Evening Republican, Volume 20, Number 246, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 13 October 1916 — Page 2

Under Fire

By RICHARD PARKER

& Based on the drama of tOI COOFER NEGRUH A«M*> of ''Uadei Cover” and co-aothoi of "It Pa o s to Advertise”

""oopyrUOl. WUS. »7 l'b« Mjuiulai Company. SYNOPSIS. — 2— Qeorgy Wagstaff. daughter of Sir Georre, of the British admiralty, hints at a liaison between her governess. Ethel Willoughby, and Henry Streetman. Ethel denies it. Henry Streetman calls on Ethel and while waiting for her talks to Brewster, Sir George's butler, who is a German spy, about his failure to get at admiralty papers In Sir George's possession He phones to German secret service headquarters

A fine young Englishwoman la caught in the net of international plotting and is made the victim of circumstances —tragic circumstances. She becomes innocently involved with an enemy of her country and he proceeds to use her as a tool. How she is cornered and prodded, as boys might tsase a wounded wild animal, is told vividly in this installment.

Streetman, the German spy, and Roeder (alias Brewster, the butler), are discussing the possibility of war. CHAPTER ll—CoritinOed. “Yes, yes I Of course!” Streetm a n agreed hastily, as If he would forestall any patriotic Mhibition. “Still, one would like to five with the luxuries of Ilf One day I shall make the grand coup; and then to cease all this —” He broke off suddenly, for he heard Miss Willoughby stirring on the other side of that closed door. “Sssh! To the door 1” “Very good, Brewster!” Mr. Streetman said in a clear, firm voice, which he intended to carry well beyond that closed door. “I’ll wait here for Miss Willoughby.” And then Sir George’s butler bowed and left the room. CHAPTER 111. A Foe In the Household. Brewster had hardly closed the doors behind him before Ethel Willoughby appeared. “Oh, Henry! You surprised me,” she said. “I came before the others,” Streetman explained, “because there is something you must do for me at once; ’ “About the fleet, I suppose,” she said, somewhat wearily, as she turned away from him. “How did you know?” He shot the question at her almost too quickly for caution. But for the moment he experienced something approaching alarm. But her answer reassured him. “Nowadays it is only of the fleet you ask,” she told him. And she regarded him with eyes that were pathetic, if not reproachful —Once ItiiaiL. seemed to her that Henry Streetman was interested in her. But of late she • had been obliged to admit to herself that that interest had quickly wqned. Her handsome caller paid no attention to the obvious complaint that lay in Ethel’s answer. In the most mat-ter-of-fact fashion be proceeded straight to the business that was uppermost in his mind. “You must learn at once from Sit George where the ships at Spithead are going.” he announced bluntly. “Find out if they sail together, or if they will disperse—and how.” As she faced him again there was beseeching in her voice, her eyes, her whole manner. “Walt, Henry, wait!” she begged. “Before we go into that, tell me—when are you going to let people know ' we’re married ?” ■—— - Streetman remembered then that he had a mnny-Klried role to play. And thereupon he went up to the girl; and taking one of JJthel’s hands in his, while he put an arm around her, he looked down at her in a mostdoverlike fashion. “Ah, my dear! I’d let them know now —this minute— if I only could!” he exclaimed. “But we must announce our marriage at once,” she said quickly. “Announce our marriage —why?” “Georgy Wagstaff told me just a few minutes ago that when I said I was in Brighton a friend of hers saw you and me together in Paris,” she replied in tragic tones. “You did not explain?” he asked. “That we were on our honeymoon? No! I Kept my word to you. I said y wag" lu Brighton.” She looked at in a puzzled way as he left her "then and paced the floor in a nervous fashion. “Of course, it's easily proved that I waa not in Brighton,” Ethel continued. "Georgy seemed to think you and I . i, . Well!—you can Imagine what idle must have thought. jOh! why must there be this secrecy? I loathe it.” gbe sank upon the settee and stared moodily at the floor —a most unhappy picture of a pretty bride. Streetman roused himself and bent pver her. v “My dear! W* must wait until I am arrange natter* with my family,”

he explained in ms mostpmnelble munner. “Until 1 can come Into my own again we should starve. Soon It will all be arranged.” And once more be turned away from her—this time with an dir of finality—na If tho/e were really no argument against his vague protestations. “Soon? You have said that for a month,” Ethel reminded him. “You’ve said It ever since we were married.” “Next week, then!” he agreed In desperation. “I promise! And you will learn tonight about the licet?” lie added In the same breath. “But Henry, If I do ask Sir George and he tells me. Isn’t it rather a shabby thing to do then to come to you and —” “No, no, no—as I’ve often told you!” he interrupted. It seemed to him that her objections were interminable. And under the stress of the urging from his superiors his forbearance was fast reaching Its end. To hide his anxiety and his irritation, he stepped to the window and looked out. "But Sir George trusts me.” Ethel resumed. Streetman Rtifled a mouthfilling German oath while he listened to her. “When he answers my ques\ions,” she continued, “he does so because he thinks I’m just idly curious. He never dreams I’d repeat what he says to anyone. It all puts me in a beastly position. Sir George is a loyal Englishman, and if be thought—”

Streetman would not let her finish. He wheeled about and said sharply, to forestall even the merest mention of such a thing as an informer —let alone spy—- “ And you are a loyal Englishwoman —and I am loyal to —France.” “Then why do you pass yourself off as an Englishman?” “Because It Is the wish of my employers, the French secret service. It is the Wish of France,” he declared In a grand manner, which he intended to carry conviction with It. “It’s all quite beyond me,” she said with a hopeless air. They had had many such discussions. And .never yet had she been able to understand the reasons that Streetman put forth with unvarying glibness. “Why should France wish to know about our fleet?’* “Ah! that I do not know,” he replied. “The secret service gives me their instructions. It Is for me to follow, not to question them. It is nay work—my future.” He drew nearer to her, and his masterful eyes gazed full into hers. “It is our future, Ethel!” he cried with apparent emotion. “But Isn’t France England’s ally?” she asked. “I can’t understand why she should need this information.” “In times like these it is best for each country to know all possible about every country,” he explained. “Y’ou will be doing no wrong to*England when you get me the facts I desire.” He sat down beside her, and, placing his arm about her, he drew her close to him. “You will find out tonight about the fleet?” he pleaded. But there was something about his persistent wheedling that made Ethel Willoughby—or Mrs. Streetman —suspicious. “I can’t help feeling that there Is something behind all this —something you are not telling me,” she said slowly. Despite his confident air, Streetman could not easily look into her searching eyes. He was uncomfortable.

“No! All That Is Over,” She Said.

And he rose abruptly and took a few quick, restless steps about the room. “Why—what an imagination!” he exclaimed, forcing a laugh at last. “Really, Ethel, you’re quite absurd!” “But always, before we were married, you were so kind, sq thoughtful. You talked only of pretty things. But now, always it is the fleet—the navy. You seem interested only In their plans, their secrefs. ... Is it for that you married me?" Streetman’s patience had reached the breaking point. And at the question he flew jnto-a- sudden rage. He turned a face like a thiihdercloud upon her. “And on my side I ask why you married me? For love? ... I think not!* he sneered. Hie quick anger brought Ethel to her feet <. “But. Henry—” He waved her answer aside as If It were not worth his listening to. “Once, perhaps, I thought so,” he said, talking her down like a common brawler. “But now I hear it was another man whom you really loved — a voting Irishman who went away

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, IND.

without doing 1 you tfte honor of asking you to marry him.” In his words iht're was. as he intended there should be, a taunt that implied mote than he actually said. “No, no!” Ethel cried. “It Isn’t true. It was just a flirtation —a few dances —a theater or two!” “Oh! That was all!” he retorted. “And yet they told me you had known him all your life.” “I don't know whom you’re talking about,” sh& said in desperation. “Nor do I,” he rejoined. “It was some man in the army—a captalu. I think. I do not know his name; but I shall find It out, and then perhaps I shall learn if you cared for me at nil or if it was Just that I caught you on the rebound.” “What do you mean?” She faced him tensely. Such scenes were new to her. Trouble, of a sort, she had known. But never anything like this. It had been hard enough to see her resources dwindling steadily, without the means of replenishing them, and with actual penury staring her in the face. But now Ethel knew that that was ns nothing compared with the situation In which she had unwittingly placed herself. To be tied for life to a man who did not love her —who seemed an absolute brute —that was worse, a thousand times, than any mere financial difficulties. Streetman did not at once reply to her. For a few moments he regarded her hatefully, as if she were already a hateful thing in his eyes. “I wonder, my dear,” he said at last. “I wonder If today it is only I that count with you or If you have—memo-

ries. . . • We shall see.” “No. no, Henry!” she protested. “I’m —I'm very fond df J'ou,” she said brokenly. . • “Fond?” The smile that he gave her was nothing If not crnel. “Come, then! Kiss me!” And he attempted to embrace her. But she pushed him away from her. "No! AH that is over. Not until we ean let people know. This secrecy makes me feel as if I were not your wife. What Georgy said is enough to make me believe, almost, that it has all been just' some horrible intrigue.” “Nonsense; nonsense!” he scoffed. “If I promise you now that next week we make our marriage public, will you believe me?” “Yes, Henry! I will!” she said In a voice in which there rang renewed hope. He stepped quickly to her side again. Henry Streetman was not the sort of man to miss any opportunity that offered. “But to do that,” he stipulated, “I must secure for France this information concerning the fleet. That will mean promotion for me—money —• much money! And with that I need no longer wait on my family. You understand?” he asked her. “Yes, Henry! I do!” “Good! That’s settled. And you will take the first opportunity to speak to Sir George?” He was filled with elation at the happy turn of affairs. But he was doomed- to quick disappointment. “You will?” be persisted. “No!” “What?” he exclaimed, scarcely behis ears.

“I understand that for some reason you are trying to bribe me with these promises of yours to betray Sir George’s confidence. But I’m sick of this deception. I won’t do it any longer; and you oughtn’t to ask it of me.” “Indeed!” 'he said, with a vicious show of scorn. ‘‘And if it should happen to come to Sir George anonymously”—he stressed the word—“that you had already ‘betrayed his confidence,’ what would your position be here?” He watched her narrowly, to see what effect his threat might have upon her. “You wouldn’t do that?” she exclaimed, as a sudden fear gripped her. All at once it struck Ethel that her position had indeed become desperate. She had not dreamed that she would find herself in such an impasse—and at the hands of her husband, of all g - people. “I should not like to do it,” Streetman replied. “But 1 intend to learn— I shall learn—about the fleet tonight: and through you!” he declared, with undisguised determination... She turned upon him like some hunted wild thing then, ready to fight desnerntelv in one laßt. mad effort. “Oh! So that's what your love, your affection, amounts to, Is it?” “Put it any way you choose,” was his callous answer. “But I must have tills information. . . . Come! What do you say?” “What is there for me to say?” “Exactly!” he retorted. “I am glad to see that at last you appreciate the situation.” They both started then at the sound of voices. "It Is Sir George,” Streetman said. “I shall leave presently. But I shall some back in an hour. . . . And you wilj have found out about the fleet?” “Oh! I suppose so!” she replied. “But it makes me hat® myself—and you!” > . ''!■ “Really? What a pity!” he said with mock sympathy.

CHAPTER IV. Gathering Btorm-Clouds. And then Sir George Wagstaff Joined them, with his trusted butler, Brewster, in his wake, ?b%j&ring a muffin tray. Ethel went gayly to meet her benefactor, At least, her manner was blithesome; but her heart was leaden. —“Hello, Sir George!” she said. “Hello, Ethel!” They were good pals—those two. The daughter of one of his oldest and dearest Ethel had always occupied a niche all her own in Sir George’s affections. Sir George was not of the big typo

of EngHsbtaan. He was, on the «m----trary, not much over the height of Ethel herself. But he was undeniably impressive, with his keen, gray eyes, his fast-whitening hair, and his exquisite manners. And despite the punctilious politeness that Sir George, displayed to everybody, there was something in his bearing that warned one that he was no person to trifle with. “I just dropped in for a few minutes because I’d promised to come to your tea. Ethel; and I try never to break my word to so charming a lady.” . She made a pretty curtsy. “Thapk you. Sir George!” '-"’‘For you, at the admiralty, these must he troublous times?” Streetman ventured. “Rather busy, yes!” was Sir Georges somewhat short answer. He was always ready, when at leisure, to. enter

"You Think, Then, There Will Be War Between Russia and Germany?” upon a discussion of any topic—except such as touched upon his high office. And there he was exceedingly touchy. “You think, then, there will be wa* between Russia and Germany?” Streetman asked him eagerly. H* could not do otherwise than ignore Sir George’s slightly frigid replv to his previous question. If he felt any resentment, he trusted to be able to pay off the score in his own way, later. Sir George lifted his eyebrows ever so slightly as he glanced at Ethel’s caller. “That, sir. is a matter I should prefer not to discuss,” he replied. “Pardon me, sir, but as a loyal Englishman I am naturally interested.” And then Ethel stationed herself behind the tea table. ‘ “Come! Let’s talk of peace and tea,” she said. It made her feel guilty to sit there and hear Streetman try to pry information out of Sir George beneath his own roof. And it seemed that the least she could do to repay him for his' many kindnesses was to protect him as 'best she might from Streetman’s indefatigable curiosity. They had no sooner taken their cups from her when Georgy Wagstaff burst into the room. “Hello, everybody!” she greeted them. “Here’s Guy and his mother.” Close behind her followed Mrs. Stephen FalcQnerand her good-looking son, who was, as everybody knew, more than devoted to Sir George Wagstaff’s vivacious daughter. “We’d have been here earlier,” Georgy explained, “but Mrs. Falconer and Guy had gone to a matinee.” ——— — “Silly show!” the blase Guy added in a bored drawl. “The eternal triangle or some such nonsense!” “Very tiresome!” his mother agreed. “And so noisy! Full of shots and pistols—and mostly about some poor creature wbo’d sinned and repented.” “That’s the sort of play I disapprove of, particularly, for my daughter,” Sir George commented from his place s>n the settee. “I am glad, Georgy, that you were not there.” “Oh, I saw it last week,” sp*.d Georgy with mischievous satisfaction. “And you ought to go, father; You’d weep—over the heroine. Frightfully damaged lady—wasn’t she, Guy?” “Oh, frightfully!” said Guy, “Completely beyond repair!" “I knew the minute she walked on she wasn’t a good woman. She was so pale and drcle-y, and so beautifully dressed.” Georgy explained, as shl> watched her father squirm. Shocking her respectable parent was one of Georgy’s favorite diversions. “You mustn’t talk this silly cyni* cism,” Ethel reproved the two young people. “Don’t worry!’’ Georgy retorted. “Father knows I don’t get that sort of chat from my very proper governess. It’s jus*t hereditary from him I express what he feels but doesn’t dare say.” But Sir George refused to be annoyed by his daughter’s hectoring. “At least I deserve credit for my modesty,” he observed dryly.

Will Ethel get the damaging naval information from Sir George—and will she refuse to pass it alongf Or will Sir George, suddenly suspicious of unexplainsd action*, refuse to talk to the girl? (TO BE CONTINUED^

MAKING the FARMPAY

Man Feels Independent When He Has a Good Herd of Cattle.

BUILDING UP A DAIRY HERD Generally speaking, there is no best breed of dairy cow, although some are better for certain purposes than others. There are first-class cows in every breed, and also many unprofitable ones. Success depends more upon the selection of profitable individuals than upon the breed. The Jersey, Holstein, Guernsey and Ayrshire.breeds are considered the standard special-purpose breeds, and the Red Polled, Shorthorn and the Brown Stflss the most common dual-purpose breeds, being used to some extent for beef production. The Jerseys and Guernseys are considered most economical for production of butterfat, and the Holsteins and Ayrshires are considered more profitable for milk production. The Holsteins should be kept on good pasture and on hetfvy rations. Profitable animals must be selected on basis of performance (shown by milk and butter records) and developed by care and good feeding. The beginner should consider his market carefully, select the breed he likes best from those most suited to local conditions and then stick with that breed, building up his herd by selection. The dairyman, to be successful, must keep only such cows that pay a good annual profit. Many cows do not pay for their feed, while others may pay from $5 to SSO per year over expenses. The unprofitable cOw is worth only what she will bring on the butcher’s block (about S3O). The cow that produces SSO profit over all expenses is worth ten cows that produce no profit, both as a breeder and producer, and should at least be valued at SIOO to $l5O. '..—t?

Breeding Better Than Buying. Some dairymen buy fresh cows, breeding to a common sire and selling the young stock and old cows to the butcher. Others breed their own stock, use good sires, keep milk records mid develop heifers from their best stock. The first method has only one advantage, that of allowing the dairyman to use all his pastures and buildings for cows that are milking. Recognizing the value of a good cow, the dairyman should always he prepared to buy one that is better than what he has, but it is much safer to depend on breeding up his own herd. The man who depends on buying gets cull stcck, usually, unless he pays much more than it would cost to breed it himself. He also runs a big risk of buying diseased cattle with tuberculosis or contagious abortion. The man who breeds up his nwn stock can develop his heifers to good, advantage so that they will be quiet and gentle and also healthy. He will usually be able to build up a good herd more surely and quickly. Sire Is Half the Herd. The sire Is half the herd, hut if he Is a good one he is pretty near all of it. Grade cows may range in value from $25 to $250. and the sire that can produce the latter kind is worth many times more than the one that produces the $25 kind. If a heifer can be produced that, when mature, will give 50 to 100 pounds more butter or 1,000 pounds more milß-per year than her dam, the annual profit from such a heifer will accordingly be from $lO to $25 more than from the foundation cow. If ten such heifers were raised every year, the increased profit will be SIOO to $250 more per year; if 29 heifers are raised, S2OO to SSOO will be gained each year by using a good bull. Consequently It is hard to understand how a progressive dairyman can afford to let a. difference of SIOO or so in the original cost bfa- herd ball stand between him and nn additional annual Income of SSOO. Yet dairymen will-buy $25 scrub bulls that are worse than useless as Improvers of their herds, while purebred males costing SSO to $l5O more would pay for themselves many times mrer In the Increased value of the young stock produced. The sire that cannot increase the value of the herd is dear at any price* While the owner of a grade herd may be justified in buying as high-priced a sire as the breeder of pure breeds, a good animal will always be cheapest In the end. Selection of Dairy Sire. Only u purebred sire should be used, from ancestors of known merit, and of good breed type, masculinity and ecnstitution. Select, if possible, the son of a first-class dairy cow as the characteristics of the dam are most likely to be reproduced In the heifers of the generation. The best indication

By C. I. BRAY

of the value of a bull is the character of his offspring, and this is the safest and surest guide. Many aged bulls with good records and splendid offspring are sold at bargain prices to avoid Inbreeding, and afford an excellent opportunity to the man who wishes a good bull at moderate cost. Strength and virility must go with good ancestry to muke a good sire. The grade sire should have no plac* in the dairy herd. Select Cows on Their Records. Cows may be selected according to type and apparently by men who are good judges, but the only safe and sure basis for selection is the annual milk record. The keeping of milk records In all parts of the country and in all classes and kinds of herds has shown; 1. That some herds make large annual profits while others make none. 2. That in the best herds there are usually some unprofitable cows, and very many such in the poorer herds. 3. That without records the owners ..of the herds cculd not tell with any degree of accuracy which cows were paying profitably and which were not. 4. That many dairymen would have made a greater yearly profit had they sent their herd to the butcher at the beginning cf the year, thus saving half their feed and labor expenses and "feetting all the profit from their best cows. A fact worth noting is that several world’s record cews of different breeds, now worth thousands of dollars each,

Scrub Cow Which Lacked $1,954 of Producing Enough Milk to Pay for Her Feed and Care in One Year.

wore sold to their present owners for small sums by men who had not taken the trouble to find out what kind of cows they were keeping. Essential to Keep Records. . It is'difficult, therefore, to see how a dairyman can afford to run the risk'of keeping unprofitable cows by refusing to keep records. A merchant who could not take time to keep books would soon go bankrupt; and business methods must be the rule on the dairy farm it a profitable business is to bo built up. Even if It should take one week’s work in a year to keep a good system of records, the time will be well spent if the work of the year were to result In an annual profit of $1,715, or a loss of $539 as a consequence of keeping records or not keeping them. The flme required is really very small. The milk r-cord Is the dairyman’s barometer; by means of it he can keep >.iq milkers and on his system of fceding. By means of it he will notice any increase or decrease in milk flow, and in the latter case be able to avoid trouble by removing the cause. More interest is taken in feeding the cows carefully when their records are kept. A circular balance scale and a sheet of paper ruled off, together with the Babcock test will do the work. Cow testing associations are doing good \jvork all over the country. From ten to twenty or more farmers may club together and agree to pay a qualified man to test their herds each month, sharing expenses equally. The system is particularly valuable to the men herds, as they can get their gdqjjl animals tested for the advanced register. Record keeping helps the dairyman to get rid of his “robber.” Cull Out Unprofitable Cows. Cows that prove unprofitable should be sold at once. Those paying only a small profit may be kept until better ones are bought cr raised to take their places. Young heifers that do not show up during their first lactation period may sometimes make- a -good showing on a second year’s trial. Good cows can often be purchased that will pay for their feed, care and cost price* iu one year and return a good profit besides,