Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 220, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 13 September 1916 — Page 2

The IDYL of TWIN FIRES by WALTER PRICHARD EATON

BYNOPBI9. —7— I rrow tired of my work u » college Instructor and* buy a New England farm An «leht. I lnapect my farm and go to board at Bert Temple’s. Bert helps im to blre- a carpenter and a farmer. Ha Erft?ee PIOW Ha g rd '<&? ISSTiround the twin fireplace*. Mrs. assswsr a°ffi rtf n. new boarder from New YorK, a nan •ick young woman who needs the country Sir. 7 I discover that Stella Goodwin wllII make a delightful companion and believe she ought not to return to the hot and dusty city for a long time.

~ Barring the love-at-first-sight theory, do you believe a man and woman of Intelligence and self-restraint know whon the beginning aymptoms of love for one another come? Is It simply the blossoming of friendship or is it the awakening of desire—both spiritual and physlcatflasire?

CHAPTER Vl—Continued.

“He will sing tomorrow,” said I. Her eyes twinkled once more. ‘‘Perhaps be has that terrible disease, ‘sudden indisposition,’" she laughed. “Come, we must go home to supper. It will take me hours to get clean.” Out In the open, she looked at her hands. “See, I’ve begun to get calluses, too!” she exclaimed, holding out her palms proudly. “You’ve got blisters,” said I. “No work for you tomorrow! Let me see. I touched her hand, as we paused beneath a blossoming apple tree, with the fragrance shedding about us. Our eyes met, too, as I did so. She drew her hand back gently, as the color came to her cheeks. We walked on in silence, as far as the pump. Mike had finished milking, and had gone home. The «table was closed. Inside we could hear the animals stamp. Suddenly I put , my head under the pump spout, and asked her to work the handle. Laughing, she did so,' and as I raised my ■dripping head I saw her standing with the low western sun full upon her, her eyes laughing into mine, her nose and lips provocative, her plain blouse waist open at the throat so that I could see the gurgle of laughter rise. “Why did you do that?” she asked, arrested, perhaps, by something in my gaze. “Because,” I answered, “there’s a ghost lives In this well, and maybe with your aid I shall pump it out” “Don’t you like the ghost?" she said. “Very much,” said I, as we climbed the slope to Bert’s. That evening Mrs. Bert sent her off to bed, and I tolled cheerfully at my manuscripts till the unholy hour of eleven.

CHAPTER VII.

Picking Paint and a Quarrel. The next morning at breakfast a •burned nose confronted me across the table, and the possessor ruefully regarded her sore palms. “No work for you today,” said I. “You will just have to pick out colors for me. The painters are coming.” I spoke as if we were old friends. I spoke as If it were the most natural thing in the world for a young woman to accompany a young man to his house and pick out paint for him. I spoke, also, as if I bad never cursed the prospect of petticoats that advise. So soon can one pair of eyes undo our prejudices, and so easily are the conventions forgotten, in the natural life of the country—at least by such persons as never were much bothered by them, anyhow! s Evidently they had never greatly troubled Miss Goodwin, or she was not disposed to let them trouble her now, for ten minutes later we went down the road together, and found the painters already unloading their wagon. The reliable Hard Cider, true to his word, had procured .them for me, which, as I afterward have discovered, was something of a feat in Bentford, where promises are more common than fulfillment.

"Now,” said I, Tin not going to pa : per any rooms if I can help it. I want the walls calcimined. What color shall it be?” I turned toward Miss Goodwin as I spoke. She shook her head. "I’m not going to say a word,” she answered. “This Is your room.” ' “I suppose you want the woodwork white?” painter suggested: “These old mantels, for instance.” "Cream white, not dead white,” paid 1. "Wait a minute.” I ran to the shed li i mi brought back two more of my pictures. "Now,” said I, “the walls have got (to set off both these pictures, and books

besides. They’ve got to be neutral. I want a greenish, brownish, yellowish olive, with the old beam in the center of the celling in the same key, only a bit darker.” The girl and the painter both laughed. “You are so definite,” said she. "But I want an indefinite tint,” I replied. Again she laughed, though the painter looked puzzled. “I’ll get my colors.” he said. He mixed an olive tint, laid a streak of it on the plaster, and something emerged which looked right to me. We went into the little hall, where the front door stood open, and we could see Hard on a ladder mending the beautiful carved doorcap outside. “This hall the same color,” said I, “with the rails of the baluster in the cream white of the trim.” We went into the northeast room and the dining room behind it. ~. “Sam&color here '/’’asked the painter. I was about to answer yes, when Miss Goodwill spoke. “I should think you’d want these rooms lighter in color," she said, “as they face the north.”

“The lady’s right,” said the painter. “They always ate.” I smiled. "You two-fix up the color for this room, then. We can decide on the other rooms after these downstairs are done.” “No,” cried the girl, “I won’t do anything of the kind! You might not like what I picked.” “Incredible!” said I. “I’ve really got to get to work outside now.” And I ran off, leaving her looking a little angrily, I thought, after me. I was so impatient to see how my lawn was going to look that I went to the shed to hunt up a dummy sundia! post. In a loft under the eaves I saw

I Found Myself Wishing Miss Goodwin Were There.

the dusty end of what looked like a Doric pillar poking out. I dragged the heavy column down, sawed off the upper four feet carefully, anti took my pedestal around to the lawn. Midway between the trellis and where the edge of my pergola was to be I placed the pillar. Then I took out my knife and thrust the blade lightly in at an angle, to simulate the dial marker, aud turned to call Miss Goodwin. v But she was already standing In the door. “Oh!” she cried, running lightly down the plank and across the ground, “a sundial already, and a real pedestal! Come away from it a little, and see how it seems to focus all the sunlight. We stood off near the house, and looked at the white column in midlawn. It did indeed seem to draw in the sunlight to this level spot before the' dwelling, even though it rose from the brown earth instead of rich greensward, and even though beyond it was but the unsightly, half-finished, naked trellis. Even as we watched, a,bird came swooping across the lawn, alighted on my knife handle, and began to carol.

“Oh, the darling!” cried Miss Goodwin. “He understands!” * I was very well content. I had Unexpectedly found a pedestal, and was experiencing for the first time the real sensation of garden warmth and intimacy and focused light which a sundial, rightly placed, can bring. I did not speak, and presently beside me I heard a voice saying, "But I forgot that I am angry at you.” “Why?” I asked. "Because you had no right to leave me to pick out the paint for dining room,” said she. i • ■

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, IND.

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“Why not?” said I. “Y6u picked out the name of my house and the styls of the rose trellis.” “That was different,*’ she replied. “I don’t see why.” “Then you are extremely stupid,” she answered. “Doubtless,” said I. •“But that doesn’t help me any to understand, you know.” “Come,” she replied, “and see if the paint suits you. Then I must go home and write some letters,” I went back to my sundial, between two rows of cauliflower plants Bert had given to me, and which Mike had set out thus early for an experiment, between threads of sprouting radishes, lines of onion sets, and other succulent evidences of the season to come. As I marked out the beds around the pedestal, I found myself wishing Miss Goodwin were there to advise me. By then the hour was nearly twelve, and consequently too late to spade it under, so .1, plodded up the road to dinner. As I passed my potato -field, I saw rows of green shoots above the ground, and out under my lone pine I saw a figure, sitting in the shadow on the stone wall. I climbed through the brambles over the wall, and walked down the aisles of potatoes toward her. “It is time for dinner,” I said meekly. She looked up. “Is it? I have been listening to the old pine talk.” “What was he saying?” I asked. “Things you wouldn't understand," said she. < “About words in ‘hy’?” She shook her head. “Not at all; nothing quite so stupid—but nearly as saddening.” She rose to her feet, and her eyes looked into mine, enigmatically wistful. “I missed you after you went away from Twin Fires,” said I suddenly. *‘l don’t know whether I got the sundial beds right or not. Won’t you pleas® come back to tell me? Or am I stupid again, and mustn’t you advise me about that?” Her eyes twinkled a little. “You are still very stupid.” she said, “but perhaps I will consent to give my invaluable advlfle on this important subject.” “Good!” I cried. “And we’ll build some more trellis If your hands are better.” “My hands are all right,” she said, with the faintest emphasis on the noun, which made a variety of perplexing interpretations possible and kept me silent as I helped her over the wall into Bert’s great cauliflower field, and Vc tramped through the soft soli toward the house.

I Write a Sonnet. After dinner stie approved the sundial beds with a mock-judicial gravity, and then she went at the trellis, working with a kind of impersonal nervous intensity that troubled me, I didn’t quite know why. She said, with a brief laugh, it was because she had suggested the structure, and she could never rest till any job she had undertaken was completed. “You live too hard,” said L “That’s the trouble with most of us nowadays. We are overcivilized. We don’t know how to take things easy, because w« have the vague idea of so many other things to be done always crowding across the threshold of our consciousness." “Perhaps,” she answered. “The ‘J* words, for instance, if they get ‘l’ done before my return. Thank heaven, ‘J* hasn’t contributed so many words to science ag ‘Hy’!” "Forget the dictionary!” I cried. “You are going to gtay here a long time —till these roses bloom, or at any rate till the sundial beds have come to flower. Besides, there’ll be a lot of things about my house where your advice cannot be spared.” She darted a quick look at me, and tutned back to the trellis, where she was nailing on strips. She did not speak, and when I came over to face her, with a post for the next arch, I savf that her half away, blinking her eyelids hard bit her lip, then picked up the level and set it with a slhack 'against the post. I put my hand over hers—both our hands were dirty!—and said* “What is the matter? Are you tired?” “Please, please —level this post,” sba replied. “Are you tired?” “No, I’m not tired. I’m a fool. Coma, we must finish the arch!”

CHAPTER VIII.

I* It time for the hero to propose? Is Stella playing a little game to awaken his sympathy and lead him on to fie entanglements of love?

(TO B 3 CONTINUED^

The Modem System

By C. H. REEVES

(Copyright, 1916, by W. G. Chapman.)

Mr. Sampson Waters glared at pretty Miss Jones, the new employee in the haberdashery department of the great Fitton store. Miss Jones had been at work a week, and Mr. Waters had taken a decided liking to her. After gallantly promising her to see that the road was made easy for her, he had ventured on a familiarity when they found themselves alone in the doorway for a moment Now the tingle of pretty Miss Jones’.hand across his cheek smarted still. ' . Waters was the superintendent of the haberdashery department, and the dreaded tyrant of all the girls. They knew that their positions were ht the man's mercy. Nobody had so much Influence with Fitton as he. A word was as good as a command, it was said.

-» Fitton had never run his store very successfully. He had inherited it, which was the principal reason. He leaned more and more on his employees. He was an old man, and when his daughter, now at Vassar, came to the ownership—well, Mr. Waters smiled. He expected the general managership of the sales department. And Fitton had as good as promised it to him. There were stories about him, concerning. Nelly Gregg, who had disappeared from the store a year before. One of the girls hadseen her on Broadway late at night, and Nelly had shrunken from her and hurried away. That Waters was a married man was known, and the girls often speculated what sort of woman had been Willing to take him. Of course, the man was at his ease among the rowdy element, but many a

“I'll Go With You to Coney.”

modest girl shrank from the thought of attracting him. And Mr. Waters felt particularly vicious toward Miss Jones. He went up to her that evening, just before closing time. “I want to speak to you,” he said. Miss Jones put down her account book and waited patiently. “I guess you weren’t feeling well this morning, kiddo,” he said. “That was a pretty raw thing you did. I wouldn’t stand it from anyone but you. How about Coney tomorrow night?” “I don’t know what you are talking about," said Miss Jones, turning scarlet with indignation. “Well, then, I’ll explain,” said Waters, leaning heavily upon the counter. “Mr. Fitton thinks a good deal of me in this store. He doesn’t care what goes on so long as the sales keep up to the mark. He leaves me to keep them up in any way I think best. And what I say goes with hiih. Get that?” ' Miss Jones nodded. “Got anybody to take care of you?” pursued Mr. Waters. “Living at home or alone?” “If you mean that as a question,” answered thtffgirl, “I live at home with my father, and he supports me.” “Well, six dollars wouldn’t go very far,” answered Mr. Waters thoughtfully. “Still, I guess you’d hate to go hope and tell the old man you’d lost your job, wouldn’t you?” “I certainly should,” answered Miss Jones. “Now you’re talking sense,” said Mr. Waters. “WelJ, then, I want lively girls in my department. And not little spitfires. So you’d best make up with me and come to Coney tomorrow night, and I’ll give you a good time, kid. What?” Miss Jones bit her lip and reflected. “I’m sorry for what I did this morning.” she said penitently. “And Til go with you to Coney.” “Now you’re talking sense,” said the manager, mollified. He glanced quickly ah«jt him. “Let’s kiss and make up," he added. Miss Jones extended him a frigid cheek, but Mr. Waters seized her face in his hands and kissed her on the lips. He saw her eyes fill with tears and ■mled approvingly.

"You’re a little peach, girlie,” he said. “I’ll wait for you at the aide door at seven tomorrow.” At seven o’clock he met Miss Jonee as by appointment and escorted her to the surface car. “We’ll get supper put there,” he said. “Lobsters and beer. Then we’ll take in the shows.” All the way down to Coney he congratulated himself upon his partner. Miss Jones was well bred, there was no doubt of that. She was in a class by herself. He began to anticipata an enjoyable summer. “What’s that umbrella for?” he demanded. “Why, it might rain, you know,” faltered Miss Jones. Mr. Waters roared with laughter. “Yes, and it may snow, or hail,” he mimicked. “Say, if you ain’t the limit I But I guess I’ll educate you." They had supper together at a flashy restaurant, filled with overdressed youths and girls. Under the stimulus of the beer Waters became exuberant In his professions of admiration, and he hardly noticed that Miss Jones only tasted hers.

“Now for the shows,” he said. “Scenic railroad first, kid. I’ll show you something.” They entered a car and shot down a declivity Into a dark tunnel. Mr. Waters seized Miss Jones in his arms and clasped her to him, while he kissed her again and again. When they emerged into the light he saw that she was crying. She clutched her umbrella tightly. “Well, of all the dead sports!” he exclaimed. “You’d carry that umbrella to your wedding, I guess, Dorothy.” Miss Jones returned no answer. They took in a number of other shows. “I must be going home now,” said the girl, as they passed the terminal. Mr. Waters laughed. “Come and have a whisky,” he said. “It’ll cheer you up. Say, what’s the matter? You look as If this was -your funeral.” “My father will wonder where I am,” faltered the girl. “Ah, cut it out,” said Waters. “Say, Dorothy—” and he whispered something in her ear. The girl turned and looked at him fixedly. In the Intense light, among the moving crowds, they might have been alone, for none noticed them, each person was bent upon his own amusements.

“It’ll be all right,” coaxed Mr. Waters. “I took to you from the first minute I saw you, kiddo. I said to myself, ‘that girl’s a good-looker if ever there was one. And she needs a protestor.’ Them fellows at the store are a pretty tough lot! Now, if you treat me right I’ll treat you right, I swear. My wife’s going to leave me —yes, I knew you’d heard about her from those old hens behind the counter. They’re always ready to stick a knife into a feller. Anyway, she’s goinjf to leave me, the Lord be praised, and I’ll do the right thing by you just as soon as I can get the divorce. What do you say, girlie?” At that moment, before Miss Jones could answer, an elderly gentleman, with a scholarly look, which would have made it almost impossible to identify him with the ownership of a department store, came slowly toward them from the crowd. Mr. Waters cursed under his breath. It was Mr. Fitton. “Say, there’s the boss,” he whispered to the girl. “Be a good sport, kid, and play up to me.” “Good evening, Waters,” said Mr. Fitton casually. “Seeing the sights?” “Yes, sir,” said the manager. “I came down to have a look about me,” said Mr. Fitton, watching Miss Jones rather Intently, and then looking inquiringly at Waters. “My sister-in-law, sir,” said Waters. “Came up to town from Pennsylvania this morning, and the wife asked me to bring her along to Coney and qhow her the sights.” “I am surprised to hear you say that, Waters,” said Mr. Fitton, mildly. “How, sir?” inquired the other, unabashed.

“Because she happens to be my daughter,” returned his employer. ‘Just horde, from Yassar and studying the methods In the store in anticipation of the day when she will take hold.” “I’m going to take hold soon,” said Miss Dorothy. “I’m sorry for what I did to you yesterday, in the doorway, Mr. Waters. I’m sorry I didn’t do more. But I’m going to now.” And before anyone understood what was happening, she had deftly unfolded her umbrella and pulled out a lithe and very interesting horsewhip. “Great Caesar!” shouted the manager, putting up his hands. “Don’t use that on me. I’m sorry, Miss Fitton. If I’d have known who you were—” Whir! The lash colled itself about his legs, and he leaped and yelled with agony. Instantly a crowd gathered about them. Whir! It descended on t*be manager’s back and shoulders. Waters turned to fly, but the erod'd,’ shouting approvingly, barred nis way. The way the girl plied the lash was something to be remembered, everyone agreed. In half a minute Waters was rolling on the ground in agony. And the lash never ceased till Waters tainted from sheer pain and terror. Then Miss Dorothy broke the butt across nis shoulders and left him. “You see, father, dear, it takes modern methods to run a department store," she explained to the old gentleman, who had reluctantly agreed to meet her there that evening. And, escorted by a cheering throng* their auto rolled away. '

Practical Preference.

“Darling, I love you so much I would gladly die for you.” “That’s very nice.of you, George, but It wouldn't do me any good. I’d so muelj, rather yoii’d make a good living for me thaita glad dying.” „

NO LAWYER NEEDED

FRENCH - CANADIAN VILLAGE SAGE SETTLED QUARREL.

Old Gentleman Not Only Made Frlendt Out of Enemies, but Used Transaction to Help Out Needy Widow.

“No, Fm not get born on de State’! I come here ’bout eighteen year ago from T’ree Reever, Kebec. “Ma fader, he’s dead w’en I’pa seven year ol\ an’ so I’m go for leev on ma gran’fader’s, who’s beeg farmalrer. keep pleat’ cow an’ horse. “Smart ol’ man, too; justice peace, notalre publique, an’ all dat. Not many case go on de lawyaire, I caa tol’ you, eef dey see ma gran’fader firs’. He’s all for keep peace ’mong de neighbor. . “Two mans dey have some leet’t troub’, an’ mebbe got mad queek, aa’ wan of dem start for get de law. “On way for see de lawyaire dis man mebbe has for pass on de house w’ero , ma gran’fader leev, an’ if he’s seo de ol’ man on de houtside, ver* often he’s stop for spik wit’ heem, an’ ’fora he know it he’s tol’ heem .ev’ryt’ing. “De ol’ man he’s not spik mooch, jus’ lissen. Den bimeby, after de man get troo for spik, he mebbe say, ‘Wal, wal, dat’s too bad, Joe. I didn’ t’ink dat could happen after w’at ’Poleon dofor you w’en you’re seeck las’ winter. I don’ gueap he’s so bad feller. Sure dere’s not somet’ing wrong on hot* side, Joe? Better go for see heem, an’ mebbe talk de t’ing over.’ “But of course Joe he’s ver’ mad, an’ say, ‘O, non, non! You bet I don’ go near for see heem no more.’ “Den de ol’ man say, ‘P’r’aps, den. It’s better I did go to see ’Poleon myse’f. Too bad for see good frien’ quarrel dis way.’

“Wal, my gran’fader he go over for see ’Poleon, an’ w’en dey spik leet’P w’ile ’bout de wedder an’ de crop, do ol* man he say, ‘Wat’s all dis troubl’ ’bout you an’ Joe Gallant, ma frien’?j Joe, he’s over to ma place an’ feel ver’‘ bad. T’lnk you don’ was use heem jus’ right. “ ‘Joe’s ver* good feller, leet’l’ rough sometam, but you. ’member how he’s take hees team from plowin’ an’ go roun’ an’ collec’ monee w’en your barn! got burn las’ fall. Spen’ ’ole week in busy tam, an’ got mos’ hun’red dollar for you. Dat’s good neighbor, ’Poleon. But now can you blame eef' he’s not feel so good w’en your seven cow an’ heifer break down de fence an’ tramp hall night hees nice fiel’ of grain? “ ‘Course you forget for feex de fence, but de ol’ cow didn’ forgot to tramp de buckw'eat. “‘W’at you better do? ‘“Wal, I t’ink eef you give to Joe: ten dollar in money, beside feex up< de fence, dat mak’ it hall right.’ “’Poleon hees feel ver’bbaded —de ol* man spik so nice an’ quiet—an’ affer w’ile he say: “ ‘Wal, M’sieu’ Legere, I don’ forgot dose t’ings Joe Gallant do for me, so eef you will take ten dollar over to 1 Joe, I ver’ satisfy.’ “Ma gran’fader he’s tak’ de monee, an’ go w’ere Joe was wait, and say,; ‘Wal, Joe, ’Poleon he’s not so bad fel-l ler, affer all. He’s sen’ dis ten dollar over to you, an’ is start for feex de fence right away. An’ he say dat he’a not forget how you collec’ for heem monee w’en hees barn was burn’. “W’en de ol’ man get troo for spik* Joe he’s feel ver’ mean, an’ say right out, ‘I don’ wan’ dat ten dollar, an’ w’at is more, I tak’ it back to ’Poleon w’en I go home.’ “ ‘O, non, non!’ de ol’ man say. *1 have de ten dollar. Dat’s mine, sure Ping. But for ma share in de leet’l’ troub', I tak’ de monee an’ go buy nice bar’l flour an’ some odder t’lng for poor Mis’ Larue, w’at’s los’ her man las’ mont’, an’ have seex leet’l’ boy for feed. Den I tell her dat’s- from you an’ ’Poleon. Dat’s better dan pay de lawyaire, Joe.’ “Wal, Joe he’s jus’ laugh an’ laugh, an’ w’en he’s got for spik, he’s jump hup an’ shake ma gran’faders han* an’ say, ‘Wal, wal, M’sieu’ Legere, you one fine, fine ol’ man!’ ’’—Youth’s Companion.

Getting Oil From Needles.

Investigations of the yield and tha value of cedar oil obtainable from some of our southern and western trees have been made by the forest service partly; with a view to the possible utilization of waste material left after lumbering in the national forests. In these investigations, longleaf and western yellow pine leaves produce the most promising results, but the needle oils obtained from these pines did not surpass the already firmly established spruce and hemlock oils. The large quantities of needles anff twigs on forest service timber sale areas are not only a sheer waste, but also form a special fire hazard. An increased market for leaf oil would make possible the utilization of some of this waste niaterial.

Optimistic Interpretation.

“You have been accused of being a prevaricator.” "Well,” replied Senator Sorghum, “that sounds hopeful. The fact that they selected so delicate a word indicates that somebody is afraid of me.”

Naturally.

' “Don’t the poor fisherman ever losa money in this seine fishing?” "Oh, no. It is a business in which there are bound to be net profits.”