Evening Republican, Volume 23, Number 99, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 23 April 1920 — Page 2

The Man Nobody Knew

(Coyyrlgtit by Dodd. M—d A Co. Ino.)

"LET ’EM MAKE ME LOOK LIKE THAT!”

Everyone knows about the Legion Etrangere--the famous Foreign Legion of the French army.. Well, Richard Morgan of Syracuse, N. Y., enlisted in the Foreign Legion in the great war under the name of Henry Hilliard. So you can guess that the hero was not in love with himself or with life. The Hun sent him to the hospital with a wounded knee and arm and a face pretty much shot away with shrapnel. The surgeons fixed up his knee and his arm. When they proposed to restore his features, he lied and said he had no photograph of himself. And in his rage against life he caught up a picture postcard bearing the radiant face of Christ and cried: “Let ’em make me look like that! Or anything else, either—l don’t give ad—n!” ~ The French surgeons were interested and did a good lob. And presently “The Man Nobody Knew” is back in Syracuse, telling of the death of Dick Morgan and selling mining stock and falling deeper in love with Carol Durant, the “only girl” of his old life who had refused to marry Dick Morgan, the failure. . g Complications! Well, rather—especially when the mining stock apparently turns out to be worthless and the only man in the world who knows Hilliard’s secret dies of apoplexy and the hero finds out that the heroine did love Dick’Morgan. And Holworthy Hall handles these complications and these real, human characters and this American community in the masterly way that makes him read from one end of the country to the other these days. Good reading!

i CHAPTER I. —l—- • Tn the beginning of things, he was merely a number; but even that was creditable, because his number was low enough to signify that he had responded pretty promptly to the rallying call. After that, and with the cataclysmic suddenness which marked ell changes of military status on the western front, he became, one frosty morning, a Case, and got himself roughly classified (and tenderly handled) as a Stretcher Case, a Grand Blesse, and, in consequence, a proper inmate of a field hospital on the Belgian plains. There, he was unofficial!y known as Joyeaux, or Joyous One; not because ho displayed a very buoyant dlsposl- - tion—fa • from It I—but because he belonged to the Foreign legion; and In the course of another day or two he was routine-ticketed as an Evacue, and provided with a lukewarm hotwater bottle and a couple of evllaniSling cigarettes to console him on the road to the Ipse hospital at Neuilly. At Neuilly he became, for the first time since his enlistment, an Individual, and at the very outset he was distinguished by certain qualities which had passed unnoticed in the frying pan and fire of the trenches. For one thing, he was obviously Immune to kindness; and for another, be was apparently immune to hope. He was a man of Inveterate silence; not the grim silence of fortitude in suffering (which is altogether too common a virtue in base hospitals to earn any especial merit), but rather the dogged reticence of black moods and chronic bitterness. To be sure, speech was physically difficult to him, but other men with similar misfortunes spoke blessings with their eyes, and gave back gratitude In voiceless murmurs. Not so the Joyous One. From the day of bls arrival he demanded nothing, desired nothing, but to brood sullenly aloof; and so, when he became an Individual, he also became a mystery to the nursing staff. It was rumored that be was an Implacable woman hater, and there seemed to be something in it. Regardless of the care of the American nurses (all hoverlngly attentive to one of their own nation who had fought for France), his spirit remained abysmal and clouded in gloom. Only twice, In the initial month of his confinement, did he betray the weakness Of an ordinary emotion; on each occasion a gold-laced general had come to aahrta, in the name of the republic, one of die Individual’s neighbors, and to deliver a bit of bronze which dangled from a ribbon striped red and green. B was said (and doubted by those who hadn’t seen it) that at these ceremonies the Individual had grown feverish, and let tears come to bls eyes, but aabsequently be had reSap ed into still greater depths of stoicism than before; bls own bed-Jacket was Innocent of cross or medal, and bls depreewas apparent, and acute. The nurses, arguing that perhaps bls pride was wounded as seriously as bls flesh, offered quick condolence and got thempelves rebuffed with shrugs of tbe Infilridual’s shoulders, and Inarticulate Zounds which bad all the earmarks of impressed profanity. He didn’t even .often when Pierre Dutout, a hard-hit _ day’s supply at energy to lean across and whisper sympathetically to him: *Old man /. . Vieux espece de chouxifrpwte . , . I know hew ft is . .

I want you to take my Croix de Guerre. . . . When I go nowhere.” Even when speech returned to the Individual he was a man of curt responses and stinging monosyllables—a problem to the surgeons, a problem to the nurses and (If the expression in his eyes meant anything), an overwhelming- problem to himself. It appeared that, after all, it wasn’t simply women that be bated —It was the universe.

His military book implied that he had no parents, no close relations, no friends to notify, no fixed abode. He received no visitors, no letters, no packages freighted with magical delight. But to those who pitied him in all his loneliness he was utterly contemptuous; he even went so far as to fillip sidelong to the floor a religious post card tendered him by a devout and sentimental passer-by, and he did it In her presence, unashamed. Later, when a smiling orderly picked np that post card and tucked It under bls pillow he was no less contemptuous in permitting it to remain. But the one stupendous fact which, more than all else combined, made him an object of bewildered curiosity was this—that of the scores and scores of men jwith head-wounds who were reborn at Neuilly that spring and summer, he was the only one who had never asked for a mirror. This, of Itself, wouldn’t have been astonishing as long as he delayed In the preliminary stages of recovery, for now and then a man with head-wounds proves to be super-sensitive; but In the second stage It was remarkable, and In the third stage it was unique. The staff held It to be extraordinary from a social as well as from a pathological viewpoint, that'a man so terribly disfigured should have no Interest—not even a morbid interest —in his own appearance. And It wasn’t that the Individual was simply Indifferent to the mirror; on the contrary, his aversion to it was active and energetic; he flinched, and motioned it frantically away as though the mere conception of seeing himself as others saw. him was too repellant, and too nn thinkable to endure. There came a day in April when a photograph was requested of him. Surely he knew where there was a likeness of himself, didn’t be? Hls old passport photograph, which had mysteriously disappeared, oreThe Individual glanced up from hls present task; the wound In his arm was still annoying and he was absorbed in learning to write with hls left hand. “What for?” he muttered. “Why,” said the nurse, cheerfully, “for a model. To help the surgeons. They’ll take your picture for a guide and make you look almost exactly the way you did before.” The individual from America sat up straight, so that the nurse “ms startled by hls animation, which was without a parallel in his local history. “What!” he said. < “Certainly I” The nurse spoke in the tone one uses to an ailing child, -you’ve known that, haven’t your The Individual’s voice was queerly unmanageable and strained. “You mean to say they’re going to make me look the jray . . . Could they do that? Could they? Even nowr “Why, of course,” she assured him. -YYou never told me that I” he said, nasslonately. "Why,didn’t you? Why couldn’t you hare told me! And here Pre been ... He put his hands to hls bandaged face and seemed to shrink Rifthlp hUasstf. Jban alt at eoce

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, IND.

By HOLWORTHY HALL

he burst out: “Well, there’s nothing To prevent . . . Then they could make me not look like it. If they wanted to! Isn’t that so?” , She regarded him tn vast perplexity, and thought of summoning a surgeon, for the man bad begun to quiver as though from shell shock—Which he hadn't undergone. “Why, I don’t understand what you mean,” she said soothingly. “But If you’ll Just be calm and—" The Individual gestured with fierce Impatience. 2 “If they can do what you say, and make me look like any old thing they choose to, then what in the devil are they asking for a photograph for?” “Why, to go by,” she said helplessly. “You want to look like your old-self, don't your “No, I don’t!” The nurse gasped. Hls tone had been churlish, but the echo of It vaguely suggested . trluniph and relief. Hls symptoms had subsided ... could it be that he actually was relieved? Dumfounded, she made another effort to convince him. "But you want to look Just as nearly like—” “Don’t you suppose I know what I want?” he Interrupted rudely. "But haven’t you a photograph, anyway, that I can— ’’ “No, I haven’t!” he snapped. "I haven’t.” It was a lie; the passport photograph was in the lining of a certain wallet, and he had hid it there for reasons of hls own. But now that one great danger was definitely past, and a still further bulwark of protection offered. If the nurse spoke truth, the Individual could afford to come out from ambush. “And I don’t want to look the way I did before, and what’s more I never did! But if your doctors are half as smart as they think they are let ’em make me look like that! Or anything else either — I don’t give a d n 1” Shocked and horrified, she was gazing at a picture postcard he had snatched from under hls pillow and thrust upon her. It was a reproduction of a religious painting by Rembrandt: It was the radiant face of the Christ.

CHAPTER 11. Nine o’clock on a night In June—not i June evening, heavy-starred on velvet, but a furious June night, with Stygian blackness looping overhead, and Stygian water battering and boiling against the hull plates. The ship was dark as the night itself; blind dark, without a single ray to play the traitor. On deck a solitary venturer hugged the rail, and apathetically watched the waves tear past Out of the warmth and cheer and the vitiated atmosphere of the smoking room came Martin Harmon, big, florid, exuberant A heaving lift of the deck sent him lurching sidewise; he saved his balance by struggling

“Let Them Make Me Look Like That."

toward the rail, when suddenly the slope was reversed, and he slipped and slid to the barrier of safety, clutched it, and found himself at arm’s length from the lonely .watcher, who hadn’t stirred, or -even turned hls head. “Hello!” said Harmon, hls surprise tinctured with easy familiarity. “Some night!” “Yes, ft is.” The tone of . the response was curt, so curt that Harmon Instinctively leaned forward to discover what expression of countenance went witb It. The night was so black that he might as well have tried to penetrate a curtain of solid fabric. "Seen any U-boats yet?” he asked humorously. - “Not yet” The tadtnrn one moved a trifle away; a man leas thin-skinned and less dined and wined than Harmon would probably have taken the hint and removed himself, but Harmon’s was an inquisitive disposition, and he never attempted to curb it—he was the sort at traveling companion inakea Christiana reflect up-

on the definition of Justifiable homicide. “What is liner he inquired after a pause. The other man laughed queerly. "The first ... if it makes so much difference to you.” “Beg pardon? I don't quite get you. You said . . "I said the first line. I meant, the. first-line trenches. Pre been in it* Harmon jerked hls head upward in comprehension. “Oh, I seel You mean the war! And you’ve been right on the spot where the fighting Is? Pretty lively up there, Isn’t it? Something stirring most all the timer “I Imagine so.” The other man’s accent was amazingly diffident, and Harmon peered at him, Incredulous; “Good Lord, don’t you knowt’ “Not a great deal. I happened to get hit the first day I was In the trenches." “But you got In It again afterward, I suppose? I*ll bet you did!” “No.” “What! You never got back at all? Just one day, and you’re through?” “Yes. After I was discharged from hospital I was discharged from the army too. Permanently unfit” "English army?” “No —French.” “Well, that’s some record!” said Harmon appreciatively. “That certainly is some record! Not to say tough luck —tbe toughest kind. Going back home, I take it?” “Looks that way, doesn’t It?” Harmon Ignored the sarcasm. “Back to work, eh? What did you say your line is?” “I didn’t say. I haven’t any just now.”

Harmon pondered a second. “Oh! Gentleman of leisure? Soldier of fortune, eh? Well, I wouldn’t worry If I were you. You’re disappointed ; that’s natural . . . but the world hasn’t come to an end yet. Of course It is somethlng of a come-down to leave the army and get into harness again, but after all there’s plenty of excitement right in the United States. Big work to be done, son! Big money to make. And it helps the war along, too. I tell you there never was a bigger opportunity to make money than there is right this minute. The hard Job isn’t to find the scheme; it’s to find the men to run it Don’t you worry . . you’ll land something right off the bat!” “Thanks for the compliment!” “Oh, it's no compliment! Anybody can make money these days. It's a plain statement of fact .“ . . Say, let’s go in and have something. Come in and be sociable. What you want’s a drink. Am I right or am I wrong?” "Well—” “And that’s what the doctor ordered! Come on! It’s on me.” The other man hesitated, and* at last succumbed, out of sheer unconcern, to a companionship he realized In advance would be distasteful. “All right,” he consented briefly; and together, arm in arm. th stumbled and tacked across the treacherous deck, and presently crossed the threshold into the hazy light of the smoking room. Harmon, smiling broadly, wiped the brine from hls smarting eyes. — “Now, then,” he said, “what particular brand of poison do you—-”i_And broke off short and stared; fascinated, at the extraordinary young man in front of him. He was anywhere from twenty-five to forty, this American from the distant trenches, and his age was as hard to guess as a clever woman’s; there was something about him peculiar to youth, and yet when hls face was in repose, be might -easily have claimed two score of years and gone undisputed. It was a face which suggested both the fire of immaturity and the drain of experience; there was breathtaking gravity about it, a hint of the dignity of marble, of ageless permanence. It was a slightly thin face, scarred by a heavy line or two, and indelibly stamped with the evidence of Intense inward suffering; but it lacked the hollows Which, at the first glance, should have supported the evidence. It was a thin and oval face, with a mouth of large and sympathetic sweetness, a forehead white and high, a prominent delicate nose, and Irises of clear, luminous gray. It wasn’t altogether an AngloSaxon type of countenance, nor was It definitely European; It seemed rather to have taken all the better qualities from several races. It was a face to Inspire immediate trust and confidence and respect And Hannon, despite his lack of practice in all three of these reactions, was evidently attracted by It “Vlchy-CelestUts for me,” said the old-young man indifferently. - “Fil .. . , I guess HI have vichy too,” said Harmon, relaxing. “If It wasn't for something I can't just describe rd say . w ell, never mind. Er . . .. what business hare you been in, by the way?" The younger man's reply was tardy and not particularly gracious. "Why, the longest time I ever put' in at any one business was selling Insurance. Tbe last thing I did was to sell bonds. Why?* Harmon ■titrand “A salesman! — 111"- - - ~ 7, -.-— -

Good Lord! That’s the last thing la the world I’d have . . but, sayt You must have been a whirlwind I Why, a man with a presence like yours would hardly have to open his mouth! You’ve got a sort of . . . I’ll be hanged if I know what to call It . . . but a kind of feeling, if you know what I mean. Salesman! Why, all you need is an introduction and a dotted line!” The young man laughed rather tar* lornly and sipped his vichy. “Just at present I haven’t either.” Harmon’s gaze was unfaltering, and his Interest and admiration bounded higher. Mechanically, In accordance with his habits, he was striving to discover how this new acquaintance might be put to practical use. “Was

"Meaning What?"

I right, or was I wrong? Playing in hard luck don’t strengthen a man’s courage much, even if he tries to bluff himself Into thinking it does. Cut out the regret stuff; that’s my advice, and you can take it or leave it. Forget all that tough luck you had over here, and get busy figuring out how you’re going to cash in on all your experience. America’s full of chances — you’ll land something big In no time. Can’t help it if you try. Salesman! Son, you’re carrying your best recommendation right on top of your own shoulders!” The young man gave him back a wry smile and finished his vichy. "I only hope it comes true,” he said. Harmon looked at him steadily, and falling under the spell of those radiant features stared and stared until he came to jjimself and all at once brought his fist down on the table, so that the glasses rang again. “Well, why shouldn’t It? As a .matter of fact, why shouldn’t it?” The younger man’s expression hadn’t changed. “Meaning what?” “Meaning,” said Harmon deliberately, “that the first thing I’ve got to do when I get home is to hunt up a couple of good salesmen myself. Are you hunting for a good job, or aren’t you?” “Aren’t you a little hasty?” The young man’s intonation was sardonic. x "I’ve cleaned up most of my money,” said Harmon slowly to the celling, “by making quick decisions. I make up my mind pretty fast. If you can Interest me on short notice you can Interest other people. Mind you, we’re just discussing this —sort of thinking out loud. No obligation on either side. Doesn’t do any harm to talk about It, does it?” “Then suppose,” said the young man placidly, “you define your idea of a good job. Tm rather particular.” “But you admit you’re out of luck, and—” “But you admit Pm a whirlwind.” The young man smiled with faint amusement. “I said you ought to be —with training.” 4 The young man’s mouth turned upward at the corners. ' “Go ahead and describe the job.” “Well, my Idea of a pretty sweet job for a man of your age is—to start,'of course—about twenty a week and commissions.” “Yes? What per cent commission?” , “Oh, eight to ten per cent.” , The young man glanced at Harmon and laughed quietly, / “You’re a broker, of course, but that doesn’t sound much like conservative Investment securities to me. What is it—industrials?” Harmon grimaced. “Yes, Pm a broker.” He net down his glass and fumbled for a card. “There! But I was thinking more about stocks, than bonds. Some new Montana properties—copper and stoe. Metals are the big noise these days. .T guess you realise that, don’t you? Munition work.”

* ‘H’ll show lcanmakegoodorm.tr

CTO BE CONTIXUBXM

LIFE'S LITTLE JESTS

HAD FORGOTTEN. ■■ — • Professor A becomes infatuated with a young lady and woos her with great ardor. "But,” says the maid, “how can 1 marry you? You are already mar* ried?” “Am I?” says he. "Wait a bit.” <Pulls out hls-notebook.) “Oh, yes, 1 am! You are right, my dear!” —Karikaturu, Norway. Good Prescription at That. “I shall never call that doctoi again.” “What’s the matter? Didn’t his advice suit you?” "Not at all. It was Insulting.” “In what way?” “He had the effrontery to suggest that it would do me a lot of good il Pd quit taking life easy and go to work.” Fearful Possibility. . “Let’s hope the cooks don’t form any more unions,” said Senator Sorghum. “Who cares?” “I do. Suppose they were to strika Without cooks there could be no banquets ; and without banquets what would we do for politics?”

THE HALCYON DAYS. , When wo go anywhere now we have to take the street car. Before cur marriage you always called a taxi. Yes; that's the reason vW have to go in the street car now. _ No Chance at All. The grippe shuts you up at hom« With pains that strangely rankle! Or, if you’re well enough to roam. You fall and sprain your ankle. Some Luck. Stout —Did you have any luck at the game last night? * Slim —ril say so. Got cleaned and was going home with the boys and we were held up and the winners lost all their dough to the footpad. Honest Doctor. “My dear lady, you are tn perfect health. I can’t find a thing the matter with you.” “I wish you’d try again, doctor. I do so want to go away to recuperate.” A Problem. “Tell me one thing about a man’s shying his hat into the ring.” “What is that?” “Wtll it keep him from talking through it?” In a Restaurant. -- "Will you have one of our combination breakfasts?” “Not on your life! The last time the combination was acute indigestion and a heart attack.”

Its Style. "Was there much fuss about the telephone girt's breaking her engagement?” “No; merely a case of ring off.* ■ — Natural Handicap. “Isn't it odd that women are so successful in motion pictures?” “Why is It odd?" “Because it is the silent drama.* ] Specified. “There are some drawbacks tn the photograph business.” •‘Yes, it has some ugly features about It.’* _____ Sad Prospect. “Do the doctors give your friends any hope for their rich uncle?” “Not a particle. They,say he may ive for years.” Discussing the Lead. The Comedian—That new leadin’ man’s a cheese. The big stiff! Nothin’ but a cheese. \ The Soubrette—Naw, ,he ain’t no cheese. A cheese is good to eat. a hole In the cheese—Just as rank, but nothin’ to it „ ” Does It Ever Happen? 7_o T ” * • • • thing your heart desires. . Voice Over the Phone-And you m» stay as long as yea Uke, Henry, dear.