THE HILLMAN
By E. PHILLIPS OPPENHEIM
JOHN HEARS MYSTERIOUS PHRASES WHICH TROUBLE
hiM WITH GRAVE DOUBTS ABOUT LOUISE—AT TIMES
HE WISHES HE WERE BACK IN THE HILLS.
Syncps ..—!. • 5i :•«•!. failcurs actress, making a motor tour of
rurt : j; _ . : ' i. v 11*'ti iier ■ :ir broke down, to spend the
■ ;!,♦ ; r . r 1 ;■ <•; Stephen and .John Strungewey, bachelor
• t! < ri •: ! district. Hefore she left the next day
» . I . • •■! John Thro in- nths later he went to London and
■. •• hit * to her friend*, among them Graillot.
r , ■ -.n.l Sophy Goranl. a light-hearted little actress. John.
f . 1 » x i. <-ti!ered the gay iMihcmian life of tlie city with
, . .. p .. . a . • i tii. t John and the prince of Scyre were
r,* j. for 'he Je irt Mid hand of Louise. Sophy also loved John
... -'r. I • . f: ■ ■■• ; ■ ejoioe John Into evil ways by sending
fa. ,:mt"• u .-n *.« charm and bedevil him.
CHAPTER XIV—Continued.
-<* , - *' Maur»-i
tii. ? -a 1. / o»t. . fri--' •!. S>'i-liy <■»•
rT.r . . » . • • .. -in." John re
|4ird. “I h .v. I.-.tight a Baedeker,
’iik*-u a ':.v . • !*> the 'lay. and done
all the *.gV*. I’ve *j»-nt v«-eks in the
iCatfota-.l g:i ry |-inure gn'.iti*. and
l ir •!. *♦■ more modern *!»>»»
.:j> r -und Bond street. 1 hate l«>ught a
tig . .ir aii i <•. r:.- -1 to driv.- it. I
• • .-n to dinner i<arti«-s that have
rstred r . stiff. I ha'- - l“«-n introduced
111 <r-*- d* •: • ;-le W In*-Til i never wish
«o *• a;: i'i Tel made one or two
'neii. " ti. i.-i-h d. at g at L:* gu>"t.
:--r u 1 :I a:n j>rojs-riy grate
tuL”
“The i-r i.-e ha* tie.-ti showing you
round a hit -n't he?" Grail!-*: grurl
ed.
“Th- j-riT e I.:-.* t»-en extraordinarily
ktad tne.” J hn adt itted slowly,
•for a. ■ r». * <i 1 don't know. He
has ;ufr- i . * 1 t:.e to a great many
pirns;: tit i nr '-resting people. and a
great .> v S. ta I suppose a young
■'There I* No Socret About It. It is
Leu se Waurel."
man m i: -. • i -L u!d t — glad to
i*. Il»- La» n.e i*iii- siile of
1*mj ' *n f. prey tie-rougl. y."
"And !ia' a!- it all: ' liraillot
demanded. *'V u find yourself soiue
thing more of a citizen of the world,
•to"
*N-4 a lilt." John answered simply.
’Yh* tn I **••• of the life up here.
ti»- smaller it >• as t < Uu . I m-au, of
urs. the ord. .ary life of pleasure,
tii' life la* lived Ly a young man
iike ray—-If. «L hasn’t any profession
or work upon h; h he can concen
trate hi* droughts.”
Then why do yon stay?"
J 1. • r« ply. In
stead. he wa! t the window of his
«f:ng r »»in and stood looking across
th" Thauw - vith a discontented frown
ujshi hi- face. IP tween him and the
Fri-erkan a eunous friendship had
sprung up dur!’ g the last few months.
“1 gather lira!Hot continu-sl. "Ihat,
to I ’it c. mi- ,nd truthfully, you
are he most hm ! man in London.
Th. - m. th, rig t -hind all ibis ef
fort of _ "ur*. it.;, fri.-nd. to lit your
self. th.- round li'i' ; in being, into tin
; qua re place. Speak the truth, now!
Tr< ar m* as a father confessor.”
John swung round ut»m his heel. In
1h»- < !. ar iiglit it was obvious that hi
was a little thinner in tae face am!
that hliflk* of tl»- tan liad gone from lii*
CMBph-UoU.
“I an. staying up le-re. and going on
vlth it." he iintc :uosl doggedly. “be
{_us»- of a woman.”
• irmliot s-opp. | eating. placed tin
. -t : ius of Ins rake in ih«- saucer of hi;
a*a'Up. tun*. : Then In
.J*-tl<-d his III * to sjie;:k jmd aliniptl]
dosi-i them. IL- n - 'lddeuly under
went . i. ek’.t. m.iry change. A few
SMands ago L. attitude bad heen thai
of a prof-ssiir . \.itaiuing some favoriti
object of vuey u..w a more persona
;. Ce had htunm iz-sl h* eX|ircs*ioU
Whatever thougl : or red • -!ion it vva:
•Put had .-otne . hi> mind. it hai
{.tidily starttod bin..
“W ho i- the v\ i: n?" lie ilskis
breathlessly.
-Tii.rc is in. secret about It. so fa
sa I aoi cots, rued.' J diu answered
“It Is Louise Maurel. 1 thought yol
uuft have foessed."
The two men looked at each othe
In silence for some moments. Out oi
t»>e river a little tug was hooting via
oft)BSjj The mar of the Strand caim
fctwtly into the mein On the mantel
piece a very ornate i reach clock wa
ticking Ugidly- A l ,l“ sound
heenie.1 suddenly a< . n.uated. The;
teat time to a silence almost trogicu
j
J
--—
I ton many plays, and the dramatic in
stinct was strongly developed in him.
■ I.ouis, y he mm tired under his
breath.
"She is very different. I know." John
went on. after a moment's hesitation.
“She is very clever and a great artist,
and she lives in an atmosphere of
which, a few months ago. 1 knew noth
ing. 1 have come up here to try to
’Hi ;• rstand. to try to get a little nearer
| to her."
Tle re wa« raothe,- silence, this time
almost an awkward one. Then Grail- j
lot rose suddenly to his feet.
' I will resp. ot your confidence.” he
promised, holding out his hand.
“Have no fear of that. I aiu due now
at the theater. Your tea is excellent,
ai l 'U. h little cakes I never tasted be
fore.”
“You will wish me good luck?”
-No!"
“Why not?” John demanded, a little
startled.
"I’ei use," Graillot pronounced,
"from what I have seen and know of
j you l«'th, there are no two people in
: ' wori ! less suitable for each other.”
"Look here." John expostulated, “1
. n't want >ou to go away thinking so.
V : don't understand what this means
to me.”
I'erhaps not. my friend. Gniillot :
re|4led. “hut remeiiiher that it is at
least my trade t<> understand men and
! women. I have known Louise Muu
rel since she was a child.”
"Then it is I whom you don't nn
I dcrstand.”
"That may he so”GrailInt confessed.
”< >ne makes mistakes. Let us leave
t at that. You are a young man of
undeveloped t»* .peramont. You may
I t»- capable of much which at present
I do not find in you.”
“Tell me the one quality in which
v..u consider me most lacking.” John
he-.-g.-d, “I want you on my side. Grail
lot.”
“Aral I." Gruiilot repin'd, ns he shook
las friend's hand and hurried off.
" 'ant only to be on the side that will
mean happiness for you both.”
II • left tlie room a little abruptly.
John walked buck to the window, op- ;
1 es-.-d with a sense of something
' almost one nous In the Frenchman's
mu r. something which lie could not
against which lie struggled in
vain. Side by side with it. there
surged into hi' memory tin* disquie
t- ,. which his present relations with;
i. ." had developed. She was always |
• chancing when -lie laid any time to
-pai-sometimes almost affectionate.;
'in tlie other hand, lie was profoundly
•otiscious of her desire to keep him
at arm's length for tlie present.
He had aeeepted tier decision witli
1 out a murmur. He made but few ef
forts to see tier alone, and when they
met lie made no special claim upon
tier notice. He was serving his appren
ticeship doggedly and faithfully. Y'et
•here were times like the present when
he found his task both hateful and dif
i fictilt.
He walked aimlessly backward and
, forward, eluding against the restraint
' <>f the narrow walls and the low ceil
ing. A sudden desire had seized him
i to fly hack to the hills, wreathed in
mist though they might lie; to struggle
on his way through the blinding rain,
to drink down long gulps of his own
purer. |es- djvilized atmosphere.
Tin- telephone hell rang. He placed
the ..iver to his ear almost me
chanically.
"Who is it?” ho asked.
“Lady Hilda Mulloch is asking for
you. sir.” the hall porter announced.
Lady Hilda peered around John’s
; ro..ni through her lorgnette, and did
not hesitate to express her dissatisfac
tion.
"My dear man.” she exclaimed,
“what makes you live in a hotel? Why
don't you take rooms of your own and
furnish them? Surroundings like these
are destructive to one's individuality.”
“Well, you see,” John explained, as
he drew an easy chair up to the fire
for his guest, “mv stay in London is
only u temporary one, and it hasn’t
seemed worth while to settle any
where.”
Slo- stretched out her graceful body
in front of the fire and raised her veil.
I She was very smartly dressed, as usual.
Her white silk stockings, which she
I seemed to have no objection to dis
playing, were of the latest vogue. The
. chinchilla around her neck and in her
j little toque was most becoming. She
i ] seemed to bring with her an atmos
phere Indefinable, In its way, hut dis
. tinetly attractive, llrisk In her speech,
, a little commanding in her manner, she
was still essentially feminine.
. John, at her direct invitation, had
railed upon her once or twice since
i their meeting at the opera, and he had
; found her, from the first, more at
’ tractive than any other society woman
l of his acquaintance. None the less, he
was a little taken aback at her pres
l ent visit.
"Exactly why are you here, any
Ihav?” sin* <U*uiaiide<l. **I let*! sure mat
Eugene told me the reason which lmd
brought you from your wilds, but I
have forgotten it.”
“For one thing.” John replied, “I
have come because I don't want to ap
pear prejudiced, and the fact that 1
never spent a month in London, or even
a week, seemed a little narrow-mind
ed.”
"What’s the real attraction?" Lady
Hilda asked. “It is a woman, isn’t it?"
"I am very fond of a woman who
is in London.” John admitted. “Per
haps it is true that I am here on her
account.”
Lady Hilda withdrew from her muff
a gold cigarette case and a Uttle box of
matches.
“Order some mixed vermouth with
lemon for me. please.” she begged. "I
have been shopping, and I hate tea.
I don't know why I came to see you.
I suddenly thought of it when I was
in Bond street.”
"It was very kind of you.” John said.
“If I had known that you cared about
seeing me. I would have come to you
with pleasure.”
"What does it matter?” she an
swered. “You are thinking, perhaps,
that I risk my reputation in coming to
a young man's rooms? Those things
do not count for me. Ever since 1
was a child I have done exactly as I
liked, and people have shrugged their
shoulders and said. ‘ Mi. well, it is
only Lady Hilda!’ 1 am quite con
vinced tlint if I chose to take you olf
to Monte Carlo with me next week
and spend a month with you there, I
should get my pass to the royal inclo
sure at Ascot when I returned, and my
invitation to the next court ball, even
in this era of starch. You see. they
would say. ’It is only Lady Hilda!’”
The waiter brought the vermouth,
which his visitor sipped contentedly.
“So there is a woman, is there?’’ she
went on, looking across the room at her
companion. “Have you committed
yourself already, then? IVm’t you re
member what I told you the lirst night
we met after the opera—that it is
well to wait?”
“Yes. I remember,” John admitted.
“I meant it.”
He laughed good-humoredly, yet not
without some trace of self-conscious
ness.
"The mischief was done then.” he
said.
“Couldn’t it be undone?” she asked
lazily. “Or are you one of those tedi
ous people who are faithful forever?
Fidelity,” she continued, knocking the
asli from her cigarette, “is really, to
my mind, the most bourgeois of vices.
It comes from n want of elasticity in
the emotional fillers. Nothing in life
has bored me so much ns the faith
fulness of my lovers.”
“You ought to’ put all this into one
of your bonk-.” John suggested.
"I probably shall, when I write my
reminiscences." she replied. “Tell ine
about this woman. And don’t stand
about in that restless way at the other
end of the room. Bring n chair close
to mi-—there, close to my side!"
John obeyed, and his visitor contem
plated him thoughtfully through a
little cloud of tobacco smoke.
“Yes." she decided, “there is no use
denying it. You are hatefully good
looking. and somehow or other I think
your clothes have improved you. You.
have a little more air than when you
first came to town. Are you quite sure
that you haven’t made up your mind
about this woman in a hurry?”
“Quite sure." John laughed. “I sup
pose 1 am rather an idiot, but I am
addicted to the vice of which you were
speaking.”
She nodded.
“I should imagine,” she said, “that
you were not an adept in the art of
flirtation. Is it true that the woman
is Louise Maurel?”
“Quite true.” John replied.
“But don’t you know—”
She broke off abruptly. She saw the
face of the man by her side suddenly
change, and her instinct warned her
of the danger into which she was rush
ing.
"You surprise me very much,” she
said. “Louise Maurel ts a very won
derful woman, but she seems to spend
the whole of her time with my cousin,
the prince.”
“They are, without doubt, very
friendly,” John assented. “They have
a good many interests In common, and
tlic prince is connected with the syn
dicate which finances the theater. I
do not imagine, however, that the
prince wishes to marry her, or she
him."
Lady Hilda began to laugh, softly,
but as if genuinely amused. John sat
and watched her In ominous silence.
Not the flicker of a smile parted his
lips. His visitor, however, was undis
turbed. She leaned over and patted
his hand.
“Simple Simon!” she murmured,
leaning a little toward him. “If you
go on looking like that, I shall pat
your cheeks, too. You are really much
too nice looking to wear such thun
der clouds!”
“Perhaps if we chose some other
subject of conversation—” John said
stiffly.
“ttli, dear me!” she interrupted.
“Very well! You really tire a most
trying person, you know. I put up with
a great deal from you.”
John was silent. Her face darkened
a little, and an angry light flashed
in her eyes.
“Well, I’ll leave you alone if you
like,” she decided, tossing her cigarette
into the grate. "If my friendship isn’t
worth having, let U go. It hasn’t
often been offered in vain. There are
l^ore men in London than I could count
who would go down on their kuees tor
such a visit as I am paying you. And
you—you," she added, with a Uttle
tremble of real anger in her tone,
“you're too hatefully polite and prig
gish! Come and ring the bell for the
lift. I am going!”
She slid gracefully to her feet, shook
the cigarette ash front her clothes, aud
picked up her muff.
“You are really an egregious, thick
headed, obstinate countryman,” she de
clared. as she moved toward the door.
“You haven’t either manners or sensi
bility. I am a perfect idiot to waste
my time upon you. I wouldn’t have
done it," she added, as he followed her
dumbly down the corridor, "if I hadn't
rather lilted you!”
“I am very sorry.” he declared. “I
don’t know quite what I have done. I
do appreciate your friendship. You
have been very kind to me indeed.”
She hesitated as his finger touched
the bell of the lift, and glanced at
the watch on her wrist. She sighed,
and watched the top of the lift as it
came up. Then she dropped her veil.
CHAPTER XV.
“This Is very nearly tny idea of per
fect happiness,” Sophy murmured, as
she leaned across tin- table and listened
idly while John ordered the dinner.
“Give me very little to eat. John, and
talk a great deal to me. I am de
pressed about myself and worried
about everything!"
“And I." he declared, “am just begin
ning to breathe again. I don't think I
understand women. Sophy.”
“Wasn't your week-end party a suc
cess?" she asked.
“Not altogether." he confessed; “hut
don’t let’s talk about it. Tell me what i
is depressing you."
“About myself, or things generally?"
“Yourself first."
“Well, the most respectable young
man you ever knew in your life, who
lives in Hath, wants me to marry him.
I don't think I could. I don't think I
could live in Bath, and I don't think
I could marry anyone. And I've just
thirteen shillings and fourpence left.
I haven't paid my rent, and my dress
maker is calling for something on
account on Monday morning."
"There’s only one thing to answer i
to that,” John insisted cheerfully. “I
am going to lend y ui fifty pounds while
you make your mind up about the
young man.”
She made a fac< at him.
“I couldn’t borrow money from a
strange gentleman." she protested.
"Rubbish!” he exclaimed. “If you
begin calling me a stranger—but there,
never mind! We'll about that din
ner. Tell me more about your love af
fair. Sophy.”
“It isn’t a love affair at all!” she ex
claimed. almost indignantly.
“Why, I am sorry. Your prospective
alliance, then, shall I call it?"
“Oh, it isn't interesting,” she said.
“It’s just a young man in Bath. He
is a lawyer and moderately well off.
He has wanted me to marry him for
years. He was a friend of my broth
er's. Lately he has been bothering a
little more than usual—in fact. I sup
pose I have received what might be
called an ultimatum. He came up yes
terday. and 1 went out with him last
night. He has gone hack to Bath this
morning, anti I have promised to let
him know in a month. 1 think that is
why I went out to Waterloo bridge in
a mackintosh and got wet.”
“Do you like him?" John asked prac
tically.
“1 like him. I suppose." Sophy sighed.
“That's the worst of it. If I didn't like
him, there might he some chance. I
can't realize myself ever doing more
than liking him in a mild sort of way;
and if lie expected more, as of course
he would, then I should probably hate
him. He tried to kiss me on the way
to the station, and T nearly scratched
him. That isn't like me, you know. I
rather like being kissed sometimes.*’
John huri**d himself in the wine-list.
“Well." he admitted, “it d<>esn't
sound very hopeful. I'm no sort of
judge in these matters, hut I have
heard lots of people say that one gets
on all right after marriage without car
ing very much before. You don’t seem
to have a very comfortable life now,
do you?"
“Comfortable? No. but I am free.”
Sophy replied quickly. “I can come in
and go out when I please, choose my
;■ ii v '
“You Really Are an Egregious, Thick
Headed, Obstinate Country Man "
j own friends. It’s rather fine to be
here, you know—to be in the atmos
phere, even if the limelight misses
j one.”
John sighed, and regarded her
] thoughtfully. “You're a queer little
girl Sophy,” he said. “I don’t know
how to advise you.”
“Of course you don’t," site answered.
“Xo one could. As for you. I suppose
you will marry Louise. What will hap
pen to you after that. I don't know.
Perhaps I sha'n’t care so much about
London then. You’ve made it very nice
for me, you know.”
“You've made it bearable even for
me,” he told her. ”1 often think how
lonely I should have been without you
to talk to. Louise sometimes is de
lightfully companionable, and kind
enough to turn one's head. Other days
I scarcely understand her; everything
we say to one another seems wrong.
I eouie away and leave her simply be
cause I feel that there is a wall be
tween us that I can't get over.”
“There Isn’t really.” Sophy sighed.
“Louise is a dear. Considering every
thing. I think she is wonderful. But
you are utterly different. She is very
complex, very emotional, and she has
h- r own standards of life. You, on the
other hand, are very simple, very faith
ful and honest, and you accept the
standards which have been made for
you—very, very rigidly, John. What
are you looking at?”
John’s whole expression had sudden
ly changed. Ilis eyes were fixed upon
the door, his face was stern as a grau
Ite Mock. Sophy turned quickly
around. The mPitre d’hotel. with an
other satellite in his rear, was welcom
ing with much ceremony two lately ad
rived guests. Sophy clutched at the
tablecloth. The newcomers were Lou
ise and the prince of Seyre.
"I don’t understand this!" John mut
t< red. his lips twitching.
Sophy Gerard said nothing. Her
cheeks were pink with excitement.
Suddenly Louise saw John ami So
phy. She stood quite still for a mo
ment ; then she came toward them,
slowly ami a little languidly. The
prince was st!" studying through his
ejeglass the various tables which the
head waiter was offering for his con
sideration.
“What an astonishing meeting!”
Louise remark d. as she laid her hand
for a montei,: on Sophy's shoulder.
“What is going on behind my back?”
John rose very slowly to his feet. He
se.-med taller than ever, and Louise's
smile remained unanswered.
' The rain broke up my week-end
party.” he exp ined. “ami I met Sophy
in rhe Strand. In any ease. I intended
returning tonight. I understood thut
you would not e here until tomorrow
about eleven o’e -ek.
' Those were my plans." Louise re
plied ; "But. as you see. other things
have intervened. Our little house
party, too, was hr* ken up by this abom
inable weather. a;d we all motored up
to town. The Faradays have gone!
home. The primv heard from Miics
that I was at h me. and telephoned
nit' to dine. Me v.;**i!"
John was strugg ing with a crowd of
hateful thoughts. Louise was wearing
a wonderful gown: her hair was beau- |
tifully arranged; >he had the air of
a woman whose toilet was complete !
and perfect down to the slightest de
tail. The prince's slow drawl reached ’■
them distinctly.
"It was my servant's fault. I sup
pose." he ssiid. “I old him to ring up
hist night and ord< • the table for two
in that corner. II.* ever, we will take!
the vacant one near your desk."
He looked around and. as if for the
first time, missed I.ouise. He came
toward them at once.
"The prince seems to have ordered
his table last night," .T**hn remarked,
his tone, even to himself, sounding
queer and strained.
Louise made no reply. The prince
was already shaking hands with Sophy.
"I thought you were spending the
week-end with my cousin. Strange
wev.” he remarked, turning to John.
“We did spend part of it together,”
John replied. “The weather drove us
hack this afternoon.”
“I congratulate you both on j-our
good taste." said the prince. “There is
nothing more abominable than a river
side retreat out of season. We are tak
ing the table on the left. Louise."
He led her away, and they passed
down the room. John slowly resumed j
his seat.
“Sophy.” he demanded hoarsely, "tell
me the truth. Is there anything be
tween the prince and Louise?"
Sophy nervously crumbled up the
toast by her side.
"The prince admires Louise, and has
done so for many years." she answered.
"No one knows anything else. Louise
never speaks of him to me. I cannot
tell you.”
“But you must know,” he persisted |
with a little break in his voice. “For-1
give me. Sophy, if I made an ass of my
self. First Lady Hilda, and then Grail
lot. and then—well. I thought Louise
might have rung up to see whether 1
was at home, if she eatne back sooner
than she expected; and the prince took
the table last night 1"
She leaned over and patted him On
the hand.
“Don't worry." she begged. “If Lou
is** has to choose some day between
him and you. I don’t think she’ll hesi
tate very long. Don’t look so stern. ^
please. You look very statuesque atm :
perfect, but I don't want to dine with
a piece of sculpture. Remember that j
I am finding you too attractive foi
my peace of mind. There s jour text.
He poured a glass of wine and drank
it off.
•Til do my bert.” he agreed. "If ■'
sounds like rubbish, you can still be
lieve that I appreciate everythin?
j'ou’ve told me. You are pretty, and 1
am lucky to have you here. Now I'll
trj- to make you believe that I think
so."
She leaned over so that her head al
most touched his.
“Go on. please!" she murmured.
“Even if it hurts afterward. It will be
heavenly to listen to!”
• * * » s * *
The next night Sophy acted as show
man at tile first production of the play,
so long delayed because of Graiilot's
insistence on a scene that promised
to be startling to English playgoers.
Her part was over at tin- end of the
first act, and a few minutes later she
slipped into a seat by John's side be
hind the curtain.
“What do you think of it so far?”
site asked a little anxiously.
"It seems quite good," John replied
cheerfully. “Some very clever lines,
and all that sort of thing; but I can’t
quite see what it's all leading to."
Sophj' peered around the house from
behind the curtain.
“There isn't standing room anj
where,” she declared. "I don't sup
) ~ —v11'—i
She Leaned Over and Patted Him en
the Hand.
l>ose there ever was a play in London
that was more talked about; and then
putting it off for more than three
months—why. there have been all sorts
of rumors about. Do you want to
know who the people in the audience
are?”
“Not particularly." John answered.
"I shouldn't know them, if you told me.
There are just a few familiar faces.
I see the prince in the box opposite.”
"Did you telephone to Louise to
day?" Sophy asked.
John shook his head.
“No. I thought it better to leave her
alone until after tonight.”
“You are going to the supper, of
course?"
"I have been asked." John replied,
a little doubtfully. "I don't quite know
whether I want to. Is it being given
by the prince or by the management?"
"The management.” Sophy assured
him. "Do you come and take meT It’s
going to be rather fun."
The curtain went up upon the sec
ond. act. John, from the shadows of
the box. listened attentively. The
subject was not a particularly new
one, but the writing was brilliant.
Then- was the old “Marquis de Guy,”
a roue, a degenerate, but still over
bearing and full of personality, from
whose lips came some of Graillot’s
most brilliant sayings: Louise, his
wife; and Faraday, a friend of the old
marquis, and obviously the intended
lover of his wife.
“I don't see anything so terrible in
this." John remarked, as the crutuiu
went down once more and thunders
of applause greeted some wonderful
iines of Graillot's.
The mystery about the tife of
Louise further troubles John
and he sets forth to get the ex
act truth, no matter how tragic
for him it may be.
iTO BE CONTINUED.)
UNUSUAL BOATS ON ATLANTIC
Demand for Tonnage for War Cargoes
Brings Into Service Types That
Are Rarely Seen.
Many vessels of unusual type have
appeared on the Atlantic in recent
months because of tne demand for
tonnage for war cargoes. Among them
is the American four-masted barken
tine John Palmer, a type of sailing
ship seen frequently on the Pacific, but
seldom on the western ocean.
Like some other American sailing
craft the John Palmer had an encoun
ter with a submarine. She was luck
ier than the Lyman W. Law, however,
for she floated on her cargo and man
aged to make port. While carrying
lumber from Galveston to Genoa tlio
Palmer was torpedoed 200 miles west
of the latter port.
After tl:c torpedoing the submarine
was chased by a patrol boat, which
1 afterward took the Yankee vessel in
tow. As she showed no signs of sink
ing immediately the captain and crew
remained on board. The I’alinor
! eventually reached port and was able
! to deliver Iter cargo, although she had
i to bo beached.
The John Palmer !s now being re
: paired at Genoa, and it is expected she
will be seaworthy in a short time and
bring an Italian cargo to New York
She was built of wood at San Fran
cisco In 1901.
Full Measure.
Pat—I hear Kelly lost a foot In that
railroad accident.
Mike—He lost a yard—one of his
own feet and two of his wife's 1—Towa
Topics. ^
VALUE OF LIMBS APPRAISED
Arrangement of Pension Lists in Eng
land Has Humorous as Wetl as
Pathetic Aspect.
If the average man were asked to
state the proportional value of his
limbs, he would probably reply that
such a task was as impossible to jht
fr.mi as it was ridiculous to set. but
the pensions ministry have had to
make such an assessment recently, re
marks London Tit-ltits. A new order
in council has stipulated the weekly
pension to he allotted to men who
have lost a limb, and the list has its
humors as well as its pathetic aspect.
Thus we find it more profitable to lose
vour leg at the thigh than above the
knee; in fact, the place of amputation
selected between the thigh and the
knee may make a difference of 3s 6d
a week. A leg taken off at the hip
brings in a pension of 16s, a short
thigh with pelvic band 14s. above the
knee 12s 6d and below the knee 10s Gd.
Pensions for the arm, too. have been
measured by Inches, the right arm car
vying a value of Is more than the
; left. Thus the right arm amputated tit
the shoulder carries with it a pension
of 16s a week, above or through the
elbow 14s and below 11s 6d. This rat
ing suggests a problem. Why should
the extent of amputation from elbow
to shoulder vary as much as 2s, and
from elbow downward only 2s 6d? The
| rising scale suggests that the lower
j half of the arm is worth less than the
| upper, a puzzle intensified by the fact
' tint a man cannot lose the upper part
| without loss of the lower.
-—
I China wants American leather.
I *
! CRISIS OF
WOMAN’S LIFE
Change Safely Passed by
Taking Lydia E. Pinkham'a
Vegetable Compound.
Wagoner, Okla.—“1 never get tired
of praising Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vege
table Compound
because during
Chang: of Life 1
was in bed two
years and bad two
operations, but all
the doctors and op
erations did me no
good, and I .. >ald
have been in my
grave today ha: it
not been for Lyba
E. Pinkham’s Veg
etable Compoun .
which brought me out of it all right, so
I am now well and do all my housework,
besides working in my garden. Several
of my neighbors have got well by tak
ing Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Com
pound.”— Mrs. Viola Finical, Wagon
er, Okla.
Such warning symptoms as sense of
suffocation, hot dashes, headaches, back
aches, dread of impending evil, timidity,
sounds in the ears, palpitation of the
heart, sparks before the eyes, irregu
larities, constipation, variable apm-tite,
weakness and dizziness should be leaded
by middle-aged women. Lydia E. Pink
ham’s Vegetable Compound has carried
many women safely through the crisis.
Here Is a Record!
Talk about records! Here’s one1 at
apparently lias every recorded re. rd
beaten to a frazzle.
Think of it—ocean to ocean in hail
a day.
We might possibly have believed it if
our national defense board had an
nounced the invention of some new
and wonderful 10l)-mile-a-minute air
plane—but on a bicycle—never.
But it’s a fact. On August 2 Ed
ward G. Anninger and two other young
men covered the distance in twelve
hours on bicycles—and what's more,
rhey did it partly on railroad ties and
loose gravel roads—and, of course, it's
j the first time it’s ever been done.
Well, come on! What’s the answer?
If you must know, here it is. They
did It across the Panama canal zone.
—Financial American.
MINNESOTA DRUGGIST
PRAISES DR, KILMER'S
_SWAMP-ROOT
I believe you have a splendid, relial le
fcdnev, aver and bladder medicine in Dr
Kilmers Swamp-Root, and my customers
vno have taken it during the past thirtv
MX years have nothing hut praise for whit
it accomplished for them. On account of
the splendid reputation which it tn.-n- in
the trade I have no hesitancy in recom
mending it for the troubles for which it is
intended.
Your? very truly,
J. G. SIEBFX. Druggist.
Sept. 21, 1916. Hastings, Mina.
Letter to
Dr. Kilmer 6* Co.
Binghamton. N. Y.
Prove What Swamp-Root Will Do For You
Send ten cents to Dr. Kilmer & Co.,
Binghamton. N. \for a sample «iz
bottle. It will convince anvone. You
will also receive a booklet of valuable in
formation. telling about the kidnevs uni
bladder. When writing, be sure and men
tion this paper. Large and medium -ize
bottles for sale at all drug stores.—Adv.
Seized Her Opportunity.
For nine long years he had been
wooing tlie fair daughter of the farm.
‘‘Jennie," he mused, as they sat on
the old fence. ”1 read the other day
that in a thousand years tile Lakes of
Killarney will dry up."
Jennie clutched his arm excitedly.
“Oh, Tom!’’ she exclaimed.
“What's the matter, lass?”
“Why. as you promised to take me
there on our honeymoon, don't y. >u
think we’d better be a little careful
that they don't dry up before we get
there?”
N. B.—The next month the wedding
bells rung in the village.
The Other Side.
“Young man,” said the office mana
ger, “if you knew as much about the
business of this firm as yo» do about
baseball you’d be holding down my
job.”
“I know that, sir,” replied the office
boy. “And if you’d mnke your busi
ness as interesting as baseball you’d
have kids heggin’ for a chance to work
for you and willing to pay for the
privilege.”
Change the Name.
“John.” she said sternly, “the coal
bin is empty.”
“Yes,” was the disconsolate reply.
“It’s that way the most of the time.
It's never of use in an divergency.
I’m going to change Its name, and call
it a coal has-bin!”
In after years a man begins to ap
preciate the woman who handed him
the Icy mitt.
The wholesome
nutrition
of wheat and
barley in most
appetizing form
