Evening Republican, Volume 17, Number 275, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 November 1913 — CALLED ON A MAN [ARTICLE]

CALLED ON A MAN

By H. M. EGBERT.

“I hear Caleb Trevethan’s home again," said little Miss Simpson, coming up to Lillian Darrell as she sat sewing upon the stoop. “Fahey, after all these years!" Lillian looked up gravely. “I heard it too,” she said. “It must be 14 years since he was in Port Smith," continued Miss Simpson. “And he hasn’t showed his face among the neighbors yet* Weren’t you and he sort of—” “Engaged?" asked Lillian, conscious of her heightened color. “Yes —once.” “Dear me, who would ever think of you as having been engaged, my dear!” soliloquized the visitor. “That is—l mean, of course, you and 1 seem to be such settled creatures.” That was a bitter word, but it was a true one. The women who stayed at home in the little New England town had just half the opportunity of being married that those had who went away. That was a matter of statistics. There were twice as many women as men in Port Smith. And Lillian had stayed at home.

Her sister Anna had gone to the city to be a stenographer, and had married a rich lumber merchant. She wrote from time to time, but never came back. Her other sister, Marian, had become a hospital nurse and married a rising young doctor. Lillian was thirty-three. She had stayed at home because she was the eldest, and Bomebody had to care for her mother. Caleb Trevethan had been the only son of old Hiram Trevethan, who owned the homestead at the top of Maple avenue, nearly a half mile distant. He had left Port Smith, as all the young men did, and, like all, had left his sweetheart behind, promising to return - Lillian could remember that last night as vividly as if it had been yesterday. “I shall come back for you, dear,” he had said. “And I shall write to you every week, or oftener. Promise me that you will wait for me till then.” “Till when?” asked the girl, feeling utterly lonely and desolate. “Three years,” said Caleb, clenching his fists to emphasize his words. “In three years’ time I shall come back and take you away with me. Promise me, dear.” Lillian promised. Then she did something that she had never done before; ste raised her lips to his. And the night air became suddenly fragrant, and her heart swelled with happiness. So*' Caleb Vent away, and for two whole months his Jetters came. He was doing well, he said; he had a position with a big mill. It might be less than three years. Then the letters came less often and grew more formal. And at last they •ceased. Lillian lived on with her sick mother, until her death, a year before. Her sisters left, one after the other, and married. Lillian heard of Caleb at times. He had become a partner at <he age of thirty. Then the big consolidation had come and he was a power in Wall strdet before he was thirty-five. Then, only six months before, she had read the news of his engagement. She was amazed to find herself so little moved. The past had and half forgotten. The girl who had loved so passionately was not she but somebody of whom she thought with a wistful, kindly smile. And Caleb had been three days in the old homestead. He was alone, save for the old housekeeper. He had not brought his car, but had walked up from the station at night, like any traveler. He must have passed her house. “T-nHani —what An you think! ex■claimed Miss Simpson on the following day. “Have you seen today’s papers? No? Well, Caleb Trevethan is a bankrupt. He had to run away from New York. They’re talking of prosecuting him. And he’s hiding in his house because he doesn’t dare face the people who used to know him.” "And—and his wife?” asked Lillian, timidly. "I guess she’s not the kind that would stand by him when he’s in trouble,” answered Miss Simpson. “Though now I come to think of it, whom did he marry?” Lillian did not know what she answered. Caleb returning, to revisit his home, was one thing, but Caleb in trouble! That was quite different. To her amazement she fqund that all the old feelings had come rushing back as if the thirteen years had never elapsed. She put on her hat and started up the street On every porch women ' were rocking in the cool of the afternoon, watching the passers-by. One hailed her. “Come in. Miss Darrell,” she said. “You look as if were on an errand, -though." “Yes,” answered Lillian. I’m going * to call on Mr. Trevethan." An electric shock would have Btunned the other less. Lillian jning shamelessly to call on her old Dead — call on a man —a fugitive, waiting for the officers of the law to come for him! She must have loved Caleb Trevethan mighty badly, then! "You see,” explained Lillian, “now that he is in trouble somebody ought to show him that his old friends are his friends still. Don’t you think so?" “O yes—yes,” answered the other vaguely. It was a fine sentiment, but —Lillian was going to call on a man! The girl knew what they thought fUM had known it before she started.

But the instinct of loyalty waa l stronger than the sense of shame. What did she care for misinterpretations? He was in trouble, perhaps ill, and she would show him that, in spite of all, Port Smith was not. going to take sides against him. But as she entered the gatp of the old house a faintness came over her, and she had to summon all her energy'" to overcome it She had not seen him for 13 years, and she pictured Caleb as a boy still, with that adventurous light in his eyes. It did not occur to her that the years bring changes. The door stood open. Lillian knocked, knocked again, and then went in. The parlor door was ajar ateo. In a far corner of the room a man was standing before a mirror. As she entered he turned slowly round and Lillian saw something shining in his hand. The next moment she had flung herself upon him and wrenched it away and thrown it down. “Caleb!” Bhe gasped. A mask seemed to fall from his face. “Lillian M” he .cried. The mirror reflected their faces. How he had changed! "This was nolonger the adventurous boy, but a man with the years of hopes and dreams behind him, seared with the battle of life, and not quite, spotless from the arena. . a

“Lillian,” Bald Caleb, “I was going to kill myself. I have lost everything for which I fought so many years. Then you camp, unless it was some purpose of destiny. Why did you come?” She flung her bead back proudly. “To show you,” she said, “that whatever the world may say of you we do not forget—at home. We are , proud of what you have done, Caleb. And we know that that was only the temptation of despair. You are not going under beneath the first blow of fortune. Ydu are going back to fight again, and win.” He seemed to wince under her words, in spite of the pride in them. “That you should tell me this!” he muttered. “But I want you to know something, Lljlian. I always meant to come back to you. When I saw how hard the battle was to be I felt I could not hold you fairly. But I meant to come back —heaven knows I did. Only —the years passed.” “Yes, the years pass,” she answered. “They take many f&ings from us.” “But not our first loves,” said Caleb. “Lillian, when I came back, baffled and beaten, I dared to hope that you were free. But I could not face you. “And your wife?” she asked, with a sudden gesture of weariness. “It was in the papers—the engagement, you know.” Caleb Trevethan flung back his head and laughed. “A petty blackmailing scheme,” he said. Lillian, I have to face those things daily. That’? part of the game. Dear, I wish I had had you by my side during the battle. But I’m going back to win now —*only, I must have you. A good deal has gone by. Will you make the most of what is left to us, Lillian ” And suddenly she found that it was be who was the stronger after all. But it was the strength she had given. (Copyright, 1913, by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.)