Evening Republican, Volume 23, Number 147, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 18 June 1920 — Page 2

The House of Whispers

by Little, Brown a Oe. ' 1 - - - - - - ——

UP TO DATE GHOSTS

Fiction readers who like haunted houses and mysterious noises in the night, and ghost doings that baffle explanation, should stop, look, and read right here. For “The House of Whispers” is well named. Its even more fascinating than the old-time haunted house, because it’s a mystery apartment in a big city building—the lovely heroine, for instance, can creep along a ledge from one window to another in the dead of night, and a wonderful pearl necklace can disappear from a wall-safe and find its way back again, and the superintendent and his employees can fasten a charge of murder on the hero, and there might be room in the walls for secret passageways. Butlhere is nothing new-fashioned or queer about the loyalty and devotion of the heroine for her lover in trouble; it’s the same glorious thing that has thrilled us all ever since true love ceased to run smooth. And of course she gets the reward that she deserves—and they live happily ever after.

CHAPTER I. - With an exclamation of annoyance 1 crumpled up the note from my great--uncle Rufus and flung it on the floor. My disappointment at its contents was the one thing needed to complete the utter misery of a wretched day. Only that morning my roommates, I Birge and Roller, fortunate fellows. \ had been Informed that their applicaitions for the ambulance service had •been accepted. Our year of happy ■companionship had come to an abrupt ■end. “Cheer up. old man.” cried the optimistic Birge, “‘your luck will change isome time-” “Right,” said Roller, as he stooped to give a final tug to the straps of his ■new kit bag. “a chap as crazy about Adventure as you are is bound to meet her soon.” “Stop it,” I cried in desperation. “It la you two who are to have the great ■opportunity. Soon you’ll be seeing shrapnel burst, airplanes battling, regiments charging, heroes dying, and I — Til be sitting here alone in a hall{Toom, eating my heart out with lone«omeness and envy, spending my days •t an uncongenial desk, and my nights, •God knows how, after you fellows have gone.” “You never can tell,” chirped old Birge, "all kinds of strange things happen right here In New York. You may ibe the one that has had a bellyful of •adventure before we return —if we do.” His last three words gave us all a •obering thought There was a chance, snore than a chance, that never again on this earth would we three be toigether again. Eight of our college •mates had preceded Birge and Roller •to tiie great battlefield. Already three •of them lay in hero graves somewhere •under the lilies of France. The silence of a sad parting fell on fas. The taxicab came and we drove •together to the pier with hardly a word •spoken. As we shook hands at the gangplank old Roller spoke again, a glisten of tears in his eye, something al•most prophetic in his voice. “Nelson,” he said, “I feel it in my Bones that something is going to happen to you soon. something thrilling.” “I wish to God something would!" 4 answered bitterly. Disconsolately I waved them a last ndleu from the dock. In a black mood j railed against the fate that had left ime behind, poignantly lamenting the Bat* of the eight hundred dollars that wdd have set me free to accompany Two letters, thrust under the door du lodging-house fashion, a—sited my homecoming. One of them I recog■Saed at once as my mother’s weekly ef good advice, and tossed aside go be read when I was in a better frame of mind. The other was |n a zrstaped, unfamll iar handwriting. As I studied the envelope curiously a suspicion as to the writer’s identity Shished into my mind and eagerly I it open. My great-uncle, Rufus Ute--. was an old. old man. It must HCtomhlm. What could he be writ-

By WILLIAM JOHNSTON

Ing to me about? Rufus Gaston was ricn—worth many millions. It was merely an invitation to dine with him and his wife. Disgustedly I flung It aside. It capped the climax of my dissatisfaction with everything. Here were my two chums starting off to the war, and here was I, Spalding Nelson, twenty-six. strong in physique, save for a “football knee” that had barred me from military service, thirsting for excitement, left behinjd in the prosaic business world and now bidden to an uninteresting meal with two decrepit old relatives. I made up my rdnd not to answer the note. My greatuncle Rufus could go hang, for all of his millions. I would not go near him. The sight of my mother’s letter lying unopened on my desk served to recall to me that it was she who had prevented my going-. Poor mother! She and I had been at cross-purposes ever since my father’s death while I was a youngster. It seemed to me that always she had opposed everything I wanted to do. After I left college she had found a place for me in the office of one of my father’s friends in the little western city where our home was. I had been two years getting away to Join Birge and Roller in New York.' Most of all she had set herself against my going to prance. She did not believe In war. I was the only man left In the family. She was far from well. If anything should happen to her, my young sisters had only me to look to. When these pleas had failed to move me she had not hesitated to remind me that I was In her debt. Unfortunately this was true. My years at college had cost me more than my small patrimony. 4 had borrowed freely from her, expecting soon to be able to repay her. Like all young graduates I had vastly overestimated my earning capacity. Three years had elapsed and I still owed her eight hundred dollars.

“I do not see,” she had written me, “how you can honorably feel free to go while you are in my debt. To furnish you funds at college your mother and sisters practiced many economies. The girls are now reaching an age when their expenses will be much greater. I need the money for them. The least you can do is to pay it back before you give up your position and go off on wild-goose chases.” For this argument I could find no answer. My obligation to her was a debt of honor that must be paid before I could be my own master. Each week I had been putting away five dollars, and as it accumulated had been sending her a money order. While I was debating what to do I began to read my mother’s latest letter. The first part of it repeated her many arguments. She wrote: - “Two days ago I received a letter from my father’s brother, Rufus Gaston, upon whom you called when you first went to New York. He asked about you and made me a proposition concerning you. I did not venture to give him an answer. Your views and mine are so seldom in accord. I gave him your address and suggested that he write to you himself. Probably he has done so by this time.” Hastily I rescued my great-uncle’s crumpled note from the floor and smoothed it out. If Rufus Gaston—with his millions and no direct heir—hrfd made a proposition concerning me, his letter took on a vastly more interesting complexion. Carefully I reread it, seeking for some hidden meaning between the lines, but it gave no clue to what he had in mind. He merely expressed the hope that I would be able to dine with him and his wife informally next Thursday evening. What could it mean? It was at least well worth looking into. Mr. Gaston was seventy-four. He had made a fortune in the South American trade, retiring at sixty-five. There .was only himself and his wife. On the Gaston side, through my mother, my sisters and I were the only blood relations. I wondered if it could be that old Rufus was thinking of making me his heir—heir to the Gaston millions! As I penned a cordial acceptance of his dinner Invitation I determined to set myself to pleasing the old couple, whom I had met only once, on the occasion of my call. A few years ago I would have despised the thought of catering to wealth, but since I had discovered how difficult it was to earn money and how much more difficult to save it, my views had changed. I could hardly wait for the day he han set for me to dine with them to arrive. I found myself approaching their residence fully three-quarters of aa hour before the time named. When I discovered how early I was I decided to loiter in the park for a few minutes. Old Rufus recently had given up his Avenue residence and now lived in one of those stately apartment buildings erected in the East Eighties. I turned into Central park opposite my great-uncle’s street and dropped into the first bench I came to, depositing beside me a bunch of roses I had perch* wd as my first move toward winning ™y great-aunt’s affections. Lighting my pipe I gave myself up to pleasant reveries, from which I was aroused by finding my roses tossed suddenly to the ground at my feet.

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER, IND.

“Pardon me,” I said indignantly, “but those belong to me.” “Benches ain’t fbr bundles,” croaked an evil voice beside me. Recovering iny flowers, I turned to find seated beside me a rat-eyed young fellow, cheaply dressed, eyeing me with nn tnsolent sfafe. As I looked at him he began crowding over toward me. Plainly it was his Intention to oust me from the bench. plenty of room onthose other benches over there” I suggested resentfully. “Beat it yourself If you don’t like it here,” he retorted, blowing the smoke from a cheap cigarette in my face. “I got a date here, and I’m going to stay, see?” I answered with an angry retort and hot words followed. We had almost come to blows when the bushes opposite us suddenly parted. I caught sight for Just a second of a villainous face, that of a man about forty, an unforgettable face with a red scar across the left cheek. He raised one finger in an imperative gesture, signaling to my unwelcome companion on the bench. With a profane exclamation of dismay, the rat-eyed fellow sprang up and walked hastily away along the park path. Wondering what it was all about, I watched him out of sight around a turning of the asphalt and then glanced toward the apartment house where in a few minutes I was to be a guest. v As I looked a young girl came out of the house and walked slowly toward the park. At the corner she hesitated. She seemed to be debating whether to continue on down the avenue or to turn into the park. Apparently the lure of the greenery won her, for she came on slowly toward where I was sitting. As she drew nearer I observed her with interest, for she was one of the prettiest girls I ever had seen. Her slim figure, her dainty ankles, her carriage, everything about her suggested the patrician. Her face, rosy and youthful, was set off by a Jaunty feathered toque, from under which a pair of soft, black, roguish eyes, shaded by long lashes, looked out above a dainty nose. Just a bit tip tilted, on either side of which a fugitive dimple played. Tn my great amazement she walked right up to me and stopped short. I

“You Were to Wear One. Too.”

observed then that she seemed to be. greatly agitated. Involuntarily I sprang to my feet and removed my hat, feeling certain that she had mistaken me for someone else. She looked straight at me with an odd tightening of the lips. Into her great dark eyes came a look In which pride and fear teemed to mingle with utter loathing. “I am here,” she said. In my confusion I mumbled something, I hardly knew what. She looked me up and down with a puzzled air and raised her hand to a red carnation she was wearing. “You were to wear one, too.” “I don’t understand,” I answered. “Didn’t you,” she asked hesitatingly, “didn’t you come here about the papers—•” “What papers?" “You know —” “I don’t know,” I replied. "I know nothing about any papers. You must have mistaken, me for someone else.” “But this was the place—this bench —the first bench?” “I sat down here quite by accident” “Oh I” she exclaimed with a sigh of relief. “And you’re not wearing a red carnation, either.” I recalled then with misgiving that the ill-favored youth who Just a moment ago had disputed the bench with me had been wearing a red carnation, and that ha had muttered something about having a date. Yet it did not seem possible that a girl of this sort would be having a rendezvous with a scamp like him. I determined If possible to ascertain the girt’s mlssion. “I am merely waiting here,” I hastened to explain, “until it is time for me to keep a dinner engagement with some relatives in the apartment house from which you came." As I spoke I noticed that the fear and loathing had vanished from her

eyes and that she was looking with relief at a little college pin I was wearing. She was blushing now from confusion at her mistake, and the rising red In her cheeks added greatly to her exquisite loveliness. “I was to meet someone here,” she faltered; “you quite understand, don’t you?” perfectly,” I answer* ed, and recalling the scar-faced man who had been lurking in the bushes, I hurried on to say, “but if I can be of any service —” “No, no,’ she sobbed, apparently overwhelmed by whatever it was that was besetting her. “It’s nothing — nothing anyone can help.” “Tell me about the man you were to meet here.” “Who are you?” she demanded, her suspicion suddenly rising at my question. “You’re not a detective?” “Far from it,” I answered amusedly. “I’m just plain Spalding Nelson, on my way to dine with my greatuncle Rufus Gaston.” “Oh!” she said, relieved,' “their apartment is on the same floor as ours.” “Tell me about the man you were to meet?’ I insisted. “I may have seen him." “Did you? What was he like?" she demanded eagerly. “Don’t you know him?” I countered. “No, I never saw him. I don’t even know who he is. I only know that there was to be a tnan waiting here on this bench this evening. We were both to wear red carnations. I was to come here alone, to see him and to get the —” She stopped abruptly and tearing off the flower she was wearing, trampled It viciously under her foot “Not so loud,” I warned her, fearful lest they might still be lurking about and overhear us. “There were two of them.” “Two,” she whispered, turning pale. “Yes, one waiting here on this bench, and the other, a villainous scar-faced fellow, hiding in the bushes yonder.” “I dare not go on with It,” she sobbed, “I dare not! I dare not 1 Oh, what shall I do?” “The thing to do now,” I replied, “la for you to let me accompany you to your home. They will make no further attempt to meet you this evening, since my presence has spoiled their plans. Come, let me escort you, Miss . . ~ As I hesitated over the name she answered simply: “Bradford —Barbara Bradford.” She pondered for a moment over my suggestion and then turned to walk with me. toward the apartment house. “What were the men like?” she asked. I described, them as best I could, though really the impression that the youth on the bench had left was vague. His voice, an insolent, hoarse, uncul- ■ tivated one, was almost all I could recall about him. “I wonder who they were? I wonder how they knew?”

“Knew what?” Her lips tightened into a straight line. “I can’t tell you. I daren’t It isn’t my secret.” 32 By this time we had reached her home and the bowing doorman was swinging back the great iron door for us. It had been my Intention to announce my arrival, but recalling that Miss Bradford had said that the Gaston apartment was oh the same floor as hers, I stepped with hsr into the elevator. When it had descended, leaving us together in the corridor, she turned to me and offered her hand. “Thank you so much, Mr. Nelson.” “I wish you’d let me help you,” I cried. She shook her head. “Well, promise me one thing,” I insisted. “What is it?” “That you never again will go alone to the park to meet those men.” A tremor shook her body, and once more a look of terror crept into her eyes. 1 “I can’t promise that. I must meet them. I must! I must!” I reached out and took her hand. “Promise me, then, that before you go again you will let me know." * “Ypu must not try to stop my going,” she cried desperately and freeing her hand turned quickly and unlocking her door left me standing there alone, staring after her. Perplexed beyond measure as te what I ought to do, after a moment I pressed the bell and was admitted to the Gaston apartment and to the presence of my aged relatives.

Under the same roof with the heroine.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

Reached Its Destination.

▲ little boy was given a penny to give to the Lord at church. He re-" turned home to report that not seeing God around he gave his penny to the man with a plate, /

MEANS TO AN END

By GRACE E. RILEY.

(©. 1920, by McClure Newspaper Syndicate.) Deane Cameron was discouraged. For a week he had entered office after office hoping for an order which never materialized. Nor did it help matters any to realize that successful salesmanship' was not his ultimate goal, simply the means to the end; the end being to make Katherine Harding his wife. It had been required of him first to show that he could care for her at least in the fairly modest way that her parents had started 25 years before. Her father, Deane’s chief, was general manager of the Wea rever Tire company. Today the company’s special representative was to accompany Deane. “Tospyupon me, I suppose," thought he, bitterly, receiving with no very good grace Mr. Harding’s statement that Newcomb could sell ice to the Eskimos. Even the broad smile, the firm handclasp and the honest friendliness with which Special Salesman Newcomb greeted him could not dispel Deane’s gloom. “I am supposed to call op Commissioner Grayce; but what’s the use? I’ve been there three could not even/fjet an audience.’ “Have you seen his master mechanic?” “What for?” “Through talking with him we will know what the requirements are.” Inquiry brought them to the master mechanic, who outlined briefly what was needed. “Don’t think you’ll get a look-in, though. The commissioner has bought only of the Glidewell people up to now.” “Up to now is right—watch the future,” Newcomb confidently remarked as he left with Deane, who was learning his first lesson in salesmanship. “That fellow met us man to man, but they say the commissioner is a bear,” Deane vouchsafed. The confidence in Bert Newcomb’S manner ‘ was in a slight degree reflected in Deane’s as the two men entered the lobby of the commissioner’s office. “Commissioner’s busy,” a boy laconically informed them. “We will wait,” answered Newcomb, his manner conveying the impression that two important men were being kept waiting. The boy took their names into the inner sanctum, to which they soon were admitted. “Good morning, Mr. Grayce —this is Mr. Cameron; Newcomb is my name. We are calling not In the capacity of order-takers, but to meet the man .of whom we have heard so much, and to acquaint him with the Wearever Tire company.” "rm not In an order-giving mood this morning, but I am glad to talk with you.” “I don’t know our requirements, Newcomb, but I will make Inquiries.” “Here are your requirements,” and Newcomb drew from his pocket the figures which the master mechanic had given him. “There was more In your friendly visit than you at first intimated, Mr. Newcomb." The commissioner smiled as he took the paper. “What are your terms?” . “Thank you, Mr. Grayce. May I suggest as little delay as possible; I should be sorry to come in tomorrow with a revised price list; yet, as I have explained, quotations today are hardly secure over night. Good morning to you.” Mr. Newcomb extended his hand.

“You’re right, Newcomb. I will sign an order now and send in the requisition today.” Before Deane realized It, an order for several thousand dollars had been booked, the goodbys said, and he and Bert Newcomb were leaving the statehouse. “You’re* a wonder,” the boy enthusiastically confided to his comrade. “What I have done, you can do, Cameron.” An hour later he and Deane emerged from the office of the Amkeg mills, and Deane had the miracle of a good-sized order. Later In the day a second order fell to his credit, so the day’s work filled him with an incredible sense of satisfaction. The next morning as he and Mr. Newcomb were leaving the office, Mr. Harding called them. “Newcomb, we have an order of Deane’s for the state. Fine! But how happens it that the copy the commissioner sent bears your name, while our copy bears Deane’s?” Deane’s heart sank; but “ReadySalesman Newcomb,” as he was sometimes called, answered: “It so happens, Mr. Harding, that without Deane’s assistance, I would never had landed that man. I was on my mettle to ‘show’ Deane, and in showing him I landed the commissioner. Cameron was the real force behind the order.” The friendly smile that Cameron had by now come to know well, worked Its charm with Mr. Harding. ~ “All right, Newcomb, but how about the other orders?" “Absolutely bona fide Cameron orders, those —he did all the talking—l was his silent partner.” “Good work, Deane; keep this up for a month, and you can speak for that minister.” “Thank you, sir,” was all Deane replied, but • life had taken on a new meaning with his chiefs words, and he left the office with a high heart,

SCRAPS of HUMOR

DIDN’T SHE KNOW? Always interested in children, Miss Helen Gould recently contributed generously toward the maintenance of a summer school. After it was established she paid the school a visit and ventured to question one of the kindergarten classes. “Now, children,” she said, “tell me what sort of clothes the puppy wears.” No reply. “Come, now,” she repeated, determined to extract the right answer by naming everything that a dog didn’t wear, “does he wear feathers ?” A pained expression crossed the face of a little boy in the front row. “Please, ma’am,” he said, pityingly, "ain’t you never seen a dog?”

. * A KICK. Mr. Bird —You never have anything but cold worms for dinner. Why don’t you have some nice hot fire files? Drawing the Line. This life’s a game of give and take, A statement of tee heard; But I'll rise up and hit the Jake Who addresses me as “bird.” Plenty of It. “I know a man who always geta more game than he wants when he goes hunting.” “How is that?” “He is generally hunting trouble.” Suiting the Word to the Action. “Willie, didn’t you hear me tell you to stop your noise?” “Yes, mother, but Pm a horse an you should have said, ‘Whoa.’ *— Browning’s Magazine.

His Specialty. “Does your son show any particular athlethlc tendency at college?” “Oh, yes; he’s running through my money.” Those Girls. “Maud reminds me of a public office.” “Why so?” ■ “She’s continually seeking the man.” Not Quite That. “Don’t you think the baby favors his father?” “H’m! Well, he looks like him, but I wouldn’t call it a favor.” Posthumous Courage. hear Hopps is going to contest his wife’s will.” “I suppose he won’t be afraid to do it now that she’s dead.”

th;e situation. "How are you making out with your chicken farming?” “I find it hard scratching.” Queer. Our speech is very queer, ’tis true. And many words are punned. For instance, when our bills are due The best of us are dunned. Well Qualified. "So you want a position here as a floorwalker? What experience have you had?” “We have a six-months-old baby that has never slept a whole night through since, it waa born.” Merely a Suggestion. Bridget—Do come apd look at the, beautiful sunset out av the kitchen winder, ma’am. - — . - - Mistress—That’s nothing, Bridget. You ought to see it rise some morn* ing. , Mixing Metaphors. “Don’t you think our friend Croosum might’ loom up & a dark horse?" “No,” declared Senator Sorghum; •record’s too shady. It would require a great deal of whitewashing to qualify him as a darfc horse." -