Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 266, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 November 1917 — Page 2

The Hanging Bough

It Covered a Love * Affair

By Agnes G. Brogan

(Copyright, 1»17, Western Newspaper Union.) It had been a source of annoyance to Gordon from the moment he entered the well appointed new study and took ;Up his pen to write. Here in the seclusion of the country he had promised himself to finish undisturbed the book which should add to his fame. Everything had seemed propitious to that end—the small rented bungalow, its peaceful setting of silencing hills, the absence of interrogating friends. Old Martha, the housekeeper whom he had brought with him from the city, attended interrigently to”ail his wants. Now, into all this desirableness came the disturbing element, a great evergreen branch hanging like a screening curtain before his very windows. Against its thick fragrance the sun battled hopelessly, while the study remained in semi-gloom. If the bough had been attached to a tree upon his own lawn the matter might have been quickly righted, but the particular tree of this down hanging branch grew on his neighbor’s ground, upon the opposite side of the high garden wall. Gordon had carelessly noticed the place as he came along, the old crumbling house, the broken statuary and basins of its gardens bespeaking a time of grandeur long past. Disgustedly at last the author threw’ down his pen. “It’s no duse,” he told the attentivebut laconic Martha; “w® will have to move the study some place else.” •Toil could not write in the open living room.” she answered truly. The old bungalow’s space was limited: “Then I will ask them to cut the bough down.” he said, and paused perplexedly. “Who lives there?” "The name on the door stone is Stuyvesant,” Martha replied, “Peter Stiiyvesant That is all I know.” So Gordon decided to pen his request?'Being in an impatient frame of mind at the moment, his request was more in the nature of a demand. “The bough hanging before window,” he wrote, “causes me much Inconvenience and annoyance. I must ask that it be immediately removed. “J. Wesley Gordon.” he signed and remembered with satisfaction that there were few to whom the name was unknown.

Martha was dispatched with the note, returning soon to say that, as no one had responded to her ring, she had dropped the missive into the Stuyvesant mail box. Gordon was folding away the fragmentary work of an unsuccessful afternoon when the answer came, a faced lad being the bearer. “The impertinent old Dutchman! ’ he muttered, for this is what he read: “If you would prefer to have the left wing of our house removed just mention that als.>. P. Stuyv<>s.-mt/ - The scattered pages of his day’s work mockedhim. Duskily through the screening branch flickered a shifting light, and heatedly Gordon reached for. his pen. “If that bough,” he wrote, “is not cut down by 9 o'clock tomorrow, I will go over and do it myself.” This time he contented himself with signing merely the letters “J. W. G.” When the second note in Martha’s apron pocket was passing through the gateway broken in the garden wall, Gordon reflected that he had been rather hasty. The Dutchman’s imprudence to a “personality” had rather nettled him. For though the author would not admit the fact to himself, subservience had become a custom. Back through the broken gateway again came Martha, silently placing a responsive note in his hand. “Cut the branch down,” was scrawled in bold defiant script “Cut the branch down, if you dare! P. Stuyvesant.” Gordon’s brows came together angrily; then he laughed. “A threat eh?” he said; “all right.” He turned to the waiting Martha. “The affair becomes interesting,” he said. “I will now get out my gasoline buggy and run into town.” . „At the very end of the straggling village street he found a hardware shop and bought a saw, then he added to his purchase a small shining ax. He smiled grimly as his car slowed down nearing the great, shabby house next door. From a rear window shone a light. Gordon had a' mental picture of a fat, stubbom'Old Dutchman smoking his evening pipe in the kitchen. “Preparation for onslaught upon the tree of Peter Stuyvesant,” he explained to Martha, as he left his implements in the back hall. It. was in a long forgotten spirit of boyish adventure that he sought them next morning, and sauntered through the break in the stone wall. All was still. The old house and its garden presented an appearance of having been asleep for a hundred years. Gordon was glad he had put on tennis shoes; 'he would be able to climb up like a squirrel, and when the branch had fallen neatly he would carry it over and place it against their’veranda ptlings, to show his accomplished purpose. What had Stuyvesant meant by writing the, words, “if you dare." Did the fellow actually Intend to show fight? Gordon smiled involuntarily. Well, If he did, the author might “show him" that he had not forgotten college years of athletic training. He was ready; alniost, he was eager; .then Gordon stopped short in the path-

way. Crouched beneath the offending 4 evergreen tree was a bulldog, a huge, fierce jawed brute, its bloodshot eyes fixed upon the approaching author, its body trembling with rumbling, threatening sounds. So this was the “dare.” Strange the possibility had not occurred to him. To go forward farther was very evidently useless. In flight—at least for the present—lay Gordon's safety. Ignominiously he retreated. As he entered the hallway Martha’s eyes asked the question her lips would not. “I am going out later,” Gordon confusedly explained, “to cut the thing down.” But when he went out later the dog had advanced to* the gap in the wall, his lapping jaws seeming to speak disappointment in the ending of the fray. Gordon smoked his pipe for half an hour that evening in the shelter of the bungalow porch before ” deciding upon a further course of action. At last he got up and searched out an old revolver, overlooking its casings. Never before had its protection been needed. He shook his head seriously at old Martha. _ “With an ugly hrute like that across the way,” he explained. Then Gordon wrote his last note of warfare. “I am going over tomorrow to saw the branch from your tree. If the dog is there I shall shoot him on the spot. “J. W. GORDON.” Martha’s face was quite wfflite when she brought back the reply. “That dog,” she explained, “he sits under the tree and gro’wls. It makes me tremble to look at him.” - “The dog is a thoroughbred,” read the answering note. “If you shoot you will pay every*cent he is worth. It’s a good deal. “P. STUYVESANT.”

Gordon pondered. Some of these brutes, he realized, were worth thousands of dollars, and the animal being on itg QwnAr’g premises would make him- entirely accountable. It was a confounding situation. Nevertheless he ventured upon the following morning; but, while he was formidably -armed with saw and ax, the revolver reposed in a drawer of his desk—and the dog was not there. Gordon breathed a sigh of relief. So his threat had frightened old Peter, after all. It was no task at all to climb to the high base of the drooping branch. Easily he swung himself out upon a neighboring limb and fitted the saw. 4, panting sound attracted his attention and he glanced downward. The dog had arrived at his post in a mad rush. The author muttered an imprecation. So this was the plotted scheme to wait and pin him up there helplessly ? , He might aim the ax at the dog’s head 'of course, but the brute was a thoroughbred, and it might mean more perhaps than the launching of his new book Gordon bent down and whistled peaceably. A fierce growl followed. echoed suddenly by a girl s smothered laughter. The author wheeled about on his swaying limb. At the back of the tree stood a young woman. That she had been engaged in silent laughter was evident from the furtive dabs at her still glistening eyes. “Oh, dear!” gasped the girl. On, dear; it was so funny!” Gordon, speechless, was acutelj aware of the beauty of her mass of bronzed hair gleaming in the sunlight, of the full red lips parting in helpless has all been so funny,” she gurgled—“yesterday when you started over so bravely and—and retreated at the sign of the bulldog, and today when with all .those red. axes and things you came like a whole fire department.” She bent to caress the dog. “What shall we do with him. Bobs?” she asked wickedly. “The poor man is frightened to death.” , Gordon made a frantic effort for dignity as he clung to the uncertain bough. “I would like to speak to Peter Stuyvesant,!’ he said stiffly. \

The girl shook her head. “You can’t,” she told, him. “There isn’t any. Peter Stuyvesant was my grandfather. I never saw Mm. Bobs is the only relative I have. We come but to the old place to live every summer.” “But—but the note?” murmured Gordon, perplexed. ■■ The girl’s Pink cheeks grew pinker. “I wrote them.” she ’ confessed. “P. Stuyvesant—that means Polly.” For a long moment the girl’s blue eyes looked up into the man’s brown ones. “I had to.” she excused, “you were so cpmmanding.”* “I was,” agreed Gordon. Then the awful thing happened. Bending lower the better to see her face, the man lost his balance and fell, lying there a huddled body at her feet. After one sharp cry she brushed the* dog aside and raised Gordon’s suffering face in her hands. “Its my leg,” he said painfully; “broken, I guess.” And it was. Because the physician found it easier to move him into the old house, near by, Martha came down from the bungalow to care for him there. - So the days and the weeks drifted by. It was a very repentant and charming young woman who kept Gordon’s room sweet with flowers from her garden, who read to him through long afternoons, w’hd sang to him softly in enchanted twilights, whose hands at last clung to his tenderly, responsive, as he held them close to his own. “Dear,” he said to her one evening, whil; Bobs blinked affectionately at them both—“dear, we must come backhere every summer, and when you are my wife you shall fix place over-tp suit yqurselfy We will take down tlip stone and give to the house its'new flame.” ” Polly’s radiant eyes twinkled back at her lover. “We will call our summer home the Hanging Bough,” she said.

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN. RENSSELAER. IND.

An overbodice and a tunic joined together, distinguish the smart and snappy dress of wool fabric which is pictured here. —Both are decided sue*cesses in this season’s styles. The tunic is worn over a narrow, straighthanging underskirt and the sleeveless bodice over a lining bodice;, with sleeves attached.made of the same cloth as the dress or of sqtin. Quite often the underskirt is of satin also. These two items of information will prove useful to those thrifty and patriotic women who are conserving our wool supply by making over a last year’s suit or dress into a (his year’s model. It can be done very successfully when a shortage of material is helped out with satin sleeves or satin underskirt. The dress pictured is excellent for business or general wear. Machine stitching in rows, buttons and buttonholes give it a tailored finish. The tunic opens at the left side, with one edge finished with buttonholes and the other with buttons, manifestly made for each other. But they are destined never to be united, for a mere slip of

If you looking for elegance In a coat yob are of the same -mind as the designer of the handsome model shown in the picture. He has undertaken to make, with castor broadcloth and beaver fur, a garment that cannot be outclassed by any rival, no matter how rich or expensive. His achievement is an example of the best art of the tailor and merits study to make this coat the peer of far more costly garments, the refinement of broadcloth (especially in the color chosen), long, graceful and superb tailoring are all combine® in a result that will delight the woman of exquisite taste. The coat is cut in the modish length, is semi-fitted at the back and hangs straight in front. It has lapped seams, and slit pockets, cat in a curve. The only stitching, put in solely to be ornamental, appears in several rows below the pockets and running parallel to them?.’ There are long shoulders and roomy sleeves cut In the plain coatsteeve fashion. No other fur would do quite so well for the ample collar and cuffs as beaver, although seal or mink or kolinsky ail make a good finish. But the beaver fur keeps the coat all in one color, for even the huge, semi-transparent buttons are of the same color as the cloth.

Tunic Dress With Overbodice

Elegance in Broadcloth Coat

a braided band stands between them. Braiding in the same design appears on the sailor collar that finishes the neck.- —~ Tiie underskirt is joined to the underwaist (which need not be made of wool or satin, but of a lining material). The overbodice is managed with TtsTastening of buttons and buttonholes at one side and sleeve finished with three tucks above the wrist. Each of them makes place for a bone button, forming a row of three. These rather large, plain, bone buttons are lined up with military precision in straight and in curved lines on tunic and bodice, making what appears to be a simple trimming, but it takes an expert to place them so exactly. A dress of this kind, worn with a fur neckpiece,—is—warm -enough—feestreet wear on autumn days and as appropriate as a tailored suit. In winter it is worn under a long, enveloping coat with muffler collar, and together, they can defy the thermometer to go as far as it likes in a downward direction.

The designer could not afford to have them commonplace and their unusual size is warranted by the character of the coat which is altogether out of the ordinary. This is one among a‘ good many attractive coats this season that will serve for many occasions, just as a fur coat does. It Is certain that no winter has brought with it more becoming wraps or cloths better adapted to graceful styles. - V &

Cocked Hats.

The “cocked” hat again is noticed. One comes in the sheen variety of black velvet, and is trimmed with two huge pompoms of clipped material unusually trim in their effect. The hat worn high on the head looks extremely well when worn with the closely fitted fur pieces, And gives the wearer a chance to display some head length even if her neck is completely hidden.

Way to Clean Mesh Bags.

An easy way to clean a sllVer mesh bag is to wash it in warm water, using a pure white soap; and a small brush such as b Elnse well and pat dry with a cloth.

Gales of GOTIIAM and other CITIES

Dorothy’s Adventures in Loopland —Two Chapters CHICAGO. —Little Dorothy Crosby, the wistful and the eighteen years bld, who up to that day, five weeks ago when she-slicked back her hair, pinked her cheeks and lips, bought herself a wedding ring and a

eothemselves,and she belivvetl them. Adventtire and romance spilled ftsel upon Dorothy's gentle head from the moment she seated herself upon the o >- servatlon platform of the Overland Limited in San Francisco, where her mamma lives, and the wheels began to turn. “Oh, oh!” she cried. “My suitcase! I left it on the platform. A gallant bird hopped llghtlv over the brass railing, retrieved the careless suitcase, caught the train and Dorothy Moore, later Dorothy Crosby, was thereby initiated Into the world. The young man was a “millionaire acton and before they got to Chicago he had told her of a hotel where,actor people could live cheaply. . \ But she sidestepped the lure. Dutifully she reported, she says, to the swell home of her aunt and uncle, the Spencer .Crosbys, at Glencoe. .Two days of kids.and two nights of kids and Dorothy went away. Five weeks later she became a connoisseur of cabarets. The rabble in the courtroom listened aghast as she unrolled her stories of the “millionaires she had met. V Alas, the scene changes: . The girl reporter presented herself at the place where Dorothy was staying, behind the bars. Judge Uhllr had said: “Let her sleep tonight behind a window with bars. Forget not that sh tried to throw heiself from a window.” . And so it was. Popular Recruit Bombardedl With Wrist Watches DETROIT The popular recruit is having a hard time getting to rights these days It’s pretty hard to think of a fellow’s cousins—girl cousins, mind you—all separately and individually sending him wrist watches. There is a

little blonde cousin—he hates like the dickens to part with her wrist watch. He knows that she went without a new hat to get it. or else got in bad with father by “boning” him for an extra allowance. •Then there is the black-eyed cousin—poor kid. she certainly must_ have bee# in a heroic mood when she Isent on the wrist watch. For if there is anything that the black-eyed cousin doesn’t like to part with it is her mondy. Then there is the freckle-

faced cousin and the cousin with red hair and the one that turns her toes in. They are all represented by wrist watches, and he wishes with all his heart that he was a centipede or something that he could decorate himself with the whole bunch of them. The popular young recruit who will have,money when he grovs up and who is awfully eligible from every point of view has stacks of leather objects sent to him by the mammas and aunties of promising young girls He has leather wall wallets, traveling cases and leather-backed writing books and traveling photograph frames and portfolios and leather cases contain ng coat hangers, Wousers hangers, etc., and leather shaving cases and playing-card outfits and boot polishing outfits and more andm_ore_of. them. . They «.ome to camp by every mail and as he disinters them from their elaborate tvrappings his somewhat- carping tent mates suggest to him that if the worst < omes to the worst and their boots really do wear out nobody need ever expec; they will get new ones,with sojnuch leather i n the house. Where the Well-Meaning Paola “Got in Bad” NEW YORK. —When the blue-coated representative of the West One Hundredth street police station shouldered his way to the center of the agitation the other afternoon at One Hundred and Fourth street and Amsterdam

whole affair was happening. “Well, what’s it all about?” asked the policeman. “Wait —one at a time!** “I have been trading here with Giovanni for two years now come next December,” said Mrs. Hennessy, “and I always got what I wanted befcffe. This morning I was on my way downtown to do some shopping and left my vegetable list of what I wanted with this boy for him to send up to the house. Everything was all right except the two baskets of sickle pears that I ordered, and when I saw them I had to come right down and tell him he can’t put that sort of stuff over on me. Just look at ’em !” 7The policeman obediently gazed at the baskets of pears which Mrs. Hennessy had brought back, and even to his unbiased mind there appeared the need for explanation from Paola. “All right, kid,” he said, turning to the lad, “jump In the witness chair and tell your little tale. Why did you send suth rotten pears to the lady?” “But that’s what it said on her list,” wailed Paola. “It said ‘two baskets of sickly pears,’ and I got her the sickliest I could find.” i Carried Off Heavy Furnace in Broad Daylight KANSAS CITS' Three well-dressed, affable strangers with a yellow motortruck borrowed a*v from Mrs. T. W. McGuire, 3305 East .Twentieth street, stole a heavy furnace and all its equipment from Mrs. McGuire and

then returned the key, according to complaint made to the police. Mrs. McGuire’s husband and her two sons have been conducting a sheet metal establishment in a building at 20Q4 Indiana avenue. Recently, however, one of the boys enlisted and later the second was drafted. So McGuire closed, his shop. i The other afternoon a yellow truck and' three men drew up before the McGuire residence, on Twentieth street. The Spokesman explained that

they were electricians and desired to repair the wiring In the p’ace at 2004 Indiana avenue. . Mtjs. McGuire expressed her delight —and gave the man the key. - ;! - A druggist near the Indiana street store noticed three meh with a yellow truck dismantling the big exhibition furnace in the window of the McGuire store, and continued whistling and watching the girls'go by. Sometime later a yellow truck stopped on the corner near the McGuire home and an affable stranger returned Mrs. McGuire a key, telling her the wiring was all "O. K.” Mrs. McGuire thanked him and he left. a Now the police are looking-for three well-dressed strangers, onifc yeljow motortruck and one furnace with accompanying equipment. -■

phony three-karat diamond ring and chose for'herself a mythical dreamhusband, had never told a fib in her 1ife......_ - From that day on, she with a languid droop of her eyelids, she has told little else. The gay country called Loopland is a bright spot infested with cabarets, and cocktails. All men are either rich jyoolen merchants, steel magnates, wealthy munition makers, plain millionaires or judges—they all told her

avenue he found two persons attracting more attention than for a moment he could subdue. Finally he injected himself into the conversation and learned that one of the oratorical contestants was Mrs. William Hennessy of One Hundred and Tenth street and Columbus avenue, while the other was a youth sixteen years old. His name, said the youth, w r as Paola Martiue, and he was the second deputy assistant of Giovanni' Bertruchhi, before whose sidewalk establishment the