Evening Republican, Volume 19, Number 281, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 November 1915 — WHOPAYS? Blue Bloord and Yellow [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

WHOPAYS? Blue Bloord and Yellow

By EDWIN BLISS

m to“*“• “* " r °"

SEVENTH STORY

pulse wildly, and fought for expression on his feverish lips. "Ann.” —softly, Intensely. "Yes, Paul.” ’1 love you, Ann. Love you, and thought you must know. Tomorrow I leave for the mountains. Tomorrow! And I want to know now. There will be plenty for us two; we won’t need any more. Oh! Ann, will you?” She was by this time so confused, so torn between her desire to say “yes’’ and her conviction that she must not, that she welcomed the Interruption made by Paul’s father. He had arisen, unable to bear the dignified magnificence of it any longer, and without a word of explanation Or an “excuse me,” had shuffled over to French window and, opening it, stepped out into the garden. Paul, distracted for a- moment by his father’s unmannerly exit, but easily accounting for it, turned to Anita and laughed Indulgently. But her struggling soul only needed this show of unmannerliness, this patent lack of culture, this stiff, clumsy uneasiness in his father, to bolster its fast slipping conviction of class distinction. She was herself again in a moment, and when he turned to her for an answer, said: “I’m not sure, Paul—l can’t say, now. You must give me time. I’ll tell you when.”

“Well, young star-gazer, la it cornin’ to an end?" “Not tonight', ■ father —it all looks pretty steady.” ”1 can’t seem to understan’ it an’ I guess I never will. The only people I ever hern on as looked at stars always had somethin* excitin’ t’ report. Here you been a-looklng an’ a-looking night after night goin* on five year now, an’ the best I ever hear your report was one night two year agone when y’come in as tho the moon had gone to y*head an’ shouts, “T’nlght—t’night!—an’ I ses ‘wot t’night?’ an’ you ses “the comet o’ course,’’ jest like y’s s’prised at my not knowin’! Then I goes an* stays up all night, an* me abendin’ o’ my back all that day layin’ brick faster*n Donohue c’d slap on the plaster, an* the danged old comet don’t show up. I doan’ blieve in ’em —they’re onreliable, an’ no way o’ holdin’ to agreements.”

The young man laughed, an indulgent,! affectionate laugh. "Producing comets at a moment’s notice isn’t one of man’s accomplishments, father. You see (laughingly), comets haye wills of their own, and are governed by forces beyond our control —now. The best we can do now is to watch the heavens closely and learn by the stars what very probably will happen. Some day we’ll learn their secrets —some day!” His face glowed, lit up with the enthusiasm of his youth and aspiration. “Some day—!”

11. f Alfred Scott, blue-blooded aristocrat, and last surviving member of the noted Josephus Scott family, was blase at thirty. His father, Rankin Scott, had died when Alfred was just twenty-one, and had left his only son in care of his large estate. Alfred was no more fitted for handling a large fortune (or a small one, for that matter) than for building a bridge. He had placed the property in the hands of a large real estate firm, and was content to sit back and take what profits they saw fit to give him, unquestioningly. , However, although he was not capable of handling a large estate, he was capable of handling ready cash.

“There, there, now. I waren’t ameanln* t* be disbeleavin’ ’r discouragin’. Jest'a harmless bit o’ ol’ man’s foolery. Don’t you mind me, young man. You go'on with y’r star-gazin’. Some day y’ll catch ’em up to somethin’ tricky, an’ then report ’em an’ make a name fr y’self.” _Paul loved and respected his old father with that tender devotion and consideration that only fine natures are capable of, and he thought with a pang of regret as he paced gravely the ill-appointed room that his recent acceptance of the post as astronomer at the great mountain observatory would separate him from his kindly, genial, illiterate old father—this dear old chum, as he had come to consider him. The thought of leaving his father was not, however, the only thing that would make his leaving sad —for, as he paced and gazed, his mind traveled {forward to a gray, high-fbwered observatory on a lonely peak in the mountains —a peak that would be to him doubly lonely without Anita Logas. They had come to be. great friends, this bricklayer’s son and the heiress to a fortune. They had gone <m and on in' their youthful, enthusiastic Intimacy, until there had come to be such a bond between them that Paul looked longingly, hopefully, fearfully to the day when he would receive his appointment and ask her to be his wife.

Things had taken a turn for the bad, lately. Following an unnatural boom (on the strength of which he had con-

He had put it off, and*put it off—and tomorrow he was to leave! To* morrow! The thought startled him, as his browsing, dreamy mind became aware of the necessity for quick, definite action. He went to the ’phone, desperately resolute, and called her number. s

tracted prodigious debts), real estate had rapidly depreciated in value, and the returns on his holdings were unusually small. This fact, combined with the fact that his outstanding debts were unusually large, and his creditors unusually active, had made him cast about for an avenue of escape that woultbclear his every path of dunning tradespeople and at the same time allow him to continue his life of luxurious extravagance in the accustomed way. Marriage seemed the only way out, and the eligible list, that is, the people of any (bank book) account, was markedly limited. In fact, there was only one in town whose fortune was reassuring enough to compensate for the disadvantages of restricted hours and a life half taken up in leaving and receiving cards. He had decided to "risk it,” as he presumptuously phrased it to himself, and accordingly, a few months before, had started to make frequent calls at the Logan mansion, in an effort to become "better acquainted.” y i».

“Hello, Miss Logan, please. Mr. Reed speaking. Hello, Ann, is that you? This is Paul. You know I’ve deceived my appointment today? Yes. Thanks. I’m leaving tomorrow. May ,1 come up? Oh, fine! —and may I bring my father? I’d like you to meet him. All right, in half an hour. Good-by.”

Anita Logan, twenty-four, and her sister Bees, eighteen, were joint heirs to the great Logan fortune. Old John Logan, as he was known on the exchange, had been a banker of spectacular success, and had left behind him on his death at the age of fiftytwo, two charming daughters and an enormous fortune. ' Bees, the younger, was still at school in the East Anita had finished her college <Jourse four years before, and was now Installed in the great Logan mansion alone, save for her retinue of servants. Anita Logan was mentally limited and narrow in one essential direction. She was obsessed with the conviction of class distinction.

His calls were received hospitably at first, and as they continued, graciously. He was of the best stock in that part of the country, and as the only surviving member of a family whose ancestors were traced back to the Landing of the Pilgrims, he was assured a reception and respect from Anita Logan (that worshiper at the shrine of aristocracy) his accomplishments would never have entitled him to.

When Paul and his father arrived, Anita received them with unusually hospitable gracloußness. "This Is my father. Ann. Father, Miss Anita Logan, who has been such a good friend to me.” “Oh, there he goes, being grateful again! I won’t stand for it—not this evening.” (Or any other, Paul thought.) “So pleased to meet you, Mr. Reed. You’re also to be congratulated, I think.** "Thank y’ miss.** The splendor of the room in which they were received had disconcerted him on entering, and put him immediately at more of a disadvantage that he would otherwise have been. He felt very HI at ease, Anita and Paul spoke of all things relative to Paul’s work, his past strug-

Scott had decided that the time was ripe for "protesting his love” and called the day after Paul and his father had been at the Logan mansion. Anita looked up quickly as he approached, her face brightening at the ulght of his well-groomed appearance, and utter lack of the self-conscious-ness so evident in people of less breeding. He dropped gracefully into the seat beside her, and gently led the talk to personal matters. "Miss Logan,” he

gles, his present appointment, his futare hopes spoke of everything bnt ths one thing that made his heart

said. *T have a question to ask. and on its answer will depend my whole* future. The Scotts have never been men of many words, and though our passions are less volatile than are those of the great majority”—with a deprecating wave of his hand —“they have the quality of steadiness and endurance. Tm ope of the old Scotts —the last of the old Scotts, I should say (how fine that sounded) and 1 assure you that in asking for your hand I do it with all the sincerity and respect a Scott can be capable of. Will you marry me?” ;

“Yes —Alfred,” she said, blushing up at him, and in a moment she felt the dispassionate embrace and judicial kiss of the last highly evolved member of the ancient family of Scott. She felt he might have shown some emotion, so little, at this, the greatest moment of their lives; ’but was reassured with the thought that his high breeding and fine origin more than compensated for the lack of any momentary display of passion. * “I have my car at the door, Alfred. It’s been waiting for me for over an hour. Will you ride with me, out into the country? We can be alone. I feel we should be alone today.” “As you wish, dear. I shall be delighted.”

“Then go out and wait for me at the gate. I shan’t be a minute. I want to get some wraps.” She went with swift, glad steps toward the house and he sauntered languidly to the gate. When he reached the sidewalk, his gentle, delicate nature was shocked at the sight of John Huff, his tobacconist, and one of his many creditors, in an attitude denoting deliberate waiting.

“Mr. Scott, sir. I’ve taken the liberty—” “I should say you had taken a liberty,” Scott cut in. “How dare you, sir!” “But,” pleadingly, “this bill has been running for eight months now, and I have bills I myself must meet.” "I can’t talk of this matter now.” Then, suddenly, as he saw a nasty glint harden the other’s eye, “Listen, Huff,” in a conciliatory tone, "and don’t let this go any further”—confidentally—“l expect to marry the mistress of this house very shortly,” with a look of subtle assurance, "and then I shall settle in full. In the meantime, don’t make yourself evident. Go away now.”

A moment later Anita, dressed for motofing, and looking infinitely happy, appeared at the gate. IV.

They rode a great distance, through small towns and sleepy villages, way on up into the mountains, and arriving at the village of Haslon about two o’clock in the afternoon. The car was crawling slowly along the main street when their attention was attracted to a low red brick building, the only brick building they had thus far seen in the town.

"I wonder what that is. It seems out of place here,” she laughed. “Courthouse, probably,” he said; and then, struck with a sudden thought, “I say, Ann, wouldn’t it be a lark to go in there and get married—right new! | They went; and, when she rode home again in the sweet pink glow of a June evening, it was as the wife of Alfred Scott, the last of the noble old family of Scotts! •

They were met at the gate by her butler.

“Miss Logan, ma’am. There’s a man in the library, ’ma’am, who says he wants to see you. Very Important business, he says.” "Did he tell you his name?” "Yes’m. Rodgers,” he said. "Henry Rodgers.” "Oh, to be sure. Rodgenj. He’s my attorney.”

When they reached the library, Henry Rodgers rose from his chair and bowed courteously. "Good evening. Miss Logan. I shouldn’t have awaited your coming so persistently only in going over your father’s will again today I happened on a clause which, I’m sorry to say, has hitherto escaped my attention.”

"What is it?” she asked' nervously. "Why it’s in the nature of a restrictive clause, Miss Logan. It provided that if either you or your sister marry before reaching the age of twenty-five, you forfeit your share of the fortune.” Anita was stunned at this startling disclosure, and for a moment was speechless. Then she turned quickly, confidently to her husband, and found his eyes Intent upon her. His face had gone suddenly pale, his eyebrows were contracted in fear, and his lips pressed into a tight line of mute warning for her to be silent, as his head shook ever so little just suggestively—from side to side. "Very well, Mr. Rodgers, but we should have known this before. You will wire immediately to my sister, please.”

He bowed, walked toward the door, they following. Scott bent low and whispered into Anita’s ear, “We must keep quiet, Ann—-for your sake.” She smiled up at him radiantly, and catching hold of his arm pressed it impulsively, a token of her appreciation for his infinite consideration. V.

The next morning Ann received a telegram from her sister Bess in'the East "Ordered to take rest in mountains. Too much study. Will be home in a day.” ' Bess arrived late that night, and her appearance, poor as it was, immediately banished her sister’s apprehwnsion. “So yon thought I was half dead,” she said laughingly. “My, what a nervous dear old motherly sister yon

are! It’s only weakness, Ann. Too much books. Too much grind. A week in the mountains will fix me up tip-top. Worked like a beaver—like a school of beavers, or don’t they come that way?—for those mid-term tests. When can we start?”

“Any time you say, dear. In the thorning, if you'feel up to it” “Oh, I feel up to it all right Lots better than I was two days ago. “We’ll start in the morning.” The next morning early, Ann phoned to Scott, telling of her sister’s arrival, and their intended trip. “Won’t you come?” she asked“Rather risky, jion’t you think? Likely to cause talk.”

"You won't have to come with us. Listen. You come over this morning as soon as you can. I'll tell Bess I’ve invited you to a little informal breakfast in honor of her home-coming, and you can meet her. You may speak of your proposed trip, for tomorrow, say, up to the mountains, and then we’ll be surprised and tell you we’re going today. Won’t that be joHy? It’s scheming, I know, but it’s the only way out if we’re to keep

silent, you know. And I must be with you.”

"All right, dear. I understand perfectly. Be right over. Good-by." Scott came, languid, lackadaisical, correct to the last detail —his expressionless face making a great impression on Bess, who accepted his air of quiet authority as indicative of the proverbial “still waters.”

The breakfast was a complete success in both food and talk, and Ann felt with pleasure that her surprise at his announcement that he was going up to the mountains was as genuine as could be desired by the most exacting Bess wasn’t In another hour Bess and Ann, mounted on two rangy western ponies, had started their long ascent up the mountainside, their point of destination being half a mile from where Paul Reed, in his observatory, nightly watched the heavens and saw in each glowing star the image of his loved one.

Scott arrived late the night of the same day. The next morning he proposed a walk over the mountainside, and was eagerly seconded by Ann. Bess, however, wearied and sore with the previous day’s ride, announced that she was all “In/’ and would await their return at the hotel. Ann noted with keen displeasure Scott’s disappointment at Bess’ announcement, and was further vexed when he proposed that they stay and keep Bess company. His attention, his solicitude for Bess was, she felt, passing the confines of anettort to he agreeable.

Bess wouldn’t hear of their staying behind, so they started for their stroll together. Alfred, disappointed at Bess’ absence, and Ann anxious and trying mentally to laugh away the fears that played shadowlike but persistent in her mind. They ■ took a narrow footpath that wound its way around the thountainside, hugging tightly the wall to their left, for in some places on their right the path stopped abruptly and the cliff side fell sheer away into sickening space. Anita had come up close behind him panting, but supple and eager, her fine young frame moving in quick graceful strides alonfo the trail. Suddenly he was aware of the sound of loosened pebbles rolling down the cliff behind him—heard her startled cry—felt'her tense, desperate grip on his arm as she lost her footing.

VI. Turning half way around, he saw that she was hanging half over the cliffside, her face pale and horrorstricken, her oply hope for life, outside of a miracle —centering itself in her grip on his arm. He saw at a glance the almost sheer declivity of the mountain side, and a sickening dread overcame him as he thought of what it would mean, should his strength be not great enough to hold out. He would be carried over the side of the cliff with the one clinging to him! His foot slipped slightly, dislodging a pebble that bounced its echoing way down the mountainside. A horrible, cold dread was on him. His feet were slipping! With a quick, fearful, desperate stroke he struck her hand from his arm, and, shrinking back against the wall, watched her start on her downward slide, dragging a host of rattling pebbles in her wake.

She had sMd about fifty feet when her outstretched, frantically-grasping hand closed around a tough twig deep rooted in the earth. She stopped abruptly, luckily having caught a grip there, for a few feet below her the slope stopped abruptly on a chasm yawning wide. She looked appealingly, beseechingly at her husband, shrunk tight, horror-stricken against the wall. Her plight, however, was not affecting her reason, as she thought when she was aware of bis change of expression; the change was actual, and' due to the fact that his ear had caught the sound of approaching footsteps along the hard, narrow path. These footsteps became more and more distinct, until a man appeared around the bend in the trail. This man was Paul Reed.

of the Scotts. Paul iWtowed keeping her ever tn sight and was surprised when at a turn In the road, she stopped suddenly, her whole body tense. He came up with her and saw what had caused her to stop so shortly. IX. This trail ended abruptly at the back porch of the hotel; and from where they stood they could see quite plainly, Bess, seated in a large easy chair, on the broad arm of which Scott had perched himself. As they watched he fondly kissed his wife’s sister. Anita watched but for a moment; then, running forward swiftly, followed by Paul, she dashed up the steps of the porch, and stood, a torch of wrath, confronting Scott "You most contemptible—" The sentence remained unfinished, her scorn for the vile thing before her making words futile. "Bess,’* she said, turning suddenly and trying to make her tense voice soft, Tm married to this” —with a wave of her hand. 'Tve kept It secret, because the fortune left us would be forfeited, were I to marry before I reached the age of twenty-five. You received a like notice, so you know.” She spoke quickly, anxious to get the preliminary explanation over with, so as to execute the action she had tn mind. "Why I did it, God only knows, but I was blinded by the light of his ancestry.” "You might have done worse, you know," Scott sneered. “There weren’t many opportunities left, you know, after your well-known intimacy with” —here he looked toward Paul —“the bricklayer’s son.” Paul had been standing silently by, his face heavy and dull with despair, his heart unutterably sad within him, as the “queerness” of all the last few days became understandable. He sprang at Scott, his face distorted his teeth bared, a low animal sound coming from his throat, and his hands shaking fearfully as they found their wa/ to the other’s throat For the length of half a minute he held him thus—then, a sudden loathing for the resistless creature before him took the place of his fury, and he flung him, choking, to the ground. When Scott recovered, a few minutes after, he learned, from the hotel proprietor, that Ann, Bess and Paul had hastily left for town. He started Immediately in pursuit, sure that Ann had for her destination the office of her attorney. . "

At first he saw only Scott, dreadfully pale and nervous looking; then, following Scott's gaze down the cliffside, he went icy cold with terror for a moment. Had he been better bred, had the same blue blood which so distinguished Alfred Scott flowed in his veins, his terror might have lasted indefinitely, and Anita have plunged into the bottomless canyon. But he was vulgar, emotional, impulsive, and his poor brain, a product of centuries of nondescript admixture, took in the situation comprehensively, and had only realized the one course open a moment before his unpoised body had started to crawl carefully down to where Anita held on with a last despairing grip.

In a moment his strong grip was around her, and he began slowly, warily, laboriously, to fight his way back to the path. Scott’s panic, meantime, had abated considerably, and continued to abate the nearer the man and his burden came, and when they were almost to the edge of the trail, half-way over it in fact, he bent and relieved Paul of Anita’s weight, Paul managing to drag himself exhausted to the road.

She turned simply and said, “Thank you, Paul.” She could say no more. So, taking Scott’s proffered arm, she walked slowly away, leaving Paul standing puzzled, incomprghending, in the middle of the trail. VII.

Job* Huff was tired of waiting. Huff was the tobacconist, creditor of Alfred Scott, whom Scott, a few days previously had silenced in his demands for payment by telling him that he would shortly be betrothed to Anita Logan, when his various debts would be settled.

It was the morning of the second day that he called at the Logan mansion and learned that Anita had gone up into the mountains with her sister, to spend a week there. Accordingly, he took the first train, and by noon arrived at the hotel in which Ann and her sister were stopping. He learned there that Ann and the young man lately appointed astronomer at the mountain observatory had left a half hour ago for a walk down the mountain side, and he set out immediately to overtake them.

The life-saving incident of the day before, and Anita’s cold, formal “Thank you," had been a bit too much for Paul Reed. He had some important duties to attend the next morning, and could not free himself of them until eleven o’clock He then set out for the mountain hotel, only half a mile distant, his spirit troubled, his mind anxious and on the defensive against a maze of complications he scented but knew nothing of definitely.

VIII. He met her alone, on the porch. Bess and Scott had gone for a walk together. “Good morning, • Ann"— awkwardly. She came forward, her lips silent, her eyes eloquent, and held out her hand to him. Together, as by prearranged understanding, they started to walk away from the house. “I say, you haven’t forgotten, Ann? You promised you’d let me know. Oh, Ann, don't you love me?" His warm, magnetic personality, that personality which had always made her fearfully glad, now again woke in her that feeling of infinite affinity which no personal effort could overcome. She looked up at him, her eyes liquid and pain-drawn. “It can never be, Paul,” she said half chokingly. He was about to ask that fearful “Why?” when they became conscious of a man approaching them. It was Huff.

He came up, hat in hand, and bowing respectfully, said to Ann, “Miss Logan, my name is Huff—John Huff; I’m a tobacconist in town, and a creditor of Alfred Scott’s. Not a large creditor —not nearly as large as some of them—but then I’m only a small retailer. Scott's bill has been dragging along now for over eight months, and I’m anxious to get it settled. Is there any truth in Mr. Scott’s statement that you will marry him and pay his debts? He told me so two days ago, and I want to know whether there’s any truth in it?" Anita’s eyes, soft and tender a moment ago, flashed with the fury of a vengeful goddess. 'TDid he tell you that?” she queried. •‘Yes, miss.” . \. "Win you leave this affair to me?” "Yes, miss.’’ "Very well, then. You may go. I shall communicate with you.” He bowed, and was gone. Ann had, at this latest revelation of her husband’s blue blood, forgotten Paul entirely. She started walking quickly back, and there was that in her stride which boded U 1 for the last

He arrived at Rodgers* office just in time to hear Ann, through the closed door of the private office, finishing her story to the astounded attorney. “ —my fortune is gone. Now I want a divorce from that yellow thing called a blue blood.”

Scott came in as she finished. “One moment, please," he said. "You travel fast. Too fast True, your declaration of our marriage has forfelted your part of the fortune"—here a cunning, insolent smile shaped his mouth—"but if you dare to pusih this divorce suit”—his voice became em-, phatically slow and Intense —“I’ll drag*' in your sister’s name, and blacken it in the eyes of the whole world —utterly. Do you understand? Utterly! Yes, I know that your fortune has been forfeited; rather stupid of you, don’t you think? But we’ll manage. I know your sister win gladly share her part with us"—he accentuated

the word hideously—"if she would protect her reputation." Ann stood back, appalled, unable to conceal her knowledge that she waa powerless. She knew he would go to any lengths to compromise Bess, Innocent as she was, in the eyes of the world, and realized how easy that would be. She would rather have suffered anything than have exposed Bess* fair name to this slander, and the world’s contempt, and realised with resigned despair that he wa» aware of her nature, and was playing on it—realized that she must live out her days with a man she loathed—realized it and was helpless /W avoid it. She had paid dearly for her worship of "class," and would pay and pay and pay—endlessly. Bess’ young dream of love had du. generated to a hideous nightmare. Paul stood by, the bright air castles of his youth burying in their tumbled debris his aspiring soul. The Family Tree had borne its fnttlg End of Seventh Story. The next story is -Today end 1«» morrow.’*

The Bricklayer’s Son Proposes to the Millionaire’s Daughter.

“If Either You or Your Sister Marry Before You Reach the Age of TwentyFive, You Lose Your Share in the Fortune.”

For Half a Minute He Held Him Thus.