Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 196, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 August 1915 — Page 2

HISLOVE STOPY

by MARIE VAN VORST

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SYNOPSIS. —ll— Comte do' Sabron, captain of French cavalry, takes to hia quarter* to raise by hand a motherless Irish terrier pup, anq names It Pttchoune. He dines with the Marquise d’Escllgnac and meets Miss Julia Redmond, American heiress. He 1* ordered to Algiers but is not allowed to take servants or dogs. Miss Redmond takes care of Pttchoune. who, longing for his master, runs away from her. The marquise plans to marry Julia to the Due de Tremont. Pitchoune foliows Babron to Algiers, dog and master meet, and Sabron rets permission to keep his dog with him. The Due de Tremont finds the American heireas capricious. Sabron, wounded in an engagement, falls Into the dry bed of a river and is watched over by Pitchoune. After a horrible night and day Pitchoune leaves him. Tremont takes Julia and the marquise to Algiers in his yacht hut has doubts about Julia’s Red Cross mission. After long search Julia gets trace of Sabron’s whereabouts. CHAPTER XVlll—Continued. * •> ~ From where he stood, Tremont coaid see the Comtesse de la Maine la her little shadow, the oriental decorations a background to her slight Parisian figure, and a little out of the shadow, the bright aigret in her hair danced, shaking its sparkles of fire. She looked infinitely sad and Infinitely appealing. One bare arm was along the back of her lounge. She leaned her head upon her hand. After a few moments the Due de Tremont quietly left the piano and Miss Redmond, and went and sat down beside the Comtesse de ia Maine, who, in order to make a place for him, moved out of the shadow. Julia, one after another, played songs she loved, keeping her fingers resolutely from the notes that wanted to run Into a single song, the music, * the song that linked her to the man whose life had become a mystery. She glanced at the Due de Tremont and the Comtesse de la Maine. She glanced at her aunt, patting Mimi, who, freshly washed, adorned by pale bine ribbon, looked disdainful and princely, and with passion and feeling she began to sing the song that seemed to reach beyond the tawdry room of the villa in Algiers, and to go into the desert, trying In sweet intensity to speak and to comfort, and as she sat so singing to one man, Sabron would have adored adding that picture to his collection. The servant came up to the marquise and gave her a message. The lady rose, beckoned Tremont to follow her, and went out on the veranda, followed by Mimi. Julia stopped playing and went over to the Comtesse de la Maine. "Where have my aunt and Monsieur de Tremont gone, Madame?” “To see someone who has come to suggest a camel excursion, I believe.” “He chooses a curious hour.” "Everything Is curious in the East, Mademoiselle,” returned the comtesse. "I feel as though my own life were turned upside down.” "We are not far enough in the East for that,** smiled Julia Redmond. She regarded the comtesse with her frank girlish scrutiny. There was In it a fine truthfulness and utter disregard of all the barriers that long epochs of etiquette put between souls. Julia Redmond knew nothing of French society and of the "deference due to the arts of the old world. She knew, perhaps, very little of anything. She was young and unschooled. She knew, as some women know, how to feel, and how to be, and how to love. She was as honest as her ancestors, among whose traditions is the story that one of them could never tell a lie. Julia Redmond sat beside the Comtesse de la Maine, whose elegance she admired enormously, and taking one of the lady’s hands, with a frank liking she asked in her rich young voice: "Why do you tolerate me, Madame ?" "Ma chere enfant,” exclaimed the comtesse. “Why, you are adorable." “It is terribly good of you to say so," murmured Julia Redmond. “It shows how generous you are.” "But you attribute qualities to me I do not deserve. Mademoiselle." "Ton deserve them and much more, Madame. I loved you the first day I saw you; no one could help loving you.” Julia Redmond was Irresistible. The Comtesse de la Maine had remarked her caprices, her moods, her sadness. She had seen that the good spirits were false and. as keen women do, she had attributed lt to a love affair with the Due de Tremont. The girl’s frankness was contagious. The Comtesse de la Maine murmured: "I think the same of you, ma chere, ▼ons etes charmante.” Julia Redmond shook her head. She did not want compliments. The eyes of the two women met and read each other. “Couldn’t you be frank with me, Madame? It is so easy to be frank."* It was, indeed. Impossible for Jolla Redmond to be anything else. The aomtesse, who was only a trifle older titan the young girl, felt like her mother just then. She laughed. "But be frank —about what?” ‘Ton see,” said Julia Redmond ■wiftly, T care absolutely nothing for •Cbe Due de Trenacmt, nothing.” ‘Ton don’t ton W»r returned Ma-

dame de la Maine, with deep accentuation. “Is it possible?” The girl smiled. "Yes, quite possible. I think he is a perfect dear. He is a splendid friend and I am devoted to him, but I don’t love him at all, not at all.” "Ah!” breathed Madame de la Maine, and she looked at the American girl guardedly. > For a moment it was like a passage of arms between a frank young Indian chief and a Jesuit. Julia, as it were, shook her feathers and her beads. "And I don’t care in the least about being a duchess! My father made his money in oil. I am not an aristocrat like my aunt,” she said. "Then,” said the Comtesse de la Maine, forgetting that she was a Jesuit, "you will marry Robert de Tremont simply to please your aunt?” "But nothing on earth would induce me to marry him!” cried Julia Redmond. “That’s what I’m telling you, Madame. I don’t love him!” The Comtesse de la Maine looked at her companion and bit her lip. She blushed more warmly than is permitted in the Faubourg St.-Germain, but she was young and the western Influence is pernicious. “I saw at once that you loved him,” said Julia Redmond frankly. “That’s why I speak aB I do.” The Comtesse de la Maine drew back and exclaimed. “Oh,” said Julia Redmond, "don’t deny it I shan’t like you half so well if you do. There is no shame in being in love, is there? —especially when the man you love, loves you.” The Comtesse de la Maine broke down, or, rather, she rose high. She rose above all the smallness of convention and the rules of her French formal education. “You are wonderful,” she said, laughing softly, her eyes full of tears. "Will you tell me what makes think that he is fond of me?” "But you know it so well,” said Julia. "Hasn’t he cared for you for a long time?" Madame de la Maine wondered just how much Julia Redmond had heard, and as there was no way of finding out, she said graciously: “He has seemed to love me very dearly for many years; but 1 am poor; I have a child. He is am= bitious and he Is the Due de Tremont." “Nonsense," said Julia. “He loves you. That’s all that counts. You will be awfully happy. You will marry the Due de Tremont, won’t you? There’s a dear.” "Happy," murmured the other woman, “happy, my dear friend, I never dreamed of such a thing!" "Dream of it now,” said Julia Redmond swiftly, "for It will come true." CHAPTER XIX. The Man In Rags. The Marquise d’Esclignac, under the stars, interviewed the native soldier, the beggar, the man in rags, at the foot of the veranda. There was a moon as well as stars, and the man was distinctly visible in all his squalor. “What ou earth is he talking about, Robert?” "About Sabron, marraine,” said her godson laconically. The Marquise d’Esclignac raised her lorgnon and said: "Speak, man! What do you know about Monsieur de Sabron? See, he is covered with dirt —has leprosy, probably." But she did not withdraw. She was a great lady and stood her ground. She did not know what the word "squeamish” meant listening to the man’s jargon and putting many things together, Tremont at last turned to the Marquise d’Esclignac who was sternly fixing the beggar with her haughty condescension: “Marraine, he says that Sabron is alive, jp the hands of natives in a certain district where there is no travel, in the heart of the seditious tribes. He says that he has friends in a caravan of merchants who once a year pass the spot where this native village is.” “The man’s a lunatic,” said the Marquise d’Esclignac calmly. “Get Abimelec and put him out of the garden, Robert. You must not let Julia hear of this." “Marraine,” said Tremont quietly, "Mademoiselle Redmond has already seen this man. He has come to see her tonight.” "How perfectly horrible!” said the Marquise d’Esclignac. Then she asked rather weakly of Tremont: "Don’t you think so?" “Well, I think,” said Tremont, “that the only interesting thing is the truth there may be in what this man says. If Sabron 1b a captive, and he knows anything about it, we must use his information for all it Is worth.” “Of course,” said the Marquise d’Esclignac. "of course. The war department must be informed at once. 'Why hasn’t he gone there?” “He has explained," said Tremont, "that the only way Sabron can be saved is that he shall be found by outsiders. One hint to bis captors would end his life.”

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, IND.

"Oh!" said the Marquise d’Escilgnsc "I don’t know what to do. Bob! What part can we take In this?*’ Tremont pulled his mustache. Mlml had circled round the beggar, snuffing at his slippers and robe. The man made no objection to the little creature, to the fluffy ball surrounded by a huge bow, and Mimi sat peacefully down in the moonlight, at the beggar’s feet. “Mimi seems to like him,” said the Marquise d’Esclignac helplessly, “she is very particular." "She finds that he has a serious and convincing manner," said Tremont. Now the man, who had been a silent listener to the conversation, said in fairly comprehensible English to the Marquise d’Esclignac: “If the beautiful grandmother could have seen the Capitaine de Sabron on the night before the battle —” "Grandmother, indeed!” ' exclaimed the marquise indignantly. "Come. Mimi! Robert, finish with this creature and get what satisfaction you can from him. I believe him to be an Impostor; at any rate, he does not expect me to mount a camel or to lead a caravan to the rescue.” Tremont put Mimi In her arms; she folded her lorgnon and sailed majestio-

"Nonsense,” Said Julia.

ally away, like a highly decorated pinnace with silk sails, and Tremont, in the moonlight, continued to talk with the sincere and convincing Hammet Abou. CHAPTER XX. Julia Decides. Now the young girl had his letters and her own to read. They were sweet and sad companions and she laid them side by side. She did not weep, because she was not of the weeping type; she had hope. Her spirits remained singularly even. Madame de la Maine had given her a great deal to livp on. "Julia, what have you done to Robert?” "Nothing, ma tante.” “He has quite changed. This excursion to Africa has entirely altered him. He is naturally so gay,” said the Marquise d’Esclignac. “Have you refused him, Julia?” "Ma tante, he has not asked me to be the Duchess de Tremont.” Her aunt’s voice was earnest. “Julia, do you wish to spoil your life and your chances of happiness? Do you wish to mourn for a dead soldier who has never been more than an acquaintance? I won’t even say a friend.” What she said sounded logical. “Ma tante, I do not think qf Monsieur de Sabron as dead, you know.” “Well, in the event that he may be, my dear Julia.” “Sometimes,” said the girl, drawing near to her aunt and taking the older lady’s hand quietly and looking In her eyes, “sometimes, ma tante, you are cruel." The marquise kissed her and sighed: “Robert’s mother will be so unhappy!" “But she has never seen me, ma tante.” “She trusts my taste, Julia.” “There should be more than ‘taste’ in a matter of husband and wife, ms tante.” (TO BE CONTINUED.)

Suspicious.

George W. Perkins said at a dinner: “There are some people who insist on seeing an octopus in every trust. These people cross-question you as suspiciously as the young wife crossquestioned her husband after the banquet. “A young husband attended his first banquet, and a few days afterward his wife said to him: “ ‘Howard, is it true that you were the only sober man at that banquet?" “ ‘No, of course not! * Howard indlgnantlv answered. “ ‘Who was, then?’ said his wife.

Stoned Jail; Is Jailed.

In an effort to extricate her sob s Chester from jail by force, Mrs. Alice Rollins of Tappan, Rockland county, New York, was locked up herself and sentenced to 30 days’ imprisonment in that village. When the jailer refused to liberate her son. Mrs. Rollins gathered rocks and other ammunition and opened firs. She gave a correct Imitation of tits bombardment of Dixmude and reduced the glass In the jail windows to fragments before she was arrested. The son was committed to the hones of refugs for burglary.

LIMB MAKERS ARE KEPT BUSY

The manufacture of artificial limbs has grown rapidly since the war began. This Is a scene In a factory where legs and arms are being made for maimed German soldiers.

WHEN LIFE GROWS INTERESTING AND DEATH MUCH MODE LIKELY

Night Visit to the Trenches Interestingly Described by Frederick Palmer—When the Human Soldier Fox Comes Out of His Warren and Sneaks Forth on the Lookout for Prey—Flares of Light Only Evidence of Proximity of Hostile Force.

By FREDERICK PALMER.

International News Service. British Headquarters, France. —night Is always the time in the trenches when life grows more interesting and death more likely. “It’s dark enough, now,” said the young officer , who was my host. “W«*l go out with the patrol.” By day the slightest movement of the enemy is easily and instantly detected; the light keeps the combatants to the warrens which protect them from shell and bullet fire. At night there is no telling what mischief the enemy may be up to. At night you must depend upon the ear rather than the eye for watching. Then the human soldier fox comes out of his warren and sneaks forth on the lookout for prey. At night both sides are on the prowl. "Trained owls would be the most valuable scouts ,we could have,” said the young officer. “They would be more useful than aeroplanes in locating the enemy’s gun positions. A properly reliable owl would come back and say a German patrol was out in the wheat field at such a point and we would wipe out that German patrol with a machine gun.” These young officers who fill the gaps left by the old, do not leave their fancy behind when they enter the trenches. We turned into a side trench —an alley off the main street leading out of the front tow r ard the Germans. '‘“Anybody out?” he asked a soldier who was on guard at the end of it. “Yes, two.” Prowling In Paris. Of course, there were two anyhow. All prowling is done in pairs at least. One man' can help his comrade if he is wounded or bring back the news if he is dead. It is the business of every man on guard to know where the patrol goes, so as not to fire in that direction.

EMMANUEL AT THE FRONT

The king of Italy mounted on one of his favorite chargers. The presence of the king has imbued his soldiers with tfreat confidence and energy. The king has had several narrow escapes from death while watching ‘Shell firg.

Sometimes a patrol hears a fusillade from both sides sweeping past him. “Follow me.” We climbed out of the ditch and stooped low. We were in the midst of a tangle of barbed wire protecting the trench front which was faintly visible in the hedge, as it were, kept open for just such purposes as this. When the patrol returned it closed the gate again. “Look out for that wire—just there. Do you see it?” “Everything to keep the Boches oft our front lawn except ‘Keep oft thb grass,’ signs.” It was utterly still—a warm summer’s night without a catspaw of breeze stirring. Through the dark curtain of the sky in a parabola rising from the German trenches swept a brilliant sputter of red light—one of the flares which the Germans used by the millions to assist them in their night watches. Machine guns, mortars, bombs, flares and guns of all calibers — the Germans keep everything in their locker in mechanical appliances which will economize human force. Thiß was coming as straight toward us as Hit had been aimed at us. It cast a searching, uncanny red glare over the tall wheat in hehd between the trenches. “Get down,” whispered the officer. Just Take the Hint. It seemed sort of foolish to grovel before a piece of fireworks. There was no firing in our neighborhood, nothing to indicate a state of war between the British empire and Germany, no visual evidence oi' any German army anywhere in France except that flare. However, if a guide who knows as much about war as this one knew, says to get down when you are out between two lines of machine guns and rifles —between the fighting powers of England and Germany—you take the hint. The flare sank into the earth a few yards away after a last insulting ugly fling of red light in our faces. “What if we had been seen?”

“They’d have combed the wheat in this neighborhood thoroughly—and they might have got us.” “It’s hard to believe,” I suggested. So it was, he agreed. That was the exasperating thing about it. Always hard to believe, perhaps, until after all the cries of wolf the wolf came—until after nineteen flares the twentieth revealed to the watching enemy the figure of a man above the wheat when a dozen rifles and perhaps a machine gun suddenly broke the silence of night by concentrating on a target. Then there might be another name on the British casualty list, which meant an able-bodied officer or soldier whom his country had trained was transferred from the asset to the liability column of the ledger. Keeping cover from German flares is a part of the minute, painstaking economy of wax. i Ever on the Watch. We crawled on slowly through the wheat, taking care to make no noise till we brought up behind two soldiers lying flat on the earth with their rifles in hand ready to Are instantly. It was their business not only to see the enemy first, but to shoot first —and to capture or kill any German patroL The officer sp&ke to them; they answered. It was unnecessary for them to say that they had not seen anything. If they had we qhould have known it. He was out there less to scout himself than to make sure that they were

an the Job. that they knew how to watch. The visit was a part of hi* routine As we were on cosiness we did not even whisper. Preferably all the whispering would be done by any German patrol out to have a look at onr barbed wire—and that would give the Germans away. Silence and the - starlight and the-dew-moist wheat; but yes, there was war. You heard gun fire half a mile, perhaps a mile away, and raising your head you saw the auroras of light from bursting shells. At intervals, as if set by clock work with Teutonic system, flares rose from the-German trenches. We heard at our backs faintly snatches of talk from our trenches and faintly in front the talk from the German trenches —which sounded rather inviting and friendly from both sides, like that around some camp fire on the plains. Visiting Not In Order. It seemed quite within the bounds of probability that you might have crawled on over and said: “Howdy” to the Germans; but before you could present your visiting card, and by the time you reached the edge of their barbed wire, if not sooner, you would have been shot into a pulp. This was just the kind of a diversion from trench monotony the Germans were looking for. “Well, shall we go back?” asked the officer. There seemed no particular purpose! in spending the. night flat on the earthi looking into a wall of wheat with your! ears cocked like a pointer dog. Be-i sides, he had other duties to attend to,! this pleasant, alert youngster who had: left, home to fight and die for England,, exacting duties laid down by the col- 1 onel as the result of trench experiencei in his responsibility for the command! of a company of men. , It happened as we crawled back intoi the trench that a fury of shots broke out from a point along the line two or three hundred yards away—vicious, sharp shots on the still night air—stabbing, merciless death in their 1 sound. Oh, yes, there was war in France, unrelenting, shrewd, tireless, war. A touch of suspicion anywhere along that quiet trench —and a swarm i of hornets poured forth.

SHARK PLAYS THE DENTIST

Line in Gleason's Mouth When It Attacked Bait —Gleason Loses Front Tooth. Savannah, Ga. —The shark commonly known as the “hog shark” in native, waters is now fully qualified as a dentist, or, in other words, the bigi fish pulled a molar in real approved style. A local bank official was the man who underwent the experience of having his tooth whisked out of his face. Here’s the way it happened: He is Mr. P. F. Gleason of the Germania bank fofee. He was in a launch in Warsaw sound. While fishing he placed the line in his mouth, holding it between his teeth. There was a sudden terrific tug as a shark grasped the bait, and the tooth, exactly in front in the upper gum, was torn out.

DOLLY SEES LONG SERVICE

St. Louis Delivery Horse Had Been In Harness for Thirty-two Years. St. Louis. —Dolly, a delivery horse which had been in the service of the Kane grocery store in Alton for 32i years, died recently. The horse was so well acquainted with the route and the customers during her many years of service that she did not need to be told where to make stops, and drivers could make their deliveries without touching the lines. The horse was a pet of Kane who died a few years ago. In compliance with Kane’s request the horse waa led behind the hearse in the funeral procession.

WAS MORMON’S LEGAL WIFE

Mrs. Bertha Eccles of Ogden, Utah, legal wife of the Mormon multimillionaire timber and sugar man, David Ecclea This picture of Mrs. Ecclea was taken just after she left the stand as a witness in the stilt of Mrs. Margaret Geddes for a share of thS millionaire's estate for her son, oi whom she alleged Eccles to be the father. She won her case. The decision affects no less than 5,000 pen sons in Utah who have been born In plural wedlock.