Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 279, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 November 1915 — Page 2

WHO PAYS?

HOUSES <$ ( GLASS .

(Oopyright, MU. by Path* Exchange. Inc. All Moving Picture Right* and all Forelgn Copyright* Strictly Reserved.)

SIXTH STORY i Ray Norris’ law office faced Willard Fall’s engineering office directly across the court of the same skyscraper in the city. The two young men had become acquainted through their business proximity, invitations had been extended, calls exchanged, and the two families were in a fair way of becoming friends. Ray Norris was a prosperous young attorney, clean cut, handsome, ambitious. and tenderly devoted to his wife. If her husband was tenderly devoted to her, she was infinitely devoted to him. Mrs. Fall on the other hand was thirty-five; engrossed in her social duties, a self-imposed social monitor and guardian of the morals of her set, who was too busy with her many tasks to grow old gracefully. Her husband, well-groomed, suave and careless, was known as a lady's man, and already disquieting rumors were reaching his wife. On the morning on which our story opens, Mrs. Fall had seen him through the window, talking to a pretty society bud, and had sent the maid to call him back. There had been a scene and he had left for his office in a huff.

II "’Lo Miss Foster. How’re you this fine morning? I hope your father is better?" It was Norris talking to his stenographer.

“Good morning, Mr. Norris. He’s some better, thank you." She was trying to be brave, and answered with an attempt at cheerfulness that set her head pounding violently, and made her grasp at her desk for support He had thrown off his light top coat and without looking at her sat down, and was In a moment deep in his morning’s mail. Some communication of more than ordinary importance caused him to stop in his envelope slitting, and he rose to confer with her upon its contents. Then for the first time he looked at her, and knew from her flushed cheeks and unnaturally bright eyes that something was wrong. "Why, Miss Foster!" he exclaimed in genuine concern, “whatever’s the trouble? You look like the very dickens. What’s up?”

"Oh, nothing,” she answered, trying to make light of his concern —“leastwise, nothing that matters. Just a bothersome cold, and a little headache. By the way, is that that Smith & Hodson letter? What’s the latest development this morning? What did they say to your proposal to —” "Never mind that for a moment. Don’t please try to turn the conversation off into that channel. You're ill.*’ “I assure you, Mr ” He made a quick gesture indicative of his intention not to be put off in his inquiry, and crossing quickly to where she stood, took her pale, thin hands in both of his, and noted with quick concern that they were burning. "This will never do,” he said gravely, and with emphatic earnestness. And he repeated half aloud, half to himself, “never, never do. I’m afraid Fve been a bit of a brute lately, what with the night work, Sundays, skimped lunch hours.” He disregarded her attempt to assuage his self-reproach, and went on, "But I’ll see to that. You’re slated for a vacation, and that in abort order. I’ll make arrangements.” He turned thoughtfully away, and went back to his letters.

Willard Fall, across the court in his office, had seen Norris cross to where Myra stood at her desk beside the broad window, and an evil smile lighted his coarse features as he noted Norris take Myra’s hands in his and hold them the while he spoke solicitously to her. Devoid of concern for the welfare of his own help, he had not the finesse to attribute another’s concern to anything other than a personal motive, and he felt a miserable elation at what he considered "Norris’ little game.” His reflections were disturbed by the slight, recurrent creaking of his door, as of someone trying cautiously, inch by inch, to open it unnoticed. Be sprang from his chair, strode with swift soft steps to the door, pulled it suddenly open, and confronted —his wife.

He bowed with mock courtesy at her startled surprise at being apprehended, and spoke with more than his usual unction. “So, my dear, spying on me, eh? Had I divined your coming, I might have made preparations so’s not to disappoint your expectations.” She turned, and had started to go, when his voice again arrested her. *‘Your idol seems, to have clay feet You Indulge In the common fallacy of imagining that every man you have no intimate acquaintance with is a model of propriety. No one who is acquainted with yqur reputation as the watchdog of society"—here he grinned —"would fever believe you to be so frightfully unsophisticated. Why it was only a short while ago, when glancing casually out of this window and across the court, I saw Norris

bY EDWIN BLISS

holding hands with his pretty stenographer." Mrs. Fall recovered quickly from an involuntary expression of surprise, and casting a scornful, contemptuous glance at the man who justified his indulgences by calumniating another, turned and was gone.

Blindly, angrily, Mrs. Fall rushed from the building, and in Central Park, where she went for rest and air, she met Mrs. Norris. Forgetting that she lived “in a glass bouse;” forgetting everything except that "misery loves company," she warned her against the pretty stenographer in her husband's office. By a few careless words the seeds of a» awful suspicion were sown.

111. "All through. Miss Foster?” "Yes,” wearily, “all through." "Has that vicious -.headache left you ?’’

“No, it’s still with me,” she replied with the ghost of a smile. "It’s been such a constant comrade, lately, I don’t wonder but I would miss it were it to leave.” "That’s‘a shocking state of affairs, certainly. Tell me, does your father seem too great a care, lately? Do you find it difficult to give your work your best attention, with the worry of his ailing health on your mind? You know," whimsically "you’re too great a necessity here for me to allow anything to distract you from your work."

Her face, flushed with fever as it was, beamed softly as he mentioned her father, and connected that word with “too great a care.” Her father too great a care.' "Father a care?” she answered half interrogatively. "You don’t know father, Mr. Norris. He is the one joy of my life. For years before I was old enough or able to work, he was father and mother to me. Up with the sun each morning, he saw to it that my clothes were brushed, my pencils sharpened for school —made a warm fire and prepared my breakfast. Then, off to the frightful bleach factory where he got his cough, and at work all day, and sometimes part of the night, that I might have a pretty hair-ribbon, or a pair of new slippers. All my youthful hopes, desires, troubles were poured into his willing ears at night, and he was ever sympathetic with the extravagant fancies of my flighty, childish imagination, and always gentle in his reproaches for my many faults. No, father’s no care to me. It gives me pleasure each morning that I have strength to go out to work, —that I am responsible for his comfort, —and it lightens my weariness each night that I may go home and try to anticipate his every unspoken wish.”

IV. "You love me, Ray?” Mrs. Norris asked the question of her husband. He had come home, his step light, his face expectant. He met a cold and unresponsive wdfe.

Norris Met a Cold and Unresponsive Wife.

The seed of suspicion planted by Mrs. Fall had taken root on fertile soil. And so she asked the question. “Love you?—why what a question! I passionately adore you. You are the guiding spirit, the holiest inspiration of my life! Without you all the rest is a meaningless jumble. But,” —and here his voice took on a tone of bewilderment —"I didn’t think you needed assurances!” It was now tenfold difficult for her to go on; but she felt that this was no time to falter. , ' "Would you do anything, sacrifice anything in the whole world for me?” “Anything. Everything.”

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, IND.

"Then send that girl awwy from your office —and get another one.” “Send that girl away! Yon mean Miss Foster?” "Yes.” "But why?—this is absurd! Why eend Myra Foster away?" "Because I wish it” "But you must have some reason. This can’t be mere imperative arbitrariness. You are not like that. Can't you tell me why? Myra Foster is my most able assistant. To send her away would be to disable me in my most Important work. Besides, it would be unjust She is a very worthy girl. She is the sole support of her aged father.”

He felt the urgent sincerity of her request, and knew how deeply she was moved. But her concern was so obviously unfounded on fact that he could not help but believe it was an hysterical outbreak that would be dispelled when her overwrought nerves were quieted, and reason returned. It would be ridiculous, wrong, to sacrifice Myra to this hysteria, so he decided to be firm, and make no rash promise. He spoke:

“Some old gossip has evidently been busy. We’ll talk more of this when your nerves are quieter.” “No, we will talk of it now. Will you?” “No.” She turned, despairing-eyed and limp, and walked dazedly from the room.

V The next morning Ethel kept to her room. Ray left for his office, the usual spring gone from his gait, his face grave with the anxiety of the previous evening. He arrived in the city, and proceeded immediately to his work. Myra Foster was there, and her enervated movements as she went about her work showed only too plainly that her “bothersome cold and slight headache” had not improved overnight. He decided quickly upon his course with regard to Myra’s case, and spoke to her:

"Miss Foster, you are ill. You’re in no condition for work at the present time in this or any office, and I’m going to send you and your father away. I have a place down on the ocean, where you can get a breath of fresh salt air, and win back some of your old time strength and snap. So pake ready, please. We can start just as soon as you can get your things together.”

“Very well, Mr. Norris, and thank you. I —er —‘thank you’—any words seem so Inadequate, so inexpressive, in acknowledgment of such kindness. I’m afraid” —her voice grew soft and tender —“you’ll have to take my thanks for granted.” “Forget it,” he said, inelegantly, and turned to get his coat. “Ha, ha! —Oh my!” He looked quickly over his shoulder at the sound of her mirth. “Gracious!” she said, half sadly, half amusedly, “we forgot the most important thing. It can’t be done! How about old man Convention, his wife Scandal, and their daughter Gossip? What will people say ?” "Oh, that’s all right—don’t let that concern you. Your father will be there, and I’ll tell my wife tonight.” Together they left the office, climbed into his machine, picked up her father, and in less than three hours were "down in his place by the ocean.”

Ethel Norris came down from her room after her husband left, and her usually gay face was grave, and her eyes red and heavy. She ate no breakfast, and the servants had to speak to her many times over before she could comprehend their meaning. She dressed for the street about noon, and without, as usual, leaving word of her intended destination, left the house. She had spent a night of very hell, her spirit tortured almost beyond endurance at the thought of another coming between her and what was dearer to her than life. She would see. She would g<: to his office, and let her quick woman’s intuition scent out the truth for her. She reached his office and was about to go in when a cunning thought came to her. Why let them be aware of her presence? Why give them an opportunity to be on their guard? She turned back, her “cleverness” for the moment obsessing her, and making her fearless, clean face ugly with the blight of subtlety. She would go to Fall’s office, make some slight pretext for her visit, and watch them from there. She knocked softly, and, getting no answer, pushed further open the slightly ajar door, and looked in. No one there. He must have stepped out for just a moment, or his door would be locked. So much the better. A moment woitjtd be enough, would, without her having to conceal that she was watching, be worth many minutes with his attention upon her. The window was open, and she went to it, keeping always in the shadow of the wall, so that she could see without being seen, Mrs. Norris saw her husband’s office was empty. What could it mean? She made bolder, stepped to the center of the aperture, and bent far out to peer into the office opposite. The sheer depth of the long shaft fascinated her and gave her a light hollow feeling of nausea. She drew in her head with a sharp jerk, and staggered back, her giddiness overcoming her. She would have fallen but for a strong arm around her waist. It was Willard Fall. She turned her head toward him, half smiling, half applogetic, to thank him for his timely aid. But the words froze on her lips, her heart contracted, her entire body was convulsed with a shudder and an appalling fear was in her eyes.

In the doorway stood Mrs. Fall. Fate was now taking a hand, and the certain destiny started on its way by an evil-tongued man and a sus-picious-minded woman, was hurrying the pawns to a swift destruction. Mrs. Norris went to her mother, who calmed her fears and sent her to her home again, after a good night’s sleepi Mrs. Fall applied for a divorce and then went to the seashore and sought her cottage on the beach —the same beach on which the Norris cottage stood.

Mrs. Fall arrived at the beach in time to enjoy the sea air for half an hour before dinner, and relaxed in her comfortable beach-chair alongside another occupied by a Mrs. Hunter. Mrs. Hunter, like Mrs. Fall, was one of the old guard of society, and the range of her “observation” was astonishing. Other people’s affairs were as the breath of life to her, and she took it, in effect, as a personal affront if society did not constantly furnish her keen scent with a fresh track. Just now she fairly fluttered with pleasure as

Mrs. Norris, Torn by Doubt and Fear, Dresses to Follow Her Husband.

might a hungry sparrow who has unexpectedly come upon some delectable morsel. “Nice place the Norrises have, don’t you think?” ♦ “Quite nice.” Mrs. Fall didn’t care at that moment to think of the Norrises. “By the way did you pass there on your way .down?” There was that in her voice that bespoke something more than her words could be literally held to account for. Mrs. Fall perked up. “No, I came down by train —why?” “Oh, nothing. Only I thought you might know who that young woman is he brought down in his machine this afternoon —slim, brown eyes, black hair." “Alone ?” —eagerly. “No” —with a combined hand wave and shoulder shrug, as though that didn’t alter it any, “she was with what looked like a delightful useless chaperon—some superannuated incompetent.” “SsssssOOOooooooo! Tell me, has his wife been down lately?" “No; she dislikes the salt air, you know. Says it reddens her complexion, or something like that, and prefers to live inland further. She never comes down.”

"MMMMMMMmmmmm.” .Mrs. Fall said no more then to her companion, but as she rose and started to move leisurely off, Mrs. Hunter’s finely attuned ears received an impression of sound, that, after diligent assembling and reassembling in her busy mind, she was gratified to resolve into something that sounded very promisingly like “birds of a feather.” Mrs. Hunter was on the scent. She called on Ethel in her country place and was received with the courtesy her “position” made necessary. “Good morning, Mrs. Norris.” “Good morning, Mrs. Hunter; this is an unexpected pleasure.” “Well, you don’t come to see us — Mahomet and the mountain, don’t you know.”

“That’s very kind of you. Won’t you sit down?” “Thanks. I can’t stay very long. Informal morning musicale at the Ormsbys—how I detest them! —not the Ormsbys, of course; but I’m promised for eleven. Come down and see us, won’t you? We have some delightful times, and you can bring your young friend along.” “Pardon me?”

“I say we have some perfectly charming times-—and you can bring your young friend along.” “My young friend?” —in a tone of bewilderment.

“Yes, the girl at your cottage, you know. Came down with your husband yesterday—lovely young thing!—the girl, of course. Such eyes, and such lovely black hair.” “Yes, yes, to be sure” —quickly, and trying to cover the very evident fact that she knew nothing at all about it “I will, shortly. So good of you to ask.”

“I'm afraid I must be going now — oh. Heavens!” (looking at her watch), “Mrs. Ormsby will never forgive me! Good-by, dear.” “Good-by, Mrs. Hunter; sorry you can’t stay,” -- Ethel sat there, mute and wondering, trying, struggling to grasp the meaning of it all, and vaguely dread-

fag as she struggled to arrive at an explanation all too plausible that would sustain and re-enforce her horrible suspicions of yesterday. The fear that she herself would be placed In a questionable position in the eyes of her husband had outweighed her, fears for his fidelity to her. Her trip to her mother, and her mother’s reproach for her lack of faith had resolved her to tell all and stake her future happiness on his belief in her In the face of obviously incriminating circumstances. Now that she had whipped her cowering courage to a desperate, brave stand, and had made ready to stand or fall on the strength of his love for her — now came this filthy gossipy'scandalmonger with a tale which. If it were true —and It was only too plausible—• would reawaken In her her initial doubt of'hia fidelity, strengthened and indorsed a hundred fold.

VI. In awakening that morning, Norris was again visited with his dread of the previous day, that Ethel should hear of Myra’s installment In his cottage before he had an opportunity to tell her. This troubled him so, that he ate no breakfast, but hurried to his office, trusting the exactions of his business to take his mind from the annoying thought He had a violent headache by eleven o’clock, and attributing It to the fact that he had neglected his breakfast, went to an early lunch. That was why, when Ethel called him at 11:30, he was out. His lunch gave him Immediate relief, •

He bought an “extra” from a newsboy, folded It carelessly under his arm, and ascended to his office. As he threw the sheet on his desk it fell face upward, and the words “Attorney’s Wife Is Co-respondent in Divorce Suit,” staring at him in big black type stretched clear across the page. Maybe it was someone he knew. He took the sheet up and carefully read the sub-headings: ' “Mrs. Willard Fall (‘Fall!’ he gasped) charges she found Mrs. Ray Norris and Mr. Fall embracing—” The sheet fell from his nerveless fingers and he swallowed hard a few times to moisten his throat and mouth, which had become suddenly dry. Then came a reaction from his nerveless unrealizatlon; he felt a weak shaking throughout this whole body, and was conscious of his heart pulsing in great, uneven jumps. The monstrousness, the bold assurance of that staring type was incredible. It was hideous, foul. His wife and Fall! Why, they hardly knew one another!

The one event that distinguished the last few days from a year of happy, uneventful marriage was Ethel’s insistent, hysterical demand to Myra Foster away from his office. In explanation she had expressed an unwilling doubt (a doubt nevertheless) that his relations with the girl were all that they should be. He knew his relations with Myra Foster were simple, honest, businesslike, and that thought, combined with his wife’s suspicion, suggested to him insidiously, but certainly, that her suspicion of him might be but a blind for her relations with Fall. Good God, what a hideous thought! He picked up his phone receiver, clicked the hook nervously many times, and after what seemed an unusual wait, was connected with his home. "Hello, Mrs. Norris, please. This is Mr. Norris.”

■ “Mrs, Norris Is not in, sir. She left full an hour and a half ago, and left word she had gone to the beach cottage. Yes. Good-by.” She had gone to the beach! —a place he could never prevail on her to visit! Why? Had she heard of Myra Foster being there? He knew gossip could travel as fast, and faster, than that. But, If she were using his relations with Myra Foster as a blind to cover her own affairs (this damnable thought kept persisting), if she were, was it possible that she would have the temerity to seize on Myra’s presence in the cottage as a justification of a suspicion she knew to be false? He cursed himself for his vile suspicions. But she had gone to the beach —if not for that, then for what? The thought of Fall then entered his mind and took his whole attention, and he glanced hastily, searchingly across the court to see whether he was in his office. If this frightful thing were true — His lips met in a long, hard seam as he unlocked the bottom drawer of his desk and without looking hastily withdrew something and slipped it into his pocket He rose, desperate, and leaving his office, crossed to Fall’s. Fall was not there. He questioned the porter. “When will Fall be in?”

“I don’t know, Mr. Fall left word he had gone to the beach, but didn’t leave no message when he’d be back again.” Ray started, shocked at the advice that Fall had gone to the beach. He said “all right” in a preoccupied voice that seemed even to him not to have emanated front . his own throat, and walked unsteadily away, “a sorta quiet, wild look,” as the porter afterwards told, “on his face.” It was all very clear' to him now—her subtle trickery under the mask of “injured innocence’’—Fall with his unspeakable reputation—their discovery in a compromising position by Mrs. Fall, and the resultant divorce suit —ana now both of them together at the beach! Had the insanity which now possessed him taken a violent form he might have been apprehended and prevented from -doing any harm; but it was visible only in his crafty eyes and unnaturally quiet bearing as he jumped into his auto and started for the coast. Fall had seen the “extra" before Norris, and his wife's drastic action hurt 'made him suddenly afraid. He

“sipped from every flower" and recked not the cost; but this thing, copied by all the papers throughout the land, might, and very probably would, ruin him.

He took an early train for the beach, where be endeavored to placate his wife and make her withdraw her charge; but she had ceased to think of him as a positive quantity, and was unmoved by bin appeals. When Ethel arrived she went straight to her cottage, which she found deserted. Myra and her father had gone to the shore. She drew in her breath sharply as her anxious eyes, after searching the living room for signs of its new occupant, fell on a large, floppy straw hat flung carelessly on a chair. She picked it up and examined it eagerly, her essential feminine blinding her for the moment to Its indication, and causing her to wonder what he could see in that; then realizing its significance she dashed it fiercely to the ground and started for the beach. She walked quickly, tirelessly in the soft sand, and was startled when, after a sharp turn round a ledge of rock, she came upon Willard Fall. He was sobered by his wife’s refusal to listen to his entreaties, and was as dejected as his trivial nature would allow. He lifted his hat. "Good afternoon, Mrs. Norris. Thought you didn’t like the seashore.” "Howdyedo, Mr. Fall. Oh, I come down occasionally.”

“I’ve wanted ever since that fright-i ful day, to let you know how sorry I am that you should have been placed in such an unfortunate position.”

He said nothing, however, of thei divorce suit, thinking she must already know. She wanted to be rid of him —wanted to fly on wildly—wanted find them—wanted and feared to—feared every step that took her eager, urgent feet further and further along the limitless stretch of beach. Her kept on talking, solicitously trying his utmost to assure her of his regret.

Racing, careening madly down the beach came Norris' auto, its flying, wheels sending up a swish of sand in their wake. It stopped within a few yards of them, and Norris, a strange, wild expression on his face, jumped out. He had seen them half a mile off, and the sight of them together changed his crafty, quiet look to one of terrible rage. Dashing wildly up to where they stood, he thrust the frightful headline under Ethel’s eyes, his face twitching in frightful contortions.

“Is it true? Is- it true? Is it —” he gurgled chokingly. Ethel’s eyes took in the glaring headline, and followed down to the subhead. She started back, gasping, realizing fully that what she had dreaded had come to pass—that he had learned from another source what'she had not the courage to tell him —-that he had doubted her as she him —that It was all a hideous misunderstanding

Norris Kills Fall and Slimy Scandal Claims Its Victim.

fed on by gossip—and that the mail before her was a raving maniac. Fall had edged off. But Norris, watching her, needed no answer, her* startled gasp as she shrank back convicting her utterly. His hand went deep in his pocket, and when he wheeled and raised his arm there was a short sharp flash, and Fall dropped in the sand. He ( rose, and with faltering steps started like a drunken man toward a cliff overlooking the sea. Stumbling, falling, desperately rising, he made his way up through the rocks to the cliff’s top, as Ethel wrestled frantically with the madman before her. He broke loose from her clutching fingers, and again raising his arm, pointed it toward the cliff’s summit where Fall tottered. Another shot—a sickening splash—and the softly lapping, halcyon waters of the Pacific closed over the dead body of Willard Fall. Slimy scandal, born of doubt and misunderstanding, had come into it* own. Lives were ruined; lives were ended. Because a woman couldn’t hold her tongue the penalty was paid—paid—paid. WHO PAYS? End of Sixth Story. The next story Is: “Blue Blood and * Yellow.’