Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 15, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 January 1913 — The Women’s Candidate [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Women’s Candidate

By BYRON WILLIAMS

CHAPTER 1.

You have felt the thrill of the chase? Your pulses have leaped like an arrow at the yip, yip of the dogs in close pursuit? You have dashed madly over fences, taking the hurdles without regard to personal danger as the prey suddenly sprang from its covert and whisked swiftly into the hazel brush ahead? You —but wait! Fancy! Did you ever behold ten pretty, vivacious lithe-limbed young women chasing a handsome man —a perfect stranger—through a dogwood swamp, their dresses swirling high above pretty their baying, shrieks of hysterical laughter?

i "Catch him! Catch him!” shrilled • slender blonde to the leading lady running ahead with an athletic stride, her head and shoulders back, her hair rippling in the wind. •‘Get him, Jackie!” panted a ravenous brunette, close behind, “Darn these narrow skirts, anyhow. I’d like to be a man long enough to wear —” “Oh, gee—this is—too —much for me!” and a solidly built blonde with a retrousse nose and a red sweater toppled onto a bed of moss under a thomapple tree and gasped for breath that persisted in cross-circuiting a chorus of chortles struggling for freedom. “E-Yip-I-Addy-I-Ay-I-Ay! ” "Run, girls, run!” "Go it!” "Hot foot!” “Whoo—p!” A startled rabbit, aroused from his breakfast of alder shoots, sat up in mazy bewilderment, took one hasty glance and bounded away into the marsh grasses, his funny little tail bobbing through the squashy places like a meteor of down. Ahead the man was running freely, taking an occasional swift glance over his shoulder at the foremost of the foe. One by one the pursuers were falling by the way, their laughter becoming more and more distant. Suddenly the man swerved behind a great ash along the trail and waited. Through the brush behind he heard the leader coming like a wood nymph, light and airy. The man crouched. She was upon him now. Agilely he sprang from his hiding place and opened his arms! With a gurgle of surprise, her cheeks as flaming red as the Oriental poppy on a sunny morning, she collided with his manly breast. Before she could free herself, the man’s lips were at hers, sipping the honey with an ecstasy of delight! “Oh!’ she gasped, struggling. “Were you looking for me?” asked the man, taking toll again and holding her close. “But —” she cried. “But —” between kisses. And then with one free hand she boxed him soundly on the ear. He let her go instantly, rubbing his head regretfully. She stood staring at him, her laughter given way to anger. “Sir!” her eyes blazing. “How dare you?” “Never mind,” said the man humbly, “I'll take it back!” coming nearer and reaching for her slim waist. Some lame philosopher has said that a woman with a sense of humor has never been born. In refutation, the girl suddenly broke forth into peals of laughter, backing away from him until she leaned against a tree trunk for support. The man kept his eyes on hfer. “Anyhow," be said finally, “I like the gakne. Who invented it?” Coming closer, he reached forth his hand and touched her lightly on the arm. "Tag!” he cried, and started to run. The girl sat down unceremoniously In a tangle of grape vines. Tlmd my fingers crossed!” she protested—and the man came back, disappointedly. "I’ll wait until they cramp,” he said determinedly, crouching at a respectable distance. •There ain’t a-goln’ to be any core!” nodding her golden head positively and striving to keep back the blushes. The man seemed saddened. “Listen," she said soberly. “If I expected ever to see you again. I'd be mortified to death. But I don't, and I'm going to make a clean breast of It, because,” with maidenly modesty, “It served me right!” He watted nodding by way of approbation. "You're the first jnan that's come tip to this forest primeval In five weeks We were hunting for rooccar ■in flower* when we caught sight of you.

•'Girls! there’s a mao!’, Shouted Bess Winters—and in a spirit. Of mischief we set out after you. It was only a flash of feminine deviltry, that would have died out at once —hot when you ran—well, it was so funny we ran after .you. I’m something of a Bprinter and I—l got in thb lead—and ‘I —didn’t expect you would—'would—’' The man grinned. J “ ‘A bird in the hand is worth tw-o in the bush! 1 ’” he quoted. “I thought you’d beat’'em—and I —but I hear voices. Shall we run away?” enticingly. "By all means, no,” she replied severely. 7- ; : ■ “Very well, then, I surrender —to you." The girl shook her head. p “I don’t want you.” “What, after chasing me across that confounded swamp!" looking meaningly at her wet and bedraggled skirt. She reddened. “It Is a woman’s privilege to reject —even after she has chased a man to Cover.” - “And you stand on your rights?” earnestly, but with mirth in his eyes. “I do!” positively. “Why?” he persisted. “Because!” He bowed profoundly. “Before woman’s final and always conclusive reason I seem to accept the inevitable —but do fiot be deceived, fair lady, ‘things are not always wha£ they seem,’ ” quoting. “I have caught you fairly on the first lap. I, too, shall stand on my rights—the rules of the game!” “Oh, here they are. Come on, girls!” cried an eager voice. One by one nine warm, giggling summer girls came into view, ranging a galaxy of beauty beneath the green trees. “Did you catch him, Jackie?” cooed the brunette. “Did you?” The golden haired one dropped her eyes. “She has—er, she did!” said the man, speaking for her. “Is this the pack?” “Who are you, sir, that dares call us dogs?” demanded a red-lipped blonde with hair like flax. “I am the fox!” replied the man. He arose to his feet and put his thumbs ,into the armpits of his vest, a habit he had, facing them mockingly. “Look!” screamed the short one, “he is an officer!” Jackie started. With a deft movement the brunette reached forth and laid back the lapel of his coat, peering at a tiny gold star, engraved; “Oh, girls,” she cried dramatically, a ring of mischief in her voice, “look who’s here; HIS HONOR, THE MAYOR!”

CHAPTER 11. "The jury will arise and be sworn!” “Jackie” Vining, the judge, waited impatiently. “What’s the matter with you, girls? Mabel, Lucile —don’t you know you’re jurymen—er, on the jury. Stand up! There!” with satisfaction. “Now raise your hands—no, no; your right hands! That’s better. You solemnly swear, cross your hearts, hope-to-die. you will carefully weigh the evidence in this case and render a verdict according to the statutes —er, according to what you think this wretch deserves?” maliciously. Six pretty heads nodded, in unison. “Be seated,” said the judge sternly. "His honor, the mayor,” sat on a soap box in the center of the Tront veranda, a mere man in the hands of the enemy, waiting his fate and trying to look unhappy. “W'hat’s the charge,” demanded Alice Mason, appointed by the court to defend the prisoner. The judge moved uneasily in her chair. Then, in a low, cutting tone she said; "He’s a thief!” The mayor looked up apprehensively. “I object,” he protested, “to the

court’s statement of the case. It la* irregular in—” “Order in the court!" Interrupted the Judge. “Who’s running this case?" The man lowered his eyes, accepting the inevitable. "Thiß defendant," began Jackie, “is a thief. He stole a kiss from —from — from a perfectly proper young woman who had never been kissed except by —by—well, by those who had a perfect right. I might say that lie not only stole one but —I believe it was several the young lady claims he sto’e He not only is a thief, but —” "<Vhom did he kiss? We demand

to know who the victim was?" ened the culprit’s lawyer, vindictively. "Overruled!” snapped the judge. The mayor sighed. Things looked black enough. “Your honor,” he said apprehensively, addressing the court, “I appeal for a change of venue. I have reason to believe that the judge is prejudiced against me. I—” Judge Vini'ng pierced him with a glance. "The idea!” she cried, with asperity. “Sit down, sir.” “Well, anyhow, it was worth, it!” he hack, r^grentfully. The judJsS blusbfd as she opened the hotel cook book and searched ostensibly for the criminal act relative to kissing against woman’s will. “Call the first witness!” ordered the court. Pretty Molly McConnell, her ravencrowned head held at a serious angle, her dimples set in a solemn background, took the stand. “It was barely sun-up this morning,” she said, quietly, “when we set out across the meadows after ladyslippers. Aurora was taking her matutinal bath in dew as we trudged down SimoD’s- hdll and came to the bottoms. Just as we were about to enter, we saw the defendant skulking in the wood. Somebody said, ‘Man!’ and we started in pursuit. Instead of surrendering, the villain fled at top speed. We ran after him! Jackie—er, I beg your pardon, your honor, led the chase. I was second until I caught my toe In a briar tendril and collapsed in an alder bush!” “What happened next?” encouraged Margaret Farnsworth, the prosecuting attorney, brushing a stray #curl from hqr violet eyes, and fixing the witness with a steady eye. “I heard a scream from the wood ahead and then sounds of osculation!” , ■ - ' “I object!” interrupted Attorney Mason, striking a legal-attitude. “There is no evidence that this witness is an

affection expert—that she knows anything about osculation at close range, let alone long-distance kissing. Young lady, have you ever been kissed?” “The objection is sustained,” gurgled the court, mercilessly. The witness blushed rosily. “I refuse to answer,” she said, stubbornly. v “On what grounds?” demanded the judge. “On the grounds of self-implication and she snapped, her chin in the air. “The court reverses itself,” easily. "Witness nepd not incriminate herself. Ask the next question, attorney.” “To the best of your knowledge and belief,” began the state’s attorney, picking a burr from her skirt and tossing it carelessly to the floor, “were the noises you heard such as to make you think that somebody was being, er—kissed?” “Wait!” interrupted the defense, “I object on the grounds—on the —it’s a hypothetical question and —without proper foundation in fact," impressively. (TO BE CONTINUED.)

The Mayor.

“How Dare You, Sir?”