Evening Republican, Volume 23, Number 205, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 25 August 1920 — Page 2

THE FAR CALL.

Synopsis — John Lavington. a poet, visionary and Impractical, and Mary Martin, the daughter of rich and worldly parents, hear the call of love and unite their livea. They go to a email Michigan city, whore John finds work in a stove factory and on Bundays writes vereee. The Martins try in vain to get the happy wife to leave her husband. Mary begins to breathe for two. John loses his job. He appeals in vain to the Martins Mary goes to the hospital and never returns. Thus comes into the story Cornelius Lovington. The father leaves town and the city farms out the child. After two years the father returns and takes his little son with him on his worldwide wanderings. The father becomes addicted to a mysterious drug, koresh, with odors of wine and cinnamon and returns with little Con to die on his wife's grave. Con Is again fanned out, glows up in the underworld and is saved to better things by happy chance. Bo much by way of introduction to the hero of the strange edvenfurea of "Yellow Men Sleep." These begin when Con takes by force a small leather sack from Chee Ming, the Chinese butler of an acquaintance.

Caw you imagine yourself eadertaking such a task aa that rivan Con Levlngton, a task from which you would probably novar roturn? CHAPTER ll—Continued. It was Andrew March who had found him running wild, one spring night in lower Cincinnati, with a gun ■peeking from each hand. The riot rail was in. Andrew March had, by the grace es God. appeared, beheld and understood. The elder man had recognized the equinoctial madness of one whose head was filled with beauty, the heart passionate for life and more of it, the feet rebelling against the ugliness of pavements. March had hurried him away, and later at his leisure soaked some of the deviltry out of the young frame, ■tiwmtng him clean and reasonable. Be had needed to be patient with Lovington while the rioter found a stew sensation called health. Presently the car turned in beneath a'Tine-covered archway, and stopped at the door of a great house. A lantern that was mellow and friendly bung at the step. There was a terraced garden ridging gently down to a pond, far back from the road. Till ewe terraces with lanes of roses and columbine were Levlngton’s respite from the wlne-sogged streets that wanted him.

March’s housekeeper, Mrs. Ames, a ■rKWrfnlly dazed woman whose narrow body never recovered from the exertions of yesterday, opened the door Ito them. They went directly to the ■stairs and ascended to an open door from which firelight danced out into the hallway.

As they entered, a very old man Sit down his book and turned to face em. There were no glasses before <hls eyes, and through the pallor of lage on his face showed yet a seasoned strength. “I know it is early for a fire. I

(was not cold.” he said smiling, "but (there are certain thoughts one cannot think wlthouLA bank of coals to look •into. And my fire here has been out nearly four months."

“Yes, and think of the people who team always get' along without an open (grate," said Andrew March. The very old man had the manner »of one who has found a vital peace, filled with more than memories. His head was strangely long, and someIthing Uke nobility hovered about the wasted shoulders. He was the father i<>f Andrew March. Now the gray-halred son closed the jhall door, and brought to his father’s icbair the tiny leather packet. He ■aid: “Lovington has done very

The father nodded, and the light in Bits eyes meant long acquaintance with (defeat Expectancy caught his features and turned them almost youthjfuL The bit of leather was placed in ><« hand, and he drew from it a isquare of white silk. It was tightly creased, of firmest texture. Traced Un purple upon one side was a line curiously crooked and trailing. It was dotted and crinkled, fanciful as some river of the moon. , Along the margin es the silk, certain Chinese characters hvura etched. “This is not a mantra, as we had Stoped,"—At these words Con felt a rush of disappointment But the old twice went <m—“though it may be of great help to us. It is a map." The three men fiMkd the .purple Une as it veered aeNR* the silk, but Uy the eldest the char acters. “A said. *would have been your passpm with traders mad thieves, *“d they Would try as Bwayw to deceive you, direct you falsely, ff they were content aaardwr. Whatever their hate es one they league against the trav.dariea been a bodily

Yellow Men Sleep

By Jeremy Lane

Illusir«to<L Jy IrwinMwnr

on this silk Is the route Itself, Intended for the return Journey of their messenger.” "What are the words?" "All prayer-signs, save one, which reads ‘Shan-sung.’ Ton know the village, Andrew.” Stephen March’s son knew IL bitterly. Levlngton was trembling with eagerness. The old man did fiot glance up from the silken map. “This begins at' Shan-sung and runs westward. Each dot marks a day’s travel, I suppose in favorable circumstances. No water is Indicated untH this point, nearly a month into the West, These faint stars show the lay of the hills.” Levlngton was asked to tell how he secured this treasure-square. "You found the man for me,” replied Con, “and that was the most difficult part. Two nights ago I waited on the kitchen roof of the Wedger house until Chee Ming had finished reading his Chinese newspaper. His window opens out upon the roof. There are only tree-tops and open spaces beyond, and his privacy should have been perfect. He neglected to draw the curtain until after I had seen the bit of leather hanging on his chest You had told me to expect something of the sort although he did not raise it to his lips\before retiring.” “Since this is not a mantra,” concluded the old man. Here was the boundary of Levington's knowledge on the subject Chee Ming had been pointed out by Andrew March, and a task assigned. Con had reason to trust his new friend, even if he felt that the March interests were remote and strangely secret The father leaned back in his chair, sighing. He looked up at the grave face of his son, and said: “It may be the hand of God, or it may be only the hope of our foolish hearts —failure that is never final —but it seems, Andrew, you have found another beginning.” The son bowed his head. Stephen March added, "Levlngton has Indeed done very well.” Both father and son quietly regarded the young man before them. It seemed as if they had known him a long while, that he belonged to them. They were aware of the quality that had been suppressed in a disastrous childhood. The old father was always searching for some sign of violence of which Andrew had spoken, and it seemed to please him to find in Levington’s modesty and calmness a quick glint now and then, a light that touch-

Both Father and Son Regarded the Young Man Before Them.

ed Con’s eyes in unexpected moments, a far line to passion, reminiscent of satyr and centaur and the wine-dim slopes of abandon. They felt his power and its many dangers to himself. Above all, they loved a personal which they found perfect. “What further preparations?” asked Stephen. Andrew turned to Levlngton. “When will you be ready to goT” “To-night” The ancient figure In the chair looked thoughtfully into the fire. His words made floating pictures for Con. as if the shadowy golden stories of Ohinky BID were about to continue before his eyes. “You seek a country that may never be known. Perhaps it is entirely a rumor, a race-old fancy and fear. You have heard the tales that are told. If they be false or Une, and if the white man has ever passed beyond that borderland of pain, no one has come back to us with proof. I have seen the look on the faces of those who bad Attempted the passage, and

THE EVENING REPUBLICAN, RENSSELAER,IND.

It was not pleasant, my son. The centers of the world have shifted many times, yet that weird realm of the half-true, the half-real, has gone unchallenged. I think its life goes at too swift a pace for us—something dizzy about IL Even the wild beasts avoid those boundaries. The air will rise and fall about you like a living presence; your sight will be whipped across with bewilderment and pain. You have seen that their bravest carry a map by which to return home —if home it be.” In the silence that followed, the old man’s thoughts seemed to live in the air of the room, and the glow from the hearth was oddly like desert sunUgbL

CHAPTER 111 The Far Call. Although, they supplied him with more money than any one needs, LevIngton was not inclined to stack worldly possessions. His very humble years in Dowagiac had taught him how little the human creature requires. Somewhere in a boyhood of neglect and frayed edges he had learned how to feel rich without an array of trinkets. To-night, his travel bag, a black slouchy leather affair, dear to his heart for having been through a great deal with him, was packed with clean things, and room at the top. He traveled light.

The distant draw of the sands was upon him now, rousing the old loneliness that sometimes made trouble. At such times Con thought of his mother. The woman next door had told him enough to Identify his father’s beloved with the nameless beauty in his own heart The hurt of this loveliness was often the starting-point for a rampage in the gutters. A sweetness was forever eluding him. It swept near in the words of Stephen March, and at last there was a guidance upon his energies. Their-talk of danger was only a courtesy, as Con regarded it For one who had known the red tangles of the underworld, peril was no more to be feared than thunder in the night Andrew March entered Con’s room. “It might be better to leave a dark house,” he suggested. "I understand,” replied Levlngton. •TH find a cab over at the end of the park. That ought to break any connection with you here.” "You do not regret your acceptance?” “Far from it” declared Con, hastily. "Do you mind going alone?” “No, it will do me good. I have everything to think over. It s rather a strain, you see —such a novelty — this ‘strait and narrow.’” They laughed. “You haven’t collapsed under it,” said March. “It isn’t narrow the way you’ve brought it to me.” “I have told you,” continued the gray-haired friend, “that probably you will never return.” Their glances met and held a moment The elder sought a possible trace of fear, but did not find it Levington had the good taste not to utter brave words. He had accepted his mission. There is used in the Orient a very thin parchment as grateful to the finger-tips as the cheek of a babe, smooth as swan’s down, and even more sacred to yellow men. “Wear this over your heart,” said Andrew March, smiling. A small folded parchment was placed in Con’s hand. It was a duplicate of the map on the stolen square of silk. This copy was in a soft leather sack, the size of a visiting card, to be secured about his neck by a leather cord. Andrew then gave him a sealed envelope, and in regard to it said: "I haven’t been very explicit with you. Con. There are some things that are not mine to tell you—now. When you have opened and read it, you will have committed yourself, and you must not turn back. The breaking of the seal is your pledge.. But until then, you are free, you have no obligations of any kind, to me or any one else. You will understand —in Shansung.” March smiled faintly, almost with solemnity, Levington bowed, accepting the small sealed packet He packed it to the bottom of the bag.

Presently they went to the father's room. The old man stood up, tall and steady, the light of youth in his eyes. There was a brief farewell, firmly spoken. Again in Levington’s room, Andrew March gripped the young man’s hand, a little more tensely than usual, and the silence between these two was vital with enduring affection. Mwrrb then took his leave.

It was not yet midnight. Con waited in his room, while the lights of the March house were dimmed. Into a new riarity of mind came images from his earliest days —Shasta that beckoned, the alley in Memphis, and one humid evening in the harbor of Elopura. Con wanted his father, forgetting that he was twenty-five. About one o’clock he turned out his own light and left the friendly room, passing down the hall, the black bag with him. At the door of Andrew March’s room he paused an instant His benefactor was sleeping, the bedroom door partly open. Con had not stopped from sentiment but in the darkness he caught a curious scent as of Hnnamon and musty wine. It whisked him baric to a kitchen in Dory street and he shuddered without knowing exactly why. It was like his father— shadowy, intimate, heavy-fated —as If March must share this with John Levlngton as a personal quality. Con almost believed he imagined tho perfume. It was the y«y odor of

darkness, soft and satiny. He passed J a, down through the darkened house, nd suddenly found himself wishing he had not paused before the open door. Precaution In leaving the March house was part of Con’s Instructions. Whatever the Chinese cook might have told his master, and young Wedger in turn communicated to the police after the singular occurrences In the Wedger pantry, Levington felt safe for the present He doubted If Chee Ming would dare give an honest account because of the nature of that which had been taken from him. Cedi would be annoyed, puzzled, even angry with his vanished guest Chee Ming would probably obscure the matter further. Con recalled the energy of that slim Oriental body—pantherlike, not a brawny strength, for the Chinese was beyond an age for muscles, but a silent writhing power, nerve-driven. Con did not go down to the front gate, but turned along the garden path, across the fragrant terraces. Even the roses, late blossoming, did not dear his nostrils of that spice in the open doorway up-stalrs. The shock of that was just reaching him. He had an Impulse to turn back and sniff again, to prove to himself that

Stephen's Ears Were Shut to the Cries of Gold.

he had fancied the familiar odor. Then he laughed at himself and began to ride down his fear He passed around the little pond, where autumn had touched the shrubbery and given a drier music to its rustling. Beyond this was a barred gate In the wall. Levington drew It back, glanced once at the dark house on the hill, and emerged upon the street More than three years before, Stephen March had faced the West A boy of seventeen, he had taken the prairie-wagon trails to San Francisco, and here he had heard strange stories. Seamen blew upon the flame in his young heart, when they told of Cathay and the Indies. Stephen would stride along the board walks, elbowing the world, and rubbing in bls buckskin pocket the gold that meant nothing to him except the unlocking of life. Often his long knees rubbed the table In a certain saloon where he could drink the wine of Dsungaria, and once, as the slow rich blaze crept into his veins, some one spoke of the Gobi. It seemed then he remembered many things he had never known.. He went next day to the same table, and the next, but could not find the man who had spoken. He almost believed that the wine Itself had whispered to him, but now the deepest cup was mute.

Stephen’s ears were shut to the cries of gold. The /Mormons, with solemn words and maidens, could not detain him. Adventurers from Spain drew him into their plans of raid, but he failed their appointments. There was a call to him from across the shining bay, and beyond. In the wetshops the discussion of yerba btiena was nothing to him until a Swedish captain roared from out his thirst a comparison with the good herbs of Asia, making pointed reference to the poppy and the hemp-resin, also to the magic koresh. Stephen March went with the Swedish captain. Numberless sailing-ships had anchor ed in the bay, many of them forever. Their crews had scented gold in the hills, and their decks were deserted. Perhaps the red and shouting Swede was glad of the boy’s homage. Certainly it was good business td ship him.

In Con are centered all the hopes of an unhappy man.

(TO BE CONTINUED.)

Monster Sharks.

Tnhahitinr the deep are two gigantic sharks, either one of which may reach a length of 40 feet. The basking shark Is found in northern seas, occasionally straying southward to our coasts, and the whale shark seems to have its principal habitat in the Indian ocean, though stragglers have turned up aa tar away as the shores of Florida. One such mounted is on exhibition at Miami and will repay a visit to anyone who rbanros to ba in that vicinity.

POTAIRO

By SADIE STULL.

(©, 1920, by McClu.e Newspaper Syndicate.) “Jane Emma Lane, what be you doin’ In thet rubbish heap?” Jane Emma straightened up so suddenly she almost dropped her precious “find.” r “You threw Potairo away!” she accused with quivering lips. “Land o’ love! Wasn’t it time? Th’ old heathen has disfigger’d th’ parlor mantel since yer Gran’father Jared’s last voyage!” “That’s why I loved him —why I believe in him!” “Stuff an’ nonsense!” Aunt Jane’s angular form disappeared from the porch. A moment later her tart voice reminded from the kitchen “Them peas ain’t shelled yet an’ It’s nigh 10 o’clock I” Jane Emma gave Potalro’s ugly bronze visage a final rub with the corner of her apron. Then, with a quaint little obeisance she placed the ancient idol atop the gate-post. The Incongruity of it made her laugh alpud. From the temples of Iris and Osiris to presiding oracle of Aunt Jane’s prim New England garden was Indeed a far cry!

As she surveyed the effect from the porch steps Jane Emma laughed again —this time more softly. The spell the strange talisman bad cast over her since early childhood seemed more potent than usual this bright June morning. As though touched by a flower magician’s wand Aunt Jane’s prize hollyhocks became queenly iris bordering the sluggish Nile. The rattle of the peas in the brightly scoured pan seemed the echo of tinkling cymbals, while'bbove the weird strains of Egyptian music sounded a voice of beloved memory—- “ Superstition and Jared Lane never sailed the same course till th’ day a parcel o’ slick-tongued natives spun their ’good luck’ yam about Potairo. Though one o’ the lesser gods they vowed he wus a mighty powerful one —pertick’ly In affairs o’ th’ heart.” A chuckle invariably punctuated the old salt’s narrative at this juncture. “Ye see, there was a mighty important question I wus goin’ ter ask a certain lass when we reached th’ home port—so I up and shipped the queer little cuss —at their own price.”

A big black touring car had stopped directly in front of the gate. Its occupant, a handsome womqn just past middle age, beckoned to Jane Emma. In her haste to respond the latter nearly upset the pan of peas. “Sly dear, how came you by this ancient Idol?” The voice was the sweetest and saddest Jane Emma had ever heard. It impressed her even more deeply than the stranger’s somber dress. It inspired her to tell Potalro’s story as she had never told it before. When she had finished there was a reminiscent light In her listener’s eyes that banished years from their painshadowed depths. “My dear, I was reared ’mid just such surroundings. That’s why your idol Instantly caught my eye. 11l my girlhood home was a very similar one which my dear sailor father Brought from a far Eastern port. Despite scoffing relatives I regarded it in the same romantic light as you (Jo, Potairo—” The lady smiled as she concluded softly: “My faith was richly rewarded —as I now pray yobrs may be! Ah, is there someone already?” The telltale color deepened in Jane Emma’s cheeks. Ere she was aware, she had confided to this kindly stranger, her heart’s most guarded secret; homely lit#e romance of which Neighbor Peter Wayne was the hero. “He is twenty-six you say?” The misty blue eyes rested on the mourning band on the chauffeur’s arm. “Just the age of my own dear boy!” When the evening shadows bro.ught respite from household duties, Jane stole away to her favorite garden retreat —to live again the scene of the morning.

Came the sound of a familiar step and*Neighbor Peter stood before her. With the old teasing laugh he shook the flower-laden boughs above heij head. Before she could brush the Hinging petals from her hair he caught her dose in his arms. “It’s come, girl—the turn o’ fortune's tide! I’ve found a buyer for that shore property or rather”—his merry’' voice growing serious—“she found me. It’s the dear lady you gave the flowers to. She’S to build a bungalow —where she says her heart has always been —near the sea. Further, she says to watch our growing happiness will give her a new interest in life.”

“We’ll have a wedding the old town will long remember, eh, lass o’ mine? What’s that—l must properly thank Potairo? Sure, I will! No lover of old Egypt ever paid him more willing homage!” ■ They taken but a few steps when Jane Emma uttered a cry of dismay. The gatepost loomed dark gnd unadorned. The little bronze god had vanished! . • Followed a tense moment. Then Atmt Jane’s voice rasped out of the “If you be lookin’ fer th’ old heathen you’ll find him back on the parlor mantel." , Jane Emma laughed* softly at the new tone of apology: “Mebbe I wux a b(t hasty In throwing him erWay—considerin’ what’s happened r -

UNFAIR TO GROOM

Why Should Man Be Denied “Ancestral Hamess?” Bride Allowed to Tajce Pride In Wearing the Gown in Which Grandmother Was Married, but for Him, Nothing Doing. Why does a man never get married in ancestral harness? asks a writer in the New York Evening Sun. One reads in the report of,a recent wedding In, New Haven, Conn., that “the bride (Miss Dorothy W. Day) wore a gown which was worn by her grandmother when the latter was married fifty years ago.” Tn other cases it is not the entire gown, but the “bridal dress was trimmed with rare old lace that was part of the wedding finery of the bride’s great grandmother when that was married, about seventy-five years before.” But who ever read, “Mr. Bridegroom was quite handsome in a suit of black which was worn by his grandfather, the Hon. John Bridegroom, when the latter married Miss Mehitable Spanker in 1860?” Nor does one ever learn from a modern wedding* report: “The bridegroom’s feet were clad in shoes that his great-great grandfather, Capt. Peddedlah Timkin, wore at Bunker Hill and Valley Forge. The shoes, with only slight restoration necessary, are in marvelous condition and lent a distinctly revolutionary flavor to the bridal occasion.”

In fact, the bridegroom’s clothing never gets mention, beyond “the conventional black.” If it did it wbuld be only to relate some disaster too important, unusual or ridiculous to be omitted, even in a wedding narrative. Two chief reasons are advanced for » the lack of ancestral male garments at the bridal altar. One reason is the difficulty of making a man-look even passable in his grandfather s rig, whereas a girl becomes more beauti- • ful in the garments of a bygone day. Moreover, a man appearing for his wedding In a John Han* cock coat and % knickers would claim more attention than the bride, and that would be fatal at any wedding. But the real reason why a man does not marry in his grandfathers scenery is because It is not Grandmother put her wedding dress carefully away and preserved it for her children. Granddad put his away for the nonce, but he was in no circumstances to preserve a perfectly good suit for another- generation. He needed It in his own business. So eventually his bridal attire went the way of all men’s clothing. But it would be refreshing, some critics of the times say, to read once in a while in wedding reports: “The bridegroom’s svelte shape was admirably set off by the bridal pants worn -seventy-five years ago by his paternal grandfather, the celebrated Squire Blnglewhlffle, on the occasion of his marriage to the beautiful Prudence Winterbottom.

Madrid Jammed With People.

Spain’s abstention from the war had not prevented a housing crisis tn that country. In the large cities the demand for apartments is so great that new buildings are leased from roof to basement before, construction is fairly under yay. In Madrid the population has increased 30 per cent since of the war. The recent arfIWTS are not only enriched Spaniards, but also refugees and visitors from belligerent countries, who during the war sought the Spanish capital as a peace oasis. The population of the city is now approximately one million, or an average of seventy-two for every building. Its density of population is believed to be greater than that of any other large town in Europe, or 271 per hectare (more than 100 per acre) as compared with 200 per hectare in Paris and 128 in London. ' In the central part of the city the population reaches 773 per hectare. It should be recalled in this connection that the buildings do not as a rule contain so many floors as in our countrv. —Living Age.

New Lace-Making Machine.

Consul Hitch at Nottingham, England, ' reports an invention by a resident of that city which, it is claimed, will revolutionize the present methods of making imitation real laces. The inventor states that by meant of Mis invention, which Is an attachment to an ordinary Levers lace machine, he can produce the lace the entire width of the machine, either in breadths from one Inch upward or the full width of the machine fov anoven nets. Thus, a machine 100 inches’ wide ■ could be made to produce 100 breadths of one inch, or fifty of two inch, and so on. Two sets ;of jacquards are used, one operating the warp threads and other the bobbin threads. A, _ •

Able to Carry It.

“If you take whisky for your stomach’s sake, what about your head?” “My head can take care of itself, sir," replied Colonel Jagsby. “I have the good fortune to possess, sir, the capacity of a southern gentleman.”— Birmingham *Age-Herald.

The Mystery of Golf.

“Does your husband enjoy playing golf?’ “Tes, but I don’t understand how he can. It is beyond me how he can get aux pleasure out of a which Irritates and angers him so."