Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 202, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 23 August 1916 — Page 2

The Red Mirage

A Story of the French Legion in Algiers

CHAPTER XXlll—Continued. — 22 — Goetz von Berllchingen lifted bimBelf on his elbow. Tbe bard-lined face was shrunken with suffering. “If I might speak to you— alone —my general?” “By all means.” He bent lower. The staff, watching impatiently, saw him start and then slip his arm beneath the dying bead. “It shall be as you wish.” General Meunier unclasped the cross from his own uniform and laid it gently on the shattered breast. “The Legion is proud of you—comrade." Goetz von Berllchingen frowned. The fast-glazing eyes lit up for one instant with a flash of the old arrogance. He thrust the order Impatiently aside. “It was for the Englishman —my friend—” He fell back. His face became a mask. But about the mouth there hovered a smile of an inscrutable peace.

CHAPTER XXIV. The Oasis. He had said good-by. He stood now at the door and looked at her with the sad reluctance of a man who is about to turn his back forever on a wellloved picture. . “I shall not trouble you again, Gabrielle,” he said gently; “Our ways lie in different worlds. I have not deserved much comfort of you. I spoiled, my own life and I did my best to spoil yours. There is only one consolation that I can take with me—the knowledge that I failed.” “Yes—you failed.” She sat by the rickety hotel writing table, her chin resting on her hand, her eyes fixed absently on the half-finished letter before her. “You are not to worry about that, Stephen. Lives are not so easily ruinfed.” “I should like to think that you could

She Heard the Door Close Softly. Ho Had Gone.

forget me—that the shadow had passed away and left no trace. I should like to know you—happy.” “I am happy.” Still he waited, watching her with hungry wistful intentness. “You "will go back to England.” “Yes, I think so.” “Farquhar is worthy of you. You will begin a new life. If I could I would pray for your happiness together. “I thank you, Stephen.” She heard the door close softly. He bad gone. She felt as though with his passing the curtain had dropped upon the first great act of her life. And now A new act was to begin—a lonelier one. He had taken with him his own dream of it; she knew that he would cling to her phantom happiness as to a last o»mfort, and she had had no heait io tear it from him. All happiness is mirage. But to the dreamer the dream is reality. He would sleep in peace. She went on writing. It was very quiet in the little room. The drowsy hush of midday seemed to creep in through the half-open shutters on rays of sunshine which shifted slowly till they rested on the sheet of closely-written paper. She covered her face with her hands as though dazzled. In the peaceful silence there was a sound like a smothered cry of pain. The door leading into the inner room opened and closed. She lifted her head and went on writing. Her band shook, hut when Farquhar stood beside her «be looked up, and her face was white and tearless. > “It is nearly finished,” he said almost beneath his breath. “She Is trying to ask for you.” “I will come at once.” . i L "Wait one moment. I wanted to leave them alone together for a little, pfou understand?” ... ‘

By I. A. R. WYLIE

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

“Yes, of course.” Both were silent She studied him wistfully. Without the ragged beard and in these clothes he seemed once more the man as she had known him in the London days—the reckless, headstrong soldier, without restraint, without fear. Only as she looked closer she saw the grave ennobling lines which men gather on the road through suffering. Suddenly he lifted his eyes to hers. They puzzled, almost frightened her in their dogmatic composure. “My father goes south tonight with the troops,” he said. “He will suppress the risings and make treaties, and the work on his great road will be finished. That is his own wish. We have spoken together and I have understood, as I know you will. We have each to work out our own salvation in o'Ur own way. Out there In the desert he may find peace.” “And you?” “My pardon and release were confirmed an hour ago. It was his own request, and they could not refuse. In a few weeks I shall go back to England. My father has given me the rough memoranda of his plans. I shall work them out in detail —if possible to perfection. They will be offered in due course to the government. I hope that even now I may serve my country.” “I know you will.” The old fire flashed into her voice, but she did not look at him. She felt the piercing eyes on her face; they seemed to reach the innermost thought in her. They silenced an empty phrase that she was forcing to her lips. “Perhaps I am disturbing you,” he said abruptly. “You are writing letters?” “Yes.” “To whom?” She looked up with a touch of fierce defiance. “Have you a right to ask?” “I don’t know —I am afraid —” “Of whom —of what?” “Of you—of my happiness.” She was silent an Instant, battling with weakness. “The letter is to you, Richard.” “May I read it?” “Not now.”

He took it from her, and she did not resist. The roughness in his voice and manner shook her as' no gentleness, no pleading could have done. This man was indeed afraid, and this fear, linked with that great strength of purpose, was at once terrible and pathetic. She did not move, and he read the letter to the end in silence. Then he tore it deliberately across and across, and the pieces fluttered to the ground. “I know all that—l guessed it,” he said brutally. “Yet out there on the plateau you told me that you loved me.” She rose and faced him. “I do love you,” she said firmly. “I am not ashamed to tell you so —even now, for love like mine cannot hurt you. But in those days it was all different I believed that we were equals —that we were two outcasts who had erred, not meanly or wickedly, but recklessly, and that we were fighting our way back to the thing we had lost. You were my comrade in exile, and I was yours. That was what I believed. But it was not true. You had lost nothing—and now you^.exile is over.” “And so you meant to desert me? Had fate not brought me back here, I should have had to hunt the world over for you.” “I thought that you would under-, stand—that it was just.” “What? That when I was dying, hunted and friendless, a veritable worthless scamp, as you believed, you condescended to love me, to go forward shoulder to shoulder with me and make life worth Hying. Now that I have come into my own, that I appear more worthy of happiness, I am to be left to march the desert alone. Is that jus-

tice?” “Richard!” “Haven’t I had enough of the desert —haven’t you had enough? If you leave me now—” His voice steadied. He smiled wryly. “I’m not threatening, dear. By this time I have learned your lesson; there shan’t be any more throwing down of weapons. Whatever happens—whether you standby me or not —I shall go on. But it will be a hard going on —and it might have been a glory.” She turned to him with a gesture of helpless pain. “Richard—my dear—don’t you understand? It is fear of dimming that glory that drives me away from you. What am I? What should Ibe to you? A drag—a heavy burden. Even if I would I cannot go back into the old life. The world has passed judgment on the woman I was—the doors are shut against her. Only insignificant little Gabrielle Smith can go her way in peace.” “I care nothing for the world’s judgment.” he interrupted quietly. “Nor do you. If there Is anything behind those closed doors worth having—which I doubt—we shall batter them in. And it is not to the woman who was that I am speaking. Ido not ask her to go back anywhere. I ask her to go on with the life which we began to-

TIIE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, INP.

gether two years ago when she helped a desperate. Intoxicated boy up Mrs. Ferrier’s stairs —incidentally back to reason and self-respect. From that night we have been comrades.” The grim laughter in his eyes faded. He held out his band as though to take hers, then let it drop, leaving her free. “And from that night I have loved Gabrielle Smith,” he went on gently. “That was something you did not quite realize when you meant to leave me. Under one shape or another I have loved you all my life. Only when you first came I did not recognize you. You hid behind the little gray shadow of yourself and I followed the mirage over the desert. And I suffered badly —until I found you, the reality of all I believed in—the oasis. Do you think I am going to let you turn me out Into the loneliness and desolation? You know that I shall not, Gabrielle.” He paused an Instant, watching her. He saw the light dawn behind the mist of pain, and then he took hes hands and held them with a joyful strength. “You saved my life twice,” he said. “And you saved something greater than my life —my faith. That is a bond be tween us no one—not even you—can break. We belong to each other as a man* and woman belong to each other perhaps once in a generation. You dare not deny a union so glorious, so sanctified.” She looked at him wtth steady radiant eyes.' “Do you believe that?” “As you do.” “I have not dared to believe until now.” ~ V,And now?” “You have given me courage to believe my own heart, Richard.” He did not. kiss her or, for a moment, speak. Yet what then passed between them was beyond words, above all tenderness. He led her at last toward the inner room. “Come with me now, Gabrielle.” Within the hush had deepened. All life, all feeling seemed to draw together an awed expectancy about the little figure lying quietly in the midst of the great bed. Even the wig, still 'awry, could not take from the peaceful dignity of the small tired face beneath. A hand, heavily jeweled, rested on the shoulder of a man who knelt beside her. Her eyes had been closed as Gabrielle and Farquhar entered. They opened now and passed from one to the other. In that moment they looked very blue—almost young. She tried to speak and instead smiled faintly, apologetically, with a touch of wry self-mockery that passed, leaving only the quiet happiness. As though grown suddenly weary, the jeweled hand slipped from the man’s shoulder, and he took it and bowed his head upon it. “In a little while, my wife —a little while.”

Her eyes closed in peaceful assent. They did not open again. To those watching it seemed that the room had grown darker. A little half-drawn sigh hovered on the silence and then drifted out on a ray of sunshine into the full daylight ENVOY. Close by the barracks of the Foreign Legion there is a little garden and beyond the garden a kind of chapel. Within are many relics of a glorious past. On the walls are the pictures of the great dead. It is the Legion’s Holy Ground. Colonel Destinn entered for the last time. Outside, beyond the garden, he could hear the tramp of feet and the gay call of a bugle. Here everything was peace. Deep shadows hid the watching portraits, but in the midst, on either hand of the raised coffin, two great candles threw their light into the darkness and bn the two men who, with drawn swords and sightless eyes, kept guard. They wore dark uniforms which the little chapel had never seen, and the coffin was hidden by a stranger’s flag. Colonel Destinn drew softly nearer to where a woman heavily veiled, knelt in prayer. Before her were two wreaths. One bore an imperial crown, i the other a simple inscription — “To Our Comrade —Goetz von Berlichingen.” As Destinn approached the veiled woman looked up. He stood quietly beside her. “Your highness, he died bravely. He was worthy of his race.” “I thank you, colonel.” He left her. He went out again into the evening sunshine. An orderly held his horse in readiness and four hundred men marked time to the strong rhythm of the Legion’s war song. He swung himself into the saddle. “In column —forward—march!” They swung out of, the gates—out into the road. Half Sidi-bel-Abbes ran at their heels. On the outskirts the general with his suite waited to give them Godspeed. “Return in honor, my children!” The band crashed out a triumphant answer. Colonel Destinn’s swotd sank in farewell. “Toujours, ma foi, le sac au dos —” Singing, they left the glitter of Rights and the sound of the town’s joyous hubbub behind them. Colonel Destinn rode on alone. No man spoke to him. There was on his face a grave and peaceful knowledge. And before him lay the desert and the night shadows, which were but a promise of another day. THE END.

Parcel Post Carries Live Hen.

On the rural free delivery route in Harwinton, Conn., a woman sent a live hen by parcel post to a neighbor living about a mile away. The carrier weighed the hen and canceled the stamps to the amount of 8 cents and took the hen to its destination. The hen laid an egg in the mail bag en route.

FANS COMPARE COBB WITH OTHER CRACKS

Jn Chicago and Cleveland the fans insist on comparing Cobb with their star and predicting that the Peach will meet his master this season for the first time since he fought his way to the top. In Chicago Joe Jackson is the fellow the bugs pick to beat Ty. and in Cleveland it is Speaker. St. Louis has Sisler, the Athletics have Larry Lajoie and the Washington fans are still sweet on Clyde Milan.

IS FAST BECOMING VETERAN

Jack Barry of Red Sox Starts on Ninth Year in Major League Harness— Star at Short. Jack Barry of the Red Sox is fast becoming a veteran of the big leagues. This is Jack’s ninth year in big league harness. Jack went from Holy Cross college to the Athletics and for a half dozen years was the brilliant short field artist on Connie Mack’s team. He was one of the important cogs in that great baseball machine which Mack built up and which for several seasons

Jack Barry.

was supreme in baseball. Since he went to the Red Sox a couple of seasons ago Jack has played the second bag. Recently he was put out of the game through an accident and Mike McNally was substituted to fill the keystone position. If the latter shows up well he may replace the veteran at the second bag.

JOHNSON HAS CORRECT IDEA

Falsely Advertising Star Player in Effort to Pad Box Office Receipts Is Displeasing. Ban Johnson has the right idea in trying to break up the practice of falsely advertising a star player in an effort to pad the gate receipts, but he is picking on the wrong club as the horrible example, writes Harry Keck in Pittsburgh Post. The recent advertising of a Covaleskie vs. Covaleskie pitching duel which was not staged, or some other similar occurrence, is more like the thing Ban should get at. Another abuse along the same lines is the carrying by a club of a high-priced beauty for weeks before sending him into a game, thereby leaving it up to the fans to presume that he will be used almost any day. This has been done time after time when it was clear to everybody that the big idea was to use that particular player as a box office attraction as long as possible without working him. Yet no one ever started a rumpus in these instances. Such practices are not fair to the fans. In fact, some of them smack of deliberate misrepresentation and if Ban Johnson can curb them* he will be given the united thanks of the baseball public and not in his own league alone. <

IDOLS OF THE BIG LEAGUES.

Speaking of breaks, the pitcher that gets them seldom cracks. ** * . Rain may give the players a day off, but anything gives some teams an off day. * * * The way Jim Thorpe is going indicates he is ambitious to get back under the big tent. * * * With George Tyler -in midseason shape, the pitching staff of the Braves is much stronger. * * * Now that numbering ball players is all the craze, some of them should wear a big cipher. * * * Fifns in Boston have given up hope of having another world’s series ticket scandal next October. * * * Those New York Giants, knocked on all sides for thWr poor showing of late, are playing under “raps.” * * * A 22-inning baseball game was played at Rock Island, 111., the other day. Even the fans had enough. * * * “Davey” Robertson, right fleldpr of the Giants, is leading the National league batting by a comfortable margin. * * * Pitcher Jimmy Middleton of Louisville has been watched by Scout O’Hare of the Cubs, and may be signed. ,» * * There are still several released pitchers in these United States who haven’t yet been signed by the Detroit Tigers. * ■* * Starting the baseball season on May 1 would have saved a lot of postponements in April, but it wouldn’t have helped much in June. * * * Anyway, the Giants are good for a .500 average. can lose all of their games oh the home lot and win ’em all away from home. * * * Nap Lajoie still looks good around the middle cushion, even though he is pastiming between the sensational Witt and the rapid first-sacker, McInnis. * * * Miller Huggins is making a first baseman out of Roger Hornsby and says the youngster is as clever as an all-around man as Sisler of the Browns. * • * Slim Love, the six-foot seven-inch southpaw of the Yankees, is an unlucky bird. He has just recovered from malaria only' to be stricken with matrimony. * * * Rudy Hulswitt quit his job as manager of the Columbus (O.) team because of its long losing Connie Mack has no sympathy for such chicken-hearted persons. * * * Fifteen major league club owners called their scouts in the office and unmercifully panned them for overlooking that wonderful National league rookie, one Hal Chase. • • • The Vernon club has put a price of $4,b00 On the contract of Swede Risberg, with the proviso that the club which buys him must let hiqj finish tiie present season with Vernon. * * * About time to start building another bridge across the East river foi* the accommodation of the crowds anxious to see the world’s series between the Robins and Yanks.

NOTES of the DIAMOND

PFEFFER IS CLIMBING

Dodget* Twirler Trying to Duplicate Feat of Alexander. He Is Out Beyond Philly Star, Mamaux and All Others —Manager Robinson Believes Him to Be Greatest of Pitchers. Big Ed Pfeffer of the Dodgers i* trying to duplicate the feat of. Grover Cleveland Alexander. Last year Alex, the Great pitched the Philadelphia club Into a pennant. Pfeffer is actively engaged in an endeavor to accomplish thesame thing for Brooklyn this year. Big Ed is leading the National league burlers now. He is out beyond Alexander, Mamaux, Anderson and all the rest. Wilburt Robinson, manager of the Dodgers, believes that Pfeffer Is ns. great a pitcher as there is in baseball. He does not concede that Alexander or even Walter Johnson has anything on the Brooklyn left-hander this year. Pfeffer has been a good pitcher ever since he broke into the National league. Only Alexander, Mamaux and Toney were ranked ahead of him last year. He won 19 games and lost 14, and allowed an average of .209 runs per fame. ' , The Dodger star had a better record In 1914, his first season in Brooklyn. That year he won 23 and lost 12 and only allowed .197 runs per game. Pfeffer stands six feet three Inches high and weighs 210 pounds. He Is twenty-seven years old and was born In Champaign, HI. He began his career at La Crosse in. the Minnesota-Wisconsin league in 1909. Then he went to Fort Wayne

Ed Pfeffer.

in the Central league. In 1911 he was bought by the St. Louis Americans, but turned back to Fort Wayne. In September, 1911, after a season at Fort Wayne, during which he won 10 and lost five games, Pfeffer was bought by Denver. He worked in five games for the Colorado city in the spring of 1912, and was sent back to Fort Wayne, which club truded him to Grand Rapids. In 1913 Pfeffer won 25 and lost eight games for Grand Rapids. That fall he was drafted by Brooklyn. His success vrith the Dodgers was instantaneous. He was the pitching sen sation of 1914. He bids fair to have the best season of his career this year. His object is to duplicate the feat of Alexander, and pitch his club into a pennant.

BIGGEST OF MINOR LEAGUES

American Association .Offering Its Patrons High-Class of Ball—Toledo and St. Paul Help. Time was when the old Eastern league, known now as the International, boasted and backed up the boast of having the fastest circuit in the minors, writes Jack Veioch in Indianapolis Times. Later on the Pacific Coast league came to the front with the claim that it was but a half step out of the class of the majors, and perhaps it was, for, it is notable that many of the stars of the big leagues today are graduates of the far western circuit. But now it is the American Association’s turn to do a bit of boasting. Despite the sact 1 that the Federal league hit the association almost as hard as it hit the International league, Chivington’s combination is today playing better ball; the magnates are willing to go to greater expense to build ijp clubs and the talk of anything that resembles a salary limit in this man’s circuit is pure bunk. Today the association is the biggest of all the minor leagues, and the class of ball It is offering its patrons is in reality only a short step from the big show. The rejuvenation of the Toledo club and new spirit and finances injected into the St. Paul Club ha\e helped the A. A. wQpderfully. It is reasonable to believe that the club owners fed that they can afford to take greater financial risks, for they do not expect another baseball war for a period of ten years at the least, and in that time they should be able to~ build up their bank rolls to a point where they will not have to worry.