Evening Republican, Volume 18, Number 163, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 13 July 1914 — THE DEUCE SHE DID [ARTICLE]

THE DEUCE SHE DID

By OPIE READ.

Considering the fact that she was young and handsome, she was 'regarded as exceptionally - earnest. To 'write for a newspaper was her ambition, and all she wanted was a chance. Finally a chance came. John Ferron had been charged with defrauding a building association out of >5,000. The amount was not large; Ferron was not a prominent man; the case was good only for a “stick full,” and it was given to the new girl. The suspected- culprit had been placed under bonds and could be found at his boarding house, the city editor told her. She was elated. Instantly she had become a factor of the great city. She thought of her home in the country, the dull life, the daily complaint of the neighbors, the dead eternity of non-eventfulness. Ferron was in his room when a servant brought a card bearing the name of “Miss Eva Smith.” That was all; nothing to Indicate her business; but at this Ferron took fright, supposing that she might be another one of 'those “defrauded” home-seekers. He sighed distressfully apd, with the resignation which comes when sometimes we have reached the limit of calamity, he told the servant to let her come in. The visitor's fresh and engaging face for a moment drove calamity back into the dark corner. Ferron flopped ont of his chair and invited her to sit down. She did, with a smile, glancing about the room, at the cheap books on a shelf, at the picture of a boy at a well, drinking out of an old oaken bucket; at a stuffed owl on a bracket, and -then she looked at Ferron. She had expected to see an oldish man, lean and fox-like. She was surprised to see a young fellow, curly of hair and handsome. “I’m afraid I’ve come cm unpleasant business,” she said. He sm|led. “No matter what your business may be, your coming is pleasant,” he replied. “Thank you." -4— — - “Not at all.” For a time they sat looking at each other. He cleared his throat. "I believe you said something "about unpleasant business.” “Yes; I am a reporter, and —” “Is that so unpleasant? If it is, why don’t you quit ft?" “Oh, reporting isn’t unpleasant — it’s charming. But I have come to interview you.” » “Interview me! I have already been interviewed by a justice of the peace and have been bound over. Ah! what do you want me to say?”

“Oft, just anything. You might—well, say something to defend yourself, you know." “But that wouldn’t do any good. I am already half-way condemned.'* “But it might keep you from being condemned the other half." He leaned back in his chair and laughed. She laughed too, and then she told him that he did not look guilty. He thanked her and replied that he was not She was pleased to hear it, she said; she had not expected to get a confession out of him, and thanked him for his confidence in her. But suddenly she looked serious. “Oh, but that wasn’t a confession!” she said. “It was simply an assertion. People don’t confess except when they acknowledge that they are guilty. < I don’t know what I have been thinking about. But you know a woman does not believe a man guilty if he is—agreeable. Only the disagreeable men are, guilty." • ' , * “The man who is disagreeable to , Women ought to be condemned on general principles—or, rather, on general unprinciples,” he replied; and they both of them laughed, and she wondered what time it was. He said that it wasn’t late, looking at his watch; but she declared that she must be going, dropping into that serious mood which, in the office, had caused surprise. With this man, however, she could not long remain serious. There wassomething about him that made her smile. She knew that he might possibly be on the road to the penitentiary, for the justice of the peace had bound him over; but, somehow, she felt glad whenever she looked at him. Was he a humorist eet In silence to cause laughter? “I must really go,” she said, getting up. He did pot arise. “Must you go?" he Inquired, with a soothing regret in his voice. And then he added: “When are you coming back?’ “Coming back? I didn't say that I was.” “I know you didn’t, and that's the reason I asked you. ’ She laughed. It was impudent of him, but somehow, it pleased her. “Why should I come back?” “To get a detailed statement when I prepare it” “Oh, are you going to do that? I don’t quite understand; but whenever a'man is bound over by a justice of the peace is it usual for him to make a detailed statement?” “It is usual for me." “Then you have been arrested and bound over before?*’ “No; this is the first time” "You—you tangle me aU up. I don t understand you. But, really, I haven’t learned anything by coming. You simply say that you are not guilty. We expected you to say that Can’t you tell me just a ltttle something—something to help me In the office ? 1 for-

got to tell you, but this is my first assignment” ; . “I never shall forget mine,** he said. % “Oh, and were you ‘a reporter?” “Yes; and I quit it —because the paper changed hands. Never could get another job. But I have been thinking that I might make arrangements to send in news from tho penitentiary —society news, for instance.” “Oh,” she said, brightening, "I might make something of that. Well, good-by.” Ferron sat gazing at the chair. Jumping up he hastened to the window and watched the girl as she was getting on a car. She did not look back at the house, and even no little a thing as that made his heart heavier. “She was sent as a beautiful torture,” he said. “Now I shall have a worry harder to bear than the other one. Go on, vision ; that’s al) you are.” The vision was going on toward the office, framing a sketch in her mind; and she wrote it with a dash —it was so full of spirit that it leaped and bubbled from her pen; but when she took it to the city editor he frowned at it and declared that it was too long. ‘ When, however, he had read it, with a few sweeps of his mastering eye, he complimented her and, with a shrug of his shoulder, dismissed her. The sketch appeared, a vivid light amid a gloom of ordinary crimes; and the next day she received a note from Ferron. “I didn't know that I could serve as such an inspiration. My trial is set for next, Friday. Come' over.”

She was sent to write something about the trial. Her sketch had made the case Important He smiled at her, and, though it seemed to send a light into her heart, she resented it, and in her report she said a few mean things about him. That would teach him a lesson. And it did, for the next day he simply looked at. her. Then she was sad, and sought an opportunity to beg his pardon. The jury acquitted him, and he went away without giving her a chance to speak to him. “I knew he was not guilty,” sire nyised. Perhaps now he might still wish td make his detailed statement” When she went, however, she did not pretend to have come for a statement. Boldly she declared that she had come to beg his pardon for having said mean things about him. He smiled; and begged her not to' think of it He had not been offended. He deserved all that she had said. "No; 1 was cruel, and you so innocent, too.” , He laughed. "Singular how innocent some can be, isn’t it?" he said, looking into her eyes. She said yes, and looked down. Then he spoke, and his voice was so solemn that it startled her. “Miss Smith, I made one confession, didn’t ir "Yes, you confessed your innocence, and you were not guilty." “I now have another confession to make. I was guilty." “Oh, you don’t mean it" “I do mean it I was a scoundrel. I Sat here one day musing over the fact that the whole world was a rascal and a swindle. I needed >5,000, and knew how I cbuld get the money —by wrecking a concern of which I was the manager. I did it nicely—most delicately. I was proud of my work. Of course, I was Indicted. I knew that would be done. But I also knetf that my work was so fine that they couldn’t prove anything. And they didn’t. Now call me a scoundrel, and bid me good-by.” “I don’t believe you," she gasped. “It’s true. But look hero, I have just squared up with the concern. See this receipt?" He handed to her a piece of paper. The >5,000 had been returned. She handed back the paper and sat looking down. “I must go," she said. She got up, and lie followed her to the door. I was a scoundrel, but I’m not now," he said. “I despise myself for having been weak. Something made me strong — you made me strong. Yes, I love you, and my love for you and dishonesty could not go together. Until I knew you my soul was unfinished. It was barbaric. You —” The tears were on her cheeks. “And you feel sorry for me, do you?"

“What’s become of Miss Smith?” the city editor Inquired. And a reporter replied: “Maffled that fellow Ferron.” f “The deuce she did!” (Copyright. IM4, by Daily Story Pub. Co.)