Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 160, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 6 July 1916 — The Red Mirage [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Red Mirage

By I. A. R. WYLIE

A Story of the French Legion in Algiers

(All right* reserved. The Bobbs-Merrill Co.)

SYNOPSIS. * — 2— When Sylvia Omney, a beautiful English girl, returns from a search in Algiers for her missing brother, her lover, Richard Farquhar, finds she has fallen in love with Captain Arnaud of the Foreign Legion.

CHAPTER 11. The Fourth Floor Back. Capt Robert Sower bad never been called a drawing-room soldier, and this In spite of the fact that he had many detractors. When he was In town he kept open bouse, and It became gradually a custom to such of his comrades as were In the vicinity to congregate In the luxuriously appointed smoking room, smoke bis cigars and drink his wine. On the evening when Capt. Desire Arnaud entered the softly lighted apartment four men were seated round the card-table smoking and chatting, apparently taking their game none too seriously. Sower himself stood by the log fire warming his hands and exchanging desultory remarks with a man whom the Indefinable something stamped as a civilian. As Arnaud’s name was announced Sower turned round and advanced with hospitably extended hand. “My good fellow, delighted to see you. I was half afraid the fog had swallowed you up. Let me get the introductions over. Preston, Hardy, St. Clair, Benson—all of my regiment— Captain Arnaud of the French army.” By wbat appeared to be a slip he passed over the elderly man by the fireside, and the latter made no move to repair the omission. Arnaud glanced at him curiously, and then came over to the fire. Sower laughed and shrugged his shoulders; and then, as though dismissing the subject, “You’re late. Where have you come from?” “From the Omneys. Miss Omney is very charming—” he said. “And wealthy. Am I to congratulate?” ' Arnaud put his hand to his little fair mustache, but he did not answer directly, though his smile might have counted as an answer. “I have Just met a comrade of yours,” he remarked Instead, “a someV

•what unusual character for an Eng-lishman—-hot-heade<J, with admirable nerve —Richard Farquhar, if you know him.” The man by the fireside shifted his position and glanced up. By mere chance Sower was looking in his direction, and their eyes met for an Instant. “Lieutenant in my regiment,” Sower answered quietly. “Quite promising; •erred out in South Africa.” “Ah!” Amaud’s restless eyes had wandered from the fire to the distant card-table, where the four younger men were now playing with a listless interest “Well, I do not suppose we shall often meet He and Miss Om» ney are great friends, is it not so?” Sower pushed the cigar box along tine mantelpiece. “Help yourself. No. I should not call V. •: ' » '• ;

them great friends. Miss 6mney’s brother was a kind of David to Farquhar’s Jonathan —” “And It was David who mistook the broad path for the narrow?” “Exactly. There was a scandal, of course, a dishonored check and a bolt. Gambling, I believe. Old Charles Omney has the reputation of a hard man. Like most hard articles he has broken up under the first blow.” Arnaud was silent a moment, his delicate, nervous face overclouded with some unpleasant reflection. He was still watching the players, and his cigar had been allowed to go out. The man in the armchair lifted his head. “Gambling always seems to me the last, resort of daring minds from the deadly security of modern life,” he obseKwed sententiously. He spoke for the first time, and Arnaud glanced at him quickly and almost with appreciation. “You may be right. One has the feeling sometimes of stifling.” He laughed cynically, and the older man rose. It'was noticeable for the first time that he limped. “All Frenchmen gamble,” he said, “either with their lives, other people’s lives, their honor, or somebody else’s honor. Will you not take a hand?” Arnaud hesitated with something of his first frigidity of manner, but there were nervous, feverish patches of color in his pale face. “I beg yo.ur pardon—l did not catch your name?” he said coldly. “Lowe —Stephen Lowe, at your service.” Arnaud returned the formal little bow. “I shall be delighted.” They turned toward the table. Sower laughed significantly. “Be careful, Arnaud; remember the adage ‘Lucky in love —’ ” It was at that moment that the door opened and Farquhar entered. For no obvious reason his appearance caused a moment’s awkward silence. He had, in fact, the look of a man who has been drinking hard,” but has somehow managed to retain a dangerous selfpossession. There was no trace of hesitancy in his manner as he answered Sower’s belated welcome, but instead a not easily defined shade of Insolence. Sower appeared to notice nothing. “Help yourself,” he said hospitably, “and sit down. You look queer. Anything wrong?” Farquhar made no answer. He sank down into the proffered chair, and, having poured out half a tumbler of brandy from the decanter at his elbow, stared moodily Into the firelight. Sower watched him cautiously. “You look ill, Farquhar,” he repeated after a moment. “Can I do anything for you?” Farquhar looked up. “Ever been drunk?” he asked abruptly. “No. I’Ve never been tempted that way. Have you?” “Not yet. I’m thinking of trying it.” He threw back his head with a laugh. Sower tossed his cigar end into the fender. “I shouldn’t if I were you,” he said coolly. “We have inspection tomorrow afternoon.” Farquhar returned to his fixed contemplation of the firelight. During the hour that passed he did not move, except to replenish the glass beside him. Then Preston suddenly left the card-table, went over to the fireside and stood there with his back turned, his head bent. He did not notice Farquhar, who looked up as though raised from his deliberate lethargy by some painful sound. The boy’s round, unformed face was wet. “Hul lo —Preston!” He started violently. “Oh, you, Farquhar—l didn’t know you were there. For God’s sake don’t look at me—l’m a fool —but I’m cleaned out. Two hundred pounds at a sitting—alKmy allowance —” He broke off. Farquhar shifted his position so that he faced the card-table. His eyes were dangerous. “I say, this is a damned gambling hell,” he said clearly. “Did you speak, Farquhar?” Sower asked quietly. Farquhar did not move. “Yes, I said this was a damned gambling hell. I may add that you are a damned scoundrel. Ask your friend there to return his I. O. U.’s on the spot, or I promise you we two shall be explaining matters at headquarters tomorrow morning. You know what that means, I fancy.” There was no answer for a minute. All five men looked instinctively at Sower, waiting for his next move. The cloud of the gaming passion had lifted, leaving a rank, bitter-tasting reality. Sower recovered his calm goodnature with unaffected ease. “Farquhar, you are undoubtedly the worse for my brandy,” he observed. “Lowe, I should be glad If you would return Mr. Preston’s note of hand. I shall settle with you myself for your loss. I trust that Farquhar will see fit

to apologise if not now, at least when he is uffldently recovered." Richard Farquhar rose leisurely to his feet. There was no trace of unsteadiness in his steps as he crossed the roefm, but it was obvious that Sower had not overstated his condition. “I do not suppose that even when I have recovered I shall see things differently,” he said, turning his white, ironically smiling face for a moment to the motionless group. "Come along, Preston.” Farquhar had not far to go, a bystreet bringing him to a quiet, unpretentious house which his instinct recognized. Inside all was Inky obscurity. He stumbled against the first step of the stairs, touched something that was warm and living, and in the recoil struck his bead against a treacherous overhanging shelf. “I beg somebody’s pardon,” a quiet voice said through the subsequent silence. “I’m afraid I’ve killed somebody.” Then the light was switched on. Farquhar saw before him a small person, dowdily dressed, with a small, thin face under a small hat. He took his hand from his head and considered it “No very serious damages, I fear. Give me an arm up to my room, will you?” She obeyed Instantly and with some adroitness. “It’s that ridiculous hatrack,” she said. “It blocks up the whole hall. I have often spoken to Mrs. Ferrier about it” “You —” He stopped short withdrawing his arm and leaning against the banisters. “I thought—really I

must be far gone—l you were Mrs. Ferrier.” “Ob, no; I rather wish I was. I’m the fourth floor back.” “Well, I don’t know who the fourth floor back is exactly, but I know I have taken an unwarrantable liberty—” “Don’t Yon are not in a condition to offer resistance. This your room, isn’t it?” She pushed open a door on the first floor and turned on the light He looked at her in weary, half-amused perplexity. “I can’t allow this sort of thing. It’s not right that a young lady—” “I’m not a lady—at least not by circumstance. Anyhow, I don’t care. You are ill. Sit down.” He obeyed, tossing his coat and hat onto the nearest %hair, and sat listlessly with his head in his hands. From a long way off he heard her soft rapid movements. /They were curiously soothing, and presently he looked up a&ain, urged by an idle wonder. But apparently she had forgotten his existence. Hatless, with sleeves rolled up to her elbows, she knelt before the fire, engaged In a quiet but determined struggle with a rusty and refractory kettle. Presently she got up from he* knees. “In two minutes you will have yous tea,” she announced in the ruthless tones of a professional nurse. “How is your head now?” “Better—” For the first ttme Bhe turned and looked him full in the face, and he broke off blankly. Either she was young, or she had conserved In those two clear, steady eyes all that is youthful and all that Is splendid in youth. She was smiling, and Inexplicably her frank pleasure seemed to goad him out of his heavy indifference. “I am a cur,”' he said under his breath. “Oh, no, you’re not a cnr. You are drank. It’s not a nice word, bat I’m afraid I’m too busy to think out pretty waya of expressing myself. There’s your tea.” She placed the cup fearlessly at his elbow. “Please drink it at once.” He obeyed. _

(to be coNTnrumu

Do you belong to that class of persons who believe that gambling debts should be paid before all others? Does your creed of honor prescribe the payment of a bar debt even if the grocer and the dry goods merchant must go unpaid and your family go without some necessities? There are such creeds of personal honor.

Don’t you just love a game little girl that Isn’t afraid of appearances and rules of conduct when she knows she’s helping a fellow creature In trouble? Wouldn’t It be a fine piece of business if Farquhar had the gumption to cast aside family pride and marry a really sens! bis girl? /. t ; .

”I Say, This Is a Damned Gambling Hell."

“I Am a Cur,” He Said Under His Breath.