15 WHITE
Sjr GEORGE DARR McCUTCHEON ‘
1 mUSTRAnONS &-RAY WALTERS
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SYNOPSIS.
—7—
In the New York home of James Brood,
his son, Frederic, receives a wireless
from him. Frederic tells Lydia Des
mond. his fiancee, that the message an
nounces liis father's marriage, and orders
Mrs. Desmond, the housekeeper and
Lydia’s mother, to prepare the house tor
fin immediate home-coming. Brood and
his bride arrive. She wins Frederic's lik
ing at first meeting. Brood shows dislike
Bnii veiled hostility to his son. Lydia and
trs. Brood met in the jade-room, where
Lydia works as Brood's secretary. Mrs.
Brood is startled by the appearance of
Ilanjab. Brood's Hindu servant. She
makes changes in the household and gains
her husband's eonsent to send Mrs. Des
mond and Lydia away. She fascinates
Frederic. She begins to fear Ranjab in
his uncanny appearances and disappear
ances, and Frederic, remembering his
father's East Indian stories and firm be
lief in magic, fears unknown evil. Ran
jab performs feats of magic for Dawes
and Higgs. Frederic's ifather. jealous, un
justly orders ids son from the dinner table
as drunk. Brood tells the story of Ran
Jab’s life to his guests. "He killed a wom
an” who was unfaithful to him. Yvonne
plays with Frederic’s infatuation for her.
Her husband warns her that the thing
must not go on. She tells him that he
Still loves his dead wife, whom he drove
from his home, through her, Yvonne.
Yvonne plays with Brood. Frederic and
Lydia as with figures on a chess board.
Brood, madly jealous, tells Lydia that
Frederic is not his son.
CHAPTER X—Continued.
"And now, Mr. Brood, may I ask why
you have always intended to tell me
this dreadful thing?” she demanded,
her eyes gleaming with a fierce, accus
ing light.
He stared. “Doesn't—doesn’t it put
a different light on your estimate of
him? Doesn’t it convince you that he
Is not worthy of—”
“No! A thousand times no!" she
cried. “1 love him. If he were to ask
me to be his wife tonight I would re
joice—oh, I would rejoice! Someone
Is coming. Let me say this to you, Mr.
Brood: You have brought Frederic
up as a butcher fattens the calves and
Bwine he prepares for slaughter. You
are waiting for the hour to come
when you can kill his very soul with
the weapon you have held over him
for so long, waiting, waiting, waiting!
In God's name, what has he done that
you should want to strike him down
after all these years? It is in my heart
to curse you, but somehow I feel that
you are a curse to yourself. I will not
say that 1 cannot understand how you
feel about everything. You have suf
fered. 1 know you have, and I—1 am
sorry for you. And knowing how bit
ter life has been for you, I implore you
to be merciful to him who is inno
cent."
The man listened -without the slight
est change of expression. The lines
seemed deeper about his eyes, that
was all. But the eyes were bright
and as hard as the steel they resem
bled.
“You would marry him?"
“Yes, yes!”
"Knowing that he is a scoundrel?”
“How dare you say that, Mr.
Brood ?”
.“Because,” said he levelly, “he
thinks he is my son.” Voices were
heard on the stairs, Frederic’s and
Yvonne’s. “He is coming now, my
dear,” he went on and then, after a
pause fraught with significance, “and
my wife is with him.”
Lydia closed her eyes as if in dire
pain. A dry sob was in her throat.
A strange thing happened to Brood,
the man of iron. Tears suddenly
rushed to his eyes.
CHAPTER XI. ♦
A Tempest Rages.
Yvonne stopped In the doorway.
Panjab was holding the curtains aside
for her to enter. The tall figure of
Frederic loomed up behind her, his
dark face glowing in the warm light
that came from the room. She had
changed her dress for an exquisite
, orchid colored tea-gown of chiffon un
der the rarest and most delicate of
lace. For an instant her gaze rested
on Lydia and then went questioningly
to Brood s face. The girl’s confusion
had not escaped her notice. Her hus
band's manner was but little less con
victing. Her eyes narrowed.
Ranjab said you were expecting
us," she said slowly. She came for
ward haltingly. as if in doubt as to
her welcome. “Are we interrupting?”
“Of course not.”, said Brood, a flush
of annoyance on his cheek. "Lydia is
tired. 1 sent Ranjab’ down to ask
Frederic to—”
Frederic interrupted, a trifle too
eagerly. III walk around w*ith you,
Lydia. It’s raining, however. Shall 1
get the car out, father?"
‘‘No. no!” cried Lydia, painfully con
scious of the rather awkward situa
tion. “And please don’t bother. Freddy
1 can go home alone It’s only a step"
She moved tovvard the door, eager to
be away.
“I’ll g° with you,” said Frederic de
cisively. He stood between her and
the door, an embarrassed smile on his
lips. “I've got something to say to you,
Lydia,” he went on, lowering nis
voice.
" James, dear,” said Mrs. Brood,
shaking her finger at her husband and
with an exasperating smile on her
lips, “you are working the poor girl
too hard. See how late it is! And
how nervous she is. Why. you are
trembling, Lydia! For shame. Ja<nes."
"1 am a little tired,” stammered
Lydia. "We are working so hard, you
know, in order to finish the—”
Brood interrupted, his tone sharp
and incisive. "The end is in sight.
We’re a bit feverish over it, I sup
pose. You see, my dear, we have just
escaped captivity in Lhasa. It was a
bit thrilling, I fancy. But we’ve
stopped for the night.”
“So 1 perceive,” said Yvonne, a
touch of insolence in her voice. "You
stopped, I dare say, when you heard
the vulgar world approaching the in
ner temple. That is what you broke
into and desecrated, wasn’t it?”
"The inner temple at Lhasa,” he
said, coldly.
"Certainly. The place you were
escaping from when we came in.”
It was clear to all of them that
Yvonne was piqued, even angry. She
deliberately crossed the room and
threw herself upon the couch, an act
so childish, so disdainful that for a
full minute no one spoke, but stared
at her, each with a different emotion.
Lydia's eyes were flashing. Her lips
parted, but she withheld the angry
words that rose to them. Brood’s ex
pression changed slowly from dull
anger to one of incredulity, which
swiftly gave way to positive joy. His
wife was jealous!
Frederic was biting his lips nerv
ously. He allowed Lydia to pass him
on her way out, scarcely noticing her
so intently was his gaze fixed upon
Yvonne. When Brood followed Lydia
into the hall to remonstrate, the young
man sprang eagerly to his stepmoth
er’s side.
"Good Lord, Yvonne,” he whispered,"
“that was a nasty thing to say. What
will Lydia think? By gad, ts it pos
sible that you are jealous? Of Lydia?”
"Jealous?” cried she, struggling with
her fury. "Jealous of that girl! Poof!
Why should I be jealous of her? She
hasn’t the blood of a potato.”
"1 can’t understand you,” he said in
great perplexity. "You—you told me
Listened Without the Slightest Change
of Expression.
tonight that you are not sure that
you really love him. You—”
She stopped him with a quick ges
ture. Her eyes were smoldering.
“Where is he? Gone away with her?
Go and look, do.”
“They’re in the hall. I shall take
her home, never fear. I fancy he’s try
ing to explain your insinuating—”
She turned on him furiously. "Are
you lecturing me? What a tempest in
a teapot.”
“Lydia’s as good'as gold. She—”
“Then take her home at once,”
sneered Yvonne. “This is no place
for her.”
Frederic paled. “You’re not trying
to say that my father would—Good
Lord, Yvonne, you must be crazy!
Why, that is impossible! If—if I
thought—” He clinched his fists and
glared over his shoulder, missing the
queer little smile that flitted across
her face.
“You do love her, then,” she said,
her voice suddenly soft and caressing.
He stared at her in complete bewil
derment.
“1—I—Lord, you gave me a shock!”
He passed his hand across his moist
forehead. "It can’t be so. Why, the
very thought of it—”
1 suppose I shall have to apologize
to Lydia,” said she, calmly. “Your fath
ther will exact it of me, and I shall
obey. Well, I am sorry. How does
it sound, coining from me? T am
sorry, Lydia.’ Do I say it prettily?”
“1 don’t understand you at all.
Yvonne. I adore you, and yet, by
heaven, I—I actually believe 1 hated
you just now. Listen to me: I’ve been
treating Lydia vilely for a long, long
time, but—she’s the finest, best, dear
est girl in the world. You—even you,
Yvonne—shall not utter a word
against—”
"Ai—e! What heroics!” she cried
ironically. “You are splendid when
you are angry, my son. Yes, you are
almost as splendid as your father. He,
too, has been angry with me. He, too.
has made me shudder. But he, too,
has forgiven me, as you shall this in
stant. Say it, Freddie. You do for
give me? I was mean, nasty, ugly,
vile—oh, everything that's horrid. I
take it all back. Now, be nice to me!"
She laid ner band on his arm, an
appealing little caress that conquered
him in a flash. He clasped her Angers
in his and mumbled incoherently as
he leaned forward, drawn resistlessly
nearer by a strange magic that was
hers.
"You—you are wonderful,” he mur
mured. "I knew that you’d regret
what you said. You couldn’t have
meant it."
She smiled, patted his hand gently,
and allowed her swimming eyes to
rest on his for an instant to complete
the conquest. Then she motioned him
away. ’ Brood's voice was heard in the
doorway. She had. however, planted
an insidious thing in Frederic’s mind,
and it would grow.'
Her husband re-entered the room,
his arm linked in Lydia’s. Frederic
was lighting a cigarette at the table.
“You did not mean all that you said
a moment ago, Yvonne," said Brood
levelly. “Lydia misinterpreted your
jest. You meant nothing unkind, I
am sure.” He was looking straight
into her rebellious eyes; the last
gleam of defiance died out of them
as he spoke.
"1 am sorry, Lydia, darling,” she
said, and reached out her hand to the
girl, who approached reluctantly, un
certainly. “1 confess that 1 was jeal
ous. Why shouldn't I be jealous?
You are so beautiful, so splendid.”
She drew the girl down beside her.
"Forgive me, dear.” And Lydia, whose
honest heart had been so full of re
sentment the moment before, could
not withstand the humble appeal in
the voice of the penitent. She smiled,
first at Yvonne then at Brood, and
never quite understood the impulse
that ordered her to kiss the warm, red
lips that so recently had offended.
"James, dear,” fell softly, alluringly
from Yvonne’s now tremulous lips.
He sprang to her side. She kissed
him passionately. "Now, we are all
ourselves once more," she gasped a
moment later, her eyes still fixed in
quiringly on those of the man beside
her. "Let us be gay! Let us forget!
Come, Frederic! Sit here at my feet.
Lydia is not going home yet. Ranjab,
the cigarettes!"
Frederic, white-faced and scowling,
remained at the window, glaring out
into the rain-swept night. A steady
sheet of raindrops thrashed against
the window panes.
"Hear the wind!” cried Yvonne,
after a single sharp glance at his tall,
motionless figure. "One can almost
imagine that ghosts from every grave
yard in the world are whistling past
our windows. Should we not rejoice?
We have them safely locked outside—
ai—e! There are no ghosts in here
to make us shiver—and—shake.”
The sentence that began so glibly
trailed off in a slow crescendo, ending
abruptly. Ranjab was holding the
lighted taper *for her cigarette. As
she spoke her eyes were lifted to his
dark, saturnine face. She was saying
there were no ghosts, when his eyes
suddenly fastened on hers. In spite
of herself her voice rose in response
to the curious dread that chilled her
heart as she looked into the shining
mirrors above her. She shivered as if
in the presence of death! For an in
calculably brief period their gaze re
mained fixed and steady, each reading
a mystery. Then the Hindu lowered
his heavy lashes and moved away.
The little by-scene did not go unno
ticed by the others, although its mean
ing was lost.
"There's nothing to be afraid of.
Yvonne,” said Brood, pressing the
hand, which trembled in his. "Your
imagination carries you a long way.
Are you really afraid of ghosts?”
She answered in a deep, solemn
voice that carried conviction. “I be
lieve in ghosts. I believe the dead
come back to us, not to flit about, as
we are told by superstition, but to.
lodge—actually to dwell—inside these
warm, living bodies of ours. They
come and go at will. Sometimes we
feel that they are there, but—ah, who
knows? Their souls may conquer ours
and go on inhabiting—”
“Never!” he exclaimed quickly, but
his eyes were full of the wonder that
he felt.
“Frederic!” she called imperatively.
“Come away from that window.”
The young man Joined the group.
The sullen look in his face had given
way to one of acute inquiry. The new
note in her voice produced a strange
effect upon him. It seemed like a call
for help, a cry out of the darkness.
They were all playing for time. Not
one of them but who realized that
something sinister was attending their
little conclave, unseen but vital. Each
one knew that united they were safe,
each against the other! Lydia was'
afraid because of Brood's revelations.
Yvonne had sensed peril with the mes
sage delivered by Ranjab to Frederic.
Frederic had^come upstairs prepared
for rebellion against the caustic re
marks that were almost certain to
come from his father. Brood was
afraid of—himself! He was holding
himself in check with the greatest dif
ficulty. He knew that the smallest
spark would create the explosion he
dreaded and yet courted. Restraint
lay.heavily yet shiftingly upon all of
them.
A long, reverberating roll of thun
der ending in an ear-splitting crash
that seqmed no farther away than the
window casement behind them
brought sharp exclamations of terror
from the lips of the two women. The
men, appalled, started to their feet.
--—---- I
“Good Lordf that was close,” cried
Frederic. "There was no sign of a
storm when we came in—just a steady,
gentle spring rain."
“I am frightened," shuddered
Yvonne, wide-eyed with fear. “Do you
think—"
There came another deafening crash.
The glare filled the room with a bril
liant, greenish hue. Ranjab was
standing at the window, holding the
curtains apart while he peered upward
across the space that separated them
from the apartment building beyond
the court.
“Take me home, Frederic!" cried
Lydia, frantically. She ran toward
the door.
“I will come,” he exclaimed, as they
raced down the stairs. “Don’t be
Frederic, White Faced and Scowling,
Remained at the Window.
frightened, darling. It's all right.
Listen to me! Mrs. Desmond is as
safe as—”
“Oh, Freddy, Freddy,” she wailed,
breaking under a strain that he was
not by way of comprehending. “Oh,
Freddy, dear!” Her nerves gave way.
She was sobbing convulsively when
they came to the lower hall.
In great distress, he clasped her in
his arms, mumbling incoherent words
of love, encouragement—even ridicule
for the fear she betrayed. Far from
his mind was the real cause of her un
happy plight.
He held her close to his breast and
there she sobbed and trembled as
with a mighty, racking chill. Her fin
gers clutched his arm with the grip
of one who clings to the edge of a
precipice with death below. Her face
was buried against his shoulder.
“You will come with me, Freddy?”
she was whispering, clinging to him
as one in panic.
“Yes, yes. Don't be frightened, Lyd
dy. I—I know everything is all right
now. I'm sure of it.”
“Oh, I'm sure too, dear. I have al
ways been sure.” she cried, and he
understood, as she had understood.
Despite the protests of Jones, they
dashed out into the blighting thun
derstorm. The rain beat down in tor
rents, the din was infernal. As the
door closed behind them Lydia, in the
ecstasy of freedom from restraint bit
terly imposed, gave vent to a shrill
cry of relief. Words, the meaning of
which he could not grasp, babbled
from her lips ^ they descended the
steps. One sentence fell vaguely clear
from the others, ahd it puzzled him.
He was sure that she said: "Oh, I am
so glad, so happy we are out of that
house—you and I together.”
Close together, holding tightly to
each other, they breasted the whirling
sheets of rain. The big umbrella was
of little protection to them, although
held manfully to break the force of
the cold flood of waters. They bent
their strong young bodies against the
wind, and a sort of wild, impish hilar
ity look possession of them. It was
freedom, after all. They were fighting
a force in nature that they understood
and the sharp, staccato cries that
came from their lips were born of an
exultant glee which neither of them
could have suppressed nor controlled.
Their hearts were as wild as the tem
pest about them.
Mrs. Desmond threw open the door
as their wet, soggy feet came slosh
ing down the hall. Frederic’s arm
was about Lydia as they approached,
and both of their drenched faces were
wreathed in smiles—gay, exalted
smiles. The mother, white-faced and
fearful, stared tor a second at the
amazing pair, and then held out her
arms to them.
She was drenched in their embrace.
No one thought of the havoc that was
being created in that swift, impulsive
contact. . . .
“I must run back home,’’ exclaimed
Frederic. Lydia placed herself be
tween him and the door.
“No! I want you to stay," she cried.
He stared. “What a funny idea!”
“Wait until the rain is over,” added
Mrs. Desmond.
“No, no,” cried Lydia. “I mean for
him to stay here the rest of the night.
We can put you up, Freddy I—I
don’t want you to go back there un
til—until tomorrow.”
A glad light broke in his face. “By
jove, I—do you know, I’d like to stay.
I—I really would, Mrs. Desmond. Can
you find a place for me?” His voica
was eager, his eyes sparkling.
“Yes," said the mother, quietly, al
most serenely. "You shall have
Lydia’s bed, Frederic. She can come
in with me. Yes, you must stay. Are
you not our Frederic?"
“Thank you,” he stammered, and his
eyes fell.
“I will telephone to Jones when the
storm abates.” said Mrs. Desmond.
"Now get out of those coats, and—oh.
dear, how wet you are! A hot drink
for both of you."
“Would you mind asking Jones to
send over something for me to wear
in the morning?" said Frederic, grin
ning as he stood forth in his evening
clothes.
Ten minutes later, as he sat with
them before an open fire and sipped
the toddy Mrs. Desmond had brewed,
he cried: “I say. this is great!"
Lydia was suddenly shy and embar
rassed.
"Good night," she whispered. Her
fingers brushed his cheek lightly. He
drew her down to him and kissed her
passionately.
"Good-night, my Lyddy!” he said,
softly, his cheek flushing.
She went quickly from the room.
Later he stood in her sweet, dainty
little bedroom and looked about him
with a feeing of mingled awe and
wonder. All of her intimate, exquisite
belongings, the sanctified treasures of
her most secret domain were about
him. He wandered. He fingered the
articles on her dressing table; smelled
of the perfume bottles and smiled as
he recognized the sweet odors as be
ing a part of her, and not a thing unto
themselves; grinned delightedly at his
own photograph in its silver frame
that stood where she could see It the
last thing at night and the first thing
in the morning; caressed—ay, caressed
—the little hand mirror that had re
flected her gay or troubled face so
many times since the dear Christmas
day when he had given it to her with
his love. He stood beside her bed
where she had stood, and the soft rug
seemed to respond to the delightful
tingling that ran through his bare
feet. Her room! Her bed! Her do
main!
Suddenly he dropped to his knees
and buried his hot face in the cool,
white sheets, and kissed them over and
over again. Here was sanctuary! His
eyes were wet with tears when he
arose to his feet, and his arms went
out to the closed door.
“My Lyddy!” he whispered chok
ingly.
Back there in the rose-kued light of
James Brood’s study, Yvonne cringed
and shook in the strong arms of her
husband all through that savage
storm. She was no longer the defi
ant, self-possessed creature he had
come to know so well, but a shrinking,
trembling child, stripped of all her
bravado, all her arrogance, all her
seeming guile. A pathetic whimper
crooned from her lips in response to
his gentle words of reassurance. She
was afraid—desperately afraid—and
she crept close to him in her fear.
And he? He was looking backward
to another who had nestled close to
him and whimpered as she was doing
now—another who had lived in terror
when it stormed.
CHAPTER XII.
The Day Between.
Frederic opened his eyes at the
sound of a gentle, persistent tapping
on the bedroom door. Resting on his
elbow, he looked blankly, wonderingly
about the room and—remembered. It
was broad daylight. The knocking
continued. He dreamed or, his blink
ing eyes still seeking out the dainty,
Lydialike treasures in the enchanted
room.
"Frederic! Get up! It’s nine
o’clock. Or will you have your break
fast in bed, sir?” It was Lydia who
spoke, assuming a fine Irish brogue in
imitation of their little maid of all
work.
“I'll have to, unless my clothes have
come over?”
"They are here. Now. do hurry."
Ke sprang out of bed and bounded
across the room. She passed the gar
ments through the partly opened
door.
He was artistic, temperamental.
Such as he have not the capacity for
haste when there is the slightest op
portunity to dream and dawdle. He
was a full quarter of an hour taking
his tub and another was consumed in
getting into his clothes. He sallied
forth in great haste at nine-thirty-five
and was extremely proud of himself,
although unshaved.
His first act, after warmly greeting
Mrs. Desmond, was to sit down at the
piano. Hurriedly he played a few
jerky, broken snatches of the haunt
ing air he had heard the night before.
‘I’ve been wondering if I could re
member it,” he apologized as he fol
lowed them into the dining-room.
"What's the matter, Lydia? Didn’t
you sleep well? Poor old girl, I was a
beast to deprive you of your bed—’’
"I have a mean headache, that’s
all,” said the girl, quickly. ,He noticed
the dark circles under her eyes, and
the queer expression, as of trouble, in
their depths. “It will go as soon as
I’ve had my coffee."
Night with its wonderful sensations
was behind them. Day revealed the
shadow that had fallen. They uncon
sciously shrank from it and drew back
Into the shelter of their own misgiv
ivings. -The joyous abandon of the
night before was dead. Over its grave
stood the specter of unrest, leering.
When he took hpr in his arms later
on, and kissed her,-there was not the
shadow of a doubt in the mind of
either that the restraining influence
of a condition over which they had no
control was there to mock their en
deavor to be natural. They kissed as
through a veil. They were awake once
more, and they were wary, uncon
vinced. The answer to their questions
came in the kiss itself, and constraint
fell upon them.
Drawn by an impulse that had been
struggling within him for some time,
Frederic found himself standing at
the dining-room window. It was a sly,
covert though intensely eager look
that he directed at another window far
below. If he hoped for some sign of
life in his father’s study he was to be
disappointed. The curtains hung
straight and motionless. He would
have denied the charge that he longed
to see Yvonne sitting in the casement,
waiting to waft a sign of greeting up
to him. and yet he was conscious of
a feeling of disappointment, even an
noyance.
With considerable adroitness Lydia
engaged his attention at the piano.
Keyed up as she was, his every emo
tion was plain to her perceptions. She
had anticipated the motive that led
him to the window. She knew that
it would assert itself in spite of all
that he could do to prevent. She wait
ed humbly for the thing to happen,
pain in her heart, and when her read
ing proved true, she was prepared to
combat Its effect. Music was her only
ally.
“How does It go. Freddy—the thing
you were playing before breakfast?"
She was trying to pick up the elusive
air. “It is such a fascinating, ador
able thing. Is this right?”
He came over and stood beside her
His long, slim fingers joined hers on
the keyboard, and the sensuous strains
of the waltz responded to his touch.
He smiled patiently as she struggled
to repeat what he had played. The
fever of the thing took hold of him at
last, as she had known it would.
Leaning over her shoulder, his cheek
quite close to hers, he played. Her
hands dropped into her lap. Finally
she moved over on the bench and he
sat down beside her. He was absorbed
in the undertaking. His brow cleared
His smile was a happy, eager one.
“It’s a tricky thing, Lyddy,” he said,
enthusiastically, "but you’ll get it.
Now, listen.”
For an hour they sat there, master
and pupil, sweetheart and lover, and
the fear was less in the heart of one
when, tiring at last, the other con
tentediy abandoned the role of task
master and threw himself upon the
couch, remarking as he stretched him
self in luxurious ease:
“I like this, Lyddy. 1 wish you
didn’t have to go over there and dig
away at that confounded journal. I
like this so well that, ’pon my soul,
I'd enjoy loafing here with you the
whole day long.”
Her heart leaped. “You shall have
your wish, Freddy,” she said, barely
able to conceal the note of eagerness
Played a Few Jerky, Broken Snatches
of the Haunting Air.
in her voice. “I am not going to work
today. I—my head, you know. Mother
telephoned to Mr. Brood this morning
before you were up. Stay here with
me. Don’t go home, Freddy. I—”
"Oh, I’ve got to have it out with
father sometime,” he said, bitterly
“It may as well be now as later on
We’ve got to come to an understand
ing.”
Her heart was cold She w ts afraid
of what would come out of that “un
derstanding.” All night long she had
lain with wide-staring eyes, thinking
of the horrid thing James Brood had
said to her. Far in the night she
aroused her mother from a sound
sleep to put the question that had
been torturing her for hours. Mrs.
Desmond confessed that her husband
had told her that Brood had never con
sidered Frederic to be his son, and
then the two lay side by side for the
remainder of the night without utter
ing a word and yet keenly awake
They were thinking of the hour when
Brood would serve notice on the in
trader!
Lydia now realized that the hour
was near. “Have it out with father.’
he had said in his ignorance. He was
preparing to rush headlong to his
doom. To prevent that catastrophe
was the single, all-absorbing thought
in Lydia's mind. Her only hope lay in
keeping the men apart until she could
extract from Brood a promise to be
merciful, and this she intended to
accomplish if she had to go down on
her knees and grovel before the man.
"Oh. Freddy.” she cried, earnestly
"why take the chance of making a bad
matter worse?” Even as she uttered
the words she realized how stupid,
how ineffectual they were.
“It can’t be much worse.” he said
gloomily. “I am inclined to think he'd
relish a straight-out, fair and square
talk, anyhow. Moreover, I mean to
take Yvonne to task for the thing she
said—or implied last night About
you, I mean. She—”
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
RECALLED OFFICER TO DUTY
Sight of Shoulder Strap Brought to
Soldier a Realization of His
Responsibilities.
There Is a story that Lieut. Guy
Preston of the United States army
saved his men at the fight at Wound
ed Knee by remembering the senti
ment of the old French proverb:
“Nobility necessitates noble conduct.”
He was holding his men in line before
the Indians fired. Everyone was
looking for trouble of some kind, but
It was the unexpected thing that hap
pened.
The Indians were hovering about
with their blankets round them when
the signal was given by one of them,
and in an instant every buck threw
away his blanket and stood revea’-1
with a gun in his hand. The red
skins fired. They had every advan
tage of the soldiers, for they outnum
bered them and had taken them whol
ly by surprise. The soldiers ran.
They did not mean to run far, but
| they needed some sort of cover.
But Preston, looking back over his
shoulder to see If the Indians were
following, or for whatever purpose a
man looks back at a dangerous foe,
saw the strap on his shoulder and ex
perienced a shock.
It occurred to him at the instant
that he was running away with the In
signia of rank that his government
had conferred upon him; that he was,
in' a way, the representative of a great
nation, and that he ought not to run.
He stopped. Of course there was no
well-defined object in his stopping,
but when the rest of the men saw
him standing there, without cover,
and returning the fire of the Indians,
they turned back, and in five minutes
it was all over, and the Indians were
beaten.
It would have been nothing short of
a slaughter had Preston gone with the
rest, for there was no cover until the
top of the hill was reached, and that
was so distant that the Indians would
have had an easy time picking off the
men as they ran. Preston’s idea of
duty was what saved the day.—
Youth’8 Companion.
Benevolence.
My ideal of human intercourse
would be a state of things in which no
man will ever stand in need of any
other jnan's help, but will derive all
his satisfaction from the great social
tides which own no individual names.
No man can play the deity to his fel
low man with impunity—I mean spirit
ual impunity, of course. For see: If
; I am at all satisfied with that reia
tion, if it contents me to be in a posi
tion of generosity towards others, I
must be remarkably indifferent at bot
tom to the gross social inequality
which permits that position, and in
stead of resenting the enforced humili
ation of my fellow man to myself, in
the interests of humanity, I acquiesce
in it for the sake of the profit it yields
to my own self-complacency. I do
hope the reign of benevolence is over;
until that event occurs I am sure the
reign of God will be impossible.—
Henry James. Sr.
m
HH Firsi in
■■EveiyHiing
First in Quality
First in Result*
First in Purity
HHIsH First in Economy
jpSBjHj and for these reasons
jBjKiH Calumet Baking
mMM Powder is first in the
hearts of the millions
of housewives who
use it and know it.
fi&sflRw RECEIVED HIGHEST AWARDS
>*■ * World* Piro Food tefu-M*.
.11 Pori* Cpii»t!«L Fmcc. Uuck.
^OT MADE BY THE TflJ^Jg
N51SK<
VNwChicago^x^
^
I Too don’t tan Money vka yon bny ekeap or big-can I
I baking powder^ Donjt bumbled. Bay CahaaeL^It'a I
I CaJoaet it far taporior to tour silk and aodt, I
Florida Lands
ForSaleto Settlers
in tracts of ten acres and up
wards, in Volusia County,
adapted to cultivation of citrus
fruits, vegetables of all kinds
and general crops. Situation
healthful. Send for circulars.
Write in English. Railroad runs
through tract. Will sell on month
ly payments. Agents wanted.
Address
Florida Land & Settlement Co.
Care Alex. St. Ciair-Abrams, Attorney
615-19 Dyal-Upchurcb Bldg., Jacksonville. Fla.
Official Denial
No War Tax on Homestead Land in Canada
The report that a war tax is to be placed on
Homestead lands in Western Canada having
been given considerable circulation in the
United States, this is to advise all enquirers
that no such tax has beeu placed, nor is there
any intention to place a war tax of any nature
on such lauds. (Signed) W. D. Scott. Supt ot
Immigration, Ottawa,Canada, March loth, 191a
DfiTCUTO Watson E. Coleman,
| ©L I Cl* 9 Patent I-HW, er \V Ke.'vii,:’
■ ” " * ■ W D.C. Advice and books iree.
Bates reasonable. Highest references. Best services
The Generous Man.
“This paper says the ice cream con
sumption of the United States is es
timated at five quarts per capita an
nually, George," said the sweet young
thing.
"Yes, dear; I guess that's right,"
replied the young man.
“Well, bless you, George! You must
be giving me some other girl's per
capita, then.”
Important to Mothers
Examine carefully every bottle ot
CASTORLA, a safe and sure remedy for
Infants and children, and see that it
In Use For Over 30 Years.
Children Cry for Fletcher’s Castoria
Its Case.
“So Austria, they say, is going to
fight Italy partly with the spread of
:holera.”
“Yes, their attitude seems to be.
Plague take them!”'
Happy is the home where Red Cross
Sail Blue is used. Sure to please. All
trocers. Adv.
If a man refuses to be consoled his
s a hopeless case.
Have You a Bad Back?
Does your back ache night and day, mak
ing work a burden and rest Impossible 1
I)o you suffer stabbing, darting pains when
stooping or lifting? Most bad backs are
due to hidden trouble in the kidneys and
if the kidney secretions are scant or too
frequent of passage, proof of kidney trou
ble is complete. Delay may pave the way
to serious kidney ills. For bad backs and
weak kidneys, use Doan's Kidney Pills—
recommended the world over.
A Nebraska Case
A. ft
F. J. Kessel, 2209
S. l"th St.. Qmaha.
Neb., says: "My
kidneys were weak
and the secretions
scalded in passage
My back pained
me and I had rheu
matic twinges In
my knees. Doan's
Kidney Pills were
Just what I need
ed. They soon fixed
my kidneys up in
good shape and re
moved the pain.”
Gat Doan’s at Any Stars. 50c a Bo*
DOAN’S WAV
FOSTER-M1LB U RN CO.. BUFFALO. N. Y.
