Evening Republican, Volume 18, Number 97, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 23 April 1914 — Page 2

BYNOPSIS.

Th* *tory opens with Jesse Smith relating the story of Ms birth, early life in Labrador and of the death of his father. Jesse becomes a sailor. His mother marries the master of the ship and both are tost in the wreck of the vessel. Jesse becomes a cowboy in Texas. He marries Polly. a ringer of questionable morals, who later is reported to have committed auidde. Jesse becomes a rancher and tnoves to British Columbia. Kate Trevor takes up the narrative. Unhappily married she contemplates suicide, but changes her mind after meeting Jesse. Jesse rescues Kate from her drink-maddened husband who attempts to kill her. Trevor loses his life in the rapids. Kate rejects offers of grand opera managers to return to the stage ana marries Jesse. Their married life starts out happily. Kate succumbs to the pleadings of a composer to return to the stage and runs away with him. She rescues Widow O'Flynn from tow burning house, Is badly burned herself and returns home, where Jes§e receives her with open arms. Jesse calls on neighbors and plans to capture cattle thieves. Kate Is rescued from the hands of the bandits. Jesse 18 captured by the robbers, but by a clever ruse makes prisoners of the robbers. They are turned over to a United States marshal, who has arrived with extradition papers. Jesse takes charge of the outlaw chiefs son. Billy O’Flynn, having promised the chief to keep him out of his father's profession. He takes Billy to Vancouver and the lad Is shanghaied. A son is born to Kate and Jesse and Is named David. Jesse receives a letter from his first wife, Polly, in which she tells him she deceived him into thinking she had killed herself. She threatens to come to him. CHAPTER XlV.—Continued. The father released me, turning to my dear man. "Jesse,” he said, “won’t you shake hands with me? "You see," he said, "I made a mistake myself, thinking a priest should be celibate to win love from on high. But In its fullest strength God’s love comes through a woman to shine upon our life —and so I’ve missed the greatest of his gifts. Your wife haß told me everything, and I’m so envious. Won’t you shake hands? I’ve been so lonely. Won’t you?” But my man stood in the mouth of the cave, as though he were being Judged. "This filth;” he said, “out of the past. Path!” His voice sounded as though he were dead. "The law,” he said. "I*ve come to find out what’s the law?” "Man’s law?*’ "I suppose so." "But I don’t know. I’m only a very Ignorant old man; your friend, If you'll have me.” "What do you think?” . “So far aa I see, Jesse, the woman ct" arraign you on a charge of bigamy. Moreover, If you seek divorce she can plead that there’s equal guilt, from which there’s no release.” "And that’s the law?” "Man’s law. But, Jesse, when you and Kate were Joined in holy matrimony, was it man’s law which said, "Whom God hath joined, let no man put asunder.’ What has man’s law to do with the awful justice of Almighty God? “And here, my son, I am something more than a foolish old man.” He rose to his feet, making the sign of the cross. “I am ordained," he said, “a barrister to plead at the bar of Heaven. Will you not have me as your adviser, Jesse?" "Whom God hath joined,” Jesse laughed horribly, "that harlot and I.” "She swore to love, honor and obey?" "Till death ns part!” "And that was perjury?” "A Joke! A Joke!' "That was not marriage, my son, but blasphemy, the sin beyond forgive-

"Then You Must Part.”

ness. The piteous lost creature has ■erer been your wife." "I told her what she Is, straight from the sho*-’der." “Who made her so? M Jesse lowered his head. “Who made her the living accusation of men’s sins? She is the terrible State's evidence, God’s evidence, which waits to be released in the Day of Judgment You told her straight from the shoulder. Judge not that ye tM not judged. Remember that of all Che men she knew on earth, you only •an plead not guilty." "Because I married her?’’ asked jeeee humbly. ... “Because you tried. You gave her your elean name, your pure life, your PlnhSfid so act of knightly chivalry. '

A Man in the Open

Illustrations bg Ellsworth Young

“Only a cur would blame the weak. Only a coward would accuse the lost. But In your manhood remember her courage, Jesse. Forgive as you hope for pardon. Keep your life clean, from every touch of evil, but to the world stand up for the honor of the name you gave her." “I will.” “You forgive?” "Yes.” “You will pray for her?” “I will pray." “And now the hardest test has still to gome. For your wife’s honor and for the child, you must keep their names stainless, clear of all reproach while you await God’s judgment. They must leave you, Jesse.” “Oh, not that, sir!’’ “Can they Btay here In honor?” “No." “Can you run away?" ’•Never!” “Then you must part” Jeßse covered his face with his hands, and there against the deepening twilight I saw shadows reaching out from him, as though—slowly the shadows took form of high-shouldered wings and mighty pinions sweeping to the ground. He looked up, and behold he was changed. “Pray for me, sir!” he whispered. Then the priest raised his hand, and gave him the benediction.. Jesse Closes the Book. It Is years now since my lady left me. Never has an ax touched her trees, or any human creature entered her locked house*. The rustle of her dress is in the leaves each fall, the pines still echo to her voice. I hear her footsteps over the new snow, I feel her presence when I read her books. I know her thoughts are spirits haunting me, and all things wait until she comes back. Not until I lost my lady did I ever hear that faint, thin, swaying echo when her grove seemed to be humming tunes. At times when dew was falling, I have heard the pattering of millions and millions of little feet, just as she said, making the grass bend. Tears drop on the paper and shame poor fool Jesße. The Book Bays that He shall wipe away all tears. If my bear had only lived, I should not have been so lonely. I wonder If —God help me, I can’t write more. The book Is finished. PART THREE. ‘ CHAPTER I.

Spite House. Rate Reviews the Book. The book is not finished. This hook of Jesse’s life and mine is not finished while she who set us asunder is allowed to live. “Vengeance is mine,” saith the Lord, "1 will repay.” We wait. What impulse moved my man after four years to enter that tragic house? He read our book, so piteously stained, this heap of paper scrawled with rusty ink. He added parts of a chapter, which I have finished. It Is all blotted with tears, this record of his life — childhood, boyhood, youth, manhood, humor, passion—veritable growth of an immortal spirit—annals of that love which lifteth us above the earth —and then! So I must try to catch up napplness. I have notes herd of dear Father Jared, made at the time when he was bringing me with Baby David home. I remember we sat in our deck chairs on the sunny side of the ship, watching a cloud race out in mid-Atlantic. We talked of home. Frognall End, where my saint 1b curate-in-charge, is on the river near Windsor, and there I went to live with Bany David. From the first my Heaven-born was Interested In milk, later in a growing number of worldly things, but it was not until last winter by the fireside that we really had serious tales all about Wonderland. Although David has decided to be a tram conductor, be still takes some little interest in other walks of life. Once on the tow-path he asked an old gentleman who was fishing what he was fishing for, and got the nice reply: “I often wonder.” And it was on this path beside tbe Thames, that one day, last November he made a big

friendship. His nurse was passing a few remarks with a young man who asked the way to my house, and baby went ahead pursuing his lawful occasions. Curious to know what it felt like to be a real fish, be was stepping into the river to see about it, when the young man interfered. "Leggo my tail,” said David wrathfplly, then with sudden defiance, "I got my feet wet anyway, so there!” “That’s so," the young man agreed.’ VI say," David grew confident. “Mummie says it’s in the paper, so it’s all right * “What’s that, sonny?" “A little boy what went in to see about some fishes, and that man wbat swum and swum, and I saw’d his picture in the paper. So now ’tend you look de udder way." V .

by Roger Pocock

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, IND.

"Why, I can’t see nothen.” “You can see. The game is for me to jump In, and you swim." “But I can’t swim. I’m a sailor.’’ “Oh, weally? Then what’s your name?” “It’s Billy O’Flynn.” “No, but that’s weally my guinea pig, the pink one—Billy O’Flynn. You’re not a fairy, Billy?” “Why, what doeß you know about fairies?” “Most truthfully, you know, 1 don’t believe in fairies, but then It pleases mummle." So Billy sat on his heel making friends with the heaven-born, and Patsy, the nurse, came behind him, craving with cotton-gloved hands to touch the sailor’s crisp, short, golden hair, and David gravely tried on the man’s peaked cap. "Yes," Billy agreed, ‘fairies Is rot when there’s real gals about, with rosy cheeks a-blushln’ an’ cotton gloves.” “Lawks! ’Ow you sailors does fancy yourselves,” Bald Patsy, her shy fingers drawn by that magnetic gold of the man’s hair. “Climb on my-back and ride,” said young O’Flynn to David, “I’ll be a fairy horse.” “The cheek of ’im!" jeered Patsy, “fairy ’orse indeed!” Oh, surely the fairies were very busy about them, tugging at heart-

I Began to Understand What Billy Meant.

strings, while Billy and Patsy fell head over ears in love, and my pet cupid had them both for slaves. David rode Billy home, by his august command straight into my brown study, where I sat in my lazy chair. Was it my voice telling baby to go and get dry feet? Was it my hand grasping Billy’s horny paw? For I heard my roaring canyon, saw my cliffs, my embattled sculptured cliffs, and once more seemed to walk with Jesse in Cathedral Grove." I laughed, I cried. Oh, yes, of course I made a fool of myself. For this dear lad came out of Wonderland, this heedless ruffian who knew of my second marriage, who had such a tale to tell of "Madame Scotson.” Oh, haven’t you heard? Her precious Baby David is illegitimate! Couldn’t I hear my neighbor, Mrs. Pollock telling that story at the Scandal club? Feeling ill-bred and common, I begged Billy’s pardon, made him sit down, tried ever so hard to put him at his ease. Poor lad! His father condemned as a felon, his mother such a wicked old harridan, hiß life, to Bay the very least, uncouth. Yet somehow out of that rough savage face shone the eyes of a gentleman, and there was manliness in all he said, in everything he did. After that great journey for my sake, how could I let him doubt that he was. welcome? "I know I’m rough," he said humbly, “but you seem to understand. You know I’m straight. You won’t mind straight talk unless you’re changed, and you’re not changed—at least not that way, mum” , Changed! Ah, how changed! The looking glass had bitter things to tell me, and crying makes me such a frump, I never felt so plain. And the eyes of a young man are often brutally 1 frpnk to women. “Don’t mind about me, Billy. Say what you’ve come to tell me.” “Been gettin’ it ready to say ever since I started for England. Look here, mum, 1 want to go back to the beginning, to when I was a kid, an’ mother kep' that hash house in Abilene. D’ye mind if I speak—l mean about this here Polly?” i I set my teeth and hoped he would be quick. “Well, ye see, mum, she only done it for a joke, and the way Jesse treated her —” *‘l can’t hear this." "You don’t mind if I say that mother and me haven’t no use for Jesse?" “I know that." "Well, mother put her up to the idea. To get shut of him, she Shammed dead. I helped. I say sjre done right, mum. If she’d let it go at that I'd take her side right now.” "Billy, was that a real marriage?” "It was that. She's Jesse’s wife all right”

There was something which braced me In his callous frankness. “I hoped,” I said. "Go on.” “Well, mother hated Jesse somethin’ chronic. Afterward when —well, she had to run for the British possessions, and we met up with Jesse again by accident. He give us a shack and some land, but mother an’ me had our pride. How would you like to take cbarjty? Mother hated him still worse, and don’t you Imagine I’d go back on her. She’s my mother. “Then you married Jesse. Of course mother and me both knew that Polly was alive. Father knew, too —and father, was around when no one but us ever seen him. We knew that Polly was alive, and mother would have given Jesse dead away, only we stopped her. Father said It was none of our business. Father liked Jesse, I thought the world of you, so when mother wrote to Polly, we’d burn her lettert." What an escape for us! “Then you saved mother from burning in that shack, and afterward she hated Jesse worse, because she couldn’t hit him for fear of hurting you. 6h, she was mad because she’d got fond of you. “And you took us into your ranch. Charity again, and you sailin’ under Protestant colors, both of yez. The way mother prayed for Jesse was enough to scorch his bones.” Billy chuckled. “I ain’t religious—l drink, and mother’s professin’ Catholic cuts no figure with me. “Then there’s the fightin’ between father’s gang and Jeßse’s. Dad got hung, Jesse got the dollars. Rough, common, no-account, white trash, like mother an’ me, hears Jesse expounding the Scriptures. We ain’t got no feelings same as you.” Poor lad! Poor savage gentleman! “You saved me from murdering Jesse and got me away from that ranch. Since then I’ve followed the sea. There’s worse men there than Jesse. I seen worse grub, worse treatment, worse times in general since 1 quit the ranch. Five years at sea—” There was the glamour, the greatness of the sea in this lad’s eyes, just as iu Jesse’s eyes. Sailors may be rugged, brutal, fierce —not vulgar. Men reach out into spaces where we sheltered women cannot follow. “Suppose I’ve grown,” said Billy. "Well, mum, I got a notion to go home. Signed as A. B. in a four-masted bark Clan Innes out o’ Glasgow, for Vancouver with general cargo. I quit her at Vancouver, made* Ashcroft by C. P. R., blind baggage mostly, then hit the road afoot. I thought I’d take my departure from the Fifty-Nine.” “The old bush trail?” “Hard goin’, but then I expected, course, mother’d he .at the ranch, and you, mum, an’ Jesse, of course, and—” “You must have found things changed when you got to the ranch.” “Didn’t get there. I’d news at Hat Creek, and kep’ the road main north. Mother wasn’t at the ranch any more. She’d poisoned Jesse’s bear. Oh, mum, I don’t want to hurt.” “Go on, dear lad.” “Mother’d took up with Polly at Spite Housrf" ‘Spite House?” “It’s the Ninety-Nine Mile House. There’s a sign board right across tbe road: -

THE NINETY-NINE MRS. JESSE SMITH HOTEL, STORE, LIVERY.

“She did that to spite Jesse, and they call the place Spite House.” Spite House! How right Father Jared was. “Sword versus dragon,” he told us, “Is heroic; sword versus cockroach is heroics. Don’t draw your sword on a cockroach.” This much I tried to explain to young O’Flynn, whose Irish blood has a fine sense of humor. But the smile he gave me was one of pity, turning my heart to ice. “Jesse,” he said, “made that mistake. That’s why I’ve come six thousand miles to warn you. Howly Mother, if I’d only the eddlcation to talk so I’d be understood! “I’m going to try another course. See here, mum. You’ve heard tell of Cachalot whales. They runs say eighty tons for full whales —one hundred fifty horse-power, dunno how many'knots, full of fight to the last

LEAVE CONDIMENTS TO CHEF

Visiting Frenchman Bitterly Criticises American Habit of Balting Food Placed Before Them. “It is easy to see that moat of these multimillionaires don’t know what decent cooking is." And the French countess, shrugging her white and pretty shoulders, let her eyes rove disdainfully over the Newport dinner table, with it orchids and its gold plate. "Why do you say that, madame?” a multimillionaire inquired. "Because,” rejoined the countess, “the minute a dish is aet before you you all rain salt on it You ajl, without exception, rain ealt on every dish.” "Well?” said the multimillionaire as he rained salt calmly and generously upon his chaufroid de gibier. 'Well, what of it?” “There, look at you,” cried the countess, “Baiting a chaufroid de gibier, , lo which a chef has devoted six or seven hours of his best talent! And you salt It without even tasting It first! That is to say, you are used to bad cooking, to unseasoned cooking,

drop of blood. That stands tot Jesse. “And them sperfe whales is so con temptuous of the giant squid they uses her for food. She’s small along of s sperm whale, but she’s mean as eight python snakes with a devil in the middle. That’ll do for Polly. "Well, last voyage I seen one of tbei% she-nightmares strangle a hull Cachalot, and the sight turned me sick as a dog. Now, d’ye understand what Polly’s doing? I told you I bated Jesse. I told you straight to your face why-1 hated him. And now, mum. I’m only sorry for poor Jesse." It was then, I think, that I began really to be terrified. Never in thi old days at the ranch had Billy been off his guard even with me. Now he let me know his very heart. I could not help but trust him, and it was no small uneasiness which had brought the lad to England. “Them devil-squids,” he was saying, “has a habit of throwing out ink to fog the water, so iiou won’t see what they’re up to until they laßh out to grapple. That’s where they’re so like this Polly. She’s a fat, hearty, ’goodnatured body, and it’s the surest fact she’s kind to men in trouble. Anybody can have a drink, a meal and a bed, no matter how broke he is; and Spite House is free hospital for the district. She’ll sit up night' nursing a Bick man, and, till I went an* lived there, I’d have sworn she was good as they make ’em. That’s the Ink. “Then you‘begins to find out, and what I didn’t see, mother would tell me. She’d been three years there. Besides, I seen most of what we calls, sailor towns, and I’d thought I’d known the toughest there was In the way of boardin’ houses; but rough house in ’Frisco itself Is holiness compared with what goes on there under the sign of Mrs. Jesse Smith. That name ain’t exactly clean.” “That’s enough, I think, if you don’t mind. I’d rather have news about our old friends—Captain Taylor, for instance, and Iron Dale, and how is dear Doctor McGee?” “Dear Doctor McGee, is it? Well, you see he lived within a mile of Polly. She got him drinkin’, skinned him at cards, then told him he’d best shoot himself. The snow drifts through his

house. “And Iron Dale? Oh, of course, he was Jesse’s friend, too. I’d forgot She got him drunk and went through him. That money .was for paying his hands at the Sky-nne—wasn’t his to lose, so he skipped the country. The mines closed "fiown and there wasn’t no more packing contracts for Jesse.” I began to understand what Billy meant, and It was with sick fear 1 asked concerning my dear man’s stanchest friend, his banker, Captain Boulton Taylor. “You’d better know, mum.” There was pain in the lad’s face, reluctance In his voice. “Being the nearest magistrate, lie tried to down Polly for keeping a disorderly house. But, then, as old man Taylor owned, he *fiidn’t know enough law to plug a rat hole. There ain’t no municipality, so Spite House Is outside the law. But Polly’s friends proved all the good she done to men who was hurt, or-sick, or broke. Then she showed up how her store and hotel was cutting into the trade of Hundred Mile House. She brung complaints before the government, so Taylor ain’t magistrate now. The stage stables got moved from Hundred Mile to Spite House. The post-office had to follow. Now he’s alone with only a Chinaman. He’s blind as a bat, too, and there’s no two ways about It —Bolt Taylor’s dying.” “Is there no justice left?” Dunno about that. She uses a lot of law.” I dared not ask about Jesse. To sit still was impossible, to play caged tiger up and down the room would only be ridiculous. Still, Billy’s poisonous tobacco excused the opening of a window, so 1 stood with my back turned, while a November night closed on the river and the misty fields. (TO BE CONTINUED.) Handsome Is as Handsome Does. Sanford —So you don’t believe la judging a man by his clothes? Crabshaw —No, Indeed! That’s the portion of a good man’s life.” The way we judge a woman, and look how we get fooled! —Judge.

that as a matter of course you take this cooking to be bad. “Mon ami,” said the countess Impressively, “when a chef sees a diner salt or pepper a dish he’s in despair—he’e In despair as a 'painter would be if the purchaser of his painting took up a brush and added a little more green to tho grass or a little more blue to the sky. “Good French cooking needs no additional seasoning at table. They who season it, like you multimillionaires, without so much as taßtlng it first, don't know what good French cooking is. Were I a chef I’d rather work in a Marseilles eight-sou table d’hote than in your kitchens of marble and glass.”

Where she Was Wobbly.

Edith is very timid, but she tries tc do her duty, and not long since recited a “piece” before some school visitors with great credit and apparent calmness. Her mother, later complimented and praised her, especially foi not seeming at all nervous. “Oh. but 1 was scared, really, mamma,” the child explained ingenuously. "I held my hands still, but you should have seen my knees."

The Evangel of Easter

Br Rev. PARLEY E. ZARTMANN. D. D.

StoekQrcl Esteadon Department -«* Moody BiMt Chicago

TEXT—-Bat they constrained him, saying, Abide with ns; for it is toward evening, and tbe day is far spent. And be went in to tarry with them, Luke 24:2ft.

ness and despair, no hope of heaven. Paul lays great emphasis upon these vital things in I Corinthians 15:12-19. i It Is significant that after his resurrection, Jesus appeared only to his disciples; and of these, first to those who needed him most. There is deep meaning in the very order of the recorded appearances after his resurrection. First, to Mary, probably the most heart-broken of all the little band; then to Peter, who had denied him, and since then had been weeping bitter tears of repentance; then to the two sad and weary ones on the way to Emmaus who were saying, “We trusted it had been he who should have redeemed IsraeL” On the Emmaus Road. Let us consider this story of the first Easter Sunday evening. There is a peculiar charm in it, and the very, simplicity wins our hearts. How realistic it is, how true to life, how pathetic in its exhibition of mutual sorrow and the concern of a friend who knows all about us, though we may not know who hp is; how encouraging to hearts despondent and sad. One can picture the scene, without difficulty. It had been a day of great excitement in Jerusalem; there were many conflicting reports about Jesus, whe had been away in the totm>, a few days before; some gave account of strange things they had seen and heard, but grave doubt still possessed many of the disciples; and now these two are on their homeward way, sorrowful as they go, under the shadow of a great perplexing mystery. Perhaps light and comfort will come In the quiet and rest of home. As they journeyed a stranger joined them, inquiring the cause of their sorrow, and learning what he knew, their perplexity, about what had happened that day. It was not strange that they did not know him. To Abraham he came as a wayfaring man, to Joshua as £ soldier, to Jacob as a wrestler, to Mary as a gardener; besides their eyes were holden. But, meeting their perplexity and doubt, with a precious unfolding of the Scriptures, “beginning at Moses and all the prophets, he expounded unto them in all the Scriptures the things concerning himself.’' Four blessings came to these sorrowing travelers from their unknown companion—their minds were opened, their hearts burned within them, their eyes were opened, and he revealed hlmßelf as set forth in all the Scrip-. tures. , , The Gracious Revelation. . “And he made as though he would have gone further. But they constrained him . . . and he went in to tarry with them." That is one of the sweetest touches in the story. But what a calamity if they had let this unknown companion go on his way—no gracious revelation*of the very Christ on whom their hopes had been set And your calamity will be great If you do not constrain the tarrying Jesus to came in and abide with you. Oh, bid the dear. Savior come in. Can burning hearts keep back the message? These disciples were filled with joy. Possibly they did not wait to finish the meal, for they rose up that same hour, hastening to Jerusalem the glad story about the risen Lord who had considered It worth while to take time on the first day of hiß resurrection to walk seven miles into the country with two sor-row-stricken disciples. And this Christ with the tender heart is with us yet. The evangel of Eaßter is the glad news of a Savior, who by his resurrection from dead, has power to raise our souls from death. Ab you accept Christ, the very omnipotence of God will work within you, and your faith will secure for you in your daily life a share In the resurrection of Christ. (Eph. 1119, 20). May this beautiful Easter story repeat Itself In your life. May you have Christ as your companion, your teacher, your friend, your guest; and all that, and more, he will be after he has become your Savior. Sorrowing sinning soul, he may be meeting you on the way just now; perhaps just aft the parting of the ways; do not let him go on, but do say;

"I need thy presence every passing hourj Wbat put thy grace can foil the tempter's pow’r? Who like thyself my guide and stay can be? Through cloud and sunshine, O abide with me.’’ i

What a great and gracious gospel is proclaimed and made possible by the central! fact of Easter;* for without the resurrection o f Jesus Christ from the dead there is no evangel for the minister to preach and no gospel to save those who might believe no salvajjton from, sin, no sun to drive away dark-