Evening Republican, Volume 18, Number 131, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 June 1914 — MIXED-UP ROMANCE [ARTICLE]

MIXED-UP ROMANCE

By DONALD ALLEN.

"I’d give |IOO to see him." “You are a little goose!” "He must be handsome and gallant.” "He’s a low-browed criminal.” "I hope they won’t catch him.” "Td like to be the one to shoot him down!” "If they arrest him, I'll help him to escape!” “Look here, young lady, you don’t want to make an idiot of yourself over this thing! You can climb rope ladders, play ghost and scare the cook into fits, but you stop there. There won’t be anything in being arrested." “It’s for father to talk to me.” "It’s for me, and I am talking.” There was Mr. Dalzelle, widower; there .was his son, Bob, twenty years old; there was Aunt Phyllis at the head of the house; there was Kitty, agqd' eighteen, and there was the cook. Brother and sister were having breakfast together when the above conversation took place. As a rule, brothers pay little attention to their sisters, but Bob had taken it upon himself to begin to boss when he Was seven years old. Another country Raffles had broken loose, and was plundering the county residences for miles around. He had not reached the Dalzelle place yet, but In time he must, and Bob bought a revolver and carefully loaded it and placed it under his pillow and then slept so soundly that Mr. Raffles or any other gentlemanly burglar could have stolen the chimneys off the house. The cook moved her bed and bureau against her door every night, and slept with her mouth open and ready to scream. Aunt Phyllis had four extra bolts put on her door, and never neglected her prayers. Mr. Dalzelle hid the sugar tongs In a vase and went to bed feeling that It was rather mean to serve Raffles such a trick.

It was Miss Kitty who made a hero of the despoiler, and the newspapers were a good deal to blame for that. They said he must be a gentleman and a college graduate; they said he was handsome and debonair; they said he carefully avoided houses where there was illness, for humanity’s sake. The girl was appealed to. It was romantic. It wasn’t butter at 45 cents a pound, and short weight at that, but It was a young man of birth and breeding driven to burglary to get food for his starving mother, or something of the sort. Miss Kitty sympathized with him and admired him. If Raffles would only call during the daytime and relate his sad story she would cheerfully -give him all the change In her savings bank and try and get him a clerkship In a grocery in the nearest village. She sat for hours on the veranda, but he didn’t appear. She lay awake half the night, but he had businesiP’elsewhere. Oh the night preceding the conversation at the breakfast table, Mr. Raffles had plundered a house half a mile away, and in a most charming way had begged an old maid’s pardon for having found her asleep with her hair in curl papers. This was the capsheaf of romance.

If Miss Kitty were to go down and sit on the bridge would the knightly robber appear? It she were to saunter into the woods would her Robin Hood be there? “I don’t care a snap what Bob says!” she exclaimed at her other self in her mirror. “If there is any way I can help Mr. Raffles to escape the police and then reform and be good, I'm going to do it.” Half an hour later the cook told her that as many as twenty officers had Raffles surrounded in an old barn about a mile away, and the fellow was sure to be captured. “He needs help and he shall have it!" said the girl to herself; and ten minutes later she was speeding away in her runabout. There were half a dozen men around an old barn, but there was no Raffles there. If he had been there he had vanished. When Miss Kitty was told this her face lighted up with such relief that after she had passed on one of the officers asked: “And who in the devil is that?" “The Dalselle girl,” was answered. “Is she related to Raffles?” “Don’t think so." "But she seems mighty well pleased that he has outwitted us again." "Oh, that’s the girl of It” Miss Kitty sped on rejoicing. Raffles was still free. They might have run him so far that he wouldn’t return, and the thought brought disappointment. One can’t ruminate very well in driving an auto or a runabout, and after going three miles she turned in to an old and abandoned house to sit on the broken steps and ponder and wonder. Poor Raffles! He bad tried to burgle as gently as he could, and when an inmate of the house awoke and shouted to know what he was doing there, he had gone right away without stopping to argue the matter. It was true that he took money and jewels, but it was also true that if he found the baby about to fall out of bed in its sleep he tenderly replaced it In a safe position. _

—■ • - ’—* A sound like a sneeze in the old house. The girl whirled and glanced over her shoulder. There was yawning vacancy where the door had once hung, but there was nothing she could see In the room. Her father was an insurance man and employed clerks. Why not give Raffles a position there until he could better himself. She would speak to him that very evening. Mr. Raffles would have to change his name and stop running out nights, but there was no doubt that he’d cheerfully make the sacrifice. A yawn from the old house! ' “Mercy, what was that!” The girl arose and started to move off, but bethought her of tramps and sat down again. She had no fear of the wayfarers by daylight One of them had turned in there the night before, but he might not even wake up. If brother Bob knew that she had come out hoping to aid Raffles what a row there would be! But how was he to know? And if he did find out she would stand right up and sass back and let him know that his days of bossing her were over with forever. A sneeze and a cough! Miss Kitty jumped to her feet and faced the doorway.

The next moment she was facing a man of thirty who was cursing under his breath. He looked tough. He looked wicked. Q “Who the blank are you?” he demanded as he looked from her to her runabout and back. “I —I am Miss Dalzelle,” she stammered. “What are you doing here?” “I came out—to —to —” “You came out to play the spy for the officers!’’ “tfo, sir. I thought—thought—” “What in blank do I care what you thought? Raffles isn’t caught yet, and isn’t likely to be. Much obliged for the runabout?” - “Here! Here!” she cried as he started from the vehicle. “No time to talk!” “But you can’t take that!" “But I have! Give my love to all the bone-head officers who are trying to find my tracks in the mud!” He had gone! It was Raffles of the romance! Miss Kitty Dalzelle sat down and wept She had indulged in a charming illusion for days, and it had been knocked skyhigh in about sixty seconds. It was a hard blow, and the maid was still weeping when an auto halted and some one touched her arm and gently asked:

“Can I be of any assistance to you?” - It was a young man of pleasant face and voice, and he had no chauffeur with him. “A—a man has run away with my runabout!" was gasped. "It was yours, eh? He passed me two miles back, and I am afraid he won’t stop for 30 miles. He looked to be a hard case.” "That was Chevalier Raffles.” “You don’t say!” “He was hiding in this old house.” “I declare!” “Do you know my brother, Bob?” “I’m afraid not, though I can tell better after hearing your name. Mine is Duke Winwood.” “And I am Kitty Dalzelle, and I have a brother, Bob. You won’t tell him, will you?” “Never in this world! Now that your machine is gone, I am ready to convey you home in my auto.” “But what explanation can I give regarding the loss of the runabout?" was the innocent query. “We’ll talk it over as we go.” It was talked over. Raffles made good his escape. The runabout was never recovered. “Something mighty funny about all this!" said Bob after Mr. Winwood’s seventh or eighth call. Sis lets go of one hero and picks up another in less than an hour, and is getting too chesty for anything.” When the engagement is announced Bob will get full explanations. (Copyright. 1914, by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.)