Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 187, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 August 1918 — Settling Beatrice [ARTICLE]

Settling Beatrice

By S. B. HACKLEY

(Copyright, 1918, by. the McClure Newspai per Syndicate.) “Responsibility for Beatrice’s settlement is rendering me absolutely distraught, Doris. Living in a little place like this with so few social equals is enough to drive one wild.” Mrs. Eileen Campbell, wife of the lime manufacturer at Bardstown, rolled her china-blue eyes deprecatively. *lf it weren’t that Frank is making money ‘hand over fist,’ as he calls it, here, I simply could not endure it.” Mrs. Carter, wlfq of the road-build-ing contractor nodded appreciatively, “That’s what I tell ’Gene. How long are you going to stay in New York with the Macons, Eileen?” “Oh, two weeks, probably. Now that Bee leaves tomorrow with Alethea McCue for the house-party, I feel safe about her. Alethea has been begging me to let her stay on with them through the summer. Sammy—” she lowered her voice, “Sammy is going to be there!” “How very opportune!” commented Mrs. Carter. Beatrice, an involuntary listener, with her piquant face, her characterful mouth and blue eyes, both dolorous and indignant, hastily left the library. Her father, a serious-looking man with red hair, met her in the. hall. “Oh, daddy, let me stay home with you while mother is away,” she whispered. “I want to so!” “Yojjr mother would have a fit if you missed that McCue blow-out, sweetheart. We can’t go against her in this, I guess. It’s late —you’d better run away to your bed. But wait, Kitten, here’s a check I promised Pryor. Address it to him, and drop it in the box, will you?” After an interminable time, It seemed to Beatrice, she heard her parents go to their sleeping rooms, but sleep would not come to her. She arose finally and drew on her dressing gown. “I wish I could tell daddy!” she thought as she went to her writing desk. “I’ll write to Louie —he can’t help me, but I’ve got to tell somebody now!”

“Bardstown, N. C., August 2, 1916. “Dr. Louis M. Acheson, Pendleton, Oregon,” she wrote at the top of het page. “Dear, Dear Louie. —I promised you Pd tell you the minute I found the prince, but I couldn’t, though It’s been four months. I was too happy, for a little while, and since—oh, Louie —I’ve got to tell somebody my troubles, or I’ll burst! “I guess Pve told you in this tiny old place, there’s a MOO,’ only here it’s a ‘so,’ mostly the Macon family scions. The Macon father was an old scoun--drel (I’m quoting daddy), but he owned the big resort hotel here and nearly everything else. Mrs. Atlee Jeffers and Mrs. Felix Landrlth, two of the daughters, live here. Mrs. Landrith married an old, old man, something like a Maharajah for wealth (he must have been a beast, judging by her unhappy face), and she’s got a regular castle overlooking the town. “Well, mother considers them, and her very special Mrs, Doris Carter, and a few others, her social equals. I wouldn’t say it to anybody but you, Louie, but you know it already; mother and hpr friends just live for dancing and entertaining, and clothes — nothing else! Daddy told her yesterday their chief occupation as he sees it is the ‘ornamentation of the chariots that carry them through this little arc in the circle of being!’ “But because the Macon scions are sort of patrons of Arland, the little church here, and attend services once in a blue moon, mother- does, too, and I’ve been attending the Arland Sunday school, and other services right along, without a protest from her. Early this spring, Mr. Lowrie, the old pastor, died and the board that pays tlje minister’s small salary, sent Glenn Pryor. He isn’t exclusive, and just ‘churchy,* like Mr. Lowrie. He wants to help everybody and everything, and he makes friends with all the poor and neglected. He’s started a branch of the Good Citizens’ league, and new you can’t find a rusty tin can or a homeless cat in the town. He doesn’t trouble himself so much about the ‘so,’ except that he calls on them and Is pleasant to them. “And he’s started a Young Folks’ circle for Wednesday evenings that does things like singing to sick folks, and the jaH folks, and the county infirmary folks. I knew he was the “prince” the first time I heard him Speak. Of course, he didn’t know right off I was the “princess,” but he came to know. (Louie, Tm like daddy —I love people, just because they’re ipeople), and he liked my way, I know; for he —he’d got so his eyes were glad when they turned to me! And I was happy. ...

“Then the first of July the season opened at the hotel, and they begun those Wednesday and Saturday night dances. The first Wednesday night we were to go after the circle met to sing for old Mrs. Filbert (she’d been* on her death-bed for a month), and rd promised her Td sing an old, old ballad she loved. None of the other girls knew it But mother , wouldn’t listen to me, and made me go to that hateful dance. We didn’t leave until one o’clock, and just as we came out of the gate where they’ve got a big electric light that lights up everything (I was walking in front with that horrid, rich

Sammy McCue, Mrs. McCue’s brother-in-law), we met Mr. Pryor. “His eyes looked positively reprbachful when they met mine. He lifted his hat, sober and unsmiling, and passed,and I felt my heart break under the weight of his misunderstanding. I heard it break, Louie. And next morning I found out Mrs. Filbert had died at midnight I couldn’t make any explanation to him without appearing to censure mother, so I didn’t make any. “So, July, a wretched, month, has passed. Mother’s swept me into the hotel social life until I.haven’t had a minute (not even Sunday) for my friends. (I ought to have stood up to mother, but I hate a Tow; I am a coward, Louie, and because I am, I am miserable.) “Tomorrow I’m to leave for Georgia and the McCue’s party, to make further conquest of that Sammy toad. The prince is Just gently courteous to me, as he is to everybody else, when we chance to meet now. He hears of my going to all those hateful dances and giving all my time to social frivolities, and he thinks Pm a breaker of promises, and shallow, and fickle, and untrustworthy! Til never be able to redeem myself in his eyes. I believe I could, if I had a chance, away from mother, but I won’t get it, and he’ll marry somebody else! Oh, Louie! “This is a wailing letter, but I feel better since I’ve told you my tribulations! “Your cousin and friend in weal and woe (mostly woe'at present). “Beatrice Caswell.” Two days after, Mr. Caswell received a telegram from New York: “Quarantined. Can’t leave under six weeks. Beatrice to stay on with the McCues. Eileen.” On Wednesday evening a tan pongee traveling dress pounced down upon him.

“Oh, daddy—l’ve come home! I’ve come home I” “But the house-party! Mother wanted you to stay, Bee!” “Oh daddy—l never wanted to go! I started home the minute I knew mother had to stay in New York, and you’re going to let me stay home with you!” Her father laughed. JT won’t send you back, Kitten.” When the Arland church bell rang, at eight o’clock, Beatrice jumped up. “It’s the circle night, daddy; let’s go!” Two weeks later, Beatrice went alone for her favorite walk up Gray’s mountain. At the summit she came upon the young minister sprawled on a mossy spot, some typewritten sheets spread out before him. He started guiltily at sight of her, and with unnecessary haste, folded the papers. “Our next Sunday’s sermon!” she bantered. “May I see how it looks on paper?” He flushed and thrust the folded sheets in his pocket, then fished out of another pocket a strip of paper which he held out to her.

“Pm afraid your father has a bad opinion of me, but his generous check, mailed to me more than two weeks ago, reached me only this noon.” “Two weeks ago,” murmured Beatrice, puzzled. Then the red blood dyed her cheeks. “Was—was it forwarded from Oregon?” she stammered. “It was.” “I—oh, I must have mixed the envelopes !” she stammered. “Then you—that awful letter—” He came and stood by her. “I remalled the letter that was sent me by mistake,*’ he said. f “But you read It!” her hands went over her burning face. “Yes,” he confessed. ‘T didn’t realize what it meant until I’d begun it, then—it was beautiful reading! I wanted to go down to Georgia on- the first train —I wanted to keep the — princess’ letter —but I didn’t dare do that, either. So I copied the letter, and I’ve been carrying the copy here close to my heart ever since. Sometimes I’ve kissed it!”

She raised her drooping head. “Then you—oh, Glenn!” It wasn’t the letter that lay close to his heart that he was kissing thery A month later Mrs. Carter, just returned from a six'wegks’ visit, calling on Mrs. Felix Landrlth, met Beatrice Caswell and, Glenn Pryor just leaving. “Did you notice that child’s face?” Mrs. Landrlth remarked, as the pair passed out of hearing.- “Love has made her beautiful.”-

“Love!” gasped Mrs. Carter. “You don’t mean to say she’s in love with him? Why. Mrs. McCue’s brother-in-law was crazy about her when I left! Glenn Pryor, with those altruistic notions of his, probably never will have a penny.!” She set her lips. “Why, It’s suhidal! I’ll write to Eileen today I” "Doris Carter,” the older woman laid a hand on her shoulder, “don’t you do anything of the kind. It may seem to you suicidal to marry for love, yvithout money, but jt’s worse than suicide to reverse it. I did . that, anW I know. Don't you write to Eileen Caswell. But even if yod were to, it’s too late for her to make the child unhappy. His Scotch uncle wants him to come over to France right away, to help him in his army work, and the board has reluctantly-ebnsented. Naturally, he wants to take, his wife with him. I am going up tn Frank Caswell’s now to persuade him-to let them be married tomorrow.” .