Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 189, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 August 1916 — Page 3

The Red Mirage

SYNOPSIS. Sylvia Omney, her lover, Richard Farquhar, finds, has fallen in love with Captain Arnaud of the Foreign Legion, In Captain Sower's room Farquhar forces Sower to have Preston’s I O u s returned to him. Farquhar is helped to his rooms by Gabrielle Smith. Sower demands an apology. Refused, he forces Farquhar to resign his commission in return for possession of Farquhar’s father s written confession that he had murdered Sower's father. Gabrielle saves Farauhar from suicide. To shield Arnaud, Sylvia s fiance. Farquhar professes to have stolen war plans and tells the real culprit why he did so. As Richard Nameless he joins the Fbreign Legion and sees Sylvia, now Mme. Arnaud, meet Colonel Destlnn. Farquhar mets Sylvia and Gabrielle, and learns from Corporal Goets of the colonel’s cruelty. Arnaud becomes a drunkard and opium smoker. Sylvia becomes friendly with .Colonel Destlnn. Arnaud becomes jealous of Farquhar. Farquhar, on guard at a villa where a dance is in progress, is shot down by Arnaud. Arnaud justifies his Insanely jealous action to Colonel Destlnn. Arnaud goes to a dancing girl who loves him for comfort. Gabrielle meets Lowe, for whom she had eacrificed position and reputation, and ■tells him she is free from him. Sylvia meets Destlnn behind the mosque Armaud becomes 111 but Sylvia will not help •him. nor Interfere for Farquhar. Gabrielle, aiding Farquhar, who Is under punishment, Is mistaken by him in his delirium for Sylvia. Farquhar delivers a message to Destlnn at night an< l finds (Sylvia with him. He learns that it was Gabrielle who aided him.

There are women who appear able to fool all men with their wiles, but they can't fool smart women. Sylvia made men miserable wherever she went — made them throw their Ilves away recklessly. But the dawn of a day of reckoning Is beginning for her, and a woman of her own sort Is the Instrument.

CHAPTER XlV—Continued.

“Faithful friend!” He caught her hand roughly from the bridle. “There Is something In all this I don’t understand. Have I been mad —or dreaming?” “Dreaming, Richard." “Oh, I remember —‘the men who follow mirages die.’ That was the night when she came to give me ‘God speed,’ and It was for that man who came to me that night on the plateau—who saved me? Was it you?” “Yes.” “And everything—all you said —was « lie, a charitable farce?” “It was the truth.” He did not speak for a moment. He 'bent lower in the saddle, as though to penetrate the twilight that hid her •from him. And suddenly It was her hand that sought bls and held It. “I am sorry!” she said. “I did not mean to hurt you." “I have to thank you,” he answered unevenly. Then gently he freed himself and, pulling his horse round in the middle of the road, galloped back In the direction of the barracks.

CHAPTER XV. Mrs. Farquhar. “And so we part company?” “I think It better, Mme. Arnaud.” Sylvia looked up from her book. It was “East Lynne,” and the condition of the cover suggested assiduous reading. “I dare say you are right,” she said lazily. “All the same, I don’t quite understand you, Miss Smith. You saved me in rather an awkward dilemma the/other night And now you want to leave me.” Gabrielle smiled. “If I was of any assistance to you, It was for reasons that had nothing to do with you personally." “Sylvia fidgeted irritably. “What do you mean?” she asked*. “Madame Arnaud, you are pretending. You want to pretend that the lives that you have linked to yours have really nothing to do with you—•that you are ndt responsible, that you are just a beautiful, Innocent woman sitting among your dreams on a mountain top far above the turmoil of ordinary mankind. And you want me to pretend with you. But I really can’t. As you said —I know too much. I’m a discomfort.” The liberty curtains dividing the open door from the courtyard were pushed aside and Sylvia’s English maid made her discreet appearance. “If you please, madame, a lady (wishes to see you—Mrs. Farquhar, from England.” There followed a brief, poignant silence, Sylvia Arnaud’s hand tightened convulsively on the bonbonniere, and she looked at Gabrielle with the helpless appeal of a chill who suddenly realizes that it has lost itself in a crowd of strangers. “Tell Mrs. Farquhar that I—l am—" But Mr*. Farquhar was already in the room. She stood for a moment om the threshold, smiling at them both, with the delighted consciousness of having successfully performed the part of an agreeable surprise packet. Her appearance undoubtedly heightened the desired effect She wore a white dress and a white toque. Moreover, she was profusely powdered, and looked, if possible, younger and more

A Story of the French Legion in Algiers

By I. A. H. WYLIE

(AU rights reserved. The Bobbe-Merrill Co.)

daringly self-assured than ever. For a minute, during which she hesitated, her bright eyes rested rather earnestly on Gabrielle Smith, who, bowing formally, went out into the courtyard with a grim amusement written on her small, sunburnt face. Whereupon Mrs. Farquhar advanced and kissed Sylvia on both cheeks. “My dear Sylvia—my dear little Sylvia—now I am sure I am the last person on earth you expected—an old woman traveling in a savage country full of foreigners! It's almost indecent, isn’t it?" Sylvia smiled faintly, like someone awakened from a stupor. “Oh, I don't know. Won’t you sit down? I certainly didn’t expect any English person in this dreadful place. If one can live In England—” She broke off suddenly. “What made you leave?” "You see, I have been rather lonely. Since Richard left—” “Ah yes, of course.” Sylvia sat down with her back to the sunlight, her hands clasped tightly In her lap. “You must miss him very much.” “Oh, terribly. But that’s our fate — to have to get on without people we have suffered for. You, for Instance. I’m sure sometimes you feel sad —a little homesick —” “Often.” Sylvia looked up eagerly. “We are alike, rather. We understand each other.” Mrs. Farquhar was silent a moment, considering the whitefaced woman opposite her with bright, affectionate eyes. “And so you are sometimes lonely? If it were not for Captain Arnaud I should pity you, Sylvia.”

“Yes, of course, if it were not for Desire —” She stopped, as though seeking for words, and slowly, beneath the persistent gaze of the blue eyes, the last trace of color died from her cheeks. The hand that passed Mrs. Farquhar’s cup across the table shook. “I am sorry—but the life out here makes one so nervy and jerky.” “Yes, I can imagine that,” Mrs. Farquhar agreed seriously. “I had hoped to find Captain Arnaud here. I was so charmed with him, you know, and wished Richard and he had been more friendly. Poor Richard!” Sylvia’s hand tightened on the carved arm of her chair. She made a movement as though on the edge of an Impulsive speech, then drew back, white lipped and silent. Mrs. Farquhar bent forward and patted her on the knee. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I know how delicate and sensitive you are, child. But you must never worry about Richard. He writes me such wonderful letters, and in each one of them he talks about you, how good you are, how much nobler and better you are than other women. Really—lt Is quite touching—” She stopped short. Sylvia Arnaud had risen to her feet. She stood prfectly upright for a moment, staring In front of her with blank eyes, and then suddenly she lifted her hands to her head. “It’s the heat —the awful sunshine —”

She collapsed, senseless, at Mrs. Farquhar’s feet Mrs. Farquhar got up. She looked down at the motionless figure but did not touch It She rang the little oriental bell lying in the midst of the English silver. “Your mistress has fainted,” she said coolly to the panic-stricken servant who answered the summons. “I think a little sal volatile is all that is needed. I leave her, I am sure, In good bands.” She smiled graciously and went out Into the sunny courtyard. Gabrielle Smith, who stood by the fountain, trimming the luxuriant ferns, turned as she heard the light, quick tap of Mrs. Farquhar’s French heels. Mrs. Farquhar held out her hand.

“I have to thank you for your letter,” she said. “There Isn’t any need for thanks. I hesitated for twenty-four awful hours. But I felt I had to do something. Once I had seen your name and address on that envelope I dared not keep silence.” “I shall never be able to repay my debt. I hurried here as fast as express trains and wretched French packet boats could carry me. I wanted to reach Sidi-bel-Abbes before you left. You have given up your situation?” “Yes.” “Will you come to me?” Gabrielle Smith did not answer for a moment. Her eyes rested steadfastly, significantly, on the faded, powdered face.

“I think —better not, Mrs. Farquhar. You know nothing about me—not even whether I am respectable—” “You are the woman who has given me the hope that I may see my son again before I die. That is all I care about! I am an old woman, Miss Smith, and what lies before me Is almost beyond my powers. I need you—my son needs you. Will you think of that?” “Yes.” Gabrielle answered simply. - “Then I rely upon you. Here Is my card. Come to see me as soon as you can. We must ait at once. Will

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, IND.

you accompany me to my carriage?" As Gabrielle helped her silently into the waiting victoria Mrs. Farquhar turped for a moment to glance behind her. Her face, which had suddenly grown old and lined with grief, lit up .with a flash of malicious enjoyment. “When we women go to the devil we go all the way,” she said. “We outdo Lucifer himself—we make hell a comparatively respectable abode. And men can’t pay us out—can’t get at us. Only our own sex know how to do that I know how to do it I have actually made Sylvia Arnaud faint." She sank back among cushions with a sigh of relief. “And that will be my consolation on my deathbed,” she finished, almost cheerfully. , g-

CHAPTER XVI. In the Teeth of the Storm. During the first night of that great march southward they had sung lustily. Now they were silent. No man spoke even to his neighbor. From time to time they exchanged glances — lightning, stealthy glances, which passed unnoticed. But that was all. It was the only sign that they were still men. The last village lay behind them. Two hundred miles away there was Sldl-bel-Abbes. In those two hundred miles there had been many things—and eight days! Eight days! They had ceased to count. The milestones had disappeared. Their memories were blank. Mechanically as each distance of ten kilometers was forced behind them they dropped stupidly into the burning sand and five minutes later mechanically rose and went on again. At night their white camps stretched like a string of pearls into the darkness, and the bivouac fires shone brightly, but they did not sleep. They sat, huddled together for shelter against the blasting cold of the desert night, and stared In front of them, or at one another. Before the dawn broke they marched on again. Their eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot with the sand and the glare of the sun. But they neither cursed nor complained. Only from time to time they glanced at one another, and always with that smoldering, searching interrogation, “Is it yet?” The day was cloudless. Since dawn no shadow had crossed the brazen monotony of withered azure. Yet there was darkness in the air as though light had burned up light itself, and the great ball of the sun had sunk behind a yellow, transparent veil of smoldering, scorching ruin. Suddenly to the southeast the darkness gathered; the formless gloom hovering above the slow-moving line swept together In one stupendous shadow which rushed down upon them. Colonel Destlnn galloped furiously along the wavering, stricken line of men.

“Campez! campez! Each man for himself!” Then It was upon them. The sun was blotted out The sand was everywhere. It came like a blast out of hell’s furnace and crept Into their eyes, their mouths, their Jungs, their very hearts. It eddied round their feet mounting steadily to their knees, and around them there shrieked the hurricane Itself, an awful army of articulate, destroying myriads. In that first moment Farquhar reeled forward, Instinctively fighting the galling storm with the fierce physical madness of a body goaded by intolerable torture, then he dropped quietly to his knees and waited for the end. He heard the scream of a horse In terror, and a thud as of something falling close beside him, but he remained Indifferent. Stubbornly, doggedly, he awaited the final consummation of his release.

Then something touched him. He awoke with a curse of resentful agony. A hand had groped through the darkness. It gripped him, and he dragged himself to his feet, lifting the heavy. Invisible body with him. The sand beat down upon them. He turned his back to the storm. He stamped the shifting, whirling mass under his feet, and with- a woman’s generous tenderness sheltered the motionless unknown man against his shoulders. No word was spoken. Eternities of suffering. In which each moment was the last, bore down upon him. There was no time In that hideous, revolving obscurity—an the landmarks of life had been swept away, and he was pitted against the full force of death Itself. He dropped, back. With an effort he gathered the unconscious man closer, keeping his face uppermost. Then he lay still, wondering If this were death. . . .

Has the time come for a recognition of kinship between Richard and one of his enemies —Colonel Destinn, or Captain Arnaud?

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

Optimistic Thought. The jealous feed <n jealousy, yet mvst grow CAL

HEAVIEST SLUGGERS ON TAIL-END TEAMS

“A player on a tail-end team ought to hit from 10 to 30 points higher than he would if he were on a pennant battling crew,” ventured a fan the other day. “Howzat?” “Well, pitchers rarely work their heads off against cellar champs. Class tells in baseball. Usually before the fifth or sixth inning comes along, the good team is so far ahead that the game is practically sewed up. Therefore, the pitcher on the top-heavy team saves his arm. He doesn’t pitch his mightiest. He lobs them over, and of course, the batsmen get more hits.

“Now take the case of .the Giants and Larry Doyle last season,” continued the fanner. “In 1915 the Giants blew themselves to be first champion batsmen they have had for many years, Also, the Giants finished in the cellar. After August 15 they never had a chance to win the bunting. “And so, from that time on, the opposing pitchers didn’t work so awfully hard against the Giants —and Larry Doyle’s average grew so large that at the end of the year he led the pack. “Napoleon Lajole never played on a championship team. Yet his batting average, year after year, was wonderful. His grand hitting mark ranks among the highest ever turned in. Only twice during his long career had La 1 joie been on a club that actually was in the fight for any extended period. Opposing clubs rarely found it hard to beat Lajoie’s team and so the rival pitchers frequently took it easy when heaving to Napoleon.

TOBIN HAS A CLEAN RECORD

Ex-Fed Had Never Played Professionally Until He Joined St. Louis Outlaw Aggregation. ~ Johnn/ Tobin, who plays right field for the Browns, hails from the Feds, but he was not a contract-jumper, never having played professional ball

Johnny Tobin.

until he joined the St. Louis Federal aggregation, and therefore has no blemish on his record. He is proving himself a mighty handy ball player for the Fielder Jones outfit, and is likely to retain his job for many years to come.

SISLER PERFORMS BIG FEAT

Michigan Marvel Whiffed Twenty Freshmen in Seven Innings—Only One Man Reached First. Pitcher Davis of the Killeen, Tex., high school team kicked up a considerable fuss the other day when he fanned 24 batters In a nine-inning game with Belton high school. This was hailed as a new record. Now comes Branch Rickey, former boss of St. Louis Browns, with the announcement that George Sisler of the Browns, pitching for University of Michigan in 1911, whiffed 20 freshmen in seven Innings. Only one man reached first on the Michigan marvel and he scored on three-passed balls.

“Joe Jackson averaged somewhere around .370 while he was with the Cleveland club. He was shipped to the White Sox, a team that was in the pennant hunt for a while in 1915 and Joe turned in an average of .308 last year. “Practically every batsman in the game hits far better during the last month of the season than he does during the first four weeks. But that is easily explainable. During the opening month of the campaign most of the pitchers are on edge. They twirl their darndest. And only the star flingers work during that period. “But toward the fag end of the season managers of clubs that are out of the race, begin experimenting for the next season. They work their youngsters, fresh from the bushes. Veteran batters' find it easy to connect with their twisters and slants, and, as a result, the averages fatten. “You’ve often noticed, too. that some of the minor league batting stars, getting a major tryout in the fall show up well with the bludgeon. It seems then that the majority will land. But in the springtime they cannot do any consistent hitting. Here’s the answer: ' “The minor league batters, getting a fall trial in the majors, rarely face major league pitching. They go up ggainst the minor league hurlers, who are getting their trial. The ‘bush’ hitters, therefore, face the same caliber and, of course, find no trouble maintaining their minor league averages.”

DIAMOND NOTES

As a rule a ballplayer’s popularity fades with his batting average. • * • You can’t expect those Washington Nationals to move very fast without Shanks. • • * Harry Howell and Garnett Bush, umpires, are having trouble In the Northwestern league. • * * Whittaker and Krepps, pitchers on the Tufts college team, will get tryouts with the Athletics. • • • Jack Dalton Is back in the game for San Francisco and the Seals now expect to climb to the top again. ♦ ♦ • Maynard, a pitcher who has made a reputation with the Marshall college team, is now with Lexington. • * * Connie Mack has signed a seventeen-year-old schoolboy pitcher named Crisp. Betcha this kid’s a snappy player. • • • Al Mamaux, Pittsburgh’s young pitcher, stands firmly between the Pirates and the deep, dark waters of the Monongahela. • • o Lee Tannehill, who played third base With Jones’ world champions in 1906, is playing third for South Bend in the Central league. ♦ ♦ •

Ed Walsh attempted a comeback for the Chicago White Sox in a game of the Washington series. He started well, but that was all. • • • The Cardinals have signed a rook pitcher entitled “Mule” Watson. “Mule” Is a promising young pitcher, barring a slight tendency to balk. Those Giants are anything but devils In their own home town. They haven’t won enough games on the Polo grounds this season to save their franchise. • * • If big league teams were given traveling accommodations according to their standing, the Athletics would be sent around the circuit by parcel post. • « • The Mackmen do not seem to be able to stand prosperity. After making a pretty fair spurt a couple of weeks ago they have now subsided, and do not seem to give anyone much of a battle. t , * * • . Same Jones, the pitcher Carrigan got from the Cleveland club as part of the price of Speaker, has not been doing much for the Red Sox. Jones says he is being kept In shape for the world’s aeries nqxt fall.

BATTLE OF BUSKERS

Honus Wagner tells this one on Artie Butler and Jimmy Viox: "Before Butler was traded to the St. Louis Cardinals he played short for Pittsburgh. Arthur and Viox had a keen battle for a regular infield berth. One game Butler played short, Viox second. Artie fell chasing a Texas leaguer. Next day he slipped on a wet field. “ ‘Down again,’ remarked Viox, sarcastically. “A few days later a ball took a bad bound, hit Viox In the mouth, knocked two teeth out and put Jimmy on his back. “ ‘Who’s down now, you fresh busher?’ blurted Butler. “ ‘Yes, I’m down, but I was knocked down,’ replied Viox. ‘I didn’t fall down, like you.’ ”

STARS IN BROOKLYN’S SPURT

Mowrey and Olson, Cast-Off Veterans, Playing Brilliant Ball In Robinson’s Infield. The Brooklyn Superbas, who seem to be the best bet to date in the National league, are upsetting lots of good dqpe by playing fast and snappy ball in spite of the several veterans on their pay roll. Wilbert Robinson is highly pleased with the showing made so far this season by his boys, and affirms that they

Ivan Olson.

are now started toward the pennant in Much of the pep shown by the Superbas should be credited to Mike Mowrey and Ivan Olson, two veteran Infielders, who have been even castoffs and yet who are skipping about the Infield for Brooklyn with a great show of spirits. Much- of the enlivenment of the rest of the team may be attributed to Mowrey and Olson, who have put almost everyone right up on his toes. Mike Mowrey is also hitting the ball regularly and is climbing toward the .300 mark. Jake Daubert has been leading the league at the bat and playing his fastest game around first. Zack Wheat, Stengel and Hi Myers In the outfield have given the Brooklyn pitchers the

Mike Mowrey.

most thorough support, though their hitting has not burned up the league. The catching staff, however, has been coming across with some nice, reliable stickwork. McCarty, Miller and Meyers all producing hits that were more timely than brilliant.

PREPARATION FOR MAN’S LIFE

Director of Physical Education at Uni. versity of Kansas Lauda Game of Baseball. “Baseball is the greatest preparation for a man's life that can be indulged in,” said Dr. James Naismith, director of physical education at the University of Kansas, recently. “The sport trains a player to be observant and to have self-control. It also trains the memory. If I had my way about it, I would have diamonds where at least 20 teams could play every day at the university.” Doctor Naismith pointed out that the keen ban player usual-