Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 47, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 February 1916 — the THOUSANDTH WOMAN [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

the THOUSANDTH WOMAN

by ERNEST W. HOMING

Auflvor of “Gh? AMATEUR CRACKSMAN., RAFFLES. Etc. nmsreAnq^s MT o.

BYNOPSI3. OiuK,' ec fht steamar Kalaer Frits, homeward bound from Australia, cries •ut in his sleep that Henry Craven, who ten years before had ruined his father and himself. Is dead and finds that Hilton Toye, who shares the stateroom with him, knows Craven and also Blanche Macnair. a former neighbor and playmate When the dally papers come aboard at Southampton Toye reads that Craven has been murdered and calls Cazalet's dream second sight. He thinks of doing a little amateur detective work on the case himself. In the train to town they discuss the murder, which was committed at Cazalet's old home. Toyd hears from Cazalet that Scruton, who had been Cazalet's friend and the scapegoat for Craven's dishonesty, has been released from prison. CHAPTER lll—Continued. Toye looked disconcerted and distressed, but at the same time frankly puzzled. He apologised none the less readily, with almost ingenuous courtesy and fullness, but he ended by explaining himself in a single sentence, and that told more than the rest of his straightforward eloquence put together. “If a man had done you down like t&St, wouldn’t you want to kill him the very moment you came out, Cazalet?” The creature of impulse was off at » tangent. *Td forgive him If he did It, tool” he exclaimed. ‘Td move heaven and earth to save him, guilty or not guilty. Wouldn’t you In my place?” “I don’t know,” said Hilton Toye. *Tt depends on the place you’re in, I guess!” And the keen dark eyes came drilling Into Cazalet’s skull like augers. “I thought I told you," he explained Impatiently. “We were In the office together; he was good to me, winked at the business hours I was inclined to keep, let me down lighter in every way than I deserved. You may say it was part of his game. But I take people as I find them. And then, as I told you, Scruton was ten thousand times more sinned against than sinning.” “Are you sure? If you knew it at the time —" “I didn’t I told you so the last

night." Well, I mustn’t ask questions,” said Hilton Toye, and began folding up his newspaper with even more than his usual deliberation. "Oh, Fll tell you!” cried Cazalet ungraciously. “It’s my own fault for telling you so much. It was in a letter from Scruton himself that I heard the whole thing. I’d written to him —toward the end —suggesting things. He managed to get an answer through that would never have passed the prison authorities. And —and that’s why I came home just when I did,” concluded Cazalet; “that’s why I didn’t wait till after shearing. He’s been through about enough, and I’ve bad more luck than I deserved. I meant to take him back with me, to keep the books on our station, if you want to know!” The brusk voice trembled. Toye let his newspaper slide to the floor. “But that was fine!” he exclaimed simply. “That’s as fine an action as I’ve heard of in a long time." p "If it comes off,” said Cazalet in a gloomy voice. "Don’t you worry. It’ll come off. Is be out yet, for sure? I mean, do you know that he is?” “Scruton? Yes —since you press it —he wrote to tell me that he was coming out even sooner than he expected.” “Then he can stop out for me,” said Hilton Toye. “I guess I’m not running for that reward!”

CHAPTER IV. Down the River. - At Waterloo the two men parted, with a lair exchange of fitting speeches, none of which rang really false: And yet Cazalet found himself emphatically unable to make any plans at all for the next lew_daysi also, he seemed in two minds now about a Jermyn Street, hotel previously mentioned as his Immediate destination; and his step was indubitably lighter as he went off first of all to the* loop-line, to make sure of some train or other that he might have to take before the - tfay was out. - • • Ib the -event he did not take that train or any other; for the new miracle of the new traffic, the new smell of the horseless streets, and the newer joys of the newest of new taxicabs, all worked together and so swiftly uponCazalet’s organism that he had a little colloquy with his smart instead -of-paying him in Jermyn Street. He nearly did pay him oft, and with something more than his usual impetuosity, as either a liar or a fool with no sense of time or space. “But that’s as quick as the train, my good fellow!’’ blustered Cazalet "Quicker,'* said the smart young fellow without dipping his cigarette, “if you were going by the old Southwestern!" ' 'The very Mißrifid especlatiy the manners that made or marred him, was entirely new to Cazalet as a product of the old country. But he had come from the bush, and he felt •s. though be might have been back there but for the smell of petrol and the cry of the mo tor- horn from end to

end of those teeming gullies of bricks and mortar; He bad accompanied his baggage just as far as the bureau of the Jermyn Street hotel. Any room they liked, and he would be back some time before midnight; that was bis card, they could enter his name for themselves. He departed, pipe in mouth, open knife in one hand, plug tobacco in the other; and remarks were passed in Jermyn Street as the taxi bounced out west in ballast. But Indeed it was too fine a morning to waste another minute indoors, even to change one’s clothes, if Cazalet had possessed any better than the ones he wore and did not rather glory in his rude attire. He was simply and comfortably drunk with the delight of being back. He had never dreamed of its getting into his head like this; at the time he did not realize that it had. That was the beauty of his bout. He knew well enough what he was doing and seeing, but inwardly he was literally blind. Yesterday was left behind and forgotten like the Albert Memorial, and to-morrow was still as distant as the sea, if there were such things as to-morrow and the sea. Meanwhile what vivid miles of dazzling life, what a subtle autumn flavor in the air; how cool in the shadows, how warm in the sun; what a sparkling old river it was, to be sure; and yet, if those weren’t the first of the autumn tints on the trees In Castlenan. There went a funeral, on its way to Mortlake! The taxi overhauled it at a callous speed. Cazalet just had time to tear off his great soft hat. It was actually the flrht funeral he had seen since his own father’s; no Wonder his radiance suffered a brief eclipse. But in another moment he was out on Barnes’ Common. It had been the bicycle age when he went away; now it was the motor age, and the novelty and contrast were endless to a simple mind under the influence of forgotten yet increasingly familiar scenes. But nothing was lost on Cazalet that great morning; even a milk-float entranced him, Itself enchanted, with Its tall can turned to gold and silver In the sun. Bus he was on all but holy ground. It was not so holy with these Infernal eleotrie trams; still he knew every inch

of it; and now, thank goodness, he was off the lines at last. —“Slower!" he shouted to his smart young man. He could not say that no notice was taken of the command. But a wrought-iron gate on the left, with a covered way leading up to the house, was past and gone in a veritable twinkling. Five or six minutes later the smart young man was driving really slowly along a narrow road between patent wealth and blatant semi-gentility; on the left good grounds, shaded by cedar and chestnut, and on the right a row of hideous little houses, as pretentious as any that ever let for forty pounds within forty minutes of Waterloo. “This can't be it!” shouted Cazalet “It can’t he here—stop! Stop! I tell you!” A young woman had appeared in one of the overpowering wooden portlcoes; two or three swinging strides were bringing her down the silly little -path to the wicket-gate with the idiotic name; there was no time to open it before Cazalet blundered up, and shot his hand across to get a grasp as firm and friendly as he gave. “Blanchiel” “Sweep! 1 ’ They were their two nursery names, hers no improvement on the proper monosyllable, and his a rather dubious token of pristine proclivities. But out -both ~egme M if they were children" still, and children who had been just long enough apart to start with a good honest mutual stare. r . • “You aren’t a bit Altered,’’ declared the man of thirty-three, with a note not entirely tactful la his admiring voice. But his old chufti only laughed.

"Fiddle!” she cried. “But yoo’re not altered enough. Sweep, I’m disappointed In you. Where’s your beard?’/ ”1 had It off the other day. I always meant to,” he explained, “before the end of the voyage. I wasn’t going to land like a wild man of the woods, you know!” "Weren’t you! I call it mean.” Her scrutiny became severe, but softened again at the sight of his clutched wide-awake and curiously characterless, shapeless suft. “You may well look!” he cried, delighted that she should. “They’re awful old duds, I know, but you would think them a wonder if you saw where they came from —” “I’m sorry to Interrupt,” said Blanche, laughing, “but there’s your taxi ticking up twopence every quarter of an hour, and I can’t let it go on without warning you. Where have you come from?” He told her with a grin, was roundly reprimanded for his extravagance, but brazened it out by giving the smart young man a sovereign before her eyes. After that, she said he had better come in before the neighbors came out and mobbed him for a millionaire. And he followed her indoors and up-stairs, into a little new den crowded with some of the big old things he could remember in a very different setting. But if the room was small it had a balcony that was hardly any smaller, on top of that unduly imposing porch; and out there, overlooking the fine grounds opposite, were basket chairs and a table, hot with the Indian summer sun. ”1 hope you are not shocked at my abode,” said Blanche. “I’m afraid I can’t help it if you are. It’s just, big enough for Martha and me; you remember old Martha, don’t you? You’ll have to come and see her, but she’ll be horribly disappointed about your beard!” Coming through the room, stopping to greet a picture and a bookcase (filling a wall each) as old friends, Cazalet had descried a photograph of himself with that appendage. He had threatened to take the beastly thing away, and Blanche had told him he had better not. But it did not occur to Cazalet that it was the photograph to which Hilton Toye had referred, or that Toye' must have been in this -very room to see it. In these few hours he had forgotten the man’s existence, at least in so far as it associated itself with Blanche Macnair. “The others all wanted me to live near them,” she continued, “but as no two of them are in the same county it would have meant a caravan. Besides, I wasn’t going to be transplanted at my age. Here one has everybody one ever knew, except those who escape by emigrating, simply at one’s mercy on a bicycle. There’s more golf and tennis than I can find time to piay; and I' still keeplEe old h'darin the old boat-house at Littleford, because it hasn’t let or sold yet, I’m sorry to say.” “So I saw as I passed,” said Cazalet.' “That hit me hard!”

“The place being empty hits me harder,’’ rejoined the last of the Macnairs. “It’s going down in value every day like all the other property about here, except this sort Mind where you throw that match, Sweep! I don’t want you to set fire to my pampasgrass; it’s the only tree I’ve got!’’ Cazalet laughed; she was making him laugh quite often. But the pam-pas-grass, like the rest of the ridiculous little garden In front, was obscured if not overhung by the balcony nn which sat. And the subject seemed one to change. —— “It 'Was'"simply glorious coming down,’’ he said. “I wouldn’t swap that three-quarters of an hour for a bale of wool. You can’t think how every mortal thing on the way appealed to me. The only blot was a funeral at Barnes; it seemed such a sin to be buried on a day like this, and a fellow like me coming home to enjoy himself!” He had turned grave, but not graver than at the actual moment coming down. Indeed, he was simply coming down again, for her benefit and his own, without an ulterior trouble until Blanche took him up with a long face of her own. - ■■ ■■ ■ “We’ve had a funeral here. I suppose you know ?” “Yes. I know.” Her chair creaked as she leaned forward with an enthusiastic solemnity that would have made her shriek if she bad seen herself; but it had no such effect on Cazalet. (TO BE CONTINUED.)

A Young Woman Had Appeared in One of the Wooden Porticoes.