Evening Republican, Volume 16, Number 288, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 3 December 1912 — HIS NERVE FAILED [ARTICLE]

HIS NERVE FAILED

One Girl’s Face Spoiled a WeilLaid Advertising Scheme.

By H. M. EGBERT.

“You’ll never dare, to pull that off," sneered Chauncey B. Popoff, English manager of the Popoff Linoleum company, to Harry Burnett, as they sat in the company’s offices at Earl's court, England, t- ■ “I will dare, and, what’s more. I’ll carry it through to the bitter end," answered Burnett. “You largely exaggerate the difficulties because you don’t understand the English psychology,” he continued. "How will they know I’m not a duke in disguise? Besides, it always was done in the olden days, and a mere four or five hundred years are not enough to upset an established precedent in this country.” “Well, Burnett, I wish you luck,” answered Popoff sceptically. “Of course if you do—well, anyway, the materials are all downstairs in the shipping yard and the men have gone home. The gray truck horse has had a feed and you’d better get busy.” Burnett rose and, accompanied by the other, went down into the deserted yard. Ringed round by the blank walls of high buildings, it afforded a perfect spot in which to practice evolutions unobserved by curious-minded persons. At one end of the yard a huge gray, of the Flanders breed, stood munching at a few oats remaining In the bottom of his crib. Near by was a great packing case, -filled ■ with what looked like iron imple- , meats. “Now help me into the armor, Popoff, and stop your confounded sneering,” said Burnett, and together, not without difficulty, they took the pieces from the case. There was a steel helmet, with the vizor attachment, greaves, hauberk, arm-pieces—-all the complementary parts of a knight’s business suit, and, to complete the .outfit, a sectional lance, some 12 feet long, and padded at the point “By Barnum's tooth, I’m glad I’m not in your shoes,” said Popoff, as he helped the other to don the steel pieces. “You look hot, Burnett. Say, wouldn’t Miss Ware thro#" fits if she could see —” “See here, Popoff, you cut that out,” growled Burnett through the bars of his vizor. “Any more talk of that sort and we part company. Understand?” Popoff subsided sulkily and helped the trussed knight to adjust the leg and arm pieces. When at last this was done he propped him against a wall and proceeded to attire the horse In chest-piece and head armor. As this protection was more for show than for utility, he found it easy to carry and adjust the steel pieces, though the gray showed considerable restlessness during the operation. Finally, with a prodigious effort, he placed Burnett upon the horse’s back and, having taken his lance, Burnett passed round the yard at a ponderous canter, from time to time testing the accuracy of his aim against a circle chalked on a wall. After some half hour of this performance the perspiring knight was unharnessed, the armor peeked away, and the steed was given a drink of water and a fresh feed. Five days later the celebrated tournament was to be held in the Earl’s Court grounds, at which the nobility of English and many who were not noble were to participate in a grand revival of the medieval sport. Burnett, who had recently gone to England in the interests of the Popoff firm, had been an authority on the tournament; he had written a thesis on "Medieval Armor” which had attracted some attention among archeologists. When his father, obsessed by the belief that a commercial existence was indispensable for a young man, had given him the alternative between entering the employment of the Popotfs' and being stricken out of his will, Burnett had rather sulkily gone to England, as advfertising manager, to find the whole country agog over the forthcomiing pageant/ And the wild idea had come to him of engaging in the tournament. “I’m a pretty fair rider, Popoff,” he argued. “I didn’t often get thrown when I was bronco-busting in Wyoming—and I kept my seat on the greased rail at Coney last year, during the carnival, and won a pewter challenge cup. —Why shouldn't I enter as an unknown knight and -meet the nobility on equal terms “Because the copsjwill stop you before you can get in,” said Popoff. “We’ll see,” responded Burnett confidently. “I guess ij; will take some cops to stop me when I’m in my tourneying t£gs.” . And so, five mornings later, the workmen having received a special holiday on full pay, to enable Burnett to accouter himself unobserved, the young man fnounted the sullen gray and passed through the big gates into the busy Earl's court road, to the In the distance he saw a white pavilion set in a meadow; as he rode nearer he perceived a circle of tiers of wooden seats, on which were hundreds of spectators; in a roped-off portion was a group of ladies, and, in the center of these, the Queen of Beauty. On either side of a central jMis Jcnights were riding to•fard leicfi ,s other, thrusting with "Well, If I can’t heat that!” mut-

tered Burnett to himself, as, he |*w one lightly touch the armor of his antagonist, saw the lance splinter, and heard the herald proclaim the victor amid deafening Bhouts. He adjusted his vizor and sent the gray at an easy lumber toward the knights’ pavilion. Again the horse was seized by the bridle. Looking down Burnett perceived that a gorgeously clad individual, flanked on each side by a boy bearing a pennant and followed by a trumpeter who looked like the Knave of Hearts, was accosting him. “Your name. Sir Knight?” demanded this individual, looking a little sheepish. For the question Burnett was prepared. “Sir;tl am a stranger knight,” he answered briskly, “and I have ridden hither from overseas to wmtest for my lady in your tourney aod to uphold her name against all comers.” “You cannot contest, Sir, unless your name is on the entrance list,” replied the herald, keeping a tight grip of the horse’s bridle. “It’s against the rules. Hi! Get off the grass, you there! Go round and pay your shilling at tne entrance if you want to see the tourney.” But Burnett broke short the colloquy by suddenly spurring the gray again and galloping toward the entrance, where he perceived a bevy of knights upon their steeds awaiting their turn at the jousting. The Mas-ter-Of-Arms, seeing him rpproaeh, came spurring out toward him. “Your name, Sir Knight?” he demanded.- “Are you an entrant in this tourney, and come to do battle for some lady?” “No, I’m a stranger,” answered Bur-, nett briskly. “But I guess from the little I’ve seen that there won’t be much of a battle when I get busy." The Master-At-Arms frowned an- 11 grlly. "Nobody who Isn’t entered can joust, unless some lady hrs nominated him,” he answered. Master-At-Arms carried an ug-ly-looking face, and there seemed a certain finality in his words. Suddenly Burnett, casting his eyes upward, perceived, looking at him, not twenty yards away—Emmeline Ware! The shock almost unnerved him. He had been thrown much Into her society since his arrival two months before, and had reason to believe that she was not wholly Indifferent to him. And now, looking at her, he perceived that she had overheard, and distinctly saw her lips frame the word “yes.” “I’m nominated by Miss Ware —Miss Emmeline \#are. She’s my nominator —I mean my lady,” stammered Burnett; and then somehow the strangeness of the scene caught the Imagination of all and the spectators rose and shouted and the Queen of Beauty smiled —and a moment later Burnett was cantering down on his side of the barrier again it a knight whose helmet was encircled with ducal strawberry leaves. And two moments latter the duke was galloping past clutching his horse’s mane, his shivered lance on the ground; while Burnett found himself the victor. Again a knight rode out at him, and the sullen grdy thundered past; and this time the knight was clanging übon the sandeJ ground, like an overturned turtle, while Burnett rode past and saluted Miss Emmeline and saw her smile on him. Again—again; he felt sure of himself, knew that he cotHd not be overthrown. And It was remarkably like riding on the greased rail at Cony, but not so hard. Now the champion was billed to meet him —the Duke of Clydesdale, a wiry, athletic man mounted on a magnificent Norman. He was a splendid figure as he rode down the lists, and the excitement reached its zenith. They stood up, women and men, and shouted and clapped their hands. Burnett thrust, but Btruck only air, and, reeling in his saddle, he galloped by. At the end of the lists the combatants turned anti drew together again. The lances smote true. Each shivered Into a dozen fragments. Burnett caught at the bridle and saved himself by the gray’s hard-bitted mouth. But when he turned amid the tumultuous acclamations of all, he saw the duke limping out of the sawdust The Master-At-Arms was heard above the tumult. “Unroll your standard, Sir Knight that the Queen of Beauty may acclaim you victor and crown you with the wreath,” he cried. And Burnett, looking up, saw Emmeline Ware’s eyes fixed on his and her parted lips, her face, wherein intense emotion strove with dignity. And he knew that if he unrolled his standard he must never see her again. His scheme had failed, but from that failure something of more worth than success was to spring. He beht his head, falsed his right *rm in salutation —and holding the precious standard tightly rolled in his stirrup bucket he galloped off the field. Behind him he heard shouts. Men came funning toward him, pulled at his bridle, hut he shook them off. Through a nightmare of yells and cries he made his slow way till he reached the gates, passed through, threaded the mazes of Jhe Earl’s Court Road, and at last entered the open gates of the. factory, which he succeeded in closing fast just as the foremost of his pursuers came up. “Gee, that was a close shave!” he muttered breathlessly, as he pulled off his helmet and gasped at the fresh air. Then from his stirrup bucket he took the standard and unrolled it H« lit a match and as the flames ate their way through -the silken tissues his breath came freely and b s heart pulsed quickly with Joy. For on the flag were the words: -USE HO POUF’S LI NO LI UMS The best-laid advertising scheme* go wrong sometimes. (Copyright, IS 12, by W. O. Chapman.)