Evening Republican, Volume 23, Number 107, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 3 May 1920 — Page 2

The MAN NOBODY KNEW

by HOLWORTHY HALL

T ~ * »m« hospital at Neuilly. France, hla face disfigured t>«»Bd reeernltlon. an American soldier servinir In the French army attraeta atteottaa by hie deep deapondency. Asked by the surgeona for a »h«torra»h te guide them In making over hla face, he offera in derision a Mature of the Savior, bidding them take that aa a model. They doi»o. naklß* a rv**** l1 * llkeneaa. Invalided home, on the boat he meets Marti* Harman. New Tork broker, who is attracted by his remarkable featnraaTlke ex-eeldter gives hid name as "Henry Hilliard, and his home .. a.rarese New York. Ho left there under a cloud, and Is embittered M" former fellow townsmen. Harmon makes him a proposition *• mH mining stocks In Syracuse, concealing his Identity. He accepts it, easing la it a chance to make good and prove he has been underestimated. In Syracuao “Hilliard" (In reality Richard Morgan) la accepted as a -tranaer Ho ri si to Jarnos Cullen, a former employer, relating a story of the death of Richard Morgan, and is surprised at the regret Showa Jgt Callen and hie youthful daughter Angela

CHAPTER lll.—Continued. With Angela peering hard over his shoulder, Mr. Cullen strained to decipher the uneven penmanship. He htgiin to read alond: “Dear Mr. Cullen: am asking Mr. Henry Hilliard to bring you this letter personally. I want him to tell you what I'm not writing, too. And you can tell other people, if you care to. "I want you to know that since I’ve had time to think. I’ve changed my mind about a good many things. I’ve come to the conclusion that you were right and I was wrong. Maybe you won’t remember the last talk we had together, but I do. You told me then thst I didn't have It in me to make good unless I learned that I was about the most worthless young man In town, and the one with the hardest row to hoe in order to make something out of myself, and set out from there. Well, I’ve learned it I had to. Of course, I couldn't agree with you at the time. That wouldn't have been expected. But over here I’ve had one lesson after another. Some of them were pretty bitter, but they’ve all helped. And since May, when I was hurt rve had lots of time to think them over. “I never deserved your kindness and now I cant ever repay It But it may please you to know that this war has taught me what you tried to, and couldn’t —that I was as close to zero value at home as a man could be. It’s only through this war that rve got any pride in myself, and I'm sort of like Kipling’s gentleman ranker—l’m proud of myself because rve done away with all the other kinds of pride I used to have. And I believe I’ve made good—not as a great general, hut as a private soldier. That was the trouble at home —I was only fit t» be a private, and I thought I could ho a general off. hand. You said I'd 4* well If I learned that, and I have. They gave me the Croix de Guerre, and in a way, that proves it, doesn't ttl Notice that they didn’t even make me a corporal, though! That’s all right—l haven’t had enough training yet to be a corporal! It’s curious that ru admit that, isn’t it? “I want you te know that rve Hwmftit of you a greet desk I don’t Mame you for letting me go. I did once, but I don’t now. Please think me, though, as a man who came 1 through at the finish, even if he’d been ' pretty hopeless before. “Hilliard, the best man in the world, has promised to bring you this letter. I hope you’ll be glad to see him. and to hear his side of the story. This is my apology and my blessing, if that’s worth anything to you. I send a kiss to Angela.

"R. M." Mr. Callen ended with a falling inflection, and let the hand which held Qm letter drop to his knee. me letter, aa you might guess from the looks of it” said Hilliard, "was written at several different times —according to his strength. I want you to realise, too, Mr. Cullen, that it was do email effort for him to write it And then I was in Switzerland when be died, and his possessions had afl gone to one «f those tape-bound bureaus, so that I had a fearful time to identify myself and get what he had meant me to have, and after that, I had to make a sudden trip to Russia, and back to England again. There were delays—delays. I was ill for several months myself; I had typhoid in London. I should have mailed these things to you long ago, but he bad begged me to come in person, and I had promised. And every day I expected that in another week or two I should start for home. I feel that I owe you this explanation and a great plee for forgiveness for what must seem to you like gross indifference on My pvt. But I landed hardly two weeks ago, and I came up to you at the earliest possible moment" Tn seme ways, be was a moot remarkable young man," said Mr. Cullen. irrelevantly. "Nobody ever understoed why ho tarnod W each a Mack OKtaF Cmbo from a fine old family. I suppose his father was one of the moot lorad men la Onondaga asaaty# nek brad flor years on Mo

"DIDN’T HE SEND SOME WORD TO ME?"

father’s reputation, after people stopped noticing him on his own account. Just took advantage of the fact that nobody could quite bear to be harsh to his father’s son. But he was always a wild young chap, nothing very bad, except that just too much of anything—including liquor—was. just, enough for him!- Had-too quick a temper to be diplomatic enough to hold a job, and didn’t care much about working hard, and finally the tide turned, and he began to get treated just as if his father hadn’t been a sort of popular idol, and then his disposition soured, and he made some bad mistakes. I gave him the last job he ever had in Syracuse, but I had to let him go . . . and I told him some plain facts when I did. That’s what he refers to.” “I assumed," said Hilliard, hesitatly, “that at one time he had been what you might call . . . disappointed in love? Something was weighing on him —he practically admitted . . . but that was one point that he didn’t appear to want to confess, even to me.” “He was engaged to Carol Durant.” Angela had taken the cross again, and held it like a precious relic. “She broke it off, just before he went away.” “The day before,” added Mr. Cullen. “That was one of the two reasons why, he went” Hilliard nodded. "I see. ... On account of his habits?" . “That was the gossip,” said Mr. Cullen heavily. “Doctor Durant was supposed to have—” “Didn’t he write to her?” asked Angela, raising her eyes. “Not that I . . .” He stopped quickly. “I trust you’ll forgive me, but I’d imagined from various remarks he made at different times, that he was really . . . that he was greatly attached to you.” This last was addressed to Angela, who was both dignified and shaken by the suggestion. Her father, however, nodded in the negative. “Angela wasn’t much more than fifteen, sir. They were great friends; he was very fond of her. No, it was Carol Durant he was engaged to. Didn’t he ask you to see her?” "No.” = '■ "But you will, I hope, won’t you?” "You can see Carol here tonight, if you care to,” said Angela, uncertainly. “She and . . . and a friend of hers are coming over to talk about another Red Cross drive. Carol’s on the committee. They ought to be here any minute now." "Yes,” said Hilliard. “If I’m going to see her, I think I should rather—see her here.” Mr. Cullen sighed stertorously. “Well, perhaps It’s better . . . and T shall want to telephone this to the Herald if you don’t object It's the least we can do. all things considered.” ... He reflected a moment “How long are you staying in town, Mr. Hilliard?” “Tve made no plans whatsoever,” he said, after a slight pause. “I sold my interests to a British syndicate of bankers two months ago. My home is where my baggage is. . I'm thinking of taking a day or two to see certain of Dick’s friends —the ones he talked about most—and after that, the future js on the knees of the gods.” Mr. Cullen regarded him with sincere respect. "It would give me great pleasure.” he said, a trifle pompously, “if you would be my guest for the time you’re here, Mr. Hilliard. It would please me very much indeed.” Hilliard’s heart pounded. ’* “And me too,” said Jkngela, gently. Hilliard’s heart threatened to suffocate him; not entirely because the game was going so Infinitely better than he had dared to hope, but also because it was Angela who entreated him. _ x "It’s wonderfully good of you," he protested, “but I couldn’t disturb you to that extent. Thank you. but—” Mr. Cullen stopped him by an indusire gesture. Y. "You won’t disturb us in the slightest I X wish you’d come with us, Mr. Hilliard. I should feel much better than having you stay downtown.” "Well—” said Hilliard, dubiously. "sr ■

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, IND.

His soul was filled with unholy joy. but his outward deiheanor wis deprecatory. "It’s ever so kind of you; still—" ‘ “As a favor to me,” urged Mr. Cullen. 4 : “As a favor to me,” echoed Angela, and Hilliard looked attentively at her, and was obviously swayed. She noted it; he had intended her to notice It He gave her a smile which had the power, even In her somber mood, to draw a faint response in kind. “If you're sure it won’t be a hardship to you—” • /*— “Nonsense! It’s settled, then, is It? I’ll send one of my cars down for your things.” Hilliard’s eyes flickered at the ingenuous vanity; he had recently learned that Mr. Cullen had made more money during the past twelve months than during the previous twelve years. “Well.” he said, “if you're so charitable as to insist —” “I do, sir, I do! . . '. You’re at the Onondaga, of course?” .. Angela, who had been listening intently, started up at the unmistakable egbn of footfalls on the walk. “Here comes Carol!” she gasped. “And . . . and Jack! Oh, Mr. Hilliard! Oh, dad! Who’s going to tellher?” As Mr. Cullen flinched, Hilliard put out Iris hand tn a motion of supreme restraint. “Whatever Dick Morgan may have been at home,” he said, “I knew him after he offered his life for a great ideal, and I’m proud that he called me his friend. I’ll tell Miss Durant myself, please. It’s my right.” And turned to face the girl he had tried to die for, and failed.

CHAPTER IV.

She had always been, when he last saw her, the outstanding beauty of Syracuse, but he was astounded to behold what the interval of two years had done for her. She had taken upon herself a new maturity; her figure, exceptionally graceful, was still slender ; but suggestive of a more womanly, a more inclusive- charm. He was being presented to her! He, who had kissed her a thousand times, was undergoing the ritual of presentation! —and she was smiling at him with those grave, sweet eyes of hers, and calling him by his adopted name! His mask.-of protection had never seemed so slight, so insufficient; the fragranee of her, and the Illusion caused by this, threatened his balance and set his nerves on edge; fortunately, the routine of the conventions intervened to save him from his inarticulateness. For one thing, there was the rite of introduction to Armstrong, and after that there was a dash of promiscuous conversation,, with not a little weather philosophy in it. Then came the inexorable hush caused by the presence of a stranger whose fads and fancies are still a matter of conjecture, and out of that hush, a question, and Hilliard was suddenly visited by a species of self-hypnosis. If he had been moved at all by the sight of Angela, whom he had loved as a younger sister, he was, by comparison, shaken as by a whirlwind by the sight of Carol Durant, whom he had loved as a woman. Not on the train, not at the hotel, not even when he witnessed Angela’s severe grief, had he remotely conceived that this instant would be so difficult to surmount. What in New York had seemed a regeneration, and earlier on this same evening had appeared a very dubious deceptive, was rapidly taking upon itself the color of irremediable wrong. His Imagination was aroused beyond belief; and as he stared in dumb suspense at Carol, recalling a thousand episodes and a thousand privileges of the long ago. he was preyed” 6y a grimness of despair which left him sick with misery. She was waiting for an answer — and the others were waiting, too, and watching him. He felt that guilt was stamped on his every feature . . .

And Turned to Face the Girl He Had Tried to Die For.

he felt that every thought of his must be as crystal to the four who waited for him to speak. ' He was himself and he was not himself; he was ostensibly Henry Hilliard, a man in whom It couldn’t be suspected that the heart and soul of DiSky Morgan were embodied; he was transcendentallst; a spectator at hla own funeral. Sight of the Croix de Guerre of poor Pierre Detout, who in bequeathing that impreaatva bit of

bronze to nim, hadn’t dreameo that he was leaving a heritage of chicanery ajong with it, engendered in Hilliard a thrill which nearly found its outlet in a paroxysm of wild laughter. And the newspaper, with Dutout’s most genuine citation in it I And the old passport photograph which he had hidden for fear that hla real name. Indorsed on it, might be cabled home, together with proof to the world that he hadn’t been a hero —that he had failed in this, as in every other undertaking of his life. And all the dates In accuracy! And if anyone cared to trace back the story, where was the flaw? Where was there a loophole? And who would recognize Dick Morgan in his cloak and mask of utter miracle? Who had?

Lightninglike, his brain included all the salient items of the picture In a single flash. There was Dicky Morgan. sailing away to France —which could be proved. There was a number, and a name attached to it, and — since Hilliard’s sturdy defense of Dicky Morgan had had a grain of truth in it, and one of the steps of his many-sided progress carefully omitted—a name had really been assumed, and had endured from the date of enlistment to the date of discharge. It was the individual’s recorded name in the army and at Neuilly—and it wasn't Morgan and it wasn’t Hilliard and It wasn’t Dutout. No one here knew it, or ever would know it; even Harmon didn’t know it; it was the first sobriquet of a shell-torn individual w’ho had been taken to Neuilly, and had been made whole again. No one at Neuilly had ever set eyes on Dicky Morgan’s real face! But a certain man named Dutout had been decorated and died, and that could be proved—was proved! Hilliard had borrowed Dutout’s -name In- perfect safety; and the trait was cold. And here was a fourth man, Hilliard —to take his word for it—and the world is larger than the curiosity of sincere people to encompass. No —if a Neuilly surgeon ever told as one of the mysterious chapters of the war what had happened to a certain gloomy individual that summer, the name would suggest nothing. And as far as checking up the visits of a mythical Hilliard to a very real Dutout was concerned, who would profess to remember? The testimony of any single witness would be immaterial.

The voice of Carol Durant was echoing in Hilliard’s ears, and Hilliard, yielding to a tidal wave of recklessness, and of swelling anger at imaginary wrongs, looked squarely Into Carol’s eyes, and spoke with winning urgency. “Yes,” he said. "I have news of Morgan. In fact, I’m here in Syracuse solely because I have it. I’ve Just been telling Mr. Cullen —and Miss Cullen —that I was with him when he died.” She didn’t speak, at first; she merely looked at Hilliard and grew very w’hite, and her lips quivered. Presently she swayed a little, and reached out with her hand toward the back of a convenient chair. Armstrong stepped toward her, and Angela Cullen slipped an arm around her waist. “He’s . . . dead?” she repeated, and her tone was not yet free from a certain incredulity, as though the fact were of itself impossible, and the statement of it subject to discussion. “Yes, Miss Durant.” She moistened her lips; her eyes were very bright, unnaturally bright, so that Hilliard was fascinated, and appalled. “You ... You know that?” she again with that queer inflexion of amazed doubt. “Yes, I know it.” The others were standingas statues; Mr. Cullen, snatching at the first idea of consolation to present itself, fumbled for his daughter’s other hand, which still retained the trophy a better man had won. “Here’s what they gave him, Carol! Look! The Croix de Guerre! Don’t let’s think of anything but what he . . . let’s be proud of him ! I—” “Oh, yes,” she said Inertly, and took the cross in her palm. She dropped her eyes for a moment, then raised them to the level ot Hilliard’s. "Didn’t he Send some word to me?” “No.” ; Hilliard’.s nod was very ministerial. “No, I’m sorry, but —” Her eyebrows lifted, and her nostrils dilated the merest trifle. Her breath was coming more rapidly now; she was nearing the breaking point of her resistance, and all of them knew it. The moment was agonizedly prolonged. Hilliard, gazing without a quaver at the girl he had thought he loved beyond all else in this world or the next, was singularly relaxed as he observed her symptoms. She had really cared, then . . . so much the greater pity that she hadn’t kept him caring . . . as she, might. “Can that be possible?” she said, hardly above a whisper. “I’m sorry —but—” ' > ■ “I wouldn’t have believed it could be true.” She gave a long, tremulous breath, and looked about her,, halfdazed and half-perceptive. Her eyes strayed back to Hilliard. “Tell me about it,” she said, almost inaudibly. “Carol, dear!” Angela was stimulated to active sympathy. “Sit down—please! Oh, Mr. Hilliard!” “No—yes, I . . . I'll sit downl” Her eyes seemed magnetized to Hilliard’s. “Only I want to hear—l want to bear!* “Tell her from the beginning,” said Cullen, mopping his forehead. Get a glass of water . . anything else, Caroil" She shook her head. “Tell me I” she said. “I want to know!” So that Hilliard, Inspirited by the realisation that ba was under the pro-

tectorate of the shadows, and gathering fresh assurance with every sentence, went through that tragic narrative a second time. And as be told the tale of Dicky Morgan, he was greatly engulfed by the surge of Dicky Morgan’s grievances; his voice trembled with righteousness; he gradually lost his loathing for the part he played, and played it with every atom of his energy; he was a defendant, and a witness and a judge for Dicky Morgan all in one—and bis verdict was for acquittal. Miss Durant’s eyes never left his face.

“And that,” she said presently, "Is all there Is to tell?” “That’s the end,” said Hilliard simply. And in the long hiatus which followed, he was wondering .. , wondering . . . vague aimless thoughts, with no beginning and no conclusive outcome, but the central figure, flitting, elusive, was always Carol Durant. He told himself fiercely that he hated her, that for two vengeful years he had hated-her, that he had edine back-to Syracuse primarily ..to see her again, with his whole soul for the wounds in his heart, the wounds

of his body, still . . . O God! why couldn’t the surgeons have cut away his memory, and left him peace! He was prodigiously relieved when Mr. Cullen, well-meaning but’ awkward, blurted out a paradox of eulogy. Armstrong, eager to relieve the congested ways of thought, ventured into the realm of platitude—and something In his manner caught Hilliard’s attention. The man was actually possessive —and Hilliard, having no envy of his possession, cursed him on general principles nevertheless. And then

“Miss Durant!"

Hilliard was again in demand; there was a flood of incoherent questioning, and he was giving details, answering queries, volunteering information which might never have been asked, describing Neuilly, the hospital, the surgeons, the nurses, the wholly indescribable atmosphere of France in wartime. He was strengthening his position, phrase by phrase; his insouciance redoubled; he had laid a rock foundation never to be successfully assailed. There came an abrupt pause; Miss Durant rose and came to him, and he was on his feet to meet her. “Thank you,” she said, giving him her hands. His heart missed a beat; bls blood ran gelid. “Thank you. ilf you can . . ; I wish you’d talk to me again before you go . . . alone .. . 1 wish it very much. You’ve made me ... at least, I can be glad you were there ... to help him, but I want to know so much more ... so infinitely much more . . .” A fleeting Impulse clawed at Hilliard’s judgment; he yielded to it blindly. It meant the alteration of his plan of action, it meant a trifle more, of danger; and a gratuitous risk tft that, but it was genius—genius! “Miss Durant!” He made sure that the others were beyond the range of his voice. “Miss Durant! I said he sent no word to you; that was true as far as I knew the truth, but there’s one letter he started to write —just at the last ... it wasn’t addressed to anyone; I didn’t know who it was i >r. I brought it with me on the chance that I’d find out I didn’t want to speak of it before every one, because if it’s yours, I thought you’d .. . you understand, don’t you? I’m almost positive it was meant for you. It’s only a few lines ... he wasn’t ever strong enough to finish it , . . I’ve got it at the hotel now. May I bring it to you’ tomorrow?” She held her breath for an Instant; her mouth quivered. She looked at him searchingly. “Surely. I ... I live just across on the corner, Mr. Hilliard. The brick house. Can you come early?” “How soon?” He was telling himself that his former passions were atrophied; she was no longer able to disquiet him. His inspiration was commercial—strictly commercial. “In the morning? At ... eleven?" “I’ll come gladly.”

“But this Milliard person —a live wire, boy, a live wire. ' - '5 *

(TO BB CONTINUED.)

Conveyer Does Double Duty.

One conveying Installation in SB eastern paper mill brings the coal to the furnaces and carries tot the aahto at the same time. f

CURRENT WIT and HUMOR

Eclipse for the Moon.

A young couple were occupying the porch swing later than usual one moonlight night. From a near-by window her mother Inquired: “Mary, what are, you doing up so late?” “Looking at the beautiful moon mother.” “Well, it’s twelve o’clock. You had better send the moon home.” —Everybody’s Magazine. Something to Fall Back On. “Bilfur says he is having a hard time beeping a roof over his head.” “I don’t sympathize with him. If he’s in such straits, why doesn’t he give up his automobile.” J “He says he can’t think of doing that. And, besides if the worst comes to the worst, it’s comforting to know that his automobile has a top.” An Imported Article. “The possession of a motor is not necessarily a mark of distinction.” “Not nowadays,” replied Miss Snip-, pers, “but if you happen to own a motor car that is driven by a chauffeur who speaks English with great difficulty, you may hold up your head a trifle in some circles.” Cannibalistic. “My dear, listen to this,” exclaimed the elderly English lady to her husband on her first visit to the states. She held the hotel menu almost at arm’s length and spoke in a tone of horror: “Baked Indian puddihg! Can it be possible in a civilized country?”

NOT VERY. "My John Is thinking of chartering a yacht for the summer.” “Won’t that be pretty expensive?" “Not so long -as we confine ourselves to thinking about it.” Flies for Its Life. "Strange how time flies,” how very oft We hear this said —and still It Isn’t so strange; if time did not. More folks would try to kill it. Old Friends. “Grandpop says he cares only for the things of long ago.” “Yes, I see he subscribes to a smart magazine.” “That’s for,the sake of the. jokes.” Good Way. “How did"you get your parrot to talk so fluently?”, “I hung his cage in the room where my wife’s club meets.” Taking No Chances. Mrs. A.—l really believe she had her second husband selected before she was divorced from the first one. Mrs. B. —Certainly. Why else should she get a divorce? When It Pays to Be Ignorant “Gabbells seems to be well informed on any subject.” “Except when he will be able to pay me what he owes me. He is absolutely stupid on that point.” •»- • — The Same Thing. “I say, Tom, these here Frenchles call a gal’s feller her finance.” “Aw, well, ain’t dat what It comes tor Accounting for HL “He showed his grit when he waa hurled out of the machine.” "No wonder; he had to bite the dust”. Two Views. “No, I never visit the pawnshop. I don’t like the principle of the thing.'* "It’s the interest that I don’t like.” Escaping His Wife's Tongue. Mr. Bjones—lt must be rather frying fm a talkative woman like Mrs. Gabblees to be married to a man as deaf as Mr. Gabblees.” Mrs BJones—So it is. And, to make matters worse, she has a lurking suspicion that he lost his hearing just to spite her.—London Answers. " Nothing Like That . ZZ * “Did those two men have an epto tolary dispute?" “No pistols in the dispute at a* They took ft out in letter-writing." *2 > ■ '"ft;;