Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 130, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 2 June 1915 — Page 2

DARK HOLLOW

SYNOPSia. A carious crowd of neighbors invade Hm mysterious home of Judge Ostrander, bounty judge and eccentric recluse, following * veiled woman who has gained through the gates of the high {double barriers surrounding the place. The woman has disappeared but the judge to found in a cataleptic state. Bela, his servant, appears in a dying condition and prevents entrance tn a secret door. Bela alee. The judge awakes. Miss Weeks •explains to Mm what has occurred during Ms eelsura He secretly discovers the {Whereabouts of the veiled woman. She ■proves to be the widow of a man tried before the judge and uiectrocuted for mur•der years before. Her daughter Is enW**ed to the judge’s son, from whom he Is {estranged, but the murder is between the Bovera she piano to dear her husband’s {memory and asks the judge's aid. Alone Un her room Deborah Scoville reads the newspaper dippings telling the story of •ttie murder of Algernon Etheridge by •John Scoville InDark Hollow, twelve {years before. The judge and Mrs. Scoville poet at Spencer’s Folly and she shows ihlm bow. on the day of the murder, she Bw the shadow of a man. whittling a ck and wearing a long peaked cap. like r husband's. Until long afterward she •did not know that her husband had not worn that cap on the fatal day. The {Judge engages her and her daughter iHeuther to live with him in his mysteri•ous home.

CHAPTER VII.

A Bit of Stool. "When are you going to Judge Outran der’s?” "Tomorrow. This Is my last free •day. So If there is anything for me to do. do tell me. Mr. Black, and let me 'get to work at once.” ‘There is nothing you can do. The matter is hopeless. I told you so the •other night, apd now. after a couple of days of thought on the subject I «m obliged to repeat my assertion. Tour own convictions in the matter, •nd your story of the shadow and the peaked cap may appeal to the public land assure you some sympathy, but for an entire reversal of its opinion you will need substantial and incontrovertible evidence. Find me something definite to go upon and we will Doubtfully she eyed hjm. "What you want" she observed at length, with • sigh, “is the name of the man who sauntered-down the ravine ahead of my husband. I cannot give it to you now, but I do not despair of learning It I have got to renew old acquaintances; revive old gossip; possibly, recall to life almost obliterated memories.” x Mr. Black, dropping his hand from ibis vest gave her his first look of unqualified admiration. “You ring true,” said he. “I have met men qualified to lead a forlorn Ihope; but never before a woman. Al,low me to express my regret that it is such a forlorn one.” Mrs. Scoville rose. Then she sat "down again, with the remark: T have a strange notion. It's a hard thing to explain and you may not understand me, but I should like to see, if it still exists, the stick —my husband’s stick —with which this crime was committed. Do the police retain •uch things? Is there any possibility of my finding it laid away in some drawer at headquarters or on some dusty shelf?”

Mr. Black was again astonished. Was this callousness or a very deep •nd determined purpose. "You shall see the stick if it is still to be found. I will take you to police headquarters if you will go heavily veiled. We don’t want any recognition of you there yet” “Mr. Black, you are very good. How soon—” "Now," he announced, jumping up to get his hat There was one little fact of which iMr. Black was ignorant—that the pojlice had had their eye on the veiled : lady at Claymore inn for several days mow and knew who his companion was the instant they stepped into headiquarters. In vain his plausible excuses for showing his lady friend the curiosities of the place; her interest in the details of criminology was well Sderstood by Sergeant Doolittle. Lerefore, when he saw the small, mocking eye of the lawyer begin to roam over the shelves, and beheld his jaw drop as it sometimes did when he ■sought to veil his purpose in an air of mild preoccupation, he knew what the next request would tje, as well as if the low sounds whjcli left Mr. Black’s Slips at intervals had been words instead of inarticulate grunts. He was, therefore, prepared when the question ■did come. “Any memorial of the Etheridge case?” “Nothing but a stick with bloodjmarks on it. That, Tm afraid, wouldn’t be a very agreeable sight for a lady’s ■ “She’s proof,* the lawyer whispered Un the officer’s ear. “Let’s see the The sergeant considered this a very interesting experience—quite a jolly Break in the dun monotony of the day. (Hunting up the stick, he laid it in the (lawyer's hands, and then turned his eye upon the lady. She had gone pale, but it took her but an instant to regain her equanimity and hold out her own hand for the AM so the three stood there, the men's faces ironic, inquisitive, won«lering at the woman’s phlegm if not 1 her motive; herd, hidden behind her HU, but bent forward ow the weapon ]

By ANNA KATHARINE GREEN

(Copyright, 1014, toy Dodd, Mead A Companyl

in an attitude of devouring interest Thus for a long, slow minute; then she impulsively raised her bead and, beckoning the two men nearer, she directed attention to a splintered portion of the handle and asked them what they saw there. “Nothing; just stick,” declared the sergeant “The marks you are looking for are higher up." “And you, Mr. Black?” He saw nothing either but stick. But he was little less abrupt in his answer. “Do you mean those roughnesses?” he asked. “That’s where the stick was whittled. You remember that he had been whittling at the stick— f “\NhoV‘ The word shot from her lips so violently that for a moment both men looked staggered by it Then Mr. Black, with unaccustomed forbearance. answered gently enough: “Why, Scoville, madam; or so the prosecution congratulated Itself upon having proved to the jury's satisfaction. It did not tally with Scoville’s story or with common sense I know. You remember—-pardon me —I mean that any one who read a report of the case, will remember how I handled the matter in my speech. But the prejudice in favor of the prosecution—l will not say against the defense —was too much for me, and common sense, the defendant’s declarations, and my eloquence all went for nothing.” "Of course they produced tho knife?" “Was ft a new knife, a whole one, I mean, with all its blades sharp and in good order?” “Yes. I can say that I handled it several times.” “Then, whose blade left that?” And again she pointed to the same place on the stick where her finger had fallen before. “I don’t know what you mean.”. The sergeant looked puzzled. Perhaps, his eyesight was not very keen. “Have you a magnifying glass? There is something embedded in this wood. Try and find out what it is.” The sergeant, with a queer look at Mr. Black, who returned it ’ r lth interest went for a glass, and when he had used it the stare he gave the heavily veiled woman drove Mr. Black to reach out his own hand for the glass. “Well,” he burst forth, after a prolonged scrutiny, "there is something there.” 'The point of a knife blade. The extreme point,” she emphasized. "It might easily escape the observation evfen of the most critical, without such aid as is given by this glass.’ “No one thought of using a magnifying glass on this,” blurted out the sergeant “The marks made by the

She Had Gone Pale.

knife were plain enough for all to see, and that was all which seemed important.” Mr. Black said nothing; he was feeling a trifl-j cheap —something Which did not agree with his crusty nature. Not having seen Mrs. Scoville for a half-hour without her veil, her influence over him was on the wane, and he began to regret that he had laid himself open to this humiliation. She saw that it would be left for her to wind up the interview and get out of the place without arousing too much much attention. With a selfpossession which astonished both men, knowing her immense interest in this matter, she laid down the stick, and, with a gentle shrug of her shoulders, remarked in an easy tone: “Well, it’s curious! The ins and outs of a crime, I mean. Such a discovery ten years after the event (I think you said ten years) is very interesting.” Then she sighed: “Alas! it’s too late to benefit the one whose life it might have saved. Mr. Black, shall we be going? I have spent a most entertaining quarter of an hour.** Mr. Black glanced <rom her to the h«r- Then.

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, REN SS El A ER, IND.

with one of his sour smiles directed towards the former, he said: “I wouldn’t be talking about this, sergeant. It will do no good, and may subject us to ridicule." The sergeant, none too well pleased, nbdded slightly. Seeing which, she spoke up: “I don’t know about that, I should think it but proper reparation to the dead to let It be known that his own story of innocence has received this late confirmation.” But the lawyer continued to shake his head, with a very sharp look'at the sergeant. If he could have his way he would have this matter stop just where it was. e’*• • • • •

“This Is my daughter, Judge Ostrander; Reuther, this is the judge.” The introduction took place at the outer gates whither the judge had gone to receive them. Reuther threw aside her veil and looked up into the face bent courteously towards her. It had no look of Oliver. They were fine eyes notwithstanding, piercing by nature, but just now misty with a feeling that took away all her fear. He was going to like her; she saw it in every trembling line of his countenance, and at the thought a smile rose to her lips. With a courteous gesture he invited them in, but stopping to lock one gate before leading them through x the other, Mrs. Scoville had time to observe that since her last visit with Its accompanying inroad of the populace, the two openings which at this point gave access to the walk between the fences had been closed Up with boards so rude and dingy that they must have come from some old lumber pile in attic or cellar.

The judge detected her looking at them. “I have cut off my nightly promenade,” said he. “With youth in the house, more cheerful habits must prevail. Tomorrow I shall have my lawn cut, and if I must walk after sundown I will walk there.” The two women exchanged glances. Perhaps their gloomy anticipations were not going to be realized. But once within the house, the judge showed embarrassment. “I have few comforts to offer,” said he, opening a door at his right and then hastily closing it again. “This part of the house is, as you see, completely dismantled and not —very clean. But you shall have carte blanche to arrange to your liking one of these rooms for your sittihg room and parlor. There is furniture in the attic and you may buy freely whatever else is necessary. I don't want to discourage little Reuther. As for your bedrooms —” He stopped, hemmed a little and flushed a vivid red as he pointed up the dingy flight of uncarpeted stairs towards which he led them. “They are above; but it is with shame I admit that I have not gone above this floor for many years. Consequently, I don’t know how it looks up there or whether you can even find towels and things. Have I counted too much on your good nature?”

“No; not at all. In fact, you simply arouse all the housekeeping instincts within me.” The judge, drew a breath of relief and led Reuther towards a door at the end of the hall. “This is the way to the dining room and kitchen,” he explained. “I have been accustomed to having my meals served in my own room, but after this I shall join you at table. Here,” he continued, leading her up to the iron door, “is the entrance to my den. You may knock here if you want me, but there is a curtain beyond, which no one lifts but myself. You understand, my dear, and will excuse an old man’s eccentricities?” She smiled, rejoicing only in the caressing voice, and in the yearning, almost fatherly, manner with which he surveyed her. “I quite understand,” she said; “and so will mother.” "Reuther," he now observed with a strange intermixture of gentleness and authority, “there is one thing I wish to say to you at the very start I may grow to love you—God knows that a little affection would be a welcome change in my life —but I want you to know and know now, that all the love in the world will not change my* decision as to the impropriety of a match between you and my son Oliver. That settled, there is no reason why all should not be clear between us.” “AU is clear.” Faint and far off the words sounded, though she was standing so near he could have laid his hand on her shoulder. Then she gave one sob as though in saying thir she heard the last clod fall upon what would never see resurrection again in this life, and, lifting her head, looked him straight in the eye with a decision and a sweetness which bowed bis spirit and caused his head in turn to fall upon his breast. “What a father can do for a child, I will do for you.” he murmured, and led her back to her mother. A week, and Deborah Scoville had evolved a home out of chaos. That is, within limits. She had not entered shs judge* rooms, nor even offered to

do bo. Later, there must be a change. So particular a man as the Judge would soon find himself too uncomfortable to endure the lack of those attentions which be had been used t<J tn Bela’s day. He had not even asked for clean sheets, and sometimes she had found herself wondering, with a strange shrinking of her heart, if his bed was ever made, or whether he had not been driven at times to lie down in his clothes.

She had some reason for these doubtful conclusions. In her ramblings through the house she had come upon Bela's room. It was in a loft over the kitchen and she had been much amazed at Its condition. In soma respects it looked as decent as she obuld expect, but in the matter of bed and bed clothes it presented an aspect somewhat startling. The clothes were there, tossed in a heap on the floor, but there was no bed in sight nor anything which could have served as such. It had been dragged out. Evidences of this were everywhere on the narrow, twisted staircase. A smile, half pitiful, half self-scornful, curved her lips as she remembered the rat-tat-tat she had heard on that dismal night when she clung listening to the fence,

“What a Father Can Do, I Will Do for You."

and wondered now if it had not been the bumping of this cot sliding from st«p to step. Bu| no! the repealed stroke of a hammer is unmistakable. He had played the carpenter that night as well as the mover, and with no visible results. Mystery still reigned in the house for all the charm and order she had brought into it; a mystery which deeply interested her, and which she yet hoped to solve, notwithstanding its remoteness from the real problem of her existence.

CHAPTER VIII.

The Picture. Night! and Deborah Scoville waiting anxiously for Reuther to sleep, that she might brood undisturbed over a new and disturbing event which for the whole day had shaken her out of her wonted poise, and given, as it were, a new phase to her life in this house. (TO BE CONTINUED.)

The Doorman’s Plea.

The stage doorman of a certain New York theater 1 is a doughty Italian of sufficient brawn to guard a much larger portal. Silvestro, as ,he is called, has been somewhat envious of the showy uniform of the theater’s carriage porter, in contrast to his own unpretentious civilian garb. With a preliminary respectful salute to Mr. Hopkins, owner of the theater, on his way to make up for “The Marriage of Columbine," Silvestro poured out his soul with characteristic variations on the idiom, “Scusi, meester, I try do my best, all de time. I love my job, I love dis theater, everything. Santa! I love you, I love Mr. Hopkins, everybody round de place. I give my heart out, all the time, my soul, my life; nothing I would not give to serve you. Siete soddisfatto? Den, please get me a fine cap like da porter's one.”

Not Too Long.

Conversation among a group of visiting housewives had turned upon the boiling of eggs, and the little daughter of the house explained that she knew how to boil eggs, and always boiled them “just eight minutes.”, “Eight minutes, dear!" cried one of her listeners, in amazement. “Are you quite sure you boil them so long? I should think that would make the eggs very hard.** “Oh, no, indeed, Mrs. Blank,” was the child’s confident answers “really, they're awfully tooaal**

FIGHTING FOR LOVE

Dora’s Bitter Scorn Waked the Brute in Her Peace-Lov-ing Suitor.

By JOHN PHILIP ARTH.

(Copyright, ISIS, by the McClure Newspaper Syndicate.) As a boy among boys, Clyde Drew never engaged in battle. Not that he took to his heels every time there was a chance for a scrap, but that he was not naturally belligerent, and if there was a question at stake he was good at argument. There were scrappers at college who called him the deacon and let him go his way in peace. He didn’t row, box, run, Jump, play football, swim or enter into athletics in any way. He had a good figure and more than the average amount of muscle lying dormant, and he also passed.a high examination. When young Drew left college he took a clerical position, and all his exercise consisted in walking. Once a friend took hold of bis arm and found it as soft as a woman’s. “Gee whiz! where is the muscle?” “I don’t have to handle the crowbar or a sledge here,” was the reply. “But supposing someone picked a fight with you?" “Why should anyone?” “You may see some day. Maybe you carry a gun." “No."

“Well, I’m not going around looking ’for trouble, but if there is need for scrapping I shall be on hand at the old stand.** The conversation made no impression on Mr. Drew. He could hardly conceive of a situation calling for muscle to get him out of trouble. He would insult no one, and no one would insult him. Miss Dora Thom and Mr. Clyde Drew were engaged to be married, and it was a real love match. Mr. Drew had many admirable qualities and had some money and a good salary. It had been love at first sight, and an engagement followed in a few weeks. Mr. Thorn did not oWect to the engagement, made withowt consulting him, but he said to the lovers: “I think you have been over hasty. You know so little about each other that it’s my wish that you should put' the marriage off several months. When I was a young man I came very near rushing into a marriage that I should have repented the rest of my days.” And when the postponement had been agreed to the girl said to her lover: “Clyde, are you going to look for faults in me from now on?” "I couldn’t find a single one if I looked ever so long,” was the loverlike reply. “That is nice of you. If you have any faults I have not discovered them yet.” Did Miss Dora think it & fault that he was weak of muscles? I Had she ever wondered if he was brave or otherwise? Had she ever felt the sense of protection when riding or walking with him that a strong man Insures? She knew that he was fair looking and had a good figure, and that filled the bill physically. The loving couple were out for a spin in the auto one afternoon when,, as they reached a narrow part of the highway they encountered a young man in a buggy. He was given more than his share of the road, but he was not satisfied with that. He brought his horse to a halt, and sat scowling for a minute before calling out: "Hey, you dude, do you know that you are blocking the road.” “There’s plenty of room for you to pass,” replied Mr. Drew. “You are a liar and a hog, sir!" "Why, the man is ugly drunk!” whispered Miss Dora. She turned to her lover to find him pale-faced and his chin quivering. 1 Mr. Drew had never expected to be insulted, but here it was, good and hot. “Are you going to keep me here all day?" snarled the stranger. “No one is keeping you,” was answered, but in a very mild voice. “I say again, you are a liar!” Miss Dora knew enough about man nature that when the lie was passed it meant a knockdown, and she trembled oyer the answer that would be forthcoming, but there was no answer.

Mr. Drew was as white as a ghost and trembling like a rabbit. Was it with anger, or was he holding back on her account? g “Not only a liar, but a coward as well,’’ added the young man. No answer—no movement. The buggy was driven up beside the auto, and the driver’s whip laid over the shoulder of a cringing man three or four times. Then the whipper said to Miss Dora: “You can see what sort of a cur he it If you marry him, I wish you joy!” Then he drove on, and after ' the auto had proceeded a few rods it was turned about and headed for home. Not a wprd from Mr. Drew. Not a word from Miss Dora. But what was there to be said? Mr. Drew had played the part of a coward so abjectly that nothing he could say would excuse him. He had been called a liar and a coward. He had been'horsewhipped and had cringed over ;it He had let the girl be insulted. She was sorry for him in a way, and also knew bitter scorn. She was engaged to a coward, but would she ever imarryhim? “Vo— never.*

It were better to have a drunkard and a wife-beater for a husband. They drove to her father’s house and parted without a word. They both knew It wm the end. It was not until he reached the privacy of his room that Mr. Drew awoke from hie stupor. Then he, who had scarcely ever used an oath, fell to cursing. He called himself names. He longed tor someone to kick him. "I am a coward a poltroon—a thing!” he shouted at himself. “I have debased myself until men ought to kick me out of their company. If I had a pistol here I wouldn’t wait a minute before shooting myself.” By and by the yopng man greW a bit calmer, and he sat down and asked himself: "Why did I act the craven? Was I afraid of the man? Even a coward would have put up a fight under the circumstances. There’s something wrong with me, and I am going to find out what it is.” He went down on the street and called in at the first doctor’s office he came to. Fortunately for him, the doctor had studiedyiomething besides illness. He let the young man tell his story without interruption, but listened very closely. \ "I have seen several cases -like yours. You should have fought when a boy, to give you confidence in yourself as a man. Your muscles are not as well developed as a woman cook’s. You have been a peaceful young man. You havd^thought peace alone. You have not exercised your arms. You have never swung the clubs nor had ,the boxing gloves on. You have gone through life thus far thinking the time could never come when you would be insulted and have to resent it or run. Because you were peacefulminded, you argued that all others were the same. Am I not right?”

“You are a doctor.” “Well, in the first place, you were taken by surprise. You saw and heard what was taking place, but you could not credit it because it had never happened before, and it happened now without cause or warning. When the time came to use your muscle you didn’t have it with you, and that gave you a helpless feeling. Young man, you are not a natural coward, but you have been a very foolish person. Go and see the boxing master of a club.” “And learn to fight?” asked Mr. Drew.

“Learn that a man who goes only to hunt with an unloaded gun is an idiot. You may never be called upon to fight, but if you are then you want to lick the other fellow.” Mr. Drew left the doctor’s office for a club, and that evening took his first lesson at punching the bag. In time he put on the gloves with the instructor and others, and in time again was called a fair boxer. “But this doesn’t prove that you have grit,” sdld his master. “I want you to put on the gloves with a slambang and give him a licking. He has been guying you ever ’ since you began. He says you are a milk-and-wa-ter sissy, and that a boy ten years old can make you quit.” For almost the first time in his life young Drew flew mad and wanted to hit someone. He soon had his chance. He was knocked down the first thing, but he got up and put up such a fight that his opponent took off his gloves. Meanwhile, he had employed a detective to find out all about the man who caused his downfall. He lived about three miles from the spot where he had been encountered and drove into the town regularly every Saturday afternoon. Not a word or line through the long weeks, but he did not hope nor expect. How could he? He must first rehabilitate himself in her esteem.

One day an auto approached the Thorn residence from the north, and a buggy from the south. Miss Dora sat on the veranda. The two vehicles met in front of the house and the girl saw and heard all that followed. “Hello, here is the liar and coward again!” sneered the driver of the buggy. Mr. Drew moved his auto out of the road and got down. "This time he is going to run away!” Drew removed his hat and vest and rolled up his shirt sleeves. “Maybe he’s going to pick daisies.” “He is going to lick you, you loafer, if .you dare come down here!” The next moment they were at it, and in her excitement the girl stood up to see. It took her lover just ten minutes to give the fellow the best licking of his life, and as the. victor was. nursing a bleeding ear and a ■ skinned nose a hand was laid upon his arm and Miss Dora said: *’l saw it all, Clyde, and I am proud of you! Father sai<T you would do it some day. Come in and let me dress your hurts.”

New Asphalt Bed Discovered.

An asphalt bed which seems to be practically inexhaustible is now being developed commercially in Leyte province in the Philippine islands. The bed lies near the shore line at Tacloban, at which port ships can anchor and take on cargo of the asphalt from lighters loaded at the mines, with practically no overland transportation. The deposits also contain oil of a high grade. , The asphalt Is almost pure near the surface, and is exceptionally pure at greater depths. The oil deposits—evidenced by oil flowing with water from a spring—contain oil pure enough to be used by the natives for illuminating purposes.

For Ivy Poisoning.

One of the best remedies for ivy poisoning is to rub the afflicted parts with slices of raw onion.