Evening Republican, Volume 59, Number 87, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 3 May 1917 — HAIGHT, THE MIRAGE [ARTICLE]

HAIGHT, THE MIRAGE

By JOSEPH T. KESCEL.

Out In the mining camps of the Southwest Frank Reed was known as “Satan,” or for short, “Sate.” Short and stout, with a roly-poly figure, bright blue eyes and honest countenance, he did not in the least resemble the picture of his Satanic majesty. His business partner, Harry Haight, known among the camps aS the “Mirage,” was extremely tall and very thin. “He's like a' mirage, 'cause you ain’t dead sure whether it’s something real or not,” an old prospector had aptly expressed it. Their occupation was the same — that of mining engineer—but outside of working hours they devoted most of their time to thinking up practical jokes to play upon each other. “Sate” was in the office alone, planning a new map of the mining district, while the “Mirage” was doing some work away from town. The tinkle of the telephone bell caused the roly-poly man to reach for the receiver. His face brightened at the words, “Is that you, ‘Sate?’ ” “Yes-s-s! Oh, yes, Mrs. Thompson. I didn't recognize your voice at first,” he chuckled into the transmitter. “Your niece, Alice, coming on the morning train? Hubby busy? Want me to go with you to meet her? Certainly, with pleasure, no trouble at aIL I’ll call for you thirty minutes before train time in the automobile. Goodby.” Even above the grinding brakes and release of air could be heard a woman’s clear voice from an open car window calling, “Here I am, auntie—over here.” The train came to a full stop, the vestibules were opened and a dainty foot tripped lightly down the steps to the platform. Two flying figures embraced each other. “Aunt Molly!” “Alice!” “Oh, you dear, it is so good to see you.” “Oh w excuse me, Alice,” broke out Mrs. Thompson suddenly, “I want you to meet my friend ‘Sate.* I beg your pardon,” she rippled on, noting the girl’s questioning look, “we call him ‘Sate,’ but his right name is Mr. Reed.” Bending over the wheel as the machine sped toward Mrs. Thompson’s he heard the Tippling laughter from the tonneau. "Didn’t think there were any like that left back East,” he thought to himself. “She’s a darlln* and looks better than bonanza ore to me.” The annual ball of the Golden Queen Mining company was the social event of the year. The main camp hall was ablaze with light and its freshly waxed floor shone like polished mahogany. , The grand march was announced, whereupon the joyous couples immediately formed in procession, their' impatient feet beating time to the music. Miss Seaboldt’s escort smiled, as he thought of the joke he had framed up on his business partner and the young lady by his side. The "Mirage” appeared, his tall figure easily overtopping the few men standing near the smoking-room door. "He is here! See that tall man over there —that’s the ‘Mirage,’ ” State eagerly remarked. “Too bad he’s so deaf. It will be necessary for you to speak loudly. You will not forget this when you meet him?”' When the “grand march” was finished, “Sate” hurried to greet his partner with a hearty handshake. “Who was that I saw you with a few moments ago?” asked the "Mirage.” “The young lady I wrote to you about staying over at the Thompsons’. You’ll have to speak loudly to her — hearing’s not very good. Too bad, too, for she’s a pippin.” Hooking an arm into his partner’s, “Sate” conducted him to the girl and shouted a cordial introduction. Miss Seaboldt’s pretty face flushed scarlet and her laughing brown eyes troubled. Why had Mrs. Thompson deserted her? People looked at them, first inquiringly and then with amusement. The face of the “Mirage” matched her own in redness and his blue-gray eyes showed the agony he was in. The girl’s high-pitched voice was plainly heard above the noisy chatter as she replied to some question directed at the loud, roaring tones of the man. It was too much. “Sate” was obliged to make for the smoking room, where he dropped into a large armchair, his sides shaking with mirth. Numerous friends crowded around him and asked the reason for his strange behavior. “Let me at him! Let me at him!” It was the “Mirage” who entered, brushing the crowd to one side. With a howl of rage he grasped “Sate” by the collar. Jerked him up and slammed him back in the chair. Friends hurriedly interceded, and led his struggling partner away. “Some hostile, wasn’t he boys? So long, fellows. It’s my dance with her, and if she’s as hostile as the ‘Mirage,’ I’m saying good-by for keeps.” Presently he returned to the smoking’room, and snorted: “It’s a cinch I’ll have to join the bunch of stags at supper.” Z His last statement was entirely correct. She with the laughing brown eyes sat beside the “Mirage” at the table and a year ♦later walked beside him in the maid church aisle, while “Sate” and Mrs. Thompson followed close behind.