Evening Republican, Volume 21, Number 241, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 14 October 1918 — Anne's Lunatic [ARTICLE]

Anne's Lunatic

By EILEEN OWENS

(Copyright, IMS, by the McClure Newspa- . per Syndicate.) Had anyone been present at a certain coxy little white cottage one evening in early June, they would have seen Anne Whitney going from room to room, barring all the windows and fastening all the doors. One might wonder why Anne was so very cautiously sealing up her abode; one might even suspect Anne of being afraid, but that was not the case. Anne Whitney was absolutely and unconditionally alone, for her housekeeper, the good Mrs. Mather, had been called away suddenly by the death of her brother and Anne’s cottage was nearly five miles from the village proper. This was sufficiently disturbing, but add to this the fact that she had seen that veryafternoon a notice stating that a certain inmate of a nearby insane asylum had escaped—a very dangerous inmate for whose return five hundred dollars was offered, and'Anne would no longer seem a timid person, but instead a firm advocate of preparedness. This was the second summer that Anne had come to Oakdale, the tiny village tucked away in the hills, away from the hustling, bustling city, where she drew clever illustrations for a certain popular magazine. Antfe could not help feeling a trifle wary, but she went to bed early and soon fell asleep. Some time later—it must have been near three o’clock —she was awakened by a loud shout She sat up in bed. A moment’s silence and then a confused shouting and scuffling, then a thud as of a body falling, and once more —silence. Memories of acts of insane people rushed through her mind in quick succession and she trembled violently. Finally summoning together all her courage she slipped from the bed and looked out the window. To her utter relief she saw nothing at all alarming. “Could it have been a dream?” Anne questioned herself. Then, as once more she crept into bed, she concluded that it had been a nightmare, evidently brought on by her distressing thoughts of lunatics, whereupon she promptly fell asleep and did not waken until the bright morning stmshine was streaming in on her face. She rose quickly and, still fearful of the lunatic’s proximity, she decided to spend the’ day-on the lake. So hastily packing a lunch and taking a new book, she went down to the boathouse. Humming a little tune, she opened the door, and then her heart skipped a beat or two, for there, lying full length on the floor, was a man who seemed to be asleep. The lunatic I And a dangerous one at that!

He wore the conventional garb of an inmate of the asylum, but even in her fright Apne noticed that he still wore eilk socks and good looking shoes. She couldn't see his face very well, for the shadows were striking it and left it in semi-darkness. By this time Anne was trembling all over. What should she do? Just then she spied the old rifle hanging on the wall and, without knowing why, she reached over and picked it up. But her act awakened the sleeping man and Anne felt her heart slip—slip until it seemed to settle down in her heels. For the man, with a dazed look in his eyes, sprang up and was about to rush out when he was halted by Anne’s rather tremulous call, “Hands upl” Anne, who had never seen a lunatic before, much less captured one, did not know whether he would comprehend the term, but apparently he did, for slowly withdrawing a step or two, he raised his hands. The lunatic was tall and well proportioned. He had light, wavy hair which was now sadly disarranged, his eyes were deep blue, and as they regarded Anne’s frightened face behind the ugly rifle, they lighted up appreciatively. Altogether Anne’s lunatic was a very likeable young man and a wave of pity swept over her as she thought of his affliction. Possibly he was insane only at intervals, and this might be one of his rational periods. Fervently hoping her surmise was correct Anne told him to sit down, which he did, inquiring, “To what must I be grateful for the pleasure of your company?” Anne did not reply, but shifted the rifle to a more menacing position, and thought, “If only I can hold him here until some one goes by and come to help me." What should she do if he became violent? Anne did not know. The lunatic, seated on a low box on the floor, still looked somewhat mystified, and said to Anne, “Will you kindly tell me why I am being kept, prisoner here? Not that I object with you as jailer, but —” Anne blushed, for It is very embarrassing to receive compliments from a man you are bolding prisoner, even if he is a lunatic. At* first she decided not to answer him at all, but fearing that her silence would irritate him, she concluded that she had better answer his questions. “Didn’t you hear the noises of a fight here last night?” he asked. Anne trembled, for she thought he had attacked some one and that the thoughts of It would work him up. "Why, y-yes, I did," she admitted, then, trying to change the subject, she

added: “Wouldn’t you like something to eat?” Happily she had struck a weak spot and he gladly accepted the lunch basket He divided everything, giving her the lion’s share, which she did not dare refuse. But if she thought to divert his mind from the events of last evening she was mistaken, for he began again: “Last night I was on my way to Oakdale, where I Intend, or perhaps I should say Intended, to spend my vacation, and my gasoline gave out about five miles from town. Of course, there was no one around, so I started to hike it. I was making pretty good time when Just as I reached this place I saw a man trying to get in by a window. *1 tried to be a hero and the next thing I knew I found myself in these duds and with you pointing a gun at me. I wish you’d explain matters a bit." Anne looked at him. Was he telling the truth? He certainly looked and acted as though he was, but somewhere she had heard of the “diabolical craftiness of the insane mind,” and —she didn’t believe him. Still trying to humor him, she said: “I’m very much obliged to you, sir, and perhaps in a little while you can go.” “Don’t you believe me?” he cried, exasperated. “Oh. of course,” said Anne.’ “but wouldn’t you like to stay with me a little longer?" “E-er, why certainly. I’d be delighted ; but I do wish you’d put that beastly gun down. It makes me feel rather uncomfortable to be staring into the muzzle of a rifle ail the time.” Anne, who was really tired of holding the heavy weapon, let it drop to her side, but still kept her hand on it. A silence then fell, and Anne, still keeping one eye on the road and the other on her prisoner, thought over what he had said. Evidently she had not been dreaming, for he had been in the fight, but who and where was the other man? He had said he intended to spend his vacation at Oakdale, and Anne found herself thinking how nice it would be if some one like him, in his right mind, of course, should come to the tiny village. They would meet, they would form a mutual fondness, they would tramp the woods, they would row on the lake, and they would — “Say”—Anne came back to the present with a thud —“how long are you going to keep a fellow in this coop?” Anne didn’t know what to say. She was somewhat provoked herself, for it was now long past noon and it was hot and, moreover, she was very thirsty. She felt and looked as if she wanted to cry and the lunatic said apologetically, “I hope you’ll forgive my rudeness, but Tm telling the truth, honestly, and —”

But Anne did not hear him, for she had jujst spied the old mail carrier riding by and in another moment Anne was pouring out her tale. “Oh, Mr. Johnson, I’ve got the lunatic here, and the gun is so heavy and —” “Lunatic!” thundered the prisoner. “So that’s what you think I am?” “Lunatic!” ejaculated the old man. “Why, that’s Jim Burroughs, who’s bought the old Pendergast place down in the village. The lunatic was caught this morning, plumb tuckered out and in some clothes he'd evidently borrowed.” Anne Stared, then she flushed to the roots of her hair. “Oh, please try to forgive me. I didn’t know and I tried to believe you weren’t the lunatic, honestly I did, hut—” “Don’t worry,” replied the erstwhile lunatic. “I really didn’t mind being prisoner, under the circumstances.” Thus comforted, Anne questioned: “Wouldn’t you like to come out some day and get acquainted with me, minus the gun?” Jim Burroughs thought that he would, but at present he thought it advisable to shed the garments so kindly (?) left him by his assailant, and so with a gay smile and a promise to come again he drove off with the mail carrier. The next day he made good his promise, and soon after Anne’s dream was fulfilled, for they met, they formed a mutual fondness, they roamed the woods, they rowed on the lake, and as all good stories should end —they married and lived happily ever after.