Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 17, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 20 January 1913 — The Women’s Candidate [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Women’s Candidate

By BYRON WILLIAMS

Copyright 1911, Western Newspaper Union SYNOPSIS. ? I In a spirit of fun Mayor Bedight, a summer visitor, is chased through the woods by ten laughing girls, one ot whom he catches and kisses. The girls form themselves Into a court and sentence him to do the bidding of one of their number each day for ten days. A legislative measure opposing woman suffrage, which dropped from the mayor’s pocket, is used to compel him to obey the mandates of the girls. CHAPTER IV.—Continued. She took her seat in the boat and Bedight pushed off. The east was a riot of effulgence and the lapping waves broke in crested turrets of gold as they gurgled and splashed on their way to meet the boat. Rowing steadily, the mayor studied the face of the girl opposite—the face of a patrician, softened by clear blue, kindly eyes and beautified by amorous red lips. Unconsciously Bedight caught himself mentally reading: “With thy red lips, redder still. Kissed by strawberries on the hill—” He drew the boat to a shady spot along the beach and rigged a pole for her. " “Bait it!” she commanded, dropping her magazine. “Bacon rind, minnows, frogs or worms?” he questioned, hook in hand. “You have just said it depends upon the bait,-now bait it,” she admonished curtly. “But what do you want to catch?” he insisted. “Fish!” He took up an angleworm and impaled it on the hook, while the girl watched him, fascinated. *1 —I never could do that Ugh! But men are wretches!” For answer he threw the line into the water and handed her the rod. “Oh!” she screamed, pulling nervously at a bright-eyed perch with Tyrian-red fins. x “Let him have it a bit,” cautioned the mayor. “Oh, that is the way you fish for fish, too?" she exclaimed. “Why, how f u n n y!” \ He nodded. ’ “Now, see that! He’s taken all the bait and gone away,” ruefully. “And you told me to wait!” “A fish and a man should be landed at exactly the.right moment,” he advised, seriously, avoiding her eyes. “If trifled with too long, either is apt to get away with the —er, bait!” “Thank you,” she replied coldly. “I know how to do it now.” In a trice she had a flopping beauty to the boat. He rebaited her hook and, picking up his rod, sent a Dowagiac spinning through the air. It fell just without a bed of moss. There followed a splash, a neat turn of the wrist, a whirring of the reel and a cry from the girl: “Oh, give it to me! Give It to me! Let me land him!” Obediently Bedight handed her the rod. The fish darted and plunged. She reeled in frantically. The mayor smiled. The fish, a black bass of three pounds, came into view of v the

boat. The flstierlady squealed with delight—but the fish, seeing his tormentors, made a desperate break for liberty The won an, gripping the rod ftrm’y. , ssipted the attack, whereat the honk tnro i« O vp and the dangling

bait flew high in the air above her head! j “Oh, isn’t that too bad!" she exclaimed, disappointment shadowing her -pretty face. ’'• .■ . . ' ’ , '," “When you haye hooked a fish or a man,” he began quietly, “and either shows a disposition to plunge, give a little line. Keep a taut but not too resisting hold. When the fury of the plunge is over, reel in cautiously. If you do this, the man or the fish will always come back captive.” “I never have had occasion to need your advice,” she said simply. “I see you are a novice at —fishing,” he said, patronizingly. wshe colored. ■ I haven’t found it necessary, or desirable, sir, to become overly proflcient!” proudly. “But your husband —” he said, as he threw out his line, "may prove—” “Pardon me.” She spoke haughtily. “My husband, should I ever have one, will not be the-sort that will need to be called back. He—” “Of course not,” he said in a conciliatory voice. “They never are—until after marriage.” He was struggling now with a gamy Oswego, which he landed finally by jumping from the boat and skimming it in on the sandy beach. As he did so, a rough fellow with a nondescript slouch hat pulled scoopshovel fashion over his face and dressed in the typical native style, sprang from behind a clump of bushes and bawled: “I thought so. Gol darn ye, you’re under arrest.”

The mayor looked at this new custodian with growing interest. The fellow was lopg and lank and weatherbeaten. The type was recognizable at first glance. Undoubtedly he was the local game warden, a shiftless ne’er-do-well, appointed by a not too discriminating politician during a hot campaign. “What’s the charge, officer?” asked Bedight, unhooking the fish and standing over it as it flopped upon the sand. The warden, swelling with importance. cleared his throat for action. “That there flshin’ tackle o’ ydurn has got gang hooks on it, which Is agin the law. XoU’ll has t’ come with me. mister.” The mayor whistled. “Got a copy of the law with you?” he asked, with a careful show of respect. The warden plunged into his coat pocket and brought forth a paper-cov-ered booklet, distributing on the wind

as he did so flecks of tobacco, matches and silver foil. “Here ’tis,” he grunted, triuniphantly. “Right there —section 7, ‘Flshin’ in Season,’” pointing with a grimy thumb. Bedight read the section in question. “All right, officer; 1 guess I’ll have to go,” he agreed, good-naturedly, a happy thought gripping him enticingly. The girl in the boat screamed. “Don’t you dare go away. If you do, I’ll —we’ll send that bill to Ossian!” The mayor groaned. “Come on!” ordered the warden impatiently. "I ain’t got no time to be argin’ with skirts. You’ve violated the law an’ I reckon you’ll has to pay th’ fiddler.”

Bedight reached to the beach as if to pick up his fish. Instead, he reached six Inches farther, took a quick, strong hold on the bottom of one leg of the warden’s trousers, gave d mighty tug upward and, as the disconcerted native turned a somersault in midair, broke for the boat. Seeing his evident intent. Miss Andrews encouraged the leap, but alas for human precision! In his rush he struck the gunwale, there was a clatter, a scream and the next instant Miss Andrews found herself in seven feet of water. She came up with a gasp and would have swum to safety, for she was athletic, but the mayor, in the same predicament, came gallantly to the rescue, carrying her to shore In his arms, where he lingeringly deposited her on the warm sand. The outraged warden, fully believing that Providence had become his ally, and delivered into his hands the rraktlng crlnilngl._atxode forward and tapped BedlgGtauthorltatlvely on the shoulder.

“Serves ye right, darn ye. Now you come along with me!’’ Fbr answer Bedight pirouetted in the sand and, swinging hard, gave the native a terrific stnack on the jaw with the flat of his hand. With a howl of pain and outraged pride that official turned ignominiously and ran for cover, bawling threats of revenge as he sped toward the village. In her wet and dripping clothes the girl wmk precipitately upon the sand and gave venr ro screams of hysterical

„r, ' I ■ - ■ ‘ ‘. laughter. Under the influence of her rare good humor, BedJght’s seriousness melted —and he, I too, dropped upon the beach and reviewed the ludicrous side of the situation in hearty guffawing. "But we’ve got to get out of here," finally protested the mayor, his face sobering. “I know these country constable fellows. That warden will be back here in an hour with enough native talent to arrest a company of night riders. It’s time for us to move on.” He righted the boat and collected

the fishing rods. The lunch basket was hooked with a clever cast and brought to shore. “I’m not going to move a step from here,” she declared firmly as he faced about on the beach, “until ! —I wring out this awful wet skirt!” blushing. He looked at the dress thoughtfully. It was dripping water all about her. Then his eyes fell upon her big sunshade. Without a word he picked it up, walked down the dry beach and stuck it in the sand, its dome at an angle of forty-five degrees. Then he came back and sat down on the prow of the boat, his back to the umbrella. The girl looked at him and then at the umbrella. “Do you promise not to peek?” in a confused voice. “I’m the sphinx,” he said, quietly. “Take your time—and get It good and dry. Er—-hang it on the umbrella, you know —where the sun can get at it.” He heard her soft footfalls in the sand—and waited. He waited a long time. Once he almost'forgot and was at the point of viewing the landscape in her general direction, when he heafd a discreet cough and jerked his head about-face, giving himself up to the cantanker6us conduct of a fish hawk pestering a kingfisher, much to the vocalistic annoyance of the latter, who chattered angrily. And then from the weedy country road behind the hill there came voices. The warden and his assistants were returning. ' Would the girl never reappear? Rushing toward the hill, the mayor waved his arms and shouted: “Go back, you fellows! Go back, there’s a lady dressing! There’s —" “On, Mr. Bedight,” cried a clear voice from the rear, “I’m ready.” The mayor turned and ran precipitately down the hill, the natives in full pursuit. But this time he reached the boat in safety and flung a derisive laugh at the angry warden’s peremptory command to: “Come back here, gol darn ye, an’ git arrested!” The girl watched the man narrowly. “If you don’t mind, Mr. Bedight, we’ll go over on the lee side of the island. There’s a nice warm beach over there and while I investigate the condition of this lunch we can dry out a bit. I’m not going back to that hotel in the daylight!” It was dusk when the two climbed up the steps of the Squirrel Inn. The judge came forward officially to receive the report. “He’s—he’s a perfect gentleman,” whispered Mae to Jackie as she slipped by to her room.

On the beach of Arrow Island, on the leeward side, two sand hummocks that showed convincing evidence of having been leaned against might have been seen in the shimmering moonlight—and they were about SO far apart (TO BE CONTINUED.)

“Let Him Have It e Bit."

Mae Andrews.

"Come Back Here, Gol Darn Ye, an" Git Arrested!”