Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 9, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 11 January 1915 — The Governor's Lady A Novelization of Alice Bradley's Paly [ARTICLE]

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

By GERTRUDE STEVENSON

lHustrattoas from Photographs of the Stage Production

OuokM,Mi(hMkaiwihMsaseMi)kriMMiJMMa

_____ 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

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 ...

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:)