long lapels and shawl collar. □raped Lace Tunics. Although, perhaps, the lace tunic has a tendency to age its wearer, it has compensating merits Which rec ommend it to women of middle age and even younger women who have a tendency to stoutness. For the close fitting pointed tunic of black lace cut with the upper part in the form of a coat tends to make the figure look slim in a manner that many, alas, find eminently desirable as years come fast upon them. The favorite lace employed is Chan tilly, and when one knows how to j drape artistically nothing can be more elegant. On the contrary, nothing can be dowdier than a drapery which seeks to be artistic and falls lament ably in the attempt Baby’s Bib. A dress shield may be cut in half, and each half used as the lining for the baby’s^ bib. Make a removable 'cover of linen or lawn edged with lace or embroidery. BETTER THAN ANY COSMETIC Combination of Repose and Relaxa tion is the Only Beauty Secret That Is Worth Knowing. There is a beauty secret, not found in cosmetics, and which does not lin ger in the perfume-laden hangings of the parlor of the masseuse. It is a set ret which any woman can possess, and its magic effect is almost in stantly noted. The secret is merely a combination of repose a'nd relaxa tion. A restful woman always appears to advantage. There is culture in a re pose of manner that makes itself felt both at home and in public. There is a suggestion of reserve intellectual strength, more impressive than the uneasiness of the woman who feels that her tongue or her body must be in motion to let the world know she is in it. At the same time, the wear and tear will leave the marks of strain on complexion and figure, which no creams or lotions can remove. To .grow old gracefully and beautifully, learn to take things easy. Repose is more beautifying than rouge, and re laxation more body-building than massage.—Leslie’s Weekly. For the Rose Jar. The following mixture has kept its fragrance for twenty years: Gather the rose petals on a sunny day, in th. morning. The common, sweet-scented varieties are best. Let stand in a cool place for two hours, toss them apd put into a bowl or covered dish in layers. Sprinkle each layer with salt. Keep adding to these until you have enough “stock." Into a large glass jar place two ounces of crushed cin namon; then put in^the stock, which has been shaken up every morning for two weeks. When all is in the jar, let stand for eight weeks, cov ered. It is now ready for the perma nent jar. Add two ounces of lavender flowers and one ounce of shredded (not powderedl orris root. Mjx well, put into rose jar in alternate layers with the rose stock and a few drops of oil of roses. Over this pour a wine glass of good cologne, and from time to time add fresh lavender flow ers and rose petals. Card Cases. The thin lingerie frock demands a cardcase of hanlterchief linen, em broidered with a very fine design; those done in eyelet embroidery are the most effective. If you do the tiny flowers and foliage in solid work, pad the petals first with darning cotton and cover this with fine mercerized cotton. Scallop the edges, using the buttonhole stitch, and whipstitch the sides together. With the one piece frock or tailored costume should be carried a card case of heavy linen. The design is not so fine on these and can be done with white or colors. For instance. If you choose a card case of natural colored linen, the de sign can be effectively done in white, brown or dark blue. There are a few designs to be worked with the Bul garian colors, and these are extreme ly effective when done in the brilliant hues ou a background of tan linen. Put Loop in Hat. Women know what a hard task it is to hang up their hats. The office girl finds a new place every day for her hat. It is on the desk, the shelf or pinned on the wall with big hatpins. A new way. says t,he Los Angeles Ex press, is to take a piece of tape or baby ribbon, make loop about four inches long, sew it to the gathered part of the lining of your hat and— that's all. Hang up your hat by the loop on the rack, nail or any available place. • __ Black Evening Gloves. Dlack gloves for evening wear art coming back Into fashion, as are dark gray and brown Instead of white as accessories for afternoon wear. Tbi novelty In the new black gloves lies in the fact that many are buttonless, while others have fancy buttons from the wrist to the extreme edge of the gloves, only a few of the upper ones being used as fastenings. Buttons as Trimmings. Porcelain buttons decorated with pompadour designs In dainty coloring* are used on small vests, and linen dresses are trimmed with white por celain buttons with tiny figures or the same color as the dress.