Decatur Democrat, Volume 50, Number 39, Decatur, Adams County, 29 November 1906 — Page 7

While They Waited By Virginia Leila Wentz Copyright, 1008, by C. H. Sutcliffe

He jumped out of the little country rig, leaving it in the hands of a freckle faced boy, and rushed up to the ticket office Just as his train was pulling out 1 from the station. “Pshaw!" he exclaimed irascibly, and then to the sleepy looking, contented ticket agent, “When does the next train leave for New York?” . “Two hours,” replied that individual laconically. Maverick Oliver wasn’t a man tp cry over spilled milk. He sat himself philosophically down In a shady recess of the waiting room and extracted a notebook. He would look over some memoranda he had jotted down for his solicited article for the Review and then take a stroll along the country hedges. There seemed to be a rather attractive bit of woodland just beyond. “How long must I wait for connections for Rosecliff?” Something in the woman’s voice, half contralto, half alto, made the man with the notebook suddenly start. He’d been so engrossedly conning his memoranda that he had scarcely noticed the incoming train, with.all its attendant bustle. Now, however, a single woman’s voice made him start and cansed the Review article to be as far from his thoughts as the military affairs of nations B. C. The woman’s back was turned toward Oliver, but he knew it was Eleanor. Who else in all the world had that queenly carriage, that soft slope of shoulder, that bewitching mass of coiled chestnut hair? “For Rosecliff?” came the ticket agent’s monotonous voice as he caressed his wrinkled forehead with the back of his hand. “A half hour, ma'am. Train’s sixteen minutes late.” The woman turned Impatiently away from the window. It was then they came face to face. “You!” cried Oliver, springing up. fiheatood there in the barren waiting room, fitting its emptiness with the richness of her charm. To the man’s hungry eyes she was food of the most satisfying as well as of the most delineate sort She did not hold out her hand. Nevertheless she encountered him not in her old imperious fashion, but with a smile Including him in some mood too large to be wholly personal. “How you have changed, Eleanor!” he cried involuntarily. “Are you, too, waiting for a train?” she answered softly in return. “In which direction do you go?” “South—to New York,” said Oliver. “And you?” “To Rosecliffe, fourteen miles east.” Oliver took her umbrella and tiny suit case from her, and then they walked slowly up arid down the platform together, man and woman, instead of husband and wife, held apart by some strange flat they had both accepted. In the fields, all around, the buttercups were golden and the wild carrot was In white, lacelike flower. Over In the woods beyond some song birds, waking from their summer siesta, were beginning to warble. A group of traveling men was lounging on the railing at the far end of the platform, expectorating copiously to punctuate the points in their stories. Oliver ' dusted the ‘ platform steps at the other end of the walk with his handkerchief, and the woman sat serenely flown, her delicate profile outlined against the dear blue of the sky like some exquisite cameo. She had always been beautiful, though. It wasn’t that which made the man exclaim again irrepressibly: “You’ve changed so, Eleanor?’’ It was true. It was no mere fancy of his imaginative writer’s eye that discovered new meanings in the face before him. It had undergone a vague but very gracious transformation. “Changed?” repeated she, with a curious tenderness. “I've tried to change—tried, do you understand? Since last winter, when we agreed to separate, I’ve been trying—so hard, Maverick—to take control of my own stnnted nature, turn it where it twists”— ■ “Dear,” broke in Oliver, with a bitter humility, “we were both to blame—both, do you hear? And I’m afraid you’ve been cleverer than I if you’ve unsnarled things where they failed to fit the pattern. I’ve not changed much, I’m afraid.” Under, her black lashes the woman smiled Mt him with a reverence he might have translated (had he been high plumed) as some loyal acquiesver felt now, however, was curiosity In bis young wife, not in himself. So — “Tell me,” be burst forth, “what has changed you so?”

She rolled up her absurd little handkerchief into a string and, throwing it over her knee, pulled it unconsciously by both ends, gazing steadfastly into the blue distance above Olivet's head. “I don’t know whether I ought to tell you,” she began. Oliver recalled that delicious little k • habit she used to have of tempting the fates shyly, of hesitating when she meant to be right down outrageous. “Os course you ought,” he urged. “You always do in the end, you know, and it will save time.” Under her playfulness he had allowed himself to grow light hearted. “Well, then”— she began, but her voice trailed off vaguely. Her cheeks Cl took on a pinker bloom; she forgot the handkerchief and finished her thought V-

with a mature dignity that became her like the armor of her sex. “Our little boy. Maverick—our little boy has changed me.” “Ah! Our boy”— Oliver broke off abruptly, for something had suddenly clutched him by the throat. The woman hastily brushed her tears away and went on practically: “You’d be proud of him, Maverick—such strong, agile limbs—and he has the will of a little savage.” “Let me see,” Oliver said brusquely, stooping over the platform's edge and plucking a buttercup stalk that had ambitiously grown up from the gravel. “He must be eleven months now.” “Yes. He was five when—when you last saw him.” She kept her eyes deliberately fixed upon the high railroad trestles in the blue distance. “Do you know, he’s been such a help to me. I’ve told him all the things I wanted to tell you—told him that his mother had been a vain, silly, girlish tyrant who, coming straight from the convent, wanted to have everything this world had to give—money, fame, positional! those things that are bought in the market place—and had wanted to buy them with his father’s conscience.” Over the trestles the smoke of the incoming train was seen. There wfere the usual bustle and running to and fro on the platform, seizing of hand bags, carting of trunks, and so on. Whatever swift, mutual, soul revelations Oliver and his wife had been on the point of making dissolved into nothingness, jarred by the prosaic commotion of traffic. It was a pity, too, for with Eleanor’s last words her face had melted into a p.i’.nt sweetness, her exquisite mouth had taken on sudden quivering little curves. She had seenjed about to say, “Ambition, selfishness, the cruelty of pride—all these things have gone, Maverick.” She didn’t say that, however. Instead she rose from the wooden step which her husband had dusted for her. “I’m glad you found me changed,” she Said merely. Something in the man’s honest soul overflooded. “I, too—l, too, Eleanor, will change!” cried he. “Ah, you’ve no need to,” answered she, meeting honesty with honesty. “You’ve been growing like the trees yonder”—She nodded in the direction of the woodland—“for years, straight ahd strong. I had to be pruned. I had”— The train’s screeching whistle deadened her words. It came rushing In and stopped. Oliver'still held Eleanor’s tiny suit case and umbrella in his hand. There was a confused sound of greeting to the passengers who had alighted and the clamor of hotel runners and bus drivers. “Now, then, step lively!” cried the brakeman as the last much bundled old woman descended, allowing the Impatient traveling men to climb aboard. Oliver and his wife were the last of the crowd. He helped her aboard, found her chair for her in the parlor car, then turned miserably to meet her eyes. “All aboard!” came the strident voice of the conductor. The train began to move almost imperceptibly. z “Goodby!” cried Oliver, battling with strong emotion, but conscious of the Increasing movement of the train. Then as he bent over her seat the woman laid a trembling hand on his arm, and'her eyes were brimming with slow tears. “Goodby, Maverick? Don’t you want to go with me to our baby?” “Good heavens! Eleanor, do I want to?” Some lonely passengers at the other end of the car wondered what had suddenly illumined the man’s handsome face with that electric thrill of joy. Then the telegraph poles began to whiz by. Oliver had forgotten New York.

A Famo«> French Palace. The Chateau de Rambouillet has a history remote from the literary fad of the eighteenth century which has made the word Rambouillet significant of an epoch of French this chateau that Francis* 1 1, breathed his last and Charles X. was deserted in his death. It is not generally known, however, how Louis XVI. became its proprietor. Until 1785 Rambouillet belonged to the Due de Penthievre, grandson of Louis XIV. and Mme. de Montespan. Louis XVI. wished very much to possess it. This desire became a fixed passion, which was augmented by his dislike of its owner. But one day he declared, “The possession of Rambouillet would be the happiness of my life.” To which the duke graciously replied: “God forbid that I should be the cause of your unhappiness. Sire, Rambouillet is yours on your own terms.” The price fixed was 11,000,000 francs, of which 6.000,000 were paid the next day in gold from the royal treasury. Miss Noah. A child was brought to a Yorkshire vicar’ for baptism. As he was told that the name was to be Noah, he naturally referred to the infant as “he” in the course of the service. Soon he felt his surplice pulled by one of the women, who whispered to him that “it was a lass,,” “But Noah is not a girl’s name,” said the parson. “Yes, it is,” spoke up the child’s father. An adjournment was made to the vestry to settle the point. The father said that whenever he had a child to be named he opened the Bible and chose the first name of the proper sex that met his eye,. The clergyman insisted that in the present case a mistake had been made, whereupon the father, opened the Bible at Numbers xxvi, 33, and read. “The names of the daughters of Zelophehad were Noah,” •to. There was no more to be said.

Alicia’s M Home Loize&ux Coming si. Copyright, 1906, by Ruby Douglas

“It isn’t even as if you needed to do this, Alicia.” Bob Kendal held his i voice to a cool, argumentative tone 1 that made the girl before him still more indignant. “Who are you that you should decide 1 whether I need to do anything at all?” ; she blazed indignantly. “I am your fiance, and”— he was be- ’< ginning when she interrupted him. i “If that is your excuse for such unjust Interference with my wishes, I j can at least relieve you of your duty.” ’ i And she placed her engagement ring on the table between them. The young man glanced at it without seeming to see it. Then he looked sharply at the angry girl who was drawn to her full ■ height. “Alicia,” he said gently, “you are too angry to realize what you are doing. Put the ring on your finger again. You don’t mean this.” “Pardon me, I do mean it,” said the girl icily. The young man’s face whitened, and a hurt look sprang into his steady J brown eyes. Then he straightened up and squared his shoulders and set his strong chin firmly. When he spoke , there was a note of hardness in his voice which the girl had never heard from him before and from which she shrank mentally. “Alicia, do you realize what you are doing? We were to be married in May. Your trousseau is begun, I know. And you’ve given me every reason to be- | lieve you cared for me as much as I do ! for you. And now, because I ask you , to do this one thing—for your sake as • well as mine—you are going to give all ; this up!” The girl turned suddenly and went to the window, where she stood looking out into the dripping garden. She felt her lips quivering, and she must not let Bob see. j Bob looked at the crown of dark red "hair against the deep green of the J window draperies, and his voice softened. “This is all I’ve ever asked of you, Alicia. I’ve been too confident of your ■ love for me after you confessed it; I’ve believed in you too utterly ever to be jealous of your flirtations, as many another man would have been—and rightly too. I’ve submitted cheerfully to being ‘trailed’ in public because it was you who did the ‘trailing.’ ” Alicia turned and faced him again, her foot tapping the floor impatiently. | “Is the list of your virtues a long one, sir?” she asked. “I shall not name them all,” he answered calmly. “The only thing I’ve ever insisted upon your doing is this one we’re talking about. Give up this i silly concert tour. I’ve never said a word when you’ve sung for sweet charity’s sake or for any society affair, even when the publicity of the events has often made me writhe. This time you haven’t any real reason. You are not in need of money, and you’re not doing it for charity. It isn’t even the necessary ambition of the professional to win a higher place for herself. You will get flattery from the critics who do not think it worth the effort to spend real criticism on society amateurs. If they should criticise you honestly—the way they do professionals, to whom it means bread and butter—you’d see the point I’m trying to make. I appreciate the charm of you and your voice as no one else who looks and listens to you possibly can, and, Alicia Fairall, I don’t want to see you ‘damned with faint praise’ or humiliated by any conscientious critic. Can’t you see that”— “When you are quite through,” interrupted Alicia, “you can doubtless find your way out. I must ask you to excuse me.” And she swept from the l room, pausing once in the curtained t doorway as'if to speak. Unconsciously she assumed a theatrical attitude. Her face was turned back over her shoulder, and her lips were parted a little. With her glowing head i and her soft green dress between the ! heavier green of the curtains she look- ' ed like a tall, beautiful dahlia, and Bob ■ involuntarily started forward. But she I closed her lips to a thin red line and ' went on dropping the curtains behind her. Presently he heard the tapping of her slippers upon the stairs and then ' the bang of a door. i He did not leave the house at once, but stood at the window where Alicia had stood and looked out into the gray twilight. It was early spring. As he looked wearily at the sparrows on the soaked lawn Bob felt his throat tighten / and brushed his hand across his eyes, i “She couldn’t mean it,” he muttered i as he turned and picked up the emer- I aid ring and slipped it Into his vest ! pocket. “It Is too close to May for her to mean that.” Then he sought for pa--1 per and pen and sat down at the table. 1 He wrote:

Dear, if I have been too harsh forgive I me. I have said too strongly, perhaps, what I believe to be true, and all I want is to spare both of us the pain any failure of yours would be sure to cause. Think ; it over well, dear, before you decide. T What I came to tell you today is that : our house is all done. The last workman has left. I am inclosing a key—there are » only two—and I beg you will go there and think it all over at least once before you decide finally. 4- He Inclosed the key and on his way out handed the envelope to the butler to "be taken up to Miss Alicia.’’ As for Alicia, she had gone straight to her desk and had written the following note: My Dear Mr. Courtenay—l have decided, as I promised I would by today, about the concert tour. You may depend upon

me for your soprano. Ahd as I have been the only one to object to the longer trip you planned I withdraw my objections to that also. Under your management I feel sure we shall be successful. Sincerely. ALICIA LEE FAIRALL. When she had heard the closing of the outer door she gave the note to the butler and took from him the envelope Bob had left. With it in her hand she went slowly upstairs and sat down before her grate fire. She felt her anger melting away, and by the ache in her throat knew that tears were not far off. She tore open the envelope, hoping to find some stimulus to her indignation, but at the gentleness of the words and the sight of the key to the home she and Bob had so eagerly, carefully planned the tears came with a rush, and, burying her face in the arm of her easy chair, she cried herself to sleep. Press notices of “a concert to be given in the near future by the best amateur talent the city afforded” began to be frequent during the next few weeks. Then came the programme and pictures of the principals. Alicia was oftenest mentioned, and one Sunday paper contained her picture, a theat rically posed, full length affair, with her head over one shoulder and her lips as if speaking. Bob’s heart sank and turned sick. She did mean it, then. As the time drew near he thought he would go to the concert, and when the night finally cam» he dressed early and fidgeted miserably till time to start. Then, suddenly changing his mind, he had himself driven to the door of the little new home he and Alicia had planned together. Bo’.) let himself into the house with his key. which he always carried, and walked through the empty, desolate rooms, which by now should have been furnished and ready for the bride’s home coming. He roamed clear through the house, drawing the shades and lighting all the chandeliers till every room was blazing with light. Then he turned them all out and lit a blazing fire in the dining room grate, and, sitting down on the high settee built into the niche by the fireplace, he closed his eyes and deliberately conjured up the presence of Alicia. He was almost asleep when he heard the front door open and close and the click of high heeled slippers on the bare floors, accompanied by the unmistakable swish of a woman’s silken skirts. Then he heard a match scratched and an impatient exclamation as something was dropped. Then, with his heart pounding violently, he laid his head back against the settee and feigned sleep. He heard the steps come to the dining room door, heard Alicia’s voice say “Oh!” in frightened, breathless surprise, felt his heart beat almost to suffocation, and then he heard the steps recede with a rush to the hall and the front door open. He was about to call to her when he heard her say to some one on the porch:

“Tell Mr. Courtenay I am sick or dead or buried—anything you like only that I shall not sing tonight.” Then the door closed again and Bob Immediately went to sleep. It seemed to be a very sound sleep, for he did not open his eyes, though Alicia coughed three times. But when she could stand it no longer and shook his shoulder he woke up with a most excellent look of surprise on his face. “Is it too late?” she asked breathlessly. Looking at her as if dazed, he pulled out his watch. “Oh, I don’t mean for the concert! I mean”— but Alicia could get no further, and, dropping to her knees beside the settee, she leaned her head against his arm and cried. “I* guess it isn’t too late for a wedding,” said Bob, “but we’ll have to hurry.” The Sunflower and Its Uses. The sunflower is a native of America. In 1569 it was introduced into Europe and is now extensively cultivated there, particularly in Russia, where it Is grown principally for the oil contained in its seed. The seeds after the shells are removed contain 84 per cent of oil. This oil is clear, light yellow, nearly odorless and of a peculiar pleasant and mild taste. It is said to be superior to both almond and olive oil for table purposes and is used in making soap and candles. In Russia the larger seeds are sold in immense quantities to the lower classes of the people, who eat the kernels as we do peanuts. The stalks furnish a valuable fertilizer, while the green leaves are dried, pulverized and mixed with meal as food for cows. The stalk produces an excellent flavor. It is said that Chinese silk goods commonly contain more or less sunflower fiber. The so called Niger seed oil is made from a species of sunflower family which is a native of Abyssinia. It furnishes the common lamp oil of upper India, where it Is largely cultivated. Bay Tree Beliefs. Long before the time of Shakespeare the bay tree was an object of superstition. The withering of such a tree was believed to be a sure indication of coming misfortune to those with whom It was in any way connected. Shakespeare gave voice to the superstition in “Richard II.” when he made one of his characters say: / ’Tls thought the king is dead; we’ll not stay— The ba.v trees in our country are withered. It was thought by the ancients that lightning would never harm this tree and it was customary among them to carry bay leaves as a charm against the thunderbolts of Jove. The same belief was long prevalent in England, and reference to it may be found in an old poem dedicated to Ben Jonson: I see that, wreathe which doth the wearer arme ’Gainst the quick stroakes at thunder to no charm keep off death’s pale dart.

Three Baggage Checks By Donald Allen Copyright, 1206, by M. JI. Cunningham

Whatever caused Harry Lee, bachelor, club man and a good deal of a cynic, to saunter into the Central depot that afternoon he never has been able to explain except by laying it to fate. He wasn’t going anywhere, didn’t want to see anybody in particular, and he always kept clear of passenger depots on account of tearful old women and crying children. On this occasion he had scarcely caught sight of one tearful old woman when somebody caught sight of him. “And who on earth told you that t was going to Buffalo?" exclaimed a voice at his elbow as he turned to go out. It was Miss Remington, whom he had known fairly well for a year past and who had sometimes struck him as being rather good looking and of engaging manners. Just now she was looking unusually well in her traveling suit and her eyes shining with excitement. “I—l came to say farewell,” replied Lee, with ready wit. “How nice of you! My trunk was sent on half an hour ago ahead of me and must be in the baggage room. I BBSOWwF A : ; ii IJi L* “YES, J KMOW,” SMILED THE BAGGAGH MASTEB. know you will take my ticket and get it checked for me. Brother Will said he would surely be here, but something has happened to detain him.” “It will be something to remember all my life.” A child of ten, a bachelor of forty or an old woman of ninety can check a trunk when once the feat of getting It to the depot has been accomplished. All you have to do is to point it out with one hand while you show yeur ticket with the other and tell the baggage master that he must make no mistake and check it for Oshkosh instead of Kalamazoo. Harry Lee had that trunk identified and checked in seven minutes, and he was feeling rather proud over the fact #h'en a plain looking woman of forty appealed to him. She was looking for a trunk with a broken handle, but thus far it had eluded her. It tried to dodgri Hairy Lee, b ut in vain. He had his ! eyes on it in no time. Just at thia juncture a girl of eighteen, dressed in mourning arid looking tearful ahd anxious, wanted help. Her trunk was all right as to handles, but she was afraid it had been checked t» Rochester instead of Syracuse. She' gave the bachelor her check to see about it, and thus it came about that he had three checks for three trunks in his possession. Moreover, he put them into the same pocket. Moreover, again, he’d have walked back to Miss Remington with them had not the plain looking woman and the girl in mourning hesitatingly reminded him of his carelessness.

“Ten thousand pardons, ladies,” be apologized in confusion, and with that he gallantly pulled out ths three checks and made a fair divide. There was just one apiece and nothing left over. It was train time now and everybody In a hurry, and Miss Remington’* brother camo rushing in, and so with it all no one made any discoveries, and the three women were hurried away with scores of other passengers. For the first time in a year, so far as he could remember, the club bachelor had made himself useful for a few minutes, and there was something like elation in his eye as he left the depot to continue his saunter. Twenty-four hours later lie received a call from young Winchester, who had an open telegram in his hand and who bluntly inquired: “See here, Lee, what have you done with my sister’s trunk?” “Why, I checked it for Buffalo yes terday.” “She has telegraphed that she has another in the place of it.” “But, man, I surely checked it, and you saw me hand her the brass. Those confounded railroad folks must have made another of their stupid mistakes.” “Well, we’ll let it rest for a day, and perhaps they’ll rectify it.” During the next twenty-four hours Miss Remington sent two more telegrams from Buffalo, and the ease loving and complacent bachelor got a move on him and went to the depot to Interview the president, vice president and general manager of the road. Being told that they had gone off on a

Sunday school picnic, he decided to to* terview the baggage master instead. There was dignity in his bearing m he set out to crush the worm under his feet. The worm wasn’t very busy just theu and heard him through and then retaliated with: “We have two telegrams from two other women about trunks having gone wrong, and it’s all owing to your having butted in here the other day. 1 remember you very well. You had throe trunks checked at the same time.” “Yes, sir, I did, and if the baggage department can’t take care of the trunks all at once it had better go hang.” “Did you hand the three checks to three different women?” “Os course I did.” “Are you sure you kept them separate?” “Os course—that is—that is, you know”— 4 “Yes, I know,” smiled the baggage master. “You handed out any old check, and as a consequence there is a mix. It’s up to you to do some telegraphing and straighten things out.” Mr. Loe spent the whole day tele graphing and receiving "collect” messages from Buffalo, Rochester and Syracuse, but he made little headway. His messages were inquiring and pacific; his “collects” were vigorous and rather threatening. At the end of the day he decided on making a personal trip to straighten out the tangle. He could remember the trunks and their respective owners. His first stop was at Syracuse. He was sure that the girl in mourning with a humble looking trunk had had it checked there. Two telegrams had passed and he had her address. In the course of an hour he found her. She hadn’t quite so much mourning on now and was better looking than he had thought. She had received the plain woman’s trunk with the broken handle. She was a refined, ladylike girl and in mourning for an aunt who had left her $50,000, but yet she used language tinged with acid. Next time she went traveling and had to appeal to a man for help she would make sure that he knew enough to check his own trunk, and so forth, and so forth. A woman may lose her sweetheart and say nothing, but let her,,lose her trunk while traveling and it takes years to exhaust the subject. Mr. Lee got away with his ears burning, and yet he admired Miss Strothers. He arranged to have the trunk sent on to Rochester and then took the train for that city. The plain woman was expecting him. She had the trunk all ready to point at, but it didn’t happen to be Miss Strothers’ trunk. It belonged to Miss Remington. Here was another mlxup. The bachelor drew a long breath and started to explain, but was cut short after arnimite. He was asked to identify himself as an honest man; he was asked to prove that he was not a baggage thief; he was asked to convince the plain looking woman, who looked plainer than ever in her own house and with her anger up, that his grandfather had never been hung for a capital crime. At the end of half an hour the plain woman soften on him a bit. She softened enough to say that perhaps after all it was his first crime and that If he hustled around and got that one handled trunk In Rochester inside of two hours she would not call In the police. Bachelor Lee longed to return to New York and find rest and peace, but inexorable fate drove him on to Buffalo. There he found Miss Remington. “I am not going to blame you at all,” she said as she met him. “It was all my fault in thinking that you knew anything about the operation of railroads. You could have loaded that trunk into an auto and had it into the Staten Island ferry in half an hour. Mr. Lee proceeded to explain, but it was not much of an explanation. However. the more he explained and the more he failed to explain the more he became interested in Miss Remington. It was a matter of four days before the big trunk, the little trunk and the one handled trunk reached their respective owners. The chapter was closed then and there with the plain looking woman, but not so with one of the others. Ever since that date, and particularly during the last three months, the bachelor club man has found it necessary to go up the road to talk trunk business, and he finds that the most effective way to remind Miss Remington of her duty toward the diamond ring she wears is to suggest that he take a trip to Syracuse to see the other young woman about her trunk. Shifting the Responsibility. Sir John Macdonald, when premier of Canada, one evening was present at a public dinner at which he was expected to deliver, a rather important speech. In the conviviality of the occasion he forgot the more serious duty of the evening, and when at a late hour he rose his speech was by no means so luminous as it might have been. The reporter, knowing that it would not do to print his notes as they stood, called on Sir John next day and told him that he was not quite sure of having secured an accurate report. He was invited to read over his notes, but he had not got far when Sir John interrupted him with “That is not what I said.” There was a pause, and Sir John continued, “Let me repeat tny remarks.” He then walked up and down the room and delivered a most Impressive speech in the hearing of the amused reporter, who took down every .word as it fell from his lips. Having thanked Sir John for his courtesy, he was taking his leave when he was recalled to receive this admonition: “Young man, allow me to give you this Word of advice —never again attempt to report a public speaker when you are drunk.”