Evening Republican, Volume 22, Number 98, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 26 April 1919 — HER ADVENTURE [ARTICLE]

HER ADVENTURE

By AGNES G. BROGAN.

•Cul>yrij[bt, IUIU. by Western .Nrw.p.per Luiou./ Cynthia leaned back and let the motorboat travel aimlessly down the river; she was undecided what to do with her afternoon. If only things happened in real life as they did in those enchanting magazine stories! In such a setting as this, something delightfully unexpected would be sure to befall a magazine heroine. Yet here was Cynthia, her fourth week at the Point, and each day following anothef in tiresome sameness. She had #ea»l until interesting episodes- merely provoked by contrast to commonplace realities.* She hud not even tried to be companionable with the uninteresting young men who made the hotel their headquarters while fishing or sailing the river. The woman guests also were very ordinary with their constant planning for dances and their endless veranda conversations. Her one pleasant relaxation was a daily visit to the lighthouse, whose white tower showed far away. There was a tiny garden at the back of the lighthouse and room enough beyond for Cynthia to moor her small boat. The old keeper of the Point, who was quite a famous character with habitues, was deaf, hut he exacted little conversation from his visitors, entertaining them instead, with true tales worthy of the magazines to which Cynthia subscribed. Old Charlie’s life had been one of adventure.. There was a love story woven through it too, a story with a sod ending, which had not embittered the old man’s cheery spirit. Cynthia loved to listen to his life story swinging in Charlie’s hammock and speaking her admiration afterward —which would-bring a gleam of pleasure to tlie seaman’s eyes-—l>f his perfect housekeeping. For the seaman’s home was the lighthouse. His bunk fitted one end of the spotless kitchen. On cloudless days Cynthia used to climb up the narrow stair to the high upper balcony. The view from here was magnificent and the peaceful quiet most inspiring. Old Charlie had many visitors, but Cynthia was favorite of them all. Cynthia anchored her boat and climbed the incline to the lighthouse door. Charlie was not in sight. He had gone, no doubt, for his daily supplies and would sooh return. Cynthia decided to ascend to the high “balcony and to “look the landscape o’er.” She noticed as she came through the small iron door that clouds “no bigger than a man’s hand” were scurrying across the sky. The swift breeze they occasioned came to her gratefully; the day had been exceedingly hot. Hypnotically she watched the break of the waves ns she crouched against the iron door. Then Cynthia fell asleep. It was a rude beating blast which aroused her to consciousness and to the realization that the afternoon was far spent and a quick storm brewing. She stood up clinging to the railing as the wind flapped her skirts and wondering whether it would be wise to venture now upon the homeward trip in her tiny craft or to await in old Charlie’s comfortable kitchen the cessation of' the storm. As heavy drops fell upon her upturned face she decided upon the latter course and turned to open the tower’s iron door. Then with a gasp of dismay Cynthia found that she had thoughtlessly closed the door, which locked with a spring and could only be opened from the inner side.

Propping herself in a vise between door and rail Cynthia sat, the wind tearing at her. the rain falling upon her unprotected head. In a last futile effort she crept slowly around the high tower, though she knew there was no other means of descent save through the closed iron door. She could cry, of course, but who could heed her sobbing? *fo. she must hopelessly cling, a bit/of human driftwood, buffeted by the elements. By and by the lights would gleam ■ out around her, showing across the angry waters —still she would be alone —perhaps throughout the night. It would not likely occur to those at the hotel that she had stopped at the lighthouse. They would be more likely to think her Safely sheltered In the Yacht club. Peering through her wet hair, Cynthia discerned at last another motorboat making its troubled way through the waves—it had touched shore —old Charlie perhaps returned from his errand. Cynthia determined to scream; a piercing scream might reach his dead ear drums. But there was no response. In her really critical position the girl laughed tremulously. Well—here was her adventur% at last! Then, just as he should —the hero came. Sharply the iron door was flung open. A severe young man scowled down upon the crouching girl. “Just as I expected,” he said angrily, “»nd your daring might have led .you to even more than this, Cynthia.” Masterfully the hero gathered the crestfallep wet little figure up in his arms; inside the door, he waited. “When I arrived at the hotel this afternoon and they told me that yon had gone out in your boat I searched for you at every possible haunt. This was the last which occurred to me. Have you had enough of adventure hunting. Cynthia? Are you ready now to settle down into the humdrum life you professed to scorn? I still want vou very'"much dear.?, ~ “Yes, rm ready,” Cynthia answered meekly, and her lover carried her on down the 6tafr.