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fir GEOROE DARR SCUTCHEON
ILLUSTRATIONS JH?AY WALTERS
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SYNOPSIS.
—10—
In the New York home of James Brood,
his son. Frederic, receives a wireless
from him. Frederic tells Lydia Des
mond. Ins fiancee, that the message an
nounces his father’s marriage, and orders
Mrs. Desmond, the housekeeper and
Lydia's mother, to prepare the house for
an immediate home-coming. Brood and
his bride arrive. She wins Frederic’s lik
ing at first meeting. Brood shows dislike
and veiled hostility to his son. Lydia and
M rs. Brood met in the jade-room, where
Lydia works as Brood’s secretary. Mrs.
Brood Is startled by the appearance of
Ranjab. Brood’s Hindu servant. She
makes changes in the household and gains
her husband's consent 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 Fast Indian stories and firm be
lief in magic, fears unknown evil. Ran
jab performs feats of magic for Dawes
and Riggs. Frederic’s father, jealous, un
justly orders his son from the dinner table
as drunk Brood tells the story of Kan
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 hitfi 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, and that he has
brought him up to kill his happiness at
the proper time with this knowledge.
Frederic takes Lydia home through a
heavy storm and spends the night at her
mother’s house. His wavering allegiance
to her is strengthened by a day spent
with her. Yvonne, over the phone rouses
Frederic's Infatuation for her again. Lydia
goes to beg Brood not to tell Frederic of
his unhappy parentage, but is turned from
her purpose. Frederic, at dinner with
Paw^s and Riggs, is seized with an im
pulse of filial duty, and under a queer im
pression that he is influenced by Ranjab’s
will, hurts up his father, who gives him
'be cut direct.
CHAPTER XV.
A Mother Intervenes.
Long past midnight the telephone
In the Desmond apartment rang sharp
ly. insistently. Lydia, who had just
fallen asleep, awoLe with a start and
sat bolt upright in her bed. A clammy
perspiration broke out ail over her
body. She knew there had been a
catastrophe.
She sat there chattering until she
heard her mother's door open and then
the click of the receiver as it was
lifted from the hook. Then she put
her fingers to her ears and closed her
eyes. The very worst had happened,
she was sure of it. The blow had
fallen. The only thought that seared
her brain was that she had failed him,
failed him miserably in the crisis. Oh,
If she could only reclaim that lost
hour of indecision and cowardice!
The light in the hallway suddenly
smote her in the face and she realized
for the first time that her eyes were
tightly closed as if to shut out some
abhorrent sight.
“Lydia!" Her mother was standing
In the open door “Oh, you are awake?”
Mrs. Desmond stared in amazement
at the girl's figure.
“What is it, mother? Tei! me what
has happened? Is he—”
“He wants to speak to you. He is
on the wire. I—1— His voice sounds
very queer—”
The girl sprang out of bed and hur
ried to the telephone.
“Don’t go away, mother—stay here."
she cried as she sped past the white
clad figure in the doorway Mrs. Des
mond flattened herself against the wall
and remained there as motionless as
a statue, her somber gaze fixed on her
daughter’s face.
“Yes, Frederic—it is 1—Lydia. What
Is it, dear?” Her voice was high and
thin.
His voice came jerking over the
wire, sharp and querulous. She closed
her eyes in anticipation of the blow,
her body rigid.
“i'm sorry to disturb you,” he was
saying, "but I just had to call you
up.” The words were disjointed, as
If he forced them from his lips one
by one in a supreme effort at coher
ency.
"Yes, yes—it's all right. 1 don't
mind. You did right. What is it?”
“I want you to release me from my
promise."
“Y’ou mean—the promise—but, Fred
dy, I can't release you 1 love you. 1
will be your wife, no matter what has
happened, no matter—"
"Oh. Lord, Lyddy—it isn't that! It's
the other—the promise to say nothing
to my father—”
“O—oh!" she sighed weakly, a vast
wave of relief almost suffocating her
"He has made it impossible for me
to go on without—"
“Where are you. Frederic?” she
cried, in sudden alarm
"Oh. I'm all right. I shan't go home,
you may be sure of that. Tomorrow
will be time enough ”
“Where are you? 1 must know
How can I reach you by telephone—”
“Don't be frightened, dear. It's got
to be. that's all. It might as well be
ended now as later on. The last straw
was laid on tonight. Now. don't ask
questions. I’ll see you in the morning
Good-night, sweetheart. I've—I've tdld
you that I ran t stick to my promise.
You’ll understand I couldn’t rest un
til I’d told you and heard your dear
voice. Forgive me for calling you up.
Tell your mother I'm sorry. Good
night!”
"Freddy, listen to me! You must
wait until 1—Oh!" He had hung up
the receiver. She heard the whir of
the open wire.
| There was little comfort for her
I in the hope held out by her mother
as they sat far into the night and dis
cussed the possibilities of the day so
near at hand. She could see nothing
but disaster, and she could think of
nothing but her own lamentable weak
| ness in shrinking from the encounter
| that might have made the present situ
ation impossible. She tried to make
light of the situation, however, prophe
sying a calmer attitude for Frederic
after he had slept over his grievance,
which, after all, she argued, was doubt
less exaggerated. She promised to
go with Lydia to see James Brood in
the morning, and to plead with him to
be merciful to the boy she was to
marry, no matter what transpired. The
girl at first insisted on going over to
see him that night, notwithstanding
i the hour, and was dissuaded only after
the most earnest opposition.
It was four o’clock before they went
back to bed and long after five before
either closed her eyes.
Mrs. Desmond, utterly exhausted,
was the first to awake. She glanced
at the little clock on her dressing-table
and gave a great start of consterna
tion. It was long past nine o’clock.
While she was dressing, the little maid
servant brought in her coffee and toast
and received instructions not to awak
en Miss Lydia but to let her have her
sleep out. A few minutes later she
left the apartment and walked briskly
' around the corner to Brood’s home.
.Fearing that she might be too late,
she walked so rapidly that she was
quite out of breath when she entered
the house. Mr. Riggs and Mr. Dawes
were putting on their coats in the hall
preparatory to their short morning
constitutional.. They greeted her effu
sively, and with one accord proceeded
to divest themselves of tbe coats, an
nouncing in one voice their intention
to remain for a good, old-fashioned
chat.
u s aenr oi you. sue saia, Hur
riedly. "but I must see Mr. Brood at
once. Why not come over to my
apartment this afternoon for a cup of
tea and—”
Mrs. Brood's voice interrupted her
“What do you want. Mrs. Desmond?”
came from the landing above. The
visitor looked up with a start, not so
much of surprise as uneasiness. There
was something sharp, unfriendly in the
low', level tones.
Yvonne, fully dressed—a most un
usual circumstance at that hour of the
day—was leaning over the banister
rail.
"I came to see Mr. Brood on a very
important—”
"Have you been sent over here by
someone else?” demanded Mrs. Brood.
"I have not seen Frederic,” fell from
her lips before she thought.
“I dare say you haven’t," said the
other with ominous clearness. “He
has been here since seven this morn
ing, waiting for a chance to speak to
his father in private.”
She was descending the stairs slow
ly, almost lazily, as she uttered the
remark.
“They are together now?" gasped
Mrs. Desmond.
“Will you come into the library?
Good morning, gentlemen. I trust you
may enjoy your long walk.”
Mrs. Desmond followed her into the
library. Yvonne closed the door al
most in the'face of Mr. Riggs, who
had opened his mouth to accept the
invitation to tea, but who said he’d
"be d—d” instead, so narrow was his
escape from having his nose banged.
He emphasized the declaration by
shaking his fist at the door.
The two women faced each other.
For the first time since she had know
Yvonne Brood Mrs. Desmond observed
a high touch of color in her cheeks.
Her beautiful eyes were alive with an
excitement she could not conceal Nei
ther spoke for a moment.
"You are accountable for this, Mrs.
Brood,” said Lydia Desmond’s mother,
sternly, accusingly. She expected a
storm of indignant protest. Instead.
Yvonne smiled slightly.
"It will not hurt my husband to
discover that Frederic is a man and
not a milksop,” she said, but despite
her coolness there was a perceptible
note of anxiety in her voice.
“You know, then, that they are—
that they will quarrel?”
“I fancy It was in Frederic’s mind
to do so when he came here this
morning. He was still in his evening
clothes, Mrs. Desmond.”
“Where are they now?”
“I think he has them on." said
Yvonne, lightly.
Mrs. Desmond regarded her for a
moment in perplexity. Then her eyes
flashed dangerously. “I do not think
you misunderstood me, Mrs. Brood
Where are Frederic and his father?”
“1 am not accustomed to that tone
of voice. Mrs. Desmond.”
“I am no longer your housekeeper,”
said the other, succinctly. "You do
not realize what this quarrel may
mean. I insist on going up to them
before it has gone too far.”
"Will you be so good. Mrs. Des
mond. as to leave this house instant
ly?” cried Yvonne, angrily.
“No,” said the other quietly. “I sup
pose I am too late to prevent trouble
between those two men, but 1 shall at
least remain here to assure Frederic
of my sympathy, to help him If I can,
to offer him the shelter of my home."
A spasm of alarm crossed Yvonne's
face. “Do you really believe it will
come to that?" she demanded, nerv
ously.
“If what I fear should come to pass,
he will not stay in this house another
hour. He will go forth from it, curs
ing James Brood with all the hatred
that his soul can possess. And now,
Mrs. Brood, shall I tell you what 1
think of you?”
"No, it isn’t at all necessary. Be
sides, I've changed my mind. I’d like
you to remain. I do not want to mys
tify you any further, Mrs. Desmond,
but I now confess to you that I am
losing my courage. Don’t ask me to
tell you why, but—”
“I suppose it is the custom with
those who play with fire. They shrink
when it burns them.”
Mrs. Brood looked at her steadily
for a long time without speaking. The
rebellious, sullen expression died out
of her eyes. She sighed deeply, almost
despairingly.
"I am sorry you think ill of me, yet
I cannot blame you for considering me
to be a—a—I’ll not say it. Mrs. Des
mond, I—I wish I had nevfer come t6
this house.”
“Permit me to echo your words.”
“You will never be able to under
stand me. And, after all, why should
I care? You are nothing to me. You
are merely a good woman who has
no real object in life. Y'ou—”
“No real object in life?”
“Precisely. Sit down. We will wait
here together, if you please. I—I am
worried. I think I rather like to feel
that you are here with me. You see,
the crisis has come.”
"You know, of course, that he turned
one wife out of this house, Mrs.
Brood,” said Mrs. Desmond, deliber
ately.
Something like terror leaped into
the other’s eyes. The watcher expe
rienced an incomprehensible feeling of
pity for her—she who had been despis
ing her so fiercely the instant before.
“He—he will not turn me out," mur
mured Yvonne, and suddenly began
pacing the floor, her hands clinched.
“I’d Like You to Remain.”
Stopping abruptly in front of the other
woman, she exclaimed: "He made a
great mistake in driving that other
woman out. He is not likely to repeat
it, Mrs. Desmond.”
"Yes—I think he did make a mis
take,” said Mrs. Desmond, calmly.
“But he does not think so. He is a
man of iron. He is unbending.”
“He is a wonderful man—a great,
splendid man,” cried Yvonne, fiercely.
"It is I—Yvonne Lestrange—who pro
claim it to the world. I cannot bear
to see him suffer. I—”
"Then why do you—’’
Mrs. Brood Hushed to the roots of
hec hair. "1 do not want to appear
unfair to my husband, but 1 declare
to you, Mrs. Desmond, that Frederic is
fully justified in the attitude he has
taken this morning. His father hu
miliated him last night in a manner
that made forbearance impossible.
That much I must say for Frederic.
And permit me to add, from my soul,
that he is vastly more sinned against
than sinning.” ,
"I can readily believe that. Mrs.
Brood.”
"This morning Frederic came into
the breakfast room while we were hav
ing coffee. You look surprised. Yes,
I was having breakfast with my hus
band. I knew that Frederic would
come. That was my reason. When I
heard him in the hall I sent the serv
ants out of the dining-room. He had
spent the night with a friend. His
first words on entering the room were
these—I shall never forget them: ‘Last
night I thought I loved you, father,
but I have come home just to tell you
that I hate you. I can’t stay in this
house another day. I’m going to get
out But I just wanted you to know
that I thought I loved you last night,
as a ^on should love a father. I just
wanted you to know it’ He did
not even look at me, Mrs. Desmond.
I don’t believe he knew I was there.
1 shall never forget the look in James
Brood’s face. It was as if he saw a
ghost or some horrible thing that fas
cinated him. He did not utter a word,
but stared at Frederic in that terrible,
awestruck way. ’I’m going to get out,"
said Frederic, his voice rising. ’You've
treated me like a dog all my life and
I’m through. I sha’n’t even say good
by to you. You don’t deserve any
more consideration from me than I’ve
received from you. I hope I’ll never
see you again. If I ever have a son
I'll not treat him as you’ve treated
your son. By God, you don’t deserve
the honor of being called father. You
don’t deserve to have a son. I wish
to God I had never been obliged to call
you father. I don’t know what you
did to my mother, but if you treated
her as—’ Just then my husband found
his voice. He sprang to his feet, and
I’ve never seen such a look of rage
I thought he was going to strike Fred
eric and I think I screamed—just a
little scream, of course. 1 was so ter
rified. But he only said—and it was
horrible the way he said it—‘You fool—
you bastard!’ And Frederic laughed
in his face and cried out, unafraid. ‘I’m
glad you call me a bastard! By God,
I’d rather be one than to be your son.
It would at least give me something
to be proud of—a real father.’ ”
“Good heaven!” fell from Mrs. Des
mond's white lips.
Yvonne seemed to have paused to
catch her breath. Her breast heaved
convulsively, the grip of her hands
tightened on the arms of the chair.
Suddenly she resumed her recital, but
her voice was hoarse and tremulous.
“I was terribly frightened. I thought
of calling out to Jones, but I—1 had
no voice! Ah, you have never seen two
angry men waiting to spring at each
other’s throats, Mrs. Desmond. My
husband suddenly regained control of
himself. He was very calm. ‘Come
with me,’ he said to Frederic. ‘This
is not the place to wash our filthy
family linen. You say you want some
thing to be proud of. Well, you shall
have your wish. Come to my study.’
And they went away together, neither
speaking a word to me—they did not
even glance in my direction. They
went up the stairs. 1 heard the door
close behind them—away up there
That was half an hour ago. I have
been waiting, too—waiting as you are
waiting now—to comfort Frederic
when he comes out of that room a
wreck.”
Mrs. Desmond started up, an incred
ulous look in her eyes.
“You are taking his side? You are
against your husband? Oh, now I
know the kind of woman you are. I
know—”
Peace! You do not know the kind
of woman I am. Y’ou never will know
Y'es. I shall take sides with Frederic.”
“Y’ou do not love your husband!”
A strange, unfathomable smile came
into Yvonne's face and stayed there.
Mrs. Desmond experienced the same
odd feeling she had had years ago on
first seeing the Sphinx. She was sud
denly confronted by an unsolvable
mystery.
“He shall not drive me out of his
house, Mrs. Desmond,” was her an
swer to the challenge.
A door slammed in the upper re
gions of the house. Both women start
ed to their feet.
“It Is over,” breathed Y’vonne, with
a tremulous sigh.
“YVe shall see how well they were
able to take care of themselves. Mrs.
Brood,” said Mrs. Desmond in a low
voice.
“We shall see—yes,” said the other,
mechanically. Suddenly she turned
on the tall, accusing figure beside her.
“Go away! Go now! I command
you to go. This is our affair, Mrs.
Desmond. You are not needed here.
You were too late, as you say. I beg
of you, go!” She strode swiftly
toward the door. As she was about
to place her hand on the knob it was
opened from the other side, and Ran
jab stood before them.
"Sahib begs to be excused, Mrs. Des
mond. He is just going out.”
“Going out?” cried Yvonne, who had
shrunk back into the room.
“Y’es, sahibah. Y’ou will please ex
cuse, Mrs. Desmond. He regret very
much.”
Mrs. Desmond passed slowly through
the door, which he held open for her.
As she passed by the Hindu she looked
full into his dark, expressive eyes,
and there was a question in hers. He
did not speak, but she read the answer
as if it were on a printed page. Her
shoulders drooped.
She went back to Lydia.
CHAPTER XVI.
“To My Own Sweetheart.”
When Janies Brood and Frederic
left the dining-room nearly an hcur
prior to the departure of Mrs. Des
mond, there was in the mind of each
the resolution to make short work of
the coming interview. Each knew that
the time had arrived for the parting
of the ways, and neither had the least
desire to prolong the suspense.
The study door was closed. James
Brood put his hand on the knob, but.
before turning it, faced the young man
with an odd mixture of anger and pity
in his eyes.
“Perhaps it would be better if we
had nothing more to say to each oth
er,” he said, with an effort. “I have
changed my mind. I cannot say the
thing to you that 1—”
“Has it got anything to do with
Yvonne and me?" demanded Frederic
ruthlessly, Jumping at conclusions in
his new-found arrogance
Brood threw open the door. "Step
inside,” he said in a voice-that should
have warned the younger man, it was
so prophetic of disaster. Frederic
had touched the open sore with that
unhappy question. Not until this in
stant had James Brood admitted to
himself that there was a sore and that
it had been festering all these weeks.
Now it was laid bare and smarted with
pain. Nothing could save Frederic
after that reckless, deliberate thrust
at the very core of the malignant
growth that lay so near the surface.
It had been in James Brood’s heart
to spare the boy.
Hot words were on Frederic's lips.
i
I They were alone In hla room. He
squared his shoulders.
“I suppose you think I am in love
with her,” he said defiantly. He waited
a moment for the response that did
not come. Brood was regarding him
with eyes from which every spark of
compassion had disappeared. “Well,
it may interest you to know that I' in
tend to marry Lydia this very day."
Brood advanced a few steps toward
him. In the subdued light of the room
his features were not clearly dis
tinguishable. His face was gray and
shadowy; only the eyes were sharply
defined. They glowed like points of
light, unflickering.
“I sliail be sorry for Lydia.” he said
levelly.
“You needn’t be,” said Frederic hot
ly. “She understands everything.”
“Have you told her that you love her
and no one else?”
"Certainly!”
“Then you have lied to her.”
There was silence—tense silence.
“Do you expect me to strike you for
that?" came at last from Frederic’s
lips, low and menacing.
“You have always considered your
self to be my son, haven’t you?” pur
sued Brood deliberately. “Can you say
to me that you have behaved of late as
a son should—”
“Wait! We’ll settle that point right
now. I did lose my head. Head, I say,
not heart. I shan’t attempt to explain
—I can’t, for that matter. As for
Yvonne—well, she’s as good as gold.
She understands me better than I un
derstand myself. She knows that even
honest men lose their heads some
times. I can say to you now that I
would sooner have cut my own throat j
than to do more than envy you the |
possession of one you do not de- j
serve. I have considered myself
your son. I have no apology to make j
for my—we’ll call it infatuation. I j
shall only admit that it has existed
and that I have despaired. As God is
my witness, I have never loved any
one but Lydia. 1 have given her pain, j
and the amazing part of it is that I
can’t help myself. Naturally, you can’t j
understand what it all means. You are j
not a young man any longer. You j
cannot understand.”
Good Gou: burst from Brood s lips.
Then he laughed aloud—grotesquely.
"Yvonne is the most wonderful thing
that has ever come into my life. I
adored her the instant I saw her. I
have felt sometimes that I knew her a
thousand years ago. 1 have felt that
I loved her a thousand years ago.” A
calm seriousness now attended his
speech, in direct contrast to the violent
mood that had gone before. “I have
thought of little else but her. I con
fess it to you. But through it all there
has never been an instant in which I
did not worship Lydia Desmond. 1—
I do not pretend to account for it. It
is beyond me.”
Brood waited patiently to the end.
“Your mother before you had a some
what similar affliction.” he said, still
in the steady, repressed voice. “Per
haps it is a gift—a convenient gift—
this ability to worship without effort.”
“Better leave my mother out of it,”
said Frederic sarcastically. A look of
wonder leaped to his eyes "That’s
the first time you’ve condescended to
acknowledge that I ever had a
mother.”
Brood's smile was deadly. .“If you
have anything more to say to me, you
would better get it over with. Purge
your soul of all the gall that embitters
it. I grant you that privilege. Take i
your innings.”
A spasm of pain crossed Frederic's
face. “Yes, I am entitled to my in
nings. I’ll go back to what I said down
stairs. I thought I loved and honored
you last night. I would have forgiven
everything if you had granted me a
friendly—friendly, that’s all—just a
friendly word. You denied—”
"I suppose you want me to believe
that it was love for me that brought
you slinking to the theater,” said the
other ironically
“1 don’t expect you to believe any- I
thing. 1 was lonely. I wanted to be
with you and Yvonne. Can’t you un
derstand how lonely 1 ve Been all my
life? Can't you understand how hun-!
grv I am for tlie_ affection that every I
other boy I’ve known has had from his
parents? I've never asked you about
my mother. 1 used to wonder a good I
deal. Every other boy had a mother. 1
never had one. I couldn’t understand.
1 no longer wonder. I know now that
she must have hated you with all the
strength of her soul. God, how she j
must have hated to feel the touch of j
your hands upon her body! Something i
tells me she left you. and if she did. I |
hope she afterwards found someone
who—but no, 1 won't say it. Even now
I haven’t the heart to hurt you by say
ing that ” He stopped, choking up
with the rush of bitter words. ‘'Well,
why don't you say something?”
“I'm giving you your innings. Go j
on?" said Brood softly.
“She must have loved you once—or :
she wouldn't have married you. She j
must have loved you or I wouldn’t be I
here in this world. She—”
“Ha!" came sharply from Brood's !
stiff lips.
“—didn't find you out until it was
too late. She was lovely, I know. She
was sweet and gentle and she loved
happiness. I can see that in her face,
in her big. wistful eyes. You—”
“What's this?" demanded Brood,
startled. "What are you saying?"
“Oh, I've got her portrait—an old
photograph. For a month I've carried
it here in this pocket-case, over my
heart I wouldn’t part with it for all
the money in the world. When 1 look
at the dear, sweet, girlish face and her
eyes look back into mine, 1 know that
she loved me."
"Her portrait?” said Brood, unbe
lieving.
“Yes—and I have only to look at it
to know that she couldn’t have hurt
you—so it must have Deen the other
way ’round. She’s dead now, I know,
but she didn't die for years after I was
born. Why was it that I never saw
her? Why was I kept up there in that
damnable village—”
“Where did you get that photo
graph?" demanded Brood hoarsely.
"Where, I say! What damned, inter
fering fool—”
"I wouldn't be too hasty, if I were
you,” said Frederic, a note of triumph
in his voice. "Yvonne gave it to me. I
made her promise to say nothing to
you about it. She—”
“Yvonne found it? Yvonne? And
gave it to you? What trick of fate is
this? But—ah, it may not be a por
trait of your—your mother. Some old
photograph—”
“No, it is my mother. Yvonne saw
the resemblance at once and brought
it to me. And it may interest you to
know that she advised me to treasure
K all my life because it would always
tell me how lovely and sweet my moth
er was—the mother 1 have never
seen.”
"I insist on seeing that picture,"
said Brood, with deadly intensity
"No," said Frederic, folding his
arms tightly across his breast. "You
didn't deserve her then and you—”
"You don’t know what you are say
ing, boy!"
"Ah, don't 1? Well, I've got just a lit
tle bit of my mother safe here over
my heart—a little faded card, that's all
—and you shall not rob me of that.
Last night I was sorry for you. I had
the feeling that somehow you have al
ways been unhappy over something
that happened in the past that my
mother was responsible for. And yet
when I took out this photograph, this
tiny bit of old cardboard—see, it is so
small that it can be carried in my
waistcoat pocket—when 1 took it out
and looked at the pure, lovely face. I—
I III I; , .
I ..
“I Shall Be Sorry for Lydia," He Said
Levelly.
by heaven. I knew she was not to
blame "
"Have you finished?” asked Brood,
wiping his brow. It was dripping
"Except to repeat that I am through
with you forever. I’ve had all that I
can endure and I'm through. My great
est regret is that I didn't get out
long ago. But like a fool—a weak fool,
I kept on hoping that you’d change
and that there were better days ahead
for me I kept on hoping that you'd
be a real father to me. Good Lord,
what a libel on the name!’ He
laughed raucously. “I'm sick of calling
you father. You did me an honor
downstairs by calling me 'bastard.'
You had no right to call me that, but,
by heaven, if it were not for tins bit
of cardboard here over my heart. I'd
laugh in your face and be happy to
shout front the housetops i that I am
no son of yours. But there's no sucli
luck as that! I've only to look at my
mother's innocent, soulful face to—"
"Stop!" shouted Brood in an awful
voice. His clenched hands were raised
above his head. "The time has come
for me to tell you the truth about this
innocent mother of yours Luck is
with you I am not your father You
are—"
' "Wait! If you are going to tell me
that my mother was not a good wom
an. I want to go on record in advance
of anything you may say, as being
glad that I am her son no matter who
my father was. I am glad that she
loved me because 1 was her child, and
if you are not my father then 1 still
have the joy.of knowing that she loved
some one man well euough to—” He
broke off the bitter sentence and with
nervous fingers drew a small leather
case from his waistcoat pocket. “Be
fore you go any farther, take one look
at her face. It will make you
ashamed of yourself. Can you stand
there and lie about her after looking
into—"
He was holding the window curtains
apart, and a stream of light fell upon
the lovely face, so small that Brood
was obliged to come quite close to be
able to see it. His eyes were dis
tended.
"It is not Matilde—It is like ber
but— Yes, yes. it is Matilde! I must
be losing my mind to have thought—"
He wiped his brow. “But. good God. it
was startling—positively uncanny." He
spoke as to himself, apparently forget
ting that he had a listener.
"Well, can you lie about her now?"
demanded Frederic.
Brood was still staring as if fas
^inated at the tiny photograph. “But
[ have never seen that picture before
She never had one so small as that
:t—’"
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
WHY DOG’S NOSE IS *COLD
Being Crowded Out of the Ark lc a
Pretty Story, but Not Science’*
Explanation.
When your faithful old dog pokes
his Dose into your hand, even your af
fection cannot prevent a little shiver,
because the nose is so cold Why is
it? When the body of a dog is so
warm, why should this one spot be dif
ferent froh) all the rest of him?
•1 he old fable tells us that when
j Noah tried to get all the animals Into
I the ark some of them were trouble
i some, and he had to get a dog to help
i him drive them in. Because of this
the dog was the last to enter the ark.
There was no room left, so he had to
stand in the doorway with his nose
, outside in the wet, and it has never
been warm since
Science gives quite another explana
tion of the matter. The coldness of a
dog’s nose is, it says, due to the fact
that it must be kept moist all the
time in order to sharpen his sense of
smell. And, of course, as the mois
ture is evaporating all the time, it
keeps his nose cold.
A dog depends a great deal on his
powers of smell, especially in the wild
state, and it is because of his keen
ness of scent that he is valuable to
man for hunting purposes. In addi
tion to the olfactory or smelling
nerves inside a dog’s nostrils, the
whole black membrane around the
nose is very sensitive, but this sensi
tiveness can only be retained by mois
ture. Thus It is that when a dog's
nose is dry and warm be is ill and
needs doctoring.
Oh, Ye Good Old Times.
That the big New York hotels are
not homelike or comfortable Is the
plaint of a western Pennsylvania man
who makes frequent trips to New
York. “I suppose this is New York’s
idea of what a regular hotel ought to
be like,” said the visitor as he looked
disdainfully about the gold and gilt
trimmings of the music room at the
Waldorf-Astoria. "But let me tell you
there are a lot of things missing right
here. Where are the big. comfortable
chairs ? fellow can sit in while he
rests his feet on the brass rail and
looks through a big plate glass win
dow at the crowd passing on the
street? Maybe you think your regu
lar hotel dweller doesn t miss that
window, but you’re wrong. And these
steam radiators, all gilt and silver or
bronze or whatever color they happen
to be. Suppose you think they make
a feHow who is a thousand miles from
home feel so comfortable and home
like as the old round iron stoves that
used to decorate every hotel lobby?
No sir-e-e. Give me the old-fashioned
hotels every time.”—New York Times.
Rastus’ Hope.
Mandy—What foh yo' been goin’ to
de post office so reg'lar? Are you cor
responding wtf some other female?
Rastus—Nope, but since Ah been a
readiu’ in de papers 'bout dese “con
science funds” Ah kinc of thought Ah
might possibly git a lettah from dat
ministah what married us.
POPULARITY OF
BASE BALL
Base ball has grown to gigantic propor
tions within the last decade and the scien
tific work of the teams has been the delight
of millions of spectators. There are so
many things to admire in the game *Jm( it
is impossible to describe them. Outdoor
exercise is one of Nature’s best auis in pro
moting health and strength and keeping the
blood rich and pure; but, perhaps >ou are
one of the many w ho are denied tbat privi
lege. You lead a sedentary life which al
ways has a tendency to make the liver lazy,
the bowels clogged and digestion poor.
Oftentimes you are nervous, sleepless, have
no appetite and feel run down.
Under these conditions 70U will greatly
appreciate the assistance to lie derived from
a trial of Hostetter's Stomach Bitters. It
helps Nature by toning and strengthening
the Stomach, Liver and Bowels, and with
these organs in a normal condition tour
system is well fortified against an .- ttack of
Sick Headache, Heartburn, Indigestion.
Cramps. Constipation, Biliousness or Ma
laria, Fever or Ague.
Always take good care of you- health
and you will be well repaid, while care
lessness only brings suffering and distress
Let Hostetter’s Stomach Bitters help you
to maintain your health.
A Soluble Antiseptic Powder to
be dissolved in water as needed
For Douches
la the local treatment of woman’s ills,
sncli as leucorrhoea ami inflammation, hot
douches of Paxtine aro very efficacious.
No woman who has ever used medicated
douches will fail to appreciate the (dean ar d
healthy condition Paxtine produces and the
prompt relief from soreness and discomfort
which follows its use.This is because Paxtine
{assesses superior cleansing, disinfect
ug and healing properties.
For ten years the Lvdia E.
Pinkhain Medicine Co. has rec
ommended Paxtine in their
private correspondence with wo
men', which proves its superi
ority. Women who have been
relieved say it is “ worth its
weight in gold.” At druggists.
60c. large box or hv mail. Sample free.
The Paxton Toilet Co., Boston, Mass.
There are lots of dogs that are bet
ter bred than their owners.
Drink Denison’s Coffee.
Always pure and delicious.
A reasonable woman is one who
isn't unreasonable all the time.
OVERWORK and KIDNEY TROUBLE
Mr. James McDaniel, Oaklej, Kjr.,
writes: “I overworked and strained
myself, which brought on Kidney and
Bladder Disease. My symptoms were
Backache and burning
in tne stem of the mad
der, which was nore
and had a constant
hurting all the time—
broken sleep, tired feel
ing, nervousness, puff
ed and swollen eyes.
'll'- snortnessot breath and
J. McDaniel. Rheumatic pains. 1 suf
fered ten months. I was treated by a
physician, but found no relief until 1
started to use Dodd's Kidney Pills, I
now feel that I am permanently cured
by the use of Dodd's Kidney Pills.”
Dodd's Kidney Pills, 50c. per box at
your dealer or Dodd's Medicine Co.,
Buffalo, N. Y. Write for Household
Hints, also music of National Anthem
(English and German wordsi and re
cipes for dainty dishes. All 3 sent
free.—Adr.
Safe.
”f write for posterity.”
*'Gov.»d idea. Posterity can’t throw
brieat you if it doesn't like your
stuff.”
Why send
your money
away for'
bargain
roofing” when you can
get the best roofing at a rea
sonable price of your own local
dealer whom you know?
Buy materials that last
Certain-teed
Roofing „
is guaranteed in writing 5 years for
1-ply, 10 years for 2-ply, and 15 years
for 3-ply, and the responsibility of
our big mills stands behind this guar
antee. Its quality is the highest and
its price the most reasonable.
General Roofing Manufacturing Co.
! World’s largest manufacturers of Roofing
and Building Papers
N.w York Cite Bottoa rkictxo Fitaknivk
Philadelphia AtUaU Cleveland Drtre*
St. Unit Cincinnati Kansas Cite M...._r.
Su Frnacuen Senttie Landno Hunlnrc Sydney
VISIT
California's
Expositions
via
Northern Pacific Ry
and Great Northern Pacific
S. S. Co.
bow Round Trip Fares Dally
rhroufh trains from Chicago. St. Lout*
8 Clty, 10 Sound, the
Mediterranean of America."
Slop Off at
Yellowstone National Park
vi? Gardiner Gateway and Northern
Pacific Ry. for a tour of America’s only G«*v
serland and Nature’s own World’s Expc«ition
“corted toun* A0 «“<* through the
Park during season-June 15 to Sept. 15.
\S^V7 A. M. CLEI.AND,
Nebraska Directory
thepaxtop^
Rooms fSjmtrWnw.fwT'J ElR0PE*N W-A*
f. . ‘ ™ l*-00 “P single, 75 cents up double.
CAFE prices reasonable