Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 232, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 September 1916 — Page 2

The IDYL of IWIN FIRES

by WALTER PRICHARD EATON

SYNOPSIS. —l2 I srow tir*a of my work as a college Instructor and buy a New England farm on sight. I inspect my farm and go to board at Bert Temple’s. Bert helps me to hire a carpenter and a farmer. Hard Cider, the carpenter, estimates the repairs and changes necessary on the house. Mike commences plowing. I start to prune the orchard trees. Hard Cider builds bookcases aroand the twin fireplaces. Mrs. Temple hires Mrs. Pllllg for me a* a housekeeper, and announces the coming of a new boarder from New York, a halfsick young woman who needs the country air I discover that Stella Goodwin will make a delightful companion and believe she ought not to return to the hot and dusty etty for a long time. I squeeze her hand slyly. Together we dedicate Twltk Fires.” I surprise her wading in the brook and enjoy a delightful thrill. Mrs. Pllllg, my housekeeper, arrives, with her son Peter and his dog Buster. I wonder If I love her. We take a qutet walk by the brook.

Here's a question for young folks-who are keeping company: If a fellow —who is susceptible to the influences of moonlight, soft music, the smell of lilacs, the sly squeeze of a girl’s hand In the dark, the perfume of her hair, the curve of her*throat—should up and kiss her, even against his own better judgment as a bachelor, is it a sure sign that he is in love and ready for the parson, the ring and the license? You'll enjoy the little scene by the pool which is described In this installment.

CHAPTER Xl.—Continued. John and Stella have been up to see the pool for the last time before she leaves. They are walking hand in hand through the woods. They halt to wait for the thrush to sing.

And then, as -we waited, our eyes meeting, suddenly he sang, far off across the tamaracks, one perfect call, and Bilenee again. Her* face was a glimmering radiance In the dusk. Her hand was warm in mine. Slowly my face sank toward hers, and our lips met—met for an instant when we were not masters of ourselves, when the bird song and the whispering pines wrought their pagan spell upon us. Another instant and she stood away from me, one hand over her mouth, one hand on her panting breast and fright in her eyes. Then, as suddenly, she laughed. It was hardly a nervous laugh. It welled up with the familiar gurgle from her throat. -“John Upton.” she said, “you are a bad man. That wasn’t what the thrush said at all.” “I misunderstood,” said I, recovering more slowly, and astounded by her mood. “I’ll not reproach you, since I, a philologist misunderstood for a second myself,” she responded. “Hark!” There was a sudden sound of steps and crackling twigs In the grove behind us, and Buster emerged up the path, hot on our scent He made a dab with his tongue at my hand, and then fell upon Miss Goodwin. She sank to her knees and began to caress him, •very quickly, so that I could not see her face. “Stella,” said I, “Buster has made a friend of you. That’s always a great compliment from a dog.” She kept her face burled in his neck

Her Eyes Looked Frankly Into Mine.

an' lbstant longer, and then her eves lifted to mine. "Yes—John,” she said. "And now I must go home to pack my trunk." “Let me drive you to the station In the morning,” said I, as we emerged from the grove, in this sudden strange, calm intimacy, when no word bad been spoken, and I, at least, was quite in the dark as to her feelings. ’ She shook her'head. “No, I go too early for you. You—yon musn’t try to see me.” ' ' , 4 For just a second her voice wavered.

copyaioHT «*y ooooceo\v. (v\c>e & CO.

She stopped ‘for a look at Twin Fires. “Nice bouse, nice garden, nice brook," she said, and added, with a little smile, “nice rose trellis.” Then -we-walked up the road, and at Bert’s door she put out her hand. “Good-by,” she said. “Good-by,” l answered. Her eyes looked frankly Into mine. There was nothing there but smiling friendship. The fingers did not tremble In my grasp. , “I shall write," said I, controlling my voice with difficulty, “and send you pictures of the garden.” “Yes, do.” She was gone. I walked slowly back to my dwelling. I had kept my resolution. Yet how strangely I had kept it! What did it mean? Had I been strong? No. nad she made me keep It? Who could say? All had been so sudden—the kiss, her springing away, her abrupt, astonishing laughter. But she had not reproached me, she had not been righteously angry, nor, still less, absurd. She had thought It, perhaps, but the mood of the place and hour, and understood. That was fine, generous! Few women, I thought, would be capable of It. Stella! How pleasant it had been to say the name! Then the memory of her kiss came over me like a wave, and my supper stood neglected, and all that evening I sat staring idly at my manuscripts and stroking Buster’s head. Yes, I had kept my resolution —and felt like a fool, a happy, hopeless fool!

CHAPTER XII. I Go to New York. I shall not here recount the events on the farm during the weeks which folio wed Miss Stella’s departure. They did not particularly interest me. My whole psychological make-up had been violently shaken, the centers of attention had been shifted, and I was constantly struggling for a readjustment which did not come. The post office appealed to me more than the peas, and I labored harder over my photographs of the sundial feeds than over the beds themselves. I sent for a ray filter and a wide-angle lens, spending hours in experiment and covering a plank in front of the south door with printing frames. I had written to her the day after she had departed, but no reply came for a and then only a brief little note, telling me it was hot in town and conveying her regards to the roses. I, too, waited a week—though it was hard —and answered, sending some photographs, one of them a snapshot of a bird on the edge of the bath, one of them of Buster sitting on his hind legs. Again she answered briefly, merrily, conveying her especial regards to Buster, but ending with a plaintive little postscript about the heat. A few days later a box came addressed to Buster in my care. I opened it in Buster’s presence, indeed literally beneath his nose. On top was a small package, tied with blue ribbon, and labeled “For Buster." , It proved to be a dog biscuit, which the recipient at once took to the hearth and began upon. Beneath this was a note, which I opened with eager fingers. It began:

Darling Buster: Your waggish epistle received and contents noted. The limits of the canine Intelligence are probably responsible for your mistake in assigning the term glumness to what you observe -In-Master John,- when It Is. really lack of occupation. You see, dear Buster, he has got Twin Fires so far under way that he doesn’t work at it all the time, so he ought to be at his writing of stories, made up of big dictionary words which I am defining Or inventing for him down here In a very hot, dirty, dusty, smelly town. "Tell him that’s all the trouble. He has a reaction from his first farming enthusiasm, and doesn’t realize that the thing to do is to go to work on the new line, his line. For It is his line, you know, Buster. Underneath this you’ll find something to give him, with my best wishes for sunshine on the dear garden. I’d kiss you, Buster, only dogs are terribly germy. ST ELL A.la a nice pooU Isn’t It? I sat on the floor with the letter in my lap, smiling happily over it Then I took the last package out of the box. ft - was -heavy, evidently metal. —Re- - moving the papers, I held in my hand an old bronze sundial plate, a round one to fit my column, and upon It, freshly engraved, the ancient motto: HORAS NON NUMERO NISI SERENAS. My first thought was of its cost. She couldn't afford It, the silly, generous girl! She’d bought it, doubtless, at one of those expensive New York antique shops, and then taken It to an engraver’s, for further expense. I ought not accept It Yet how could I refuse? I cpuldn’t I hugged it to my heart, and fairly ran to the dial post, Buster at my heels. Yes, I had no longer any doubts. I wanted her. I should jtlways want her. Twin Fires was incomplete, I was incomplete, life was Incomplete, without her. At six I stopped work, amazed to find the plot of a story In my head. Heaven knows how It got there, but thererit was, almost as fufl-statured as Minerva when she sprang from the head of Jove, though considerably less

TilE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, IND.

■gracrer (even baa me opening sen-" tence all ready framed—to me always the most difficult point of story or essay, except the closing sentence. Nor did this, tale appear to be one I had incubated In the past, and which now popped up above the “threshold” from my subconsciousness. It was a brandnew plot, a perfect stranger to me. The phenomenon interested me almost as much as the ’fclot The tale grew even clearer as I took my bath, and haunted me during supper, so that I was peremptory in my replies to poor Mrs. PilUg- and refused to aid Peter that evening with his geography. “Tomorrow,” said I, vaguely, going into my study and locking the door.— I worked all that evening, got up at midnight to forage for a glass of milk and a fresh supply of oil for my lamp, and returned to my desk to work till four, when the sun astonished me. The

“You Mean My Farm,” I Said.

story was done. Instead of going to bed, I went down in the cool of the young morning, when only the birds were astir-, and took my bath in Stella’s pool. Then I went to the dew-drenched pea vines and began to pick peas. Here Mike found me, wfch nearly half a bushel gathered, whyn he appeared early to pick for market. “It’s the early bird getsi the peas,” said I. “It is shurely,” he laughed. “Yon might say you had a tjhphone call to get up—only these ain’t tiliphones.” “Mike!” I cried, “a pan before breakfast!” “Shure, I’ve had me breakfast,” said he. Which reminded ma that I hadn’t. I went in the houee to get it, reading over and correcting my manuscript as I ate. After breakfast I put on respectable the manuscript in my pocket, and mounted the seat of my farm wagon, beside Mike. Behind us were almost two bushels of peas and several bunches of tall, juicy, red rhubarb stalks from the old hills we found on the place. Mike had greatly enriched the soil, and grown the plants in barrels. “Well, I’m a real farmer now,” said 1. “Ye are, shurely,” Mike replied. “Them’s good peas, if they was planted late.” We drove past the golf links and the summer hotel, to the market, where I was already known, I found, and greeted by name as I entered. “I’ll buy anything you’ll sell me,” said the proprietor, “and be glad to get it. Funny thing about this town, the way folks won’t take the trouble to sell what they raise. Most of the big summer estates have their own gardens, of course, but there’s nearly a hundred families that don’t, and four boarding houses, and the hotels. Why, the hotels send to New York for vegetables —if you can beat that! Guess all the farmers with any gumption have gone to the cities.” _ “Well,” said I, “I’m not farming for my health, which has always been good. I’ve got more than a bushel of peas out there.” “Peas!” cried the market man. “Why, I hare more demands for peas than I can fill. The folks who could sell me peas won’t plant ’em ’cause it’s too much trouble or expense to provide the brush. I’ll give you eight cents a quart for peas today.” “This is too easy,” I whispered to Mike, as we went out to get the baskets. I sold my rhubarb, also, and came away with a little book in which there was entered to my credit $4.16 for peas and $1.66 for rhubarb. I put the book proudly in my pocket, for it represented my first earnings from the farm, and, mounting the farm wagon again, told Mike to drive me to the hotel. As we pulled up before the veranda, the line of old ladies In rockers focused their eyes upon us,,, “Shure,” whispered Mike, “they look like they was hung out to dry!” I went op the steps and Info the office, where the hotel proprietor suavely greeted me, asked after my health, and inquired how my “estate” was getting on. “You mean my farm,” said I.

With some new money In hie pockets and prospects bright, it looks' like our young friend is about ready to go get Stella. Doesn’t it strike you about that way 7

(TO BIS CONTINUE DJ

“CAP” ANSON BOWS TO MANAGER LEE FOHL

VETERAN SAYS INDIAN LEADER KNOWS PITCHERS. “What I like about Fohl.” says Cap Anson, “is that he Is hot afraid to call upon a young pitcher. When I sized up the Cleveland pitching staff at the start of the season I did not think my friend Jim Dunn had a chance, but I was fooled by Fohl, who has made winning pitchers out of Coveleskle, Bagby and Klepfer. “But think of what he did a few days ago. There he was up against the leaders of the league. The game jdecided the possession of first place and he had the nerve to send a kid, this boy Gould, to the hill against such n crack nitcher as Fisher. And he came through, which makes me take off my hat to Mr. Lee Fohl.”

BENNY KAUFF IS SPORTSMAN

New York Giant's Star Centerfielder Is Always Quiet and Gentlemanly—Fans Like Him. Benny Kauff has already established himself as one of the most likable players that ever wore a white uniform at the Polo grounds, says a New York writer. There are many good reasons why Kauff deserves his popularity. In a recent game Demaree walked Kauff twice in the early innings and then fanned him in the sixth on three pitched balls. Benny took his wallop at the first two. Demaree curved over the third one, and before Klein had finished the Delsarte movement he

Benny Kauff.

uses to designate a third strike Kauff was on his way to the bench, stepping along briskly with his hat on his shoulder. Benny knew Demaree had slipped a good one over, and he took it as a break in the game. Instead of trying to alibi himself before 10,000 fans he “about faced” and marched on about his business. He did not tap the plate with vengeful force, nor did he stop to cast an ominous look at the umpire, thereby conveyiilg the impression that he had been cheated. “The old boy just fanned me clean," Kauff’s attitude seemed to. say. “I didn’t think he would put the third one over, but he crossed me and slipped it in. He fanned Benny Kauff, but every time Benny Kauff fans lie will lay two hits up against the pitcher. He fanned me, that’s all."

MANY HITS WITHOUT SCORING

Pirates Made Three Triples, a Single, and Two Passes Without Counting a Run. r/ \ “ '•ls it possible,” asks a Joliet, 111., fan, “for a team to make three triples, a single, and get two bases on balls in inning and then fall to score a run?” ' Not only Is it possible, but such an incident actually happened back in 1892. . 4 „ The Pirates were playing the Cubs in Pittsburgh, with Pittsburgh at bat The first three Pirates tripled. Two died trying to stretch their drives to homers. Then came the two passes, filling the bases. The next batter drove the ball along the third base line. It hit the Pirate runner coming in and he was out under the “hit-by-batted-ball” rule. The batter, however, officially was credited with a single.

BASEBALL STORIES

That Brooklyn team is cracking, just like the Sphinx. * * * » Those Browns are certainly going at a furious pace. * * * The Browns are the best stealing team in the country. / * * * “Ping” Bodie is leading the Pacific Coast league in batting. • * * The Pittsburgh club Is scouting the bushes for recruits this year. * * • Montreal has made a rapid climb in the International league race. * * * The Kansas City Blues are showing surprising strength this season. * * * Eddie Rousch is playing a grand game in the oUt field for the Reds. * * * Ray Schalk is always present when it comes to using the gray matter. * * * Ther Binghamton New York State league champions seem to be all set to repeat this season. • * * Worcester and Springfield are putting up a hot battle for the Eastern league batting honors. * * * Connie Mack used to be a steeplejack in the American league, but now Jfte is a cellar digger. * * * “Baseball Has Iron Men,” a headline screams. Most of the iron usually is found just above the neck. * * * With the addition of Frank Schulte and “Bill” Fischer the Pirates have been greatly strengthened. * * * “Phil" Ball, president of the Browns, has offered a bonus of $5,000 to his team if it wins the pennant. * * • Hughey Jennings wishes to deny the report that he has ordered a luxurious divan for Ty Cobb’s understudies, • * * “Larry” Lajoie is playing a good game at second for the Mackmen, but he cannot win games all alone. * * * “Bode" Paskert, - fleet outfielder -of the PI: i 111 es. 4s climbLng stt»adily in the National league batting averages. * * * “Charley” Pick, of the Athletics, is an infielder, but is playing a splendid game in the outfield for the Macks. * * * Being shifted from the down-trodden athletics to the Yanks seems to hpve given Rube Oldring a new lease of life. * • * Nick Altrock has a partner in entertaining the fans In Sawyer. The new man is as good as the veteran Nick in every way. . * • * Major league base stealers will have an excellent chance to overtake Ty Ty makes good his threat to retire from the game. * * * Little John Lavan, the diminutive shortstop of the Browns,, has been doing some great work since the team started on its uphill fight, * * * In the olden days a ball player was wont to get a bum mitt. Now he suffers a lacerated hand. Which shows how the game Is going to the dogs.

KNOTTY POINT AMUSES

Very Serious Situation to Australian Baseball Fans.

Clipping From Sydney Paper Published for Benefit of American Bugs—Somebody Pulled an Awful Bone Play. Doubtless this will be amusing to fans in America, but it seems to be a very serious situation to the fans of Australia It is what a correspondent from Sydney, Australia, terms a “knotty point” and he asks what the decision would be In “the American game.” He furnisheaa., clipping from a Sydney new-spaper in order that the problem may be clearly understood just as It appeared in the Sydney paper, for the benefit of American fans, says Sporting News. Whatever the meeting of umpires decides, the decision of fans in this country will be that Sellars pulled an awful bone When he left his base just because somebody cried “foul.” But who would have believed the Australians were up to such tricks —perhaps it was a stray American in the game that did It. But to the “knotty point.” Here It is as outlined In the Sydney clipping: “A mild sensation was caused at the Richmond-Hawthorn (Victoria) game, arising out of the decision of the umpire (Mr. W. Bowes) in giving Sellars (Hawthorn) out. It appears that the Hawthorn batsman hit tho bull into the left field —a runner scoring. Sellars crossed first base, “While he’was midway between first and second base one of the fieldsmen called ‘foul,’ whereupon Sellars immediately returned home to the batter’s box. “The ball was returned to the pitcher, and Mackay (captain of Richmond), running to first base, appealed to the umpire. . . “Though the Hawthorn batter dissented with the decision, he had no option but to retire. However, he asked: ‘How was I given out?’ and there the trouble starts, for the umpire expressed a certain amount of diffidence, as he was unable to particularize the rule, remarking: ‘You are out; but at the moment I cannot point out the rule to you.’ “Sellars, in support of his arguments, states that the call of foul’ was unfair, inasmuch as the ball was not outside the recognized territory; that he- was not advised by the umpire or his coaches us to whether the ball was ‘foul’ or not, and that It cannot be shown under what rule he was given out. “There is, however, a diversity of opinion on this jnatter, und the views advanced by Sellars are by no means shared by the general body of players, who are of the opinion that the Hawthorn player was correctly given out. In view of the dissatisfaction expressed the question will be fully debated gt the next meeting of the Umpires’ association.”

JOE KNOCKS FADEAWAY

Joe Jackson of the Sox says: “If you want to put your arm on the blink, just start fooling with the fadeaway ball. “I’ve had one experience, and it cured me. After pitching four or five fadeaways I developed a in my elbow and decided to quit experimenting. “Some fellows have studied the thing and got it down to a fine art. They tell me it doesn't affect their arms, but if they pitched it as steadily as some fellows throw the spitter they wouldn’t last long in any league.”

JOE M’GINNITY MAKING GOOD

"Iron Man” Up to His Old Tricks of Pitching Double-Headers—Butte Is Money Maker. .Toe McGlnnityv aged forty-eight, who was popularly known as the “Iron Man” when he pitched for the New York Giants, Is up to his old tricka

Joe McGinnity.

©f pitching double-headers. McGinnity won one of two games lie pitched in one day for his Butte (Mont.) team recently. Butte Ik a big money maker this season and McGlnnlty is getting baCk a good deal of the $27,000 b* *ays he lost at Tacoma.