Evening Republican, Volume 16, Number 291, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 December 1912 — EXCUSE ME! [ARTICLE]

EXCUSE ME!

By Rupert Hughes

m —.j * ~~ nOftuSN u the Comedy of the Seme Name ILLUSTRATED From Photograph* at tho Play HPrdnW Br Henry W. Sara 4«

Ooprriffbt, UU, Iv U. «_ *Ty Ofc » BYNOPSIB. Lieut. Harry Mallory ie ordered to the Phllpplnes. He and Marjorie Newton decide to elope, but wreck of taxicab prevents their seeing minister on the way to the train. Transcontinental train is taking on passengers. Porter has a lively time with an Englishman and Ira Lathrop. a Yankee business man. The elopers have an exciting time getting to the train. ‘‘Little Jimmie” Wellington, bound for Reno to get a divorce, boards train in maudlin condition. Later Mrs. Jimmie appears. She is also bound for Reno with same object. Likewise Mrs. Sammy Whitcomb. Latter blames Mrs. Jimmie for her marital troubles. Classmates of Mallory decorate bridal berth. Rev. and Mrs. Temple start on, a vacation. They decide to cut loose and Temple removes evidence of his calling. Marjorie decided to let Mallory proceed alone, but train starts while they are lost In farewell. Passengers Join Malory’s classmates in giving couple wedding hazing-. Marjorie Is distracted. Ira Lathrop, woman-hating bachelor, discovers an old sweetheart, Annie Cattle, a fellowpassenger. Mallory vainly hunts for a preacher among the passengers. Mrs. Wellington hears Little Jimmie’s voice. Later she meets Mrs. Whitcomb. Mallory reports to Marjorie his failure to find a preacher. They decide to pretend a quarrel and Mallory finds a vacant berth. Mrs. Jimmie discovers Wellington on the train. Mallory again makes an unsuccessful Hunt for® a preacher. Dr. Temple poses as a physjclan. Mrs. Temple Is induced by Mrs. Wellington to smoke a cigar. Sight of preacher on a station platform raises Mallory’s hopes, but he takes another train. Missing hand baggage compels the couple to borrow from passengers. Jimmie gets a cinder in his eye and Mrs. Jimmie gives first aid. Coolness is then resumed. Still no clergyman. More borrowing. Dr. Temple puzzled by behavior of different couples. Marjorie’s Jealousy aroused by Mallory's baseball jargon. Marjorie suggests - wrecking the train in hopes that accident will produce a preacher. Also tries to Induce conductor to hold the train so she can shop. Marjorie’s dog is missing. She pulls the cord, stopping the train. Conductor restores dog and lovers quarrel. Lathrop wires for a preacher to marry him and Miss Gattle. Mallory tells Lathrop of his predicament and arranges to borrow the preacher. Kitty Lewellyn, former sweetheart of Mallory’s, appears and afouses Marjorie’s jealousy. Preacher boards train. After marrying Lathrop and Mlsb Gattle the preacher escapes Mallory by leaping from moving train. Mallory’s dejection moves Marjorie to reconciliation. The last day on the train brings Mallory the fear of missing his transport. Mallory gets a Nevada marriage » license. CHAPTER XXXlV,—Continued. Seeing them together, Mrs. Temple watched the embrace with her daily renewal of joy that the last night’s quarrel had not proved fatal. She nudged her husband: "See, they’re making up again." Dr. Temple was moved to a violent outburst for him: “Well, that the darnedest bridal couple—l only said darn, my dear.” He was still mope startled when Mr. Baumann, cruising along the aisle, bent over to murmur: “Can I fix you a nice divorce?" ' Dr. Temple rose In such an attitude of horror as he assumed In the pulpit when denouncing the greatest curse of society, and Mr. Baumann retired. As ,he passed Mallory he cast an appreciative glance at Marjorie and, tapping Mallory’s shoulder, whispered: “No vonder you want a marriage license. I’ll be In the next car, should you neet me.” Then he went on his - rroute. Marjorie stared after him In wonder and asked: “What did that person mean by what he said?’? “It’s all right, Marjorie,” Mallory explained, In the highest cheer: “We can get married right away.” Marjorie declined to get he? hopes tip again: “You’re always saying that.” “But here’s the license —see?” “What good Is that?” she said; “there’s no preacher oh board.” “But that man Is a justice of tl(n peace and he’ll marry us.” Marjorie stared at him incredulously: “That creature! —before all these passengers?” "Not at all,” Mallory explained. “We’ll go Into the smoking room." Marjorie leaped to her feet, aghast: "Elope two thousand miles to be married in a smoking room by a Yiddish drummer! Harry Mallory, you’re crazy.” ii j * Put just thgt way, the proposition did not look so alluring as at first. He sank back with a sigh: “I guess 1 mi I resign." He was as weary of being “foiled again" as the villain of a cheap melodrama. The two lovers sat in a twilight of deep melancholy, till Marjorie’s mind dug up a new source of alarm; "Harry, I’ve Just thought of something terrible." * “Let's have It,” he sighed, drearily, “We reach San Francisco at midnight and you sail at daybreak. What becomes of me?” Mallory had no answer to this problemr'eieepU a grim: “I’ll not desert ypu” / “But we’ll ha>p no time to get married.” \ [ “Then,” he declared with iron resolve, “then I'll Veslgn from the Army." \ MArJorie "fared at him with awe. jiAwii*. Mo wonderful, so heroic. “But whatxwlU the oountry do without

“It will have to get along the best he answered with finality. “Do you think I’d give you up?” But this was too much to ask. In the presence of a ruined career and a heroless army, Marjorie felt that her own scruples were too petty to count. She could be heroic, too. “No!” she said, In a deep, low tone, "No, we’ll get married In the smoking room. Go call your drummer!" This opened the clouds and let In the sun again with such a radiant blaze that Mallory hesitated no longer. "Fine!" he crledr and leaped to his feet, only to he detained again by Marjorie's clutch: “But first, what about that bracelet?” “ , , •JShe’s got It,” Mallory groaned, slumping from the heights again. "Do you mean to say she’s still wearing it?” • • : “How was I to get It?” “Couldn’t you have slipped into her car last night and stolen it?” “Good Lord, I shouldn’t think you’d want me to go—why, Marjorie—l’d be arrested!” * But Marjorie set her Jaw hard: “Well, you get that bracelet, or you don’t get me.” And then her smouldering Jealousy and grief took a less hateful tone: “Oh, Harry!” #he wailed, “I’m so lonely and so helpless and sofafTrbm home.” "But I’m here,” he urged. “You’re farther away than anybody," she whimpered, huddling close to him. “Poor little thing” he murmured, soothing her with voice and kiss and caress. * “Put your arm round me,” she cooed, like a mourning dove, “I don’t care If everybody Is looking. Oh, I’m so lonely.” “I’m just as lonely as you are,” he pleaded, trying to creep into the company of her misery. “Please marry me soon,” she Implored, “won’t you, please?” *7 “I'd marry you this minute If you’d say the word,” he whispered. “I’d say it if you only had that bracelet,” she sobbed, like a tired child. “I should think you would understand my feelings. That awful person is wearing your bracelet and 1 have only your ring, and her bracelet is ten tihies as big as my r-i-ng, boo-hoo-hoo-oo 4 . “I’ll get thfft bracelet If I have to chop her arm off,” Mallory vowed. The sobs stopped short, as Marjorie looked up to ask: “Have you got your sword with you?” • “It’s In my trunk,”"be said, “but I’ll manage.” “Now you’re speaking like a soldier,” Marjorie exclaimed, “my brave, noble, beautiful, fearless husband. I’ll tell you! That creature will pass through this car on her way to breakfast. You grab her and take the bracelet away from her.” “I grab her, eh?” he stammered, his heroism wavering a trifle. “Yes, just grab her.” “Suppose she hasn’t the bracelet on?” he mused. “Grab her anyway,” Marjorie answered, fiercely. “Besides, I’ve no doubt it’s wished on.” He said nothing. “You did wish it on, didn’t you?” “No, no —never —of course not —” he protested. “If you’ll only be calm. I’ll get It if I have to throttle her.” Like a young Lady Macbeth, Marjorie gave Him her utter approval In any atrocity, and they sat in ambush for their victim to pass into view. They had not had their breakfast, but they forgot it. A dusky waiter went by chanting his "Lass call for breakfuss in Rining Bar,” He chanted it thrice In their ears, but they never heard. Marjorie was gloating over the discomfiture of the odious creature who had dared to precede her In the acquaintance of her hus-band-to-be. The husband-to-be was miserably wishing that he had to face a tribe of bolo-brandishing Moros, Instead of this trivial girl whom he had looked upon when her cheeks were red.

CHAPTER XXXV.

Mr. and Mrs. Little Jimmie. Mrs. Sammy Whitcomb had longed for the sweet privilege of squaring matters with Mrs. Jimmie Wellington. Sneers and back-biting, shrugs and shudders of contempt were poor compensation for the ever-vivid fact that Mrs. Wellington had proved attractive to her Sammy while Mrs. Wellington’s Jimmie never looked at Mrs. Whitcomb. Or If he did, his eyes had been so blurred that he two of her —and avoided both. Yesterday she had overheard Jimmie vow sobriety. Today his shining morning face showed that he had kept his word. She could hardly wait to begin the flirtation which, she trusted, would render Mrs. Wellington helplessly furious for six long Reno months. . The Divorce Drummer Interposed and held Jimmie prisoner for M time, but as soon as Mr. Baumann released him, Mrs. Whitcomb apprehended him. With a smile that beckoned and with eyes that went out' like far-cast fishhooks, she drew Leviathan into her net. She reeled him In and he plounced In the seat opposite. What sfieTtook -fnr hwHhfiriTißßH was reluctance.To add the last charm to her success, Mrs., Wellington arrived to see It Mrs. Whitcomb saw the lonely Ashton rise and offer her the seat facing him. Mrs. Wellington took it and sat down with the back of her head so close to the back of\ Mr. head that the feathW In he! hat tickled his neck. Jimmie Wellington had .seen—his wife pass by. To his sober eyes she was a fine sight as she moved up the aisle. In his alcohol-emancipated mind the keen sense of wrong endured that had driven him forth to

Reno began to lose its' Ige. His owa soul appealed from Jimmie drunk to Jimmie sober. The. appellate Judge began to reverse the lower court's de-cision,-point by polnLHe felt a sudden recrudescence of jealousy as he heard Ashton’s voice unctuously, flirtatiously offering his wife hospitality. He wanted to trounce Ashton. But what right had he to defend from gallantry women be was about to forswear* before the world? Jimmie’s soul was In turmoil, and Mrs. Whitcomb’s pretty face and alluring smile only annoyed him. She had made several gracious speeches before he quite comprehended any of them. Then he realized that she was saying, *Tm so glad you’re going to stop at Reno, Mr, Well* ington.” ——— “Thank you. So am I,” he mumbled, trying to look Interested and wishing that his wife’s plume would not tickle his neck. Mrs. Whitcomb went on, leaning closer: “We two poor mistreated wretches must try to console one another, musn’t we?” “Yes, —yes,—we must,” Wellington nodded, with a sickly cheer. Mrs. Whitcomb leaned a little closer. “Do you know that I feel almost related to you, Mr. Wellington?’’ “Belated?” he echoed, "you?—to me? How?” “My husband knew your wife so well.” Somehow a wave of Jealous rage surged over him, and he growled: “Your husband is a scoundrel." Mrs. Whitcomb’s smile, .turned to vinegar: “Oh, I can’t permit you to slander the poor boy behind his back. It was all your wife’s fault." Wellington amazed himself by his own bravery when he heard himself volleying back: “And I can’t permit TVott to’ slander iny wife bemud"-her back. It was all your husband’s fault.” Mm. Jimmie overheard this behind her back, and it strangely thrilled her. She Ignored Ashton’s existence and listened for Mrs. Whitcomb’s next retort. It consisted of a simple, Icy drawl: “I think I’ll go to breakfast." She seemed to pick up Ashton with her eves as she glided by, for, finding himself unnoticed, he rose with A careless: “I think I’ll go to breakfast,” and followed Mrs. Whitcomb. The Wellingtons sat dos-a-dos for some exciting seconds, and then on a sudden Impulse, Mrs. Jimmie rose, knelt in the seat and spoke across the back of It:

“It was very nice of you to defend me, Jimmie —er —James." Wellington almost dislocated several Joints in rising quickly and whirling round at the cordiality of her tone. But his smile vanished at her last word. He protested, feebly: “James sounds so like a—a butler. Can’t you call me Little Jimmie again?” Mrs. Wellington smiled indulgently: “Well, since it’s the last time. Good-bye, Little Jimmie.” And she put out her hand. He seized It hungrily and clung to it: “Good-bye?— aren’t you getting off at Reno?” "Yes, but—” “So am I—Lucretla.” “But we can’t afford to be seen together." Still holding her hand, he temporized: “We've got to stay married for six months at least —while we establish a residence. Couldn’t wes—er—couldn’t we establish a residence —er —together?” Mrs. Wellington’s eyes grew a little sad, as she answered: “It would be too lonesome waiting for you to roll home.” Jimmie stared at her. He felt the regret in her voice and took strange courage from it. He hauled from his pocket hie huge flask. and said quickly: “Well, if you’re jealous of this, I’ll promise to cork it up forever.” She shook her-head skeptically: “You couldn’t.” “Just to prove It," he said, "I’ll chuck it out of the window.” He flung up the sash and made ready to hurl his enemy into the flying landscape. “Bravo!” cried Mrs.’ Wellington. But even as his hand was about to let go, he tightened his clutch again, and pondered: “It seems a shame to waste It.” I “I thought so,” said Mrs. Jimmie, drooping perceptibly. Her husband began to feel that, after all, she cared what became of him. “I’ll tell you ” he said, ”I’ll give It to old Doc Temple. He takes his straight." “Fine!” He turned towards the seat where the clergyman and his wife were sitting, oblivious of the drama of reconciliation playing so close at hand. Little Jimmie paused, caressed the flask, and kissfed it. “Good-bye, old playmate!” Then, tossing his head with bravado, he reached out and pouched, the clergyman’s shoulder. Dr. Temple turned and rose with* a questioning look. Wellington put the flask In bis- hand and chuckled: “Merry Christmas!" “But, my good man —” the preacher objected, finding In his hand a donation about as welcome and as wieldy as a strange baby. Wellington winked: **Tt may come in handy for—your patients.” And now, struck with a sudden idea, Mrs. Wellington spoke: “Oh, Mrs. Temple.” "Yes, my- dear,” said the little old lady, rising. Mrs. Wellington placed In her hand a small portfolio and laughed: ;“Happy New Year!" Mrs. Temple stared at her gift and gasped:- “Great heavens! Your cigars!” , ‘They’ll be such' a Mrs. Wellington explained, “while thF doctor is out with his patients.” (TO BE CONTINUED.)