Evening Republican, Volume 18, Number 219, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 16 September 1914 — Page 2

The HONEYMOONS

by HAROLD MAC GRATH

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SYNOPSIS. Eleanora de Toscana was singing in Paris, which, perhaps, accounted for Edward Courtlandt’s appearance there. Multimillionaire, he wandered about where fancy dictated. He might be Jn Paris one day and Kamchatka the ne; J. Following the opera he goes to a and is accosted by a pretty young' woman. She gives him the address of Flora Desimone, vocal rival of Toscana, and Flora gives him the address of Eleanora. whom he is determined to see. CHAPTER lll—Continued. Oh, stubborn Dutchman that he had been! Blind fool! To have run away instead of fighting to the last ditch for his happiness! The Desimone woman •was right; it had taken him a long time to come to the conclusion that she done him ah ill turn. His jaw set, and the pressure of his lips broke the sweep of hie mustache, converting it Into bristling tufts, warlike and resolute. What of the pretty woman in the Tavern e Roy die? What about her? At whose bidding had she followed him? One or the other of them had not told the truth, and he was inclined to believe that tiie prevarication had its source in the pomegranate lips of the Calabrian. To give the old barb one more twist, to learn if its venomous point still held and hurt; nothing would have afforded the diva more delight When the taxicab joined the long line of carriages and automobiles opposite the Austrian ambassador’s, Courtlandt awoke to the dismal and disquieting fact that he had formulated no plan of action. He had done no more than to give the driver his directions; and now that he had arrived, he had the choice of two alternatives. He could wait to see her come out or return at once to his hotel, which, as subsequent events affirmed, would have been the more sensible course. He would have been confronted with small difficulty in gaining admission to the house. He knew enough of these general receptions; the announcing of his name would have conveyed nothing to the host, who knew perhaps a third of his guests, and many of these but slightly. But such an adventure was distasteful to Courtlandt. He could not everstep certain recognized boundaries of convention, and to enter a man’s house unasked was colossal impudence. Beyond this, he realized that he could have accomplished nothing; the advantage would have been hers. Nor could he meet her as she came out, for again the odds would have been largely in her favor. No, the encounter must be when they two were alone. She must be surprised. She must have no time to use her ready wit An idea presented itself. It appealed to him at that moment as quite clever and feasible. "Wait!” he called to the driver. He dived among the carriages and cars, and presently he found what he sought—her limousine. He had taken the number into his mind too keenly to be mistaken. He saw the end of his difficulties; and La went about the affair with his usual directness. It was only at rare times that he ran his head - into a cul-de-sac. If her chauffeur was regularly employed in her service, he would have to return to the hotel; but if he came from the garage, there was hope. Every man is said to have his price, and a French chauffeur might prove no notable exception to the rule. "Are you driver for Madame da Toscana?” Courtlandt asked of the man lounging in the forward seat The chauffeur looked hard at his questioner, and on finding that he satisfied the requirements of a gentleman, grumbled an affirmative. The limousine „ was well knowd in Paris, and he was growing weary of these endless inquiries. "Are you in her employ directly, or do*you come from the garage?" "I am from the garage, but I drive mademoiselle’s car most of the time, especially at night It is not madame but mademoiselle/ monsieur." "My mistake." A slight pause. It was rather a difficult moment for Courtlandt. The chauffeur waited wonderlngly. “Would you like to make five hundred francs?" “How, monsieur?” Courtlandt should have been warned by the tone, which contained no unusual interest or eagerness. “Permit me to remain in mademoiselle's car till she cornea. I wish to ride with her to her apartment” The chauffeur laughed. He stretched his legs. “Thanks, monsieur. It is very dull waiting. Monsieur knows a good joke." Atd to Courtlandt’s dismay he realised that his proposal bad truly been gece, ted as a jest ”1 am not joking. lam in earnest

Five hundred francs. On the word of a gentleman I mean mademoiselle no harm. I am known to her. All she has to do is to appeal to you, and you can stop the car and summon the po-< lice.” The chauffeur drew in his legs and leaned toward his tempter. "Monsieur, if you are not jestjng, then you are a madman. -Who are you? -What do I know about you? I never saw you before, and for two seasons I have driven mademoiselle in Paris. She wear's beautiful jewels tonight. HoW do I know that you are not a gentlemanly thief? Ride home with mademoiselle! You are crazy. Make yourself scarce, monsieur; in one minute 1 shall call the police.” "Blockhead!” <* English of this order the Frenchman perfectly understood. _ “La, la!” he cried, rising to execute his threat Courtlandt was furious, but his fury was directed at himself as much as at the trustworthy young man getting down from the limousine. His eagerness had led him to mistake stupidity for cleverness. He had gone about the affair with all the clumsiness of a boy who was making his first appearance at the stage entrance. It was mightily disconcerting, too, to have found an honest man when he was in desperate need of a dishonest one. He had faced with fine courage all sorts of dangerous wild animals; but at this moment he hadn’t the courage to face a policeman and. endeavor to explain, in a foreign tongue, a situation at once so delicate and so singularly open to misconstruction. So, for the second time in his life he took to his heels. Of the first time, more anon. He scrambled back to his own car, slammed the door, and told the driver to drop him at the Grand. However, he did not return to the hotel. Mademoiselle da Toscana’s chauffeur scratched his chin In perplexity. In frightening off his tempter he recognized that now he would never be able to find out who he was. He should have played with him until mademoiselle came out. She would have known Instantly. That would have been the time for the police. To hide in the car! What the devil! Only a madman would have offered such a proposition. The man had been either an American or ah Englishman, for all his accuracy in the tongue. Bah! Perhaps he had heard her sing that night, and had come away from the Opera, moonstruck. It was 1 not an isolated case. The fools were always pestering him, but no one had ever offered so uncommon a bribe; five hundred francs. Mademoiselle might not believe that part of the tale. Mademoiselle was clever. There was a standing agreement between them that she would always give him half of whatever was offered him in the way of bribes. It paid. It was easier to sell his loyalty to her for two hundred and .fifty francs than to betray her for five hundred. She had yet to find him untruthful, and tonight he would be as frank as he had always been. But who was this fellow in the Bavarian hat, who patrolled the sidewalk? He had been watching him when the madman approached. For an hour or more he had walked up and down, never going twenty feet beyond the limousine. He couldn’t see the face. The long dark coat had a military cut about the hips and shoulders. From time to time he saw him glance up at the lighted windows. Eh, well; there were other women in the world besides mademoiselle, several others.

He had to wait only half an hour for her appearance. He opened the door and saw to it that she was comfortably seated; then he paused by the window, touching his cap. “What is it, Francois?” “A gentleman offered me five hundred francs, mademoiselle, if I would permit hlta to hide in the car.” “Five hundred francs? To hide in the car? Why didn’t you call the police?” “I started to, mademoiselle, but he ran away.” “Oh! What was he like?" The prima donna dropped the bunch of roses on the seat beside her. “Oh, he looked well enough. He had the air of a gentleman. He was tall, with light hair and mustache. But as I had never seen him before, and as mademoiselle wore some fine jewels, I bade him be off.” “Would you know Jiim again?” “Surely mademoiselle.” “The next time anyone bothers you, call the police. You have done well, and 1 shall remeipber it. Home.” The man in the Bavarian hat hurried back to the third cgr from the limousine, and followed at a reasonably safe distance. * She shut off the light and closed her eyes. She reclined against the cushion once more, striving not to think. Once, her hands shut tightly. Never, never, never! She pressed down the burning thoughts by recalling the bright scenes at the ambassador’s, the real generous applause that had followed her two songs. Ah, how that man Paderewski played! They two had cost the ambassador eight thousand francs. Fame and fortune! Fortune she could understand; but fame! What was it? Upon a time she believed she had known what fame was; but that had been when she was striving for it. A gjpwing article in a newspaper, a portrait in a magazine, rows upon rows of curious eyes and a patter of hands upon hands; that was all; and for this she had given the best of her life, and she was only twenty-five. The limousine stopped at last The man in the Bavarian hat saw her alight. His car turned and disappeared. It had taken him a week to discover where she lived. His lodgings were on the other side of the Seine. After reaching them he gave crisp orders to the driver, who set his machine off at top speed. The man in the Bavarian hat entered his room and lighted the

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, IND. 7

gas. The room was bare and cheaply' fumiehed. He took off his coat but retained his hat, pulling it down still farther over his eyes. His face was always in shadow. A round chin, two full red lips, scantily covered by a blond mustache were all that could be seed. He began to walk the floor impatiently, stopping and listening whenever h,e heard a sound. He waited less than an hour for the return of the car. It brought two men. They were well-dressed, smoothly-shaven, with keen eyes and intelligent faces. Their host, who had never seen either of his guests before, carelessly waved his hand toward the table where there were two chairs. He' himself took his stand by the window and looked out as he talked. In another hour the room was dark and the street deserved.

In the meantime the, prima donna gave a sigh of relief. She was home. It was nearly two o’clock. She would sleep till noon, and Saturday and Sunday would be hers. She went up the stairs instead of taking the lift, and though the hall was dark, she knew her way. She unlocked the door of the apartment and entered, swinging the door behind her. As the act was mechanical, her thoughts being otherwise engaged, she did not notice that the lock failed to click. The ferrule of a cane had prevented that." She flung her wraps on the divan and put the roses in an empty bowl. The door opened softly, without noise. Next, she stopped before the mirror over the mantel, touched her hair lightly, detached the tiara of emeralds

. . . and became as inanimate as marble. She saw another face. She never knew how long the interval of silence was. She turned slowly. “Yes, it is I!” said the man. Instantly she turned again to the mantel and picked up a magazine revolver. She leveled it at him. “Leave this room, or I will shoot” Courtlandt ’ advanced toward her slowly. “Do so,” he said. “I should much prefer a bullet to that look.” “I am in earnest.” She was very white, but her hand was steady. He continued to advance. There followed a crash. The smell of burning powder filled the room. The Burmese gong clanged shrilly and whirled wildly. Courtlandt felt his hair stir in terror.

“You must hate me indeed,” he said quietly, as the sense, of terror died away. He folded his arms. “Try again; there ought to be half a dozen bullets left. No? Then, good-by!” He left the apartment without another word or look, and as the door closed behind him there was a kind of finality in the clicking of the latch.* The revolver clattered to the floor, and the woman who had fired it leaned heavily against the mantel, covering her eyes. “Nora, Nora!” cried,a startled voice from a bedroom adjoining. “What has happened? Mon Dieu, what is it?” A pretty, sleepy-eyed young woman, in a night-dress, rushed into the room. She flung her arms about the singer. “Nora, my dear, my dear!" “He forced his way in. I thought to frighten him. It went off accidentally. Oh, Celeste, Celeste, I might have killed him!"

The other drew her head down on her shoulder, and listened. She could hear voices in the lower hall, a shout of warning, a patter of steps; then the hall door slammed. After that, silence, save for the faint mellowing vibrations of the Burmese gong. (TO BE CONTINUED.)

LIVE ON FISH THEY CATCH

Remarkable Breed of “Banker Ponies” Natives of the Coast of North Carolina. On the coast of North Carolina there are several miles of low, sandy shore where nothing grows except a coarse grass, a few salt water weeds and wild parsley. On these banks lives a strange breed of half-wild horses known as "banker ponies.” These creatures are generally about twice the size cLShetland ponies. Every year owners drive the “bankers” into pens, brand the foals with the proper mark, and catch some of the older animals to sell to the dealers. North Carolinians say that the beasts must be starved into eating grain, hay or grass, for they have always lived on the rank salt marsh grass of the marshes and on fish. They catch the fish for themselves at low tide; with their hoofs they dig deep holes in the sand below high-water mark, and when the tide falls they greedily devour the fish that are stranded in these holes. Often they fight brisky over an especially tempting morsel. In captivity these strange horses are Intelligent, but seldom are even in temper. Once tamed, they make excellent draft animals, for/they have a strength that is disproportionate to their size. Foals that arebred from “bankers’* in captivity make valuable animals —strong and intelligent

Did Literary Work at Night.

Mrs. Catherine Gore, who wrote 70 novels between 1824 and 1861, worked on a strange plan. When J. R. Blanche visited Paris in 1837 he found Mrs. Gore living in the Place Vendome writing novel'plays, articles for magazines —almost every description of literature flowing from her indefatigable pen.' He says: “‘How do you manage it?’ I ashed her. T receive, as you know, a few friends at dinner every evening. They leave me at 10 or 11, when I retire to my room and write till 7 or 8 in the forcing. Then I go to bed till "when 1 breakfast, after which I drive out and 'pay visits, returning at 4 to dress for dinner. As soon as my frieijs have departed I go to work all night Again.” Men are great pretenders- iomt even pretend to understand women.

NO NAMES IN THIS STORY OF A BABY

Child of Love Match Abandoned in Fear. PARENTS MARRIED IN SECRET > • Blue-Eyed Mary Cannot Go Back to Arma of Mother Who Yearns for First Bom—Old Feud to Blame. There are no names in this story— Because of a blue-eyed, five-year-old Mary, who should never knovV- until she is old enough to know- and understand and possibly forgive. ' Because of a man and wife who stumbled in the path, who suffered in secret and who will continue to suffer while life lasts —and they should be permitted to retain their secret.

Because of a man and woman to whom God denied offspring and who have taken into their hearts and home the baby abandoned by a boy and a girl when expediency overruled love. And, because — The “moving finger” wrote that they should hate each other with the cold, deadly, never-dying malevolence of a Kentucky feud. They did, and they do to this day, but no one knows the reason why. In early manhood they left the Blue Grass state and fate, with the malignant persistence with which she pursued those ensnarled in her Web, brought their wandering footsteps to a halt in a little town in Michigan. There they settled. Banker and Lawyer.

They grew with the community. One became the leading banker and the other its prominent lawyer. Success came, but the old-time rancor remained. When the amenities of social or business life lifted a commanding finger courtesy ruled, but that was all. And they married. To the lawyer was born a son and unto the banker a daughter was given. Fate, remorseless, threw boy and girl together in school, in play and in the youthful activities of a small town. Pinafore and knickerbocker friendship grew as the years rolled by, and one day—before they were out of school —the chrysalis of friendship burst and radiant love came forth.

For a while boy and girl kept their wonderful secret to themselves. It would have been sacrilege to talk about it. Then the brutal realities of life crept into the roseate picture. Would papa—? Would he —and he — forget that horrible mysterious something that had embittered two lives? Daughter crept to daddy’s arms and whispered the tale; son stood before father and told the story. Meet In Secret. The old hatred blazed forth and weeping girl and angry boy went forth to meet in secret and wonder why fate was so unkind. One day they married, not in the home town, but in another not far away. At first it was a secret, but soon it became apparent that it could not be a secret forever. So on some pretext or the other they left their respective homes and met in "the Wisconsin woods.” There for several weeks they lived a life of utter freedom. But the greatest day in a woman’s life was approaching and they journeyed to Chicago. A baby—a little* girl—was born in Oak Park,

Today they are ashamed of what they did. Five years of anguish and remorse have not balanced the scales. She could not, would not go back home with a baby; he—well, he admits it today—was a coward. They decided to abandon the child. Mr. and Mrs. Chester T. Bradford live in Evanston. They, too, had a baby, but it was upstairs in its crib while the little buggy stood on the veranda of the Bedford residence. Fate placed it there. The young father had a friend who lived in Evanston, a well-to-do young man,, who necessarily must’ live in a good neighborhood. And with the address as a pivot in seeking a house in which their baby would receive at least a chance of decent upbringing, the young cowards started for Evanston. Half a block before they reached their friend’s house they saw the empty buggy, and into it they dumped their baby—and flew. There was another desolate home in Chicago. It was different from the little Oak Park cottage—but hardly less desolate. There were spacious grounds about the house, and from the exterior it was beautiful But to the occupants, the home was dreary, as the halls gave no echoes to pattering feet of children. They wanted a baby, and appealed to the Illinois Home and Aid society. They were shown several children which .had been placed In the care of the society, and one, a little girl with blue eyes, attracted them. Legally Adopted. So they took the little girl into their home, and in a short time it had lost Its desolation. The halls echoed with the laughter and prattle of the child, and the man and his wife wefe happy. They decided that the child should never be taken from them, so they legally adopted her. Fate again Intervened, for she was

named Mary, and Mary was the name of the girl wife who had placed her baby in the empty buggy on the Bradford porch. Back to Michigan went the young husband and wife. They made their marriage known—but there was no reconciliation of the graying Kentuckians. They accepted the situation, that is all. Three other children came to gladden the home; the husband prospered at his practice. The wife smiled by day and wept by night Their thoughts wandered back eternally to the little girl who had been left in the little buggy on the porch. They loved the children who had come later in life, but there was a constant yearning for their first born. What had become of her? Had the wheel of destiny crushed out the life they had given? If she was alive, had she fallen into the hands of kindly foster parents, or was she being buffeted by want and adversity? Conscience and fate did not let them forget for long. Did they go to the theater there, inevitably, in the woof of the story was a baby. Sometimes abandoned. Fiction that came their way seemed to be built almost entirely on stories in which girl babies played a part. Even the movies flashed accusing pictures. The minds of the parents conjured up terrible pictures of the fate of their daughter. At length, unable longer to stand the uncertainty, the father hired detectives to go to Evanston and trace if they could the fate of his child.

Then the stage was set by fate. The detectives had struck the trail, but a blank wall blocked the way when they sought the name of the man and woman who gave the love and protection denied by father- and mother. Mary’s foster father beard and the only mother Mary knew wept. Lawyers were called in. It was agreed there should be a meeting of the lawyers. Mary’s Real Father. real father went —as his own lawyer. And Mary’s foster father went —as his own lawyer. They met in a hotel lobby as lawyers and went to a room as lawyers. The man from Michigan sat on the edge of the bed, the man from Chicago on a chair. Tongues were silent, but eyes searched and spoke. “You,” said the man from Chicago, “are the father of little Mary.” "And you,” said the man from Michigan, “have my daughter.” “Listen,” said the Michigan man. And he told the story of five years of hell, of sleepless nights, anguish and regret, suffering and self-condem-nation. “And you listen to me,” said the man from Chicago. And he told the story of five years of a new heaven and earth.

The adoption of a child through court proceedings gives that child irrevocably to the foster parents. The man from Michigan, as a lawyer, knew that legally his child was lost to him. He had had and had abandoned. To him who stepped in as his substitute the law gave a good title. Mary will never know that when she was playing with her dolls on the lawn two men were looking at her through the rose hedge. Both were crying. Mary couldn’t understand why daddy’s eyes were wet when he hugged her in hfs arms a moment later and she didn’t see the man from Michigan as he lurched down the street. ONE THING IS OVERLOOKED Shaves and Saves, and Plans Bright Future With Fiancee, but Now Dream Is Ended. During five years Alexander Schwartz shaved and saved in a Chicago barber shop. Several evenings each weqk he put on his best clothes and tried his best conversation. He was making plans for his future. On those occasions a young woman shared in the plans, helping him to make them. Schwartz shaved thousands of faces and cut the hair on thousands of heads during those five years. He expected that after he had been married a few years he would own a shop and sit beside a cash register that tinkled pleasantly. His fiancee agreed that to a bright man like him such a lucratlVe future was more than probable. Meanwhile Schwartz went on shaving and saving. Recently, however, he had to take some time off. He appeared in court before John E. Owens, county judge. There he learned that tn the years of shaving and saving and dreaming he had overlooked provision for his mother’s future. "You must pay |3 a .week for her support,” said the judge. Schwartz declared that If he did so, saving would be impossible. "Earn more money, then,” said the judge. "I make only 115 a week,” said Schwartz, "and if I use |3 of that for another purpose, I shall be unable to marry. My girl has been waiting five years. She is tired. She will quit me If she has to wait any longer." "You must contribute to the support of your mother," said the judge. “Wait until you earn money enough' or until you agree to support ‘both your mother and a wife before you are married.”

Elevated.

"You say our friend fa rising in political life?” "Yes. He’s rising, all right Ho used to be on the level, and now he’s/ known as the man higher up.”

FEW HOWLAND • nora: | gff- — When a man has been left all alone In th» world for two or three months, let| us say. When he’s picked up his rations wherever he could, while his wife and the kidsi were away, .. - < When he’s had to take care of his laundry himself and at night had to aimlessly. ’ roam, Or Bit In the gloom of a small rented room, he learns that there’s no place like: home. When a man who has longed to be free from the cares that a husband and, father must learn, When holes have appeared In the linen he wears and - the first days of autumni return, When there’s no one to scold If his spirits are low or hl* stock of contentment Is small, He knows, without any one telling him so,, that there’s no place like home, after all. When a house-broken man who has grumbled he had to shut windows at night, Who has often complained In his fits of the, blues that the fates had him marked, for their spite— When a man such as he has for two or three months found not a long hair In his comb, And been free from restraint his sole solemn plaint Is that* there Is noi place like home.

Not for Him.

said the theatrical manager who had gone to look at a fine place on the seashore, "I wouldn’t take it at any price. It’s beautiful, I admit, all you represented it to be, but 1 never could be happy here.” “Why not?’’ asked the real estate agent “You’ll never have a chance to get another such a bargain. Look at the splendid beach! Breathe in the pure air. Everything is pferfect.” "From your standpoint, yes. But that lighthouse just across the bay would Interfere with my enjoyment. I never could look at it without sadly re* other light housed.”

A Long, Long Time.

“Why, how dare ycfti try to kiss me!’’ she exclaimed. “I have known you less than a week. “How long do you have to knew a man before you permit him to kiss you?’’ “It depends on the man.” “Well, how long would you wish to know me before , you would let me kiss you?” “I should have to know you a long,: long time.” “What do you call a long, long time?” “Five minutes longer, at the very least, than I’ve known you.”

Jack and Jill on the Matrimonial HIIL Jack and Jill went up the hill— The hill of matrimony; While they were on the upward way She was his “ownest owney.” He helped her where the path was rough. She still war young and slender; His words were never short or gruff, His every act. yas tender. At last they"reached the top, and thero A little while they tarried; A preacher said things, and the pair Were tjien securely married. As soon as they found out that all Their wooing had* been ended They hastily went down the hill, And fought as they descended.

Her Chance.

"Why it Is that a widow's chance to get married is always so much better than that of a girl who has never tasted matrimonial bliss?” "A widow's chance Isn't any better. She merely knows how to take advantage of It”

Why?

"It is generally conceded that ■ girt Who flirts may develop into a first rate wife.” - it? But why pick out a girl who film, when there are other kinds of girts who may develop into first rate wivesF

A Complete Cure.

"Yes, I used to have hay fever, but I*ve been cured." "How?" "I have a Job with a concern that won't give me a vacation without docking me for the time that I'm away."