Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 9, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 January 1915 — Page 2

The Governor's Lady A Novelization of Alice Bradley's Paly

lHustrattoas from Photographs of the Stage Production

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_____ SYNOPSIS. Daniel Slade suddenly advance* from a penniless miner to a millionaire. He la ambitious to become governor of the state. Hla simple, bome-lovtn* wife falls to riae to the new conditions. Slade insets Katherine, daughter of Senator Strickland. and sees in her all that Mary is not. Slade decide* to separate from his wife and takes rooms at hts club. His desertion of lila wife and his constant attendance on Katherine Strickland causes public comment. Editor Merritt. la won over to the support of B!ade because he cannot otherwise supply the money for a European trip demanded by Mrs. Merritt, Katherine agrees to marry Slade when the latter gets a divorce. Boy Hayes, tn love with Katherine, has a stormy session with the latter over her conduct toward Slade.

CHAPTER Vll—Continued. Bhe turned to him with a bitter laugh. “I’m through with you—and your Insults," and ehe fled from the room. Katherine did not go a moment too soon, for scarcely had the folding doors closed behind her when the door from the smoking-room swung open, and with noisy talk the few remaining members of the dinner party straggled In. In her agitated condition, even Katherine would have found it difficult to regain her composure sufficiently to meet these men. Ex-Governor Hibbard was in a particularly happy frame of. mind. The eenator’s excellent viands and the senator's choice wines and the senator’s Havanas had succeeded in making him feel well satisfied with the world In general and with Slade In particular. His round face waa flushed and his string tie a trifle awry. “Had a good time, senator,” he said, removing his cigar, “but there were too many swallowtails here for me tonight When I was governor of the state I never wore one. No, nor a plug hat either.-**--"I never wore one, and I never will,” seconded Colonel Smith, a typical long, lean, lanky westerner, with the .inevitable western cut beard and hair a bit too long. “Governor, you’re right,” and Strickland gave each man a resounding slap on the shoulder. “Colonel, stick to your guns. They’re a nuisance. Now, boys, forget your homes and your trains. The others are all gone. Let us, the ringleaders, adjourn to the dining-room and over one of my punches—” The governor patted his stomach tenderly. The mention of the senator’s punch was all that was necessary to weaken bis desire to catch a train. "Ah! Strickland’s punch! I’m with you." "Now, gentlemen,” interrupted Merritt In & business-like manner, “before we split up tonight it’s understood we’re all Slade men?” “All Slade men!” wae the unanimous shout from the colonel, the exGovemor Hunt, pious old Pop Hart end Ingram. "And we’re preparing to cope with Slade’s domestic trouble should It come up, and it will,” went on Merritt. "The devil, Strick!” broke in the colonel. “Can’t it be patched up unto after election?" “No, gentlemen.” The senator was unctuous but firm. “We must take Slade as we find him or—drop him. We’re In the hands of a peculiar and .dominant personality. We can’t make these big fellows to order.” “What I can’t understand," complained Hibbard, throwing the stub of his cigar into the fireplace, “Is why they can’t get on together.” “Take it from me, gentlemen, it’s her fault,” exclaimed Merritt, as much la favor of Slade as he had previously been opposed to him, now that Fannie was appealed with the money for her trip to Europe. "She's preparing to desert him now,” Strickland assured them. "It’a irrevocable.” “Well, we can’t blame him for being deserted,” agreed rfibbard. “You bet we can’t! My wife deserted me,” declared the colonel with an attempt at facetiousness, “and she didn’t do it a day too soon, either. .I’ve gone right ahead ever since.” “Now, then,” went on the industrious Merritt, "three of us own papers. These are our points;. Mrs. Slade is —er —er —a woman who has no sympathy 'with her husband —shuns public life —is never seen —refused even to see me. And no sympathy for him. don’t forget that” "Yep! Just like my wife." granted the colonel. - “I don’t see how the public can blame him," declared Hibbard. "They cant,” asserted Hart "Why, she’s a semi-in valid,” amended Strickland. “My wife hasn’t seen her out since she drove him out of the house five weeks ago.” declared Hart “Qopd! We'll use that” exclaimed Merritt, eagerly. “A semi-invalid—-when she’s ready to be moved she will be taken away at her own request I'll publish it myself. I’ll start the ball a-rolling. Why, gentlemen, the world ought to pity that man.** Hayes had stood the conversation jSMBmK fIMN && * OOMsCi'* J ’■* ..:i£h "Do you realize that you’re attackJag this woman unjustly?” he broke

By GERTRUDE STEVENSON

in, walking into the middle of the group."This is not at all true.” “You keep out of this game.” warned Strickland. “Well, boys, we're ail agreed,” de* dared Merritt. “It’s one for all, then— ’’ ’’And all for one,” added Hibbard, excitedly. “Hip! Hip!” began Merritt, when the door opened and the butler nounced-:-“Mrs. Slade.” The hurrah that had been on each man’s lips died a sudden death. They looked at each other in consternation. "Mrs. Slade!” gasped Merritt. “Whew!” The eyes turned toward the door saw a tiny, gray-garbed woman, with great, questioning brown eyes, hesitating in bewildered fashion as she found herself confronted by a roomful of men. Her gown with Its tight basque and full skirt was dowdy and badly cut, in marked contrast to the fashionable, clinging gowns of the women who had graced the room a short time previous. Her white gloves were a fraction too short to meet her short sleeves, and left exposed thin arms and pointed elbows. But the tender face, with its sweetly expressive mouth, was unchanged. The lovely eyes were more appealing, as filled with wistful shyness, they gazed about the room, “I’m afraid It’s a little late for me to come,” she managed to say, as the senator came up to her with outstretched hand.

“This is an unexpected pleasure,” the senator assured her with an urbane smile. “Gentlemen, Mrs. Slade.” “Why, my dear madame,” and Mer--ritt greeted her effusively, “I’m glad to know that the. reports to the senator have been exaggerated. Your health Is now—er —” “Oh, I never felt better in my life, sir,” Mary declared, puzzled that he should ask such a question. Hayes hastened to the Tittle woman's side. “Oh, Rob,” she exclaimed, relieved to see a familiar face. As she turned to Hayes, Slade appeared at the smok-ing-room door, and. as he recognized the dowdy little figure his eyes darkened and an angry scowl appeared on his face. Strickland saw the expression and hastened to urge the men to follow him into the dining-room.

CHAPTER VIII.

' As the men filed out, Mary turned to meet her husband’s angry eyes. “Well, Dan, I’m here,” and -ehe looked pleadingly up into the uninviting face. “I’ve given in,” she. went on. “It’s been a struggle, but I’m here. Why, I’ve been thinking all this evening, while I was gettia’ dressed, I’d give a dollar to see the look on your face when you saw me here, Dan, and know that you got your own way. Dap —I’ve —well-“-I’ve given in, father.,” And, turning to Rob with an expectant little smile, “Do I look all right, Rob?” “I think, you do,” Hayes replied, gravely. 1 “Will you take Mrs. Slade home, Robert?” Slade broke in. “It’s very late,” Hayes pleaded as he put his hand lovingly on the little woman'sshoulder. “Yes, I know It is,” Mary agreed, still not realizing what & fiasco her first attempt to enter into social life wae. “I've been outside for half an hour —Just tryin’ to make up my mind, but as long as you’re here yet—why—” “There aren’t any other ladies present,” Hayes tried to explain, “and I think perhaps—” “You’d better go,” Slade finished for him, but not in his conciliatory tone.

“But you don’t understand,” Mary objected. “He doesn’t understand," she turned to Hayes in a perplexed way. "My being here tonight means I’ye given in,” and she looked up searchingly into her husband’s forbidding face. ‘Tm going out with you every night, all the time, whenever you want me, balls, parties, .dinners, everything.” “Will you see Mrs. Slade to her carriage?" Slade turned to Bob, ignoring his wife’s detaining hand. “Yes, but,” >,ary began to object. “It’s necessary that I Join those gentlemen,” Slade informed her coldly. “Take her at once,” he commanded Hayes. Hayes started toward the door. „ “Call me when you’re ready, Mrs. Slade. I'll wait in the hall.” and he disappeared. Slade thrust his hands deep into his pockets and looked at his wife in a puzzled way. She was nervously pulling off her gloves and beginning to realize that her visit was, for some unexplained reason, scarcely the success she had planned it to be. ! "In God’s name, what did you come here for, Mary?” Slade, finally demanded, • y ■ *' j "What did I come here for?" she repeated blankly. “What did I come here for? Why, to please you. I Uiought be giad, 1 Just aan’t stand it with you living out of the house, Dan. Lord. I haven’t slept s ~ - u:,;\ ... ~ ’ * . i _ ' . - - -. . ... . ‘ ■’ 1 . H ...

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, INDi.

wink since you left. Aren’t you missing me?” and her voice trembled just the \mmt bit “Ob, Dan. It’a all over now. ain’t it, our tiff?” she began eagerly, catching hia arm impulsively and pressing her face against his coatsleeve, kissing the unresponsive broadcloth again and again. “We're making up; we’ll go home together. It’U all be different after this, and I'll see you at the break faet table mornings now,” she finished joyfully. “Dan,” she began again, "I don’t believe you’ve bad a decent cup of coffee since you left home. I’d like to make you a cup now, myself,” and she looked reflectively around the senator’s library as if she thought there might possibly be some opportunity to brew a cup of coffee right then and there. “Come on borne, father," she urged, calling him by the name of the old, old days, when they had both dreamed of little ones in their home, and patting hia arm lovingly, tenderly. “Mad at me yet?” ehe questioned. Slade winced under the gentle touch of her hand on his arm, and found It necesß&ry to turn away from the face that waa so sweet and penitent. “No,” he stammered, ‘Tm not mad at you, only this ie no place to talk about our troubles.”

"Well, we’ll go along home,” she suggested. “No, I Yoti’d better let Rob take you home,” and he started for the door. Mary started after him, clutching at bis arm. “I’ve got to know what the matter ie now—l must —I must,” she declared vehemently. “Very well, Mary, as far as my plans go, I’ve arranged my life differently.” “Differently? Differently? Haven’t I given in?” “It’e too late now. I’m sorry to say ibis, but you force me.” “Wait a minute, Dan.” She drew % long breath, as if nerving herself for an ordeal. “You’re going to say something dreadful. Before you begin I want to say that I’ll do anything to get things back jnst the same as they were before —anything. There’s nothing you could ask me 1 won’t do — nothing! There! Now! Now go on,” and* she sank weakly into a chair. “Look here,” Slade wae cruelly abrupt. “This separation is permanent Nothing’s going to change it” “Separation?” She gave him a blank, amazed stare. “Why, Dan, who’s talking about separation? We can’t be separated.”' - “We can be —we are. When I left you that night it was for good and all, Mary. We can’t get along together and I’ve made up my mind to It It’s settled.” “You mean to „ say you haven’t missed yer home? You haven’t wanted me to* give In? You mean what’s happened is for the best?” “Yes,” he answered icily. Mary gazed at him in bewilderment ’You’re not the man I talked to five weeks ago. I don’t know you. It must be the people about you—or It’a—” Like a flash the possibility of another woman came into her mind. But she dismissed it as quickly as it bad come. She would not insult him —or herself —or their Jove by such a suggestion. “I am another man from the one you married,” Slade agreed, “but you wouldn’t see it.” “Ie it my fault that I married a man who’s turned into somebody else?” Mary argued, fighting, fighting for her life, her happiness—for him,. “I married you, Dan. I married a poor young fellow who was hard worked and fl helped him along. We started fair, Dan, but this ain’t fair,” lapsing more and more into poor grammar and dialect as her excitement rose. “You got beyond me, but it was because I worked and saved the pennies for you, while you went out and got helped and learned. Cooking didn’t learn me. I didn’t even knoy I was behind the times or unsatisfactory until one day you—” (TO BE CONTINUED:)

KINDLY WORD MEANS MUCH

World Would Be Happier and Better if Approbation Were More Freely Expressed. It Is often told that Engene Field one day wandered into a basement restaurant, sat down at a table, put his chin in his hands and gazed moodily into space, relates the Youth’s Companion. A waiter came up to him, and after the manner of his kind enumerated the long list of dishes that were ready to be served. “No, no," said. Field, dejectedly, ’1 require none of those things: All I want is some sliced oranges and & few kind words.” Whether or not the incident be true, it Is suggestive. Unquestionably, deeds weigh far f&ore than words, and yet it is almost tragic to think how much happier and better this struggling world would become if kind words were more often heard. We ail, every day. come in contact with those who are in Eugene Field’s state of mind. They are in our own homes; mothers and fathers and children. They are behind counters of stores; they are employes on trains; they are servants In kitchens; they are everywhere, and their name is legion. 1a word of appreciation would brighten the whole day and would make it easier for them to keep on} trying.

He Didn't Know It.

Counsel for the Defense (to client, who h** been dozing daring tj)e verdict) —Wake up and get out.- You’re ipOtttad!. .... -i The Accused —Lor* Inmme! Wot! | Not guilty?—Sidney Bulletin. I

TAKING WAR PRISONERS TO CAMP

Scene in the village of Pan, France, where the entire population has turned out to see a column of 300 German prisoners being escorted to the French camp by their captors.

FRENCH FINISH 47 DAY FIGHT IN TRENCHES

Soldiers Welcome Brief Rest and First Chance to Change Clothes. JOKE OVER THEIR PLIGHT Muacoated Infantrymen Tell of Their Life at Front—Only 11 Left of 250 in Original Company - Kill Germans to Get Clothes. By GABRIEL DELAGARDE. Correspondent of the Chicago Daily News. Amiens, France.—l have just passed two days In a tiny hamlet near the front between Arras and Albert, sleeping on straw and living on bread and sardines. batteries a few hundred yards away thundered intermittently. My companions were 190 French infantrymen, who were quartered there for four days to rest after 47 consecutive days in the trenches. By this time they must have resumed their old positions on the flrirg line. The first man with whom I talked when the grim, dirty columns broke . ranks and scattered .about the thirtyodd ffcrms which compose the hamlet, said: “Yes, monsieur, we have been 47 days in the trenches without once removing our clothes or even ouf shoes. Except for two old peasants we passed back along the road, you are the first civilian we have seen in all this time. But, you see, 1 we do not look too miserable. We even stood it very well, because we are Bretons, who are a tough and stubborn race. But we are rather dirty, are we not?” , Joke Over Life in Trenches. I replied frankly that I had never seen dirtier men in all my life. Their clothes were torn and covered with layers of yellow clay and their shoes looked like lumps of mud which had hardened around their feet. Y'et the men were laughing and joking happily enough. We entered the village inn, a picturesque tavern blackened with smoke, with strings of onions hanging from the rafters, while in the corner the aged grandfather was weaving on a hand loom. Over their coffee and brandy the soldiers renewed their Jokes at the expense of the “boches” (Germans), their own dirtiness and various features of life in the trenches. To the accompaniment of a distant cannonade they told the history of their company since the beginning of the war. They had participated in many battles and the cpmpany had been entirely reorganized three times. Of the original contingent of 250 men only one officer and ten men were left. Dug Holes Wish Their Hands. When they first took position at the place they still hold, they had to fight in an open field, for neither side had time to prepare trenches. The men sought to protect themselves the best they could. Those without pickaxes dug in the earth with their hands, trying to make holes big enough to lie In. Gradually, however, trenches were completed and a aubterranean village organized. Before the trenches barbed wire was string on which bell§ were hang which would ring when the wire was disturbed. Their monotonous life was interrupted only by shells that burst too near and occasional surprise atcaekß. 1 Ordinarily the men sleep in the daytime in restrooms, the straw in which la changed every two weejta- JJttle by little the soul and body became hardened until now they can look on the rain of deadly shells with indifference. Kill Germans to Get Clothes. Protection against the cold was not difficult. Woolen garments had been distributed liberally and In case these , iiwklng eenM alwsys ilml a chance to “snipe” soma German, steal

forth under cover of the darkness and remove his overcoat and shoes, as several men of this company had done. Rain is -more serious here in Picardy, where the clay holds water on the surface. Despite gutters and roofs rain always gets into the trenches somehow. “When it rains,” said a soldier with heroic carelessness, “you get wet. That is all there is to it." I learned that several men, ill from dampness, had been sent to the hospital. Death Loses Its Terrors. ' The following story illustrates how little preoccupied with death these men are: * ~ . One day the men in the rear guard trench decided to send a soldier to fetch water from a village two kilometers (1.2 miles) away. It was a fine, warm day and they wanted to wash themselves. An hour later the soldier returned with two pails of water, which all were eager to use, but they lacked towels. One soldier said he would get some from the advance trenches, where there were several. He went ducking down the zigzag passage which connects the trenches, and which, because of its length, is named Rue Lafayette, after the longest street in Paris. All the trenches are named. There is a Rue de la Paix, an Avenue de l’Opera and the grand boulevards. Killed, But Towels Are Saved, r They waited, but the soldier did not return and another went to hunt for him Finally he saw the soldier with the towels in his hand and his head bent to the earth. A call brought no answer. The man had rashly lifted his head above the ground and was instantly shot through both temples. The soldier who told this story took the towels from his dead comrade and calmly returned to wash himself. “What would you expect?” he asked. “It might have been my turn half an hour later. There was no use in wor- —— That night two men went and got the body of their comrade and buried it.

Mo Word of Rebellion. During the entire two days I lived with these men I did not hear a single word of anger or revolt. They questioned tie eagerly for war news, about what the people were saying in the cities and what the opinion was In the allied and neutral countries. They expressed the hope that the war would not last much longer, and some sighed when thinking of their wives and children, photographs of whom they showed me. But always they were good humored. It was as if new and simplified souls had formed within them adapted-to the present extraordinary circumstances. From the lieutenant and the captain, whom ts e mdh treated respectfully, as both were leaders as well as comrades: from the thoughtful young civil engineer, now a common soldier, who, one realized, was accustomed to a life

SEARCHING SUSPECTS

; A German soldier searching a Belgian peasant in th« neighborhood of the Yser. U

•f luxury and who dost)ties* would have been stupefied if he had been• told six months ago that presently he would be dwelling gayly a month and a hsif in a ditch without even, taking ofT his shoes; from (he workmeg and from the small shopkeepers, to the sergeant who was a genuine count of the old Breton nobility—all in their several ways expressed their Joy at being able to sleep in a good barn on thick straw, wash themselves and stroll restfully about Worried About Their Trenches. They did not seem to realize that they exemplified truly astonishing courage and hardihood. The only thing that really worried them was theifr trenches, which would be occupied these four days by" young recruits, who might, because of their inexperience, let the rain get in. The lieutenant told me smilingly that he had a luxurious room back there, the fitting of which cost him 25 francs ($5), and he was afraid that during his absence the rain might pierce the ceiling and even reach his library. He Reproached himself for having left behind some books which, on returning, he might find in bad condition. Meanwhile the entire company sought to make the best of these four precious days of repose, cleaning themselves and their clothes, greasing their rifles and eating and drinking. I am sure they returned to their arduous vigils in the icy trenches in better spirits than ever. Their orders are simply to hold, and hold they will, you may be sure, to the very last man.

FIRE 4,000 BULLETS APIECE

Extraordinary Expenditure of Cartridges Required to Kill One Man in This War. London.—One of the things frequent* ly nbted by soldiers at the front in writing to relatives and friends is the extraordinary expenditure of bullets required to kill a man. A German report says that many German soldiers fired 4,000 cartridges apiece during the first month of the war. An English observer estimated that 25 German shells are wasted for every man killed by them. In 1870 it was calculated that the Germans fired 150 bullets and six shrapnel shells for every wounded Frenchman. In the Russo-Japanese war it is said 3,000 bullets were fired for every life lost.

TREATING THE WOUNDED

British Red Cross surgeon caring for a wounded French infantryman.

DYING MESSAGE OF SOLDIER

Vivid Picture of Pathos of Man PassIng Away in a Foreign Land. London.—At Hull the other day the archbishop of York read a letter from one of his own chaplains at the front, giving a vivid picture of the pathos . of a soldier dying in a strange land for a cause he only dimly understood. Kneeling beside a wounded Boldier in a little tent lighted by a candle flickering in the wind, the chaplain was addressed thus: “Am I dying, sir?* “Yes, sonny, you are.” “My God!" Then a pause. “Please break it gently to my missus. She is expecting my first baby just about now.” The chap* lain took up a crucifix from his neck and held it up. The soldier raised hiit head, laid it down again and began to smile —“the loveliest smMe I ever saw,” says the chaplain.

TRENCH PAPERS IN BELGIUM

Journals Publish Special Editions for Soldiers at the Front. Washington.—The Belgian legation has received copies of “trench editions” or Belgian newspapers in which the main feature is columns of personal paragraphs addressed to soldiers in the Belgian army by regimen tal and company designations telling them of the whereabouts of their families. Many of these paragraphs cen» elude, “Send news.” These “trench editions” are circulated in an effort to re-establish communication between the men at the front and their scattered families, many of whom are now in France, England or Holland. Besides the personal paragraphs the papewrcarry news of the waranffkuoT poong against the'enemy. v