Evening Republican, Volume 16, Number 140, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 June 1912 — Page 2

The Daily Republican Kwrj Day teoept Sonday , , HEALEY & CLARK. Publishers. RENSSELAER. INDIANA.

The FLYING MERCURY

By Eleanor M. Ingram

Author of “The Game and the Candle ” Uluhtrations ByRJY WALTERS

(Copyright, XMO, far BobbsMerriU Co.) SYNOPSIS. The story opens on Long Island near New York city, where Miss Emily Ffrench, a relative of Ethan Ffrench, manufacturer of the celebrated "Mercury” automobile, loses her way. The car has stopped and her cousin, Dick Ffrench, is too muddled with drink to direct it aright. They meet another car which is run by a professional racer named Lestrange. The latter fixes up the Ffrench car and directs Miss Ffrench how to proceed homeward. CHAPTER 11. It was a business consultation that was being held in Mr. FJrench’s firelit library, in spite of the presence of a tea table and the young girl behind it. A consultation between the two partners who composed the Mercury Automobile company, of whom the lesser was speaking with a certain anecdotal weight. "And he said he was losing too much time on the turns; so the (next round he took the bend at 72 miles an hour. He went over, of course. The third car we’ve lost this year; I’m glad the season’s closed.” Emily Ffrench gave an exclamation, her velvet eyes widening behind their black lashes. "But the driver! Was the poor driver hurt, Mr. Bailey?” "He wasn’t killed, Miss Emily,” answered Bailey, with a tinge of pensive regret. He was a large, ruday, whitehaired man, with the slow and careful habit of speech sometimes found In those who live much with massive machinery. "No, he wasn’t killed; he’s in the hospital. But he wrecked as good a car as ever was built, through sheer foolishness. It costs money.” Mr. Ffrench" responded to the indirect appeal with more than usual irritation, his level gray eyebrows contracting. r "We ought to' have better drivers. Why do you not get better men, Bailey? You wanted to go into this racing business; you said the cars needed advertising. My brother always attended to that side of the factory affairs while he lived, with you as his manager. Now it is altogether in your hands. Why do you not find a proper \ ... . “Perhaps my hands are not used to holding so much,” mused Bailey unresentfully. ”A man might be a good manager, maybe, and weak as a partner. It isn’t the same job. But a first-class driver isn’t easy to get, Mr. George tied up with another company, and Dorian retired, all this last season; and we don’t want a foreigner. There’s only one man I like— ’’ “Well, get him. Pay him enough.” Bailey hunched himself together together and cr&ssed his legs. “Yes, sir. He’s beaten our cars—and others —every race lately, with poorer machines, just by sheer pretty driving. He drives fast, yet he don’t knock out his car. But there’s a lot after him —there’s just one way We could get him, and get him for keeps.” "And that?” "He’s ambitious. He wants to get into something more solid than racing. If we offered to make him manager, he’d come and put some new ideas, mkybe, into the factory, and race our cars wherever we chose to enter them. I know him pretty well.” —The proposition was advanced tentatively, with the hesitation of one venturing in unknown places. But Ethan Ffrench said nothing, his gray eyes fixed on the hearth. “He understands motor construction and designing, and he’s been with big foreign firms,” Bailey resumed, after waiting. “He’d be useful around; I can’t be everywhere. What he’d do for us in racing would help a whole lot. It’s very well to make a fine standard car, but it needs advertising to keep people remembering. And men like to say ‘my machine is the same as Lestrange won the cup race with.’ They like It” . "I don't know,” said Mr. Ffrench slowly, “that it is dignified fcr the manager of the Mercury factory to be a racing driver,” "The Christine cars are driven by the son of the man who makes them,” was the response. “Some drive their “The son of the man who makes them,” repeated the other. He turned his face still more to the quivering fire, his always severe expression hardening strangely and bitterly. “The The girl rose to draw the crimson curtains before Che windows and to push an electric switch, filling the room with a subdued glow in place of the late afternoon grayness. Her delimost stroriffly Its characteris p-yqy g flrn Mtn esc and a sensitive

reflection of the moods of those around her. Emily Ffrench’s childhood had been passed in a Canadian convent, and something of its mysticism clung about her. As the cheerful change she had wrought flashed over the room, Mr. Ffrench held out his hand In a gesture of summons, .so that she came across to sit on the broad arm of his chair during the rest of the conference, her soft gaze resting on the third member. “My adopted son and nephew having no such talents, we must do the best we can," Mr. French stated, with his most precise coldness. "Being well born and well bred, he has no taste for a mechanic’s labor or for circus performances with automobiles in public. Who is your man, Bailey?” “Lestrange, sir. You must have heard of him often.” “I never read racing news.” "I read ours,” said Bailey darkly. “We’ve been licked often enough by him. And he’s straight—he’s one of the few men who’ll stop at the grandstand and lose time reporting a smashup and sending help around. Every man on the track likes Darling Lestrange.” “Likes - whom?” Bajley flushed brick-red. "I didn’t mean to call him that. He signs himself D. Lestrange, and some of them started reading It Darling, joking because he was such a favorite and because they liked him anyhow. It’s just a nickname.” Emily laughed out involuntarily, surprised. “I beg pardon,” she at once apologized, “but it sounded so frivolous." “If you try this man, you had better keep that nickname out of the factory," Mr. Ffrench advised stiffly. "What respect could the workmen feel for a manager with such a title? If possible, you would do well to prevent them from recognizing him as the. racing driver.” Bailey, who had risen at the chime of a clock, halted amazed. ’ —“Respectfarhim! u heechoed.‘ , Not recognize him! Why, there isn’t a man on the place who wouldn’t give his ears to be seen on the same side of the street with Lestrange, let alone to work under him. They do read the racing news. That part of it will be all right, if I can have him." "If it is necesary—” “I think it is, sir.” Emily moved slightly, pushing back her yellow-brown curls under the ribbon that banded them. On a sudden impulse her uncle looked up at her. “What is your opinion?” he questioned. “If Dick had been listening I should have asked his, and I fancy yours is fully as valuable. Come, shall we have this racing manager ?” Astonished, she looked from her uncle to the other man. And perhaps it was the real anxiety and sus-

“He Understands Motor Construction and Designing.”

pense of Bailey’s expression that drew her quick reply. "Let us, uncle. Sines we need him, let us have him.” “Very well,” said Mr. Ffrench. "You hear, Bailey.” There was a long silence after the junior partner’s withdrawal. “Come where I can t>ee you, Emily,” her uncle finally demanded. "I liked your decided answer a few moments ago; you can reason. How long have you been a daughter In my house?” “Six years,” she responded, obediently moving to a low chair opposite “I was fifteen when you took me from the convent —to make me very, very happy, dear.” ; “I sent for you when I sent for Dick, and for the same reason. I have tried three times to rear one of my name to fitness to bear it, and each one has failed except you. I wish you were a man, Emily; there is work for a Ffrench to do.” “When you say that, I wish I were. But—l’m not, I’m not.” She flung out her slender, round arms in.a gesture of helpless resignation. Tm not even a strong-minded woman who might do instead. Uncle Ethan, may I ask—lt was Mr. Bailev who mademeth.ink—my cousin whom I never saw, will he never come home?” He voice faltered on the last words, frightened at her own daring. But her uncle answered evenly, if coldly: “Never.” “He offended you so?” “His whole life was an offense. School, college, at home, in each he went wrong. At twenty-one he left me . and ,married a woman from the vaudeville stage. It is not ofhim you are to think, Emily, but ot a substitute for him. For that I designed Dick; once I hoped you would marry him and sober his idleness.” 1> - “Please.no,” she refused gently. "I am fond of Dick, but—please, no.” "I am not asking it of you. He is well enough, a good boy, not overjriae, but not what is needed hmh

Failed, again; I am not fortunate. There is left only you.” “Me?" ' Her startled dark eyes and his determined gray ones met, and so remained. ! "You, and your husband. Are you going to marry a man who can take my place in this business, in the factory and the model village my brother and I built around it; a man whose name will be fit to join with ours and so in a fashion preserve it here? Will you wait until such a one Is found and will you aid me to find him? Or will you too follow selfish, idle fancies of your own?” “No!” she answered, quite pale. “1 Would not do that! I will try to help.” “You will take up the work the men of your name refuse, you will provide a substitute for them?” Her earnestness sprang to meet his strength of will, she leaned nearer in her enthusiasm of self-abnegation, scarcely understood. “I will find a substitute or accept yours. I, indeed I will try not to fail.” It was characteristic that he offered neither praise nor caress. “You have relieved my mind,” said Ethan Ffrench, and turned his face once more to the fire.

CHAPTER 111. It was October when the consultation was held in the library of the old Ffrench house on the Hudson; December was very near on the sunny morning that Emily drove out to the factory and sought Bailey in his office. “I wanted to talk with you,” she explained, as that gentleman rose to receive her. “We have known each other for a long time, Mr. Bailey; ever since I came from the Sat-red Heart to live with Uncle Ethan. That is a very long time.” _ “It’s a matter of five or six years,” agreed the charmed Bailey, contemplating her with affectionate pride in her- prettiness and grace. “You used to drive out here with your pony and spend many an hour looking on and asking questions. You’ll excuse me, Miss Emily, but there was many a man passed the whisper that you’d have made a fine master of the works.” She shook her head, folding her small gloved hands upon the edge of the desk at the opposite sides of which they were seated. “At least I would have tried. I am quite sure I would have tried. But I am only a girl. I came to ask you something regarding that,” she lifted her candid eyes to his, her soft color rising* “Do you know—have you ever met any men who cared and understood about such factories as this? Men who could take charge of a business, the manufacturing and racing and selling, like my uncles? I have a reason for asking.” “Sure thing,” said Bailey, unexpectedly prompt. “I’ve met one man who knows how to handle this factory better than I do, and I’ve been at it twelve years. And there he is—” he turned in his revolving chair and rolled up the shade covering the glassset door into the next room, “my manager, Lestrange.” The scene thus suddenly opened to the startled Emily was sufficiently matter-of-fact, yet not lacking in a certain sober animation of its own. Around a drafting table central in the bare, systematic disorder of the apartment beyond, three or four blue-shirt-ed men were grouped, bending over a set of drawings, which Lestrange was explaining. Explaining with a •vivid icterwt ffirhis task that spariftetb over his clear face in a changing play of expression almost mesmeric in its command of attention. The men watched and listened intently; they themselves no common laborers, 'but the intelligent workmen who were to carry out the ideas here set forth. Wherever Lestrange had been, he was coatless and the sleeves of his outing shirt were rolled back, leaving bare the arms whose smooth symmetry re vealed little of the racing driver’s strength; his thick brown hair was rumpled into boyish waves and across his forehead a fine black streak wrote of recent personal encounter with things practical. “Oh!” exclaimed Emily faintly. And after a moment, “Close the curtain, please.” (TO BE CONTINUED.)

The Gloomy Poets.

In the course of a week a large number of poems reach this office, most of them written by persons with little experience in verse making, says the Kansas City Star. The striking thing about the output, however, is not that so many persons who have never written poetry should be experimenting with it. but that nine-tenths of them should be so melancholy. The great majority of poems submitted for publication reflect a spirit of gentle gloom. “What ate the wild waves saying?" inquire the poets with one accord. And why do they say it? Why should a sense of woe weigh us down? Why are the autumn winds so melancholy? Why is anything, anyhow? A careful reading of several hundred poems of this type does not leave the impression that the writers are such a gloomy lot as they might appear. One comes to believe that most of them are normally cheerful, but that somehow they have been led to suppose that sadness belongs to poetry.

The Determination to Do.

"The longer I live, the more deeply am I convinced that that which makes the difference* between one man and another ■ -hetwoon the weak and powerful, the great and insignificant, is energy, Invincible determination—a purpose once formed, and death or victory. ”—Fowell Bux

LONG, HARD HITS DROVE IN MANY RUNS

Jack Murray, Slugging Outfielder of Giants.

The hundreds of New York fans who saw Jack Murray go through the world’s series without getting a hit and then wondered if McGraw would drop him from the team in 1912 may be surprised to know that this redheaded young Irishman is the White Hope of the Giants. After looking over the bright galaxy of fence busters, for the spring we find that the name of Jack Murray leads them all. He is the toast of the team and the pride of McGraw. Never in his life has Red played such havoc with spring pitchers. Several of the players were dls-

OVER 61 FEET OF PITCHERS

Smallest of St. Louis Twlrlers is 5 Feet 11 Inches, While Tallest Is 6 Feet 4 In Haight. What do you think of a fellow standing 5 feet 11 inches being the baby of the pitching staff? That’s the distinction that belongs to Geyer, of the St. Louis Nationals. He is one of ten twlrlers and he is the smallest. That is in the matter of height. When it

Robert Harmon.

comes to slimness he isn’t in a class with Slim Sallee. The southpaw has them all beat when it comes to circumference. It’s doubtful whether there is a pitching staff in the country that compares with the Cardinal's—in height Of the ten men, nine stand si\ feet or better. Dem, A youngster, is the giant Of the giants. He Is six feet four inches tall. When he gets on the high mound and begins to shoot Ma overhand fast cue at the batten they - ’ .

cussing Murray’s failure to hit in the big series, and for the first time McGraw discussed that much mooted Subject- '■ ... “While he didn’t get a hit,” said McGraw, "I was quite well satisfied with his work, for he hit them all hard and on the nose. He was. unlucky in having his drives shoot straight at some fielder. I never had. any idea of letting him go. In criticizing Murray for his lack of batting, the fans probably overlooked the fact that during the season he drove in many a winning run with his long smashes.” 7 : -----

get the impression that he’s standing on a housetop. Willis is next in line. His hair is six feet and three inches above the earth when he is in his stocking feet Dale, another youngster, and Golden, the lad with all the speed, along with Steele, the lad who lacks contsol, are tied fOr third honors. They are entitled to membership in the six-foot-two club. Harmon, the iron man, and Slim Sallee, are just an inch shorter—not their combined height, for if the sliin fellow was not afraid of bending and would allow Hannon to stand on his head, they would tower 12 feet and two inches above the earth. Woodburn is the six-footer of the aggregation. His companion in that class is Louis Loudermilk. This staff of ten toen has a total height of 61 feet and 8 inches. The average height of the twlrlers is 6 feet and 2 inches.

DIAMOND GOSSIP

Louisville has released Third Baseman Hooper uncondltlohally. It is said that Kobe Ferris’ days with the Millers are numbered. - .Topeka critics say the weakness o£s this year’s team is in the pitching. Pitcher Tommy Griffin, released by St Joseph, was signed by Sioux City The Dodgers think they will go well now that Wheat Is back in the game. St. Paul has set aside Mondays and Fridays as Ladles’ Day for thier patrons. Forrest Thomas shows signs of being something of a come back with St Paul. ' No, BostoniMTHrAri Otto Hess back to New Orleans unless John Monty Ward is crazy. . Denver begins to entertain hopes that ft wfll get Bock O’Brien back from the Boston Red Sox. George Gibson is not the willing it Is said, for lo&nnff. *

“INSIDE BALL” PUZZLE

Explanation of Term That Bothers Many Enthusiasts. ♦ In the Long Run Team Which Play* Game as It Should From Start of Season to End Will Finish Better Than Its Rival. ■ ■l—"lnside ball* is a term which puzzles many enthusiasts. The expression immediately brings to mind secret manipulations on the diamond and is generally passed up as being too deep. In reality inside ball la nothing more or less than playing the game. There is no mystery about it. Of course, every major league and minor league squad has its "signs,” or signals as they are called by the fans, writes Malcolm McLean in the Chicago Evening Post. But so have football teams and basketball squads. _ Take the average ball game. The home team Is at bat, nobody is down and there’s a runner on‘ first. The batter tries to lay down a sacrifice bunt, and misses the ball. "Aw, hit ’er out,” yells a bleacherite in disgust. . Then he turns to his neighbor and growls. “Gee, I can’t .stand for that kind of a game. What’s that guy trying to' bunt for? Why don’t he hit ’em to the fence?” /I. This instance is one of the many “mysteries” of Inside ball. It’g playing the game to sacrifice that man around to second, from which point he can easily score on a single. If the batter tries to hit safely right from the jump there’s the immediate danger of a double play, and two men out. Take another case. There’s a man on first and a left-hander at bat. Such a hitter generally slaps one to right field or between first and second. So, naturally, as soon as the ball Is hit the shortstop runs to cover second in the hopes of negotiating a double play. If the batter'hits right-handed the second baseman usually covers second.' Yet this is the so-called inside ball which has so many fans wondering what’s it all about. The Cubs in the past were called masters of inside ball. The reason was they had played together so long that every man knew the instant the ball was hit just what to do under the circumstances. In other words, it was second sense or “inside ball” if you prefer. Yet this style of~ play doesn’t always win—far to the contrary. Frequently the Boston Red Sox have thrown inside ball to the winds and played the hit-and-run game Instead of sacrificing. They broke up the defense of the rival teams by pulling stuff when not expected. It’s far more spectacular if they get away with it For instance, with first and second occupied and none out, to have the batter knock the balP over the fence at the first pitch warms the cockles of the heart more than a dinky little bunt and an out at first. But you’ll find that in the long run the team which plays the game as it should from the start of the season to the end will finish better than Its rival, if both squads are about equal in strength. Cap Anson says the old Chicago Colts usfed as much 'lnside ball as the great teams of today, and proves his point. So if it wasn’t mysterious thirty years ago it shouldn’t be so today. ’

LEE TANNEHILL’S HARD LUCK

Arm is Splintered Ten Minutes After First Opportunity to Break Into Game This It’s pretty ‘‘tough to be put out with a broken wrist before you have been ten minutes in the game, but that is what happened to Lee Tannehill of the Chicago White Sox on May 8. He had taken Weaver’s place in the game

Lee Tanfiebill.

with Washington and was at bat when one of Walter Johnson’s shoots caught him on the arm. He did not know the arm was broken until he went into the field after the side was retired and attempted tft throw.

Speed of Cincinnati Reds.

Cincinnati Reds have shown a big improvement tn base running and: much natural speed and Mswsrwt ths moat <