Indianapolis Times, Volume 34, Number 98, Indianapolis, Marion County, 3 September 1921 — Page 4

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JuMana s}atlu Sfirnro INDIANAPOLIS, INDIANA. Daily Except Sunday, 26-29 South Meridian Stret. Telephones—Main 3500, New 28-351. MEMBERS OF AUDIT BUREAU OF CIRCULATIONS. ( Chicago, Detroit, St. Louis, G. Logan Payne Cos. Advertising offices ) New j- 0 ' rk> Bo>t ' on| PayDe ‘, Burns * Smith, Inc. HOW VERY EASY it is for Mr. Lesh to create a few more taxing units in our Government! SIGNIFICANT indeed that the story about the Kaiser running at large in an airplane should come from Paris! GENERAL WOOD is about to gratify a considerable reduced ambition by becoming Governor of the Philippines. ONE FEATURE of the controversy between the board of safety and Judge Pritchard is that the judge, as usual, has the last word! THAT SQUIRREL which lost its life attempting to board a train for Indianapolis must have heard the ancient cry, “See Rome and die! IN HIS EFFORTS to stop booze-running Sheriff Snyder will doubtless find that there are autoa containing no booze whose drivers do not care to stop for other reasons. MOST PEOPLE will agree that nothing short of a fire hose would be sufficient to clean up the courthouse surroundings after the political stand holders dump their refuse. The Amendments For the purpose of demonstrating to the skeptical that the opposition expressed by this newspaper to the three important amendments to the State constitution is not prompted by partisanship. The Times calls attention to the position of the Muncie Press, a Republican newspaper. The Press opposes the amendment giving the Legislature power to establish a taxation system without limitations, opposes the proposed income tax amendment and refuses to make any recommendation regarding the amendment to make the State superintendent of instruction appointive instead of elective. The Press says: “Not much has been said in this newspaper, or others, about any of these except the one giving authority to the Legislature to do as it pleases, without restraint, concerning the making of tax laws. “This newspaper believes that Amendment 10 should be voted down because it give; too much authority to tne State Legislature in the matter of fixing taxes, would permit the wrong kind of a Legislature to tax certain kinds of property out of existence, would make the whole taxation question In Indiana the football of politics and would give unlimited scope to lobbyists to corrupt Legislators in behalf of special interests. Other equally sound reasons for the defeat of Amendment 10 have been set forth. Vote •No.’ “What has been said concerning Article 10 applies in most ways to Article 11 which gives the Legislature authority without limit to fax incomes from any source whatever and without any constitutional estrictions. Amendment 11 should be defeated. Vote ‘No.’ “Amendment 9. Provides for the appointment in a manner prescribed by the General Assembly, of the State superintendent of public instruction, Instead of his election, as now\ Since this might have the tendency to remove the school system still farther from politics, perhaps it is worth trying. However, if the appointing power were strongly partisan it might not have the effect intended. The Press has no recommendation to make concerning this amendment.”

Admitted! In a moment of unusual frankness, our morning contemporary admits that the senseless assaults which have been made on the school board are due to the removal as business director of George C. Hitt, who, it declares, could have been induced to transact the business affairs of the school board In a proper way. Many months ago this newspaper attributed the troubles of the school board to the partisans of Mr. Hitt who were, for some reason best known to themselves, determined that he should remain as business director after his contract had expired and in the face of unchallenged evidence that he had, without legal right, stretched an authorization for a $2,500 expenditure Into an expenditure of more than $50,000* on a particular school in which he had a personal interest. It is refreshing, now, to have one of the several assailants of the school board admit that its assaults are not prompted by regard for the school children, but by pique over the discharge of an incompetent employe who seems to have been of more importance to outside interests than to th 6 Bchool board he was presumed to be serving. The citizens of Indianapolis will not be slow to discern that because George C. Hitt was removed from the position of business director when it was demonstrated he was incompetent, the building of schools has been Btopped for the summer and the school city has been plunged into a bitter fight which has done more to harm Indianapolis than Mr. Hitt or his faithful friends ever could accomplish to benefit the city. Insurrection No matter whether sympathy lies with the miners or the operators in the turbulent West Virginia coal fields it must not be forgotten that the men who are there bearing arms have been called upon by the President of tho United States to disperse and are not doing it. The time must never come in this republic when its citizens may refuse to obey the mandates of its President and thus openly defy the power of the Federal Government. | 41 $r -j| The armed men who are marching on cities in this coal district are in a state of insurrection against the United States of America. Whether or not their grievances are great, whether or not there is justice in their opposition to the mine operators, whether or not the provochtion for this trouble has been great—they must he dispersed. For now, what was once a demonstration of organized labor against organized capital has become an insurrection against the authority of the Federal Government to maintain law and order. Blood has been shed and property destroyed in sufficient quantities to justify Federal interference. Defiance of local authorities has led to defiance of the President of the United States. And whosoever assists in this insurrection, either by direct action or by giving it moral support is assisting in an attempt to overthrow the Government of the United States. Dropping the Colored Vote Verily the colored brethren in the temple of Republicanism are failing upon evil days when a Republican Senate indicates some resentment over the nomination of a negro politician for an important Federal position, and the Republicans of Virginia boldly announce that herezfter they propose that their party shall be known as a white man's party. There is no doubt but that there are thousands in Virginia voting the Democratic ticket while believing in Republican policies because of their distaste to playing second fiddle in the Republican party to the colored politicians. This year, it seems, an experiment is on foot. The Republicans have nominated for Governor a distinguished gentleman of slave-holding ancestry—a typical F. F. V., —and the party has made its attitude toward the colored voters quite clear. It proposes that the whites in Virginia shall govern, that whites shall hold the offices, and that whites, and only whites, shall constitute the Republican organization. Nothing is offered the colored brethren but a benevolent benediction—a promise to see that their rights are observed, all rights but the constitutional right to do those thiugs political which the reorganized Republican party now says they shall not do. Thus the hope is expressed that many whites who have been voting the Democratic ticket will affiliate with the Republicans and no fear of loss from the colored brethren is anticipated because so few of them can vote. Tills experiment the Indianapolis News thinks important md interesting and not at all likely to injure the Republicans in any way. But how does the News thus convince Itself? In Indiana the cotored vote has swung the State to the Republicans in many campaigns in which the majority of the whites have voted the Democratic ticket. This is true In many other northern doubtful States. It is especially true in Indianapolis. And the Republicans have held these colored men of the north whose votes ar e counted by arousing the hatred of the colored brethren against the Democratic party because that party has pursued in the souti he same policy that the reorganized Republican party of Virginia advertises it will follow. It may be that the Republicans can eat their cake and hive it too, be lauded for adopting policies for which the Democrats have been denounced, and kick the brethren of the colored battalions into the firing zone as of old, but it scarcely seems reasonable It won’t hurt the Republicans in the southern States, to be sure, but what will it do to them in doubtful States of the north? Whs# in Indiana? What in Inuianapolfc ? That is the most interesting phase r A the experiment—Fort Wayne Journal-Gazette.

A Blackjack Bargainer

r- T TT'TVTIVt/ Copyright, 1920, by Doubleday. Page I I I —l Ixl ■ * Cos. Published by special arrange- '-/• -a tint v J.V A ment with tho Wheeler Syndicate, Inc.

left—Col. Abner Coltrane, a man of substance and standing, a member of the State Legislature, and a contemporary with Goree’s father The feud had been a typical one of the region; It had left a red record of hate, wrong and slaughter. But Yancey Goree was not thinking or feuds. His befuddled brain was hopelessly attacking the problem of the future maintenance or himself and his favorite folliis. Os late, old friends of the family had seen to it that he had whereof to eat and a place to sleep, but whisky they would not bay for him, and he must have whisky. His law business was extinct; no case had been intrusted to him in two years. He had been a borrower and a sponge, and it seemed that if he fell no lower It would be from lack of opportunity. One more chance—he was saying to himself—if he had one more stake at the game, he thought he could win; but he had nothing left to sell, and his credit was more than exhausted. He could not help smiling, even in his misery, as he thought of the man to whom, six months before, he had sold the old Goree homestead. There had come from “back yan’ ’’ in the mountains two of the strangest creatures, a man named Pike Gnrvev and his wife. “Back van’ ” with a wave of the hand toward the hills, was understood among the mountaineers to designate the remotest fastuesses, the unplumbed gorges, the haunts of law-breakers, the wolf's den and the boudoir of the bear. In the cabin far up on Blackjack s shoulder, in the wildest part of these retreats, this old eoupiij had lived for twenty years. They had neither dog nor children to migrate the heavy silence of the hills. Pike Garvey was little known in the settlements. but all who had dealt with him pronounced him “crazy as a loon." He acknowledged no occupation save that of a squirrel hunter, but he “moonshined” occasionally by way of diversion. Once the "revenues’’ had dragged him from his lair, fighting sileotly ami desperately like a terrier, arid he .and been sent to State's prison for two years. Released, he popped back into his bole like an angrv weasol. Fortune, passing over many anxious wooers, made a freakish flight Into Blackjack’s bosky nockets to smile upon Pike and hie faithful partner. On - Jay a party of spectacled, knlckerbockered, nnd altogether absurd prosquantity of ready, green, crisp money pectors invaded the vicinity of the Garvey's cabin. Pike lifted his squirrel rifle off the hooks and took a shot at them at long range on the chance of their being revenues. Happily he missed, and the unconscious agents of good luck drew nearer, disclosing ’heir Innocence of anything resembling law or justice. Latet on. they offered the Garveys an enormous

I yc TOWNE GOSSIP Copyright, 1821. by Star Company. By K. C. B. ME MERE all waiting. • • • FOR MARY rickford. * • • AND DOCGI.AR Fairbanks. • • • AND CHARLIE Chaplin. 0 0 m AW ALONGSIDE of me. ... M AS A little boy. • • • ALI, HE could s*h* 0 0 0 WAS JTST the sky. 0 0 0 AND I was afraid. 4 8 8 HE'D RE stepped on. • • * AND I bold his arm. 8 8 8 ANI) SAID to him. 8 8 8 HE’D BETTER b* careful. • • • ANI) STAY by me. 0 0 0 AND JTST about then 0 0 0 WE HEARD somebody yell. • • • THAT “HERE they were " * • • AND THE poor little boy. • • • WAS ALL excited • • • AND WHAT could I do. • • • BUT LIFT him up? 0 0 0 AND IN lifting him. 8 8 8 I TURNED around. 0 0 0 AND THEY drasrered me backward. 8 8 8 IN THE terrible jam • * • AND FINALLY. 8 8 8 I FACED about. 000 AND THE crowd Burped on. • • • AND I struck the curb. • • • AND PROPPED the boy. • • • AND GATHERED him up. • • • AND THE man ahead. 8 8 8 HE WANTED to know. • • • “CAN'T YOU keep that kid. • 8 • OFFA MY neck V 9 0 0 0 AND ALONG about then. • • • THE CROWD eased up. ... AND THE three were gone. ... AND THE kid and I. • • * NEVER BAM’ them once. ... AND A big, tall man. ... M* HO HAD smiled on me. ... WHEN I lifted the kid. ... AND HAD stayed quite close. ... AND YELLED a lot. ... AND nAD seen them all. ... HFI THANKED me much. AND TOOK the kid* * ... AND DISAPPEARED. IN THE breaking crowd. ... I THANK you.

BRINGING UP FATHER.

WELL OF ALL THIMC,S-HERE VOU <0 Rl<iHT TO IT’S NO OSE. TAI_K.\IH‘ T \ ® ! v ,e- * UPClir ,. -r=-ts ROH THE P,ANO I THE PtANO COMPAQ AND N THERE’S NO CHANCE [~ OU J \ * t COMPANY- THEY MHHEY CANT lT ON THEN SEHU N4 / ) OF DELVIN' THAT POKTW E? J \• • iuREVo. omT DELIVER MV P| AMO TO OAT - __J 7 A&IT • , g— -g > / n<r ' PiAtsO TOOav l >, / tiORE. XOU DON T professor clef is coming ( > I ■■ —K J chance tour. © 1921 BY Service. Inc. f" • 3 5 ‘

INDIANA DAILY TIMES, SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 3, 1921.

(Continued From Page One.)

for their thirty acre patch of cleared land, mentioning, ag an excuse for uch a mad action, some Irrelevant and Inadequate nonsense about a bed of mica underlying the said property. When the Garveys became possessed of so many dollars that they faltered In computing them, the deficiencies of life on Blackjack began to grow prominent. Pike began to talk of new shoes, a hogshead of tobacco to set in the corner, a new lock to his rifle; and, leading Mnrtella to a certain spot on the mountainside, he pointed out* to her how a small cannon—doubtless a thing not beyond the scope of their fortune in price—might be planted so as to command and defend the sole accessible trail to the cabin, to■ the confusion of revenues and meddling strangers forever. But Adam reckoned without his Eve. These tilings represented to him the ap plied power of wealth, but there slumbered in his dingy cabin an ambition that soared far above his primitive wants Somewhere in Mrs. Garvey’s bosom still survived a spot of femininitv unstarved by twenty years of Blackjack. For so long a time the sounds In her ears had been the scaly-barks dropping In the woods at noon, and the wolves singing among the rocks at night, and it was enough to have purged her vanities. She had grown fat and sad and yellow and dull. But when the means came, she felt a rekindled desire to assume the perquisites of her sex—ti sit at tea tables; to buy inutile things; to whitewash the hideous veracity of life with a little form and ceremony. So she eoldlv vetoed Pike’s proposed system of fortifications, nnd announced that they would descend upon the world, and gyrate socially. And thus, at length, it was decided, and the thing done. The village of Laurel was their compromise between Mrs. Garvey's preference for one of the large valley towns and Pike’s hankering for primeval solitudes. Laurel yielded a bnlting round of feeble social distractions comportaole with Martolla's ambitions, nnd was not entirely without recommendation to Pike, its contiguilty to the mountains presenting advantages for sudden retreat in ease fashionable society should make It advisable. 1 heir descent upou Laurel had been coincident with Yancey Goree’s feverish desire to convert property into cash, and they brought the old Goree homestead, paying four thousand dollars ready money into the spendthrift’s shaking bunds. Thus it happened that while the disreputable last of the Goree* sprawled lu his disreputable office, nt the end of his row, spurned by the cronies whom he had gorged, strangers dwelt in the halls of his fathers. A cloud of dust was rolling slowly up th parched street, with something traveling In the midst of It. A little breeze wafted the cloud to one side, and anew. brightlv painted carryall, drawn by u slothful gray horse, became visible. Th* veldele deflected from the middle of the street as It neared Goree’s office, and stopped In the gutter directly In front of his door. On the front seat sat a gannt, tall man. dressed In black broadidoth, his rigid hands Incarcerated In yellow kid gloves. On the back seat was a lady who triumphed over th* June heat. Her stout form was armored In a skin tight silk dress of the description known >•* “changeable,” being a gorgeous corabtlnarion of shifting bnes. She set erect, waring a much ornamented fan. with her eve* fixed stonily far down the street However Martella Garvey's heart might he rejoicing at the pleasures of her new life. Blackjack had done his work with her exterior. He had carved her counts j nance to the image of emptiness and inanity; had Imbued her With the stol- | idity of his crags, and the reserve of his hushed interiors She always seemed to bear, whatever her surround • lngs were, the clay-barks, falling and pattering down the mountainside She could always hear the awful a!lance of Blackjack sounding through the stillest , of night*. Gore* watched this solemn equipage as It drev* to hi* door, with only faint In- > terest; but when the lank driver, wrapped the reins about hi* whip, and ! awkwardly descended, and stepped Into the office, he rose unsteadily to receive him, recognizing Pike Garvey, the new, ; th* transformed, the recently civilized. i

The mountaineer took the chair Goree offered him. They who cast doubts npou Giirvey’s soundness of mind hsd a strong witness to th* man's countenance His face was too long, a dull saffron in hue, and immobile a* a statue's Fale-blue, unwinking ronnd eyes without lashes added to the singularity of his grewsor.io visage Goree was at a loss to aceouuf for the visit. "Evervthlng all right at Luni-'l, Mr Garvey?” he Inquired. "Everything all right, sir, snd mighty pleased in Missl* Garvey snd me with the property Missis Garvey likes yo’ old place, and she likes the neighborhood Society is what she ’lows she wants, and she i* gettln’ of it The F.ogersee, th* Hapgoods, the Drafts, and the Trovs hev been to see Missis Gar vey. snd she hev et meal* to most of char honses. The best folks hev axeil her to differ’nt kinds of dole’s I cysn’t say, Mr. Gone, that sech thing? suits me—fnr me, give me them thar.” Garvey's htige. yellow gloved hand flourished in the direction of th* mountain* “That's whar T hTong, 'mongst the wild honey hoe* and the b'ars, But that ain’t what I come fnr to say, Mr. Goree Thar’s somethin' yon got what me aud Missis Garvey wants to buy ” “Buy!” echoed Goree. “From me?” Then he laughed harshly. *T reckon you are mlstnken about that. I reckon you are mistaken about thet. I sold out to you. as you yonrseLf expressed It, ‘lock, stock aud barrel ’ There isn’t even a ramrod left to sell.” “You've got It; and we Tins want It. ■Take the money,' says Missis Gsrvey, ‘and buy St fa'r aud squar’.’ ” Goree shook hls head. “The cupboard’s bare.” he said. "We’ve rls,” pursued the mountaineer, undeflected from hls object, "a heap. We was pore as possums, and now we could hev folks to dinner every day. We been rec’nlzed. Missis Garvey says, by th* best society But there's somethin' we need we ain’t got. She says It ought to been put In the N'eutory ov ths sale, but it tain’t thar. ‘Take the monev, then,’ she *ys. ‘and buy Vt fa'r and squar'.’ ’’ “Out with It.” said Qoree, his racked nerves growing Impatient. Garvey threw his slouch hat upon the table snd learned forward, fixing hls unblinking eyes upon Goree’s. “There’s a old feud,” he said distinctly and slowly, “ ‘tween you ’uns and the Coltranes.” Goree frowned ominously. To speak of his feud to a feudist Is a serious breach of tbe mountain etiquette. The man from “back yan’ ” knew L as well as the lawyer did. “No offense,” he went on, “but purely In the way of buGir-es. Missis Garvey hey studied all about feuds Most of the quality folks In the mountains her 'em. The Betties nod tbe Gcforth*, the Runklns and the Boyds, the Silvers and the Galloways, hev ail been eyarin’ on fends f'om twenty to a hundred year.

The last man to draD was when yo’ uncle, Jedge Paisley Goree, 'journed co’t and Shot Len Coltrane f'om the bench. Missis Garvey and me, wa come f’om the po’ white trash. No- | body wouldn’t pick a feud With we !'uns, no.mo n with a tfam'ly of treeloads. Quality people evervwhar, says Missis Garvey, has' rends. IV* ’tins ain’t quality, but we’re buyln’ Into it as tur as we can. ‘Take the money, then,’ says Missis Garvey, ‘and buy Mr. Goree’s feud, fa’r nnd squar'd " The squirrel hunter straightened a leg half across the room, draw a roll of bills from his pocket, and threw them on the table. “Thar’s two hundred dollars, Mr. Goree; what you would call a fa’r price for a feud that's been Towed to run down like yourn hev. Thar’s only you left to cyar’ on yo' side of It, and you’d make mighty po’ killin'. I’ll take It off yo’ hands, ond It'll set me and Missis Garvey tip among the quality. Thar's the money.” The Uttle roll of currency on the table slowly untwisted itself, writhing and jumping as Its fold relaxed. In the silence that followed Garvey's last speech the rattling of the poker chips In the courthouse could be plainly heard. Goree knew that ths sheriff had just won a pot, for the subdued whoop with which he always greeted a victory floated across the square upon the crinkly heat waves. Beads of moisture stood ou Gorec's brow. Stooping, he drew the wicker-covered demijohn from under the table, and filled a tumbler from it. “A little corn liquor, Mr. Garvey? Os course you are joking about—what you spoke of? Opens quite anew market, doesn’t it? Feuds, prime, two-fifty to three. Fends, slightly damaged—two hundred, 1 believe you said, Mr. Gar vey ?” Goree laughed self-consciously. The mountaineer took the glass Goree handed him, and drank the whisky without a tremor of the lids of his staring eye*. The lawyer applauded the feat by a look of envious admiration. He poured his own drink, and took it like a drunkard, by gulps, and with shudders at the smell and taste. “Two hundred,” repeated Garvey. ‘‘Thar's the money.” A sudden passion flared up in Goree's brain. ll* struck the table with his fist. One of the bills flipped over and touched his hand. He flinched as If something hud stung him "Do you come to me," he shouted, "seriously with such a ridiculous, insulting. darned-fool proposition?” “It’s fa’r and squar’,” said the squirrel hunter, but he reached out his hand ! as if to take back the money; and then 1 Goree kn°w that his own flurry of ruge had not been from pride or resentment, but from anger at himself, knowing that he would Set foot In the deeper depth* that were beiug opened to him. He turned In un instant from an outraged to an anxious chatterer recommending his good*. “Don't be in a hurry, Garvey,” he said, his face crimson and his speech thick. i “I accept your p-p-proposition, though It's dirt cheap ar two hundred. A \ t-trade'a all right when both p purchaser and b-buyer are s-satisfied. Shall 1 | w wrap it up for you, Mr. Garvey?” Garvey rose, and shook cut hts broadcloth. "MUses Garvey will be pleased. You air out of it, and it stands Coltrane and Garvey. Jußt a scrap ov wrltiu’, • we traded.”

Mr. Goree. you bein' a lawyer, to show Goree seized a sheet of paper and a pen. The money was clutched In hi* moist hand. Everything else suddenly teemed to grow trivial and light. "Bill of sale, by all means. ‘Right title, and interest in nnd to' • • • ‘'orever warrant and —' No. Garvey, we'll have to leave out that ’defend,' " said (ioree with a loud laugh. "You'll have to defend this title yourself.” The mountaineer received the amazing screed that the lawyer handed him. fold ed It with immense labor, and placed It carefully in his pocket. Goree was standing near the window, "http here.” he said, raising his finger, “and I'll show you your recently pur chased enemy There he goes, down the other side of the street." The mountaineer crooked his long frame to look through the window In the direction indicated by the other Col. Abner Coltrane, an erect, portly gntle man of at.out NO, wearing the Inevitable long, double breasted frock coat of the Southern lawmaker, aud an old high silk hat, was passing on the opposite side walk. As Garvey looked. Goree glanced at his face. If there be such a thing an a yellow wolf, here was its eounterpurt. Garvey snarled as his unhuman eyes fol lowed the moving figure, disclosing long, amber colored fangs "Is that him? Why, that's the man who sent me to the pen'tcntlary once:'' "He used to be district attorney.” said Goree carelessly. "And, by the way, he a a first cla. shot," “I kin hit a tuirrel's eye at a hun dred yard.” said Garvey. “So that thar's Coltrane! I made a better trade than I was thlnkln'. I'll take keer ov this feud, Mr. Goree, better'u vou ever did!” “Anything else today?" inquired Goree with frothy sarcasm. “Any family traditions. ancestral ghosts, or skeletons In the closet ? Prices as low us the lowest." “Thar was another tirtng,” replied the unmoved squirrel hunter, 'that Mlsh'.s Gsrvey wa . tbtnklnS of. 'Taln't so much in tny line as t'other but she wanted partic'lar that I should Inquire, and *f you was willin', 'pay fur It,’ she says, ■fa r aud squar'.’ T liar's a buryin' grouu' as yon know, Mr Goree, In the yard or yo' old place, under the cedar*. Them that lies thar Is yo’ folks what w-as killed by the Coutranes. The mouyments ha* the name* on 'em. Missis Garvey says a l’Stn Iv buryin' groun’ is a she' sign of quality. She says es t git the fend, lhar’d somethin' else ought to go with it The names on them monytuents Is ‘Goree,’ but they can be changed to ourn by—” “Go! Go!" screamed Goree, h!s face turning purple. He stretched out both hands towaTd the mcnntalneer. his fin gers hooked aud shaking. “Go, you ghoul! Even a Oh-Chinaman protect* th* g-gravss of his ancestors—go!" The squirrel hunter slouched ont of th* door to hi* carryall. While he wa* climbing over the wheel Gone was collecting. with feverish celerity, ths money faht had fallen from his rand to the floor. As the vehicle slowly turned about, th* sheep, with a coat of newly grown wool, was hurrying In Indecent haste, along ths path to the courthouse. At 8 o'clock In the morning they brought him back to hts office, shorn and nnconsclou*. The sheriff, the sporltlve deputy, the county clerk, and the gay attorney carried him, the chalk raced man “from the valley” acting as escort. “On tb table,' said one of them, nnd they deposited him there among the litter of his unprofitable books and papers “Y’ance thinks a lot of a pair of deuces when he's liquored up,” sighed the sheriff reflectively. “Too much,” raid the gay attorney. “A man has no business to play poker who drinks as tii'ch ns he does. I wonder how- much do dropped tonight.” “Glose to two hundred. What I wonder is wliar he got it. Y'ance ain't had a cent for over a month, I know.” ■'Struck a client, maybe. Well, let's get home before daylight. He'll be all right when he wakes up, except for a sort of beehive about the cranium.” The ganp slipped away through the early morning twilight. The next eye to gaze upon the miserable Goree wn* the orb of day. He peered through the un curtained window, first deluging the sleeper lu a flood of faint, gold, but soon pouring upon the mottled red of his flesh

a searching, white, summer heat. Goree stirred, half-unconsclously, among the table’s debris, and turned his face from the window. His movement dislodged a heavy law book, which crashed upon the floor. Opening hls eyes he saw, bending over him, a man In a black frock coat. Looking higher, he discovered a well-worn silk hat, and beneath it the kindly, smooth face of Col. Abner Coltrsne. A little uncertain of the outcome the colonel waited for the other to make gome Sign of recognition. Not in twenty years bad male members of these two families faced each other In peace. Goree's eyelids puckered as he strained his blurred sight toward this visitor, and then he smiled serenely. , “Have you brought Stella and Lucy over to play?” he said calmly. "Do you know me, Yancey?” asked Coltrane. “Os course I do. Yon brought me a whip with a whistle In the end.” So he hail—twenty-four years ago; when Y’ancey’s father was his best friend. Goree'* eyes wandered about the room. The colonel understood. "Lie still, and I’ll bring you some,” said he. There was a pump in the yard at the rear, and Goree closed his eves, listening with rapture to the click'of it* handle, and the bubbling of the falling stream. Coltrane brought a pitcher of the cool water, and held It for him to drink. Presently Goree sat up— a most forlorn object, his summer suit of flax soiled and crumpled, his discreditable head tousled and Unsteady. He tried to. wave one of his hands toward the colonel. "Ex-excuse —everything, will you?” he said. "1 must have drunk too much whisky last night, and gone to bed on the table.” His brows knitted Into a puzzled frown. “Out with the boys a while?” asked Coltrane kindly. "No, I went nowhere. I haven’t had a dollar to spend in the last two months. Struck the demijohn too often. I reckon, as usual.” Colonel Coltrane touched him on the shoulder. "A little while ago, Yancey," he began, ‘‘you asked me if I had brought Stella and Lucy over to play. You weren't quite awake then, and must have been dreaming you were a boy again. You are awake now. and 1 want you to listen to me. I have eorne from Stella and Lucy to their old playmate,

Vic STORY of NINETTE B y RUBY M. AYRES

Who’s Who in the Story : NINETTE, a tiuy waif who first saw the I light of day In cheap lodgings in a dull road In the worst part of Palharn, is i adopted by I “JOSH” M HEELER, who shared his meager earnings as a scribe ou a Loudon paper, with the friendless babe. -Ninette meets ! PETEK NOIHARD, an editor, who resI cues her from sickness and poverty and takes her to his sister, MARGARET DELAY, who has a home in the country. Ninette is introduced to AKTHt K DELAY’, Margaret s husband. DOROTHY MAN VERS, a former sweetheart of N'othard's, is a guest at Margaret's house. In a lovely old place near bT lives the wealthy M 11,LIAM FFILSTED, whose only son, DICK, frequently visits the Delay s home. Ninette meet* RANDALL CAVAXAGH, a wealthy man of London, who confesses that he is her father. Ninette returns to the Delay’s home for her things Arthur Delay apologizes to her snd Margaret suggests that she stay there until she has made other arrangements. but this does not appeal to Ninette and she leaves hurriedly for N'othard's house, leaving her things unpacked. C&vanagh takes Ninette to live with him after Nothurd Is convinced of Cavansgh's relation to her. Although Ninette now has everything money cun buy, sh? is lonely and restless. CHAPTER XXX— Continued. Cavanagh had done his best to {lease Ninette since she came to live In his He took more pains with hi? sp for one thing and seemed less silent and morose. He had loaded her with presents—diamonds which she never wore and furs which were too handsome for her slim youth. Only the night before he had brought her home a single stone ring set lu platinum, which must have cost him hundreds, snd she wondered what he would say could he know that the chief though* In her tnind as she thanked him was; “If I had this six months go Josh would have been alive today!" It wai strange how bitterly her mind always harked back to the tragedy of Josh I Wheeler's death, and the realization of ! how little might have saved him. She was watching the firelight spark- ! ling on the ring, which she had put on i to please her father, when she spoke of her own loneliness and of the future. "What am I to do with myself all my life?” She looked up into Cavansgh's face with eyes of unconscious pathos as she asked the question, and he held out. his hand. “Come here, Ninette.” She went across to him and eat down on a big stool at his feet ond he pnt j an arm round her slim shoulders. “Yon are not happy, Ninette?” he said quietly. She answered. In swift remorse: ••It Isn't that; but—l seem no use to any one! I've got no friends, and I seem no us* In the world at all. I can't go on like this all tny life, can IV" “As soon as the business matters 1 am working on now have cleared up j I shall take you abroad and show you the world. You trill love to travel —and the world Is a very beautiful place, Ninette.” “I know, but”—she sighed impatiently. “We shall have to come back some day sha’n't we? And then—wnat shall 1 do then ?” He stroked her hair. "What would you ltKe to do?” he asked. “I don't know.” They' sat silent for a moment; then Cnvnnngh said. “Some day you will marry and have o home of your own.” Ninette laughed, her cheeks flushing. “I shall not I I never want to marry; men are all selfish. There Is only one : Josh who was different.” “Y'ou are not paying me the compliment of excepting me also?” he asked whimsically, though with a note of seriousness in his voice. “You-—oh. you’re different!” Ninette snid vaguely. Somehow, sho had not yet found a place In life for her father: ha seemed someone apart and quite dis-

and to my old friend’s son. They know that I am going to bring you home with me, and you will find them as ready with a welcome as they were In the old days. I want you to come to my house and stay until you are yourself again, and as much longer as you will. We heard of your being down lu the world, and In the midst of temptation, and we agree that you should come over and play at our house once more. 'Vi 11 you come, my boy? Will you drop our old family trouble and come with me?” Trouble!” said Goree, opening his eyes wide. “There was never any trouble between us that I know of. I’m sure we've always been the best friends. But, good Lord, Colonel, how could I go to your home as I am—a drunken wretch, a miserable, degraded spendthrift snd gambler—” He lurched from the table Into his armchair, and began to weep maudlin tears, mingled with genuine drops of remorse and shame. Coltrane talked to him persistently and reasonably, reminding him of the simple mountain pleasures of which he had once been to fond, and insisting upon the genuineness of the Invitation. Finally he landed Goree by telling him he was counting upon bis help In the engineering and transportation of a large amount of felled timber from a high mountainside to a waterway. He knew that Goree had once Invented a device for this purpose—a series of slides and chutes—upon which he had Justly prided himself. In an Instant the poor fellow, delighted at the idea of his being of use to any one, had paper spread upon the table, and was drawing rapid but pitifully shaky lines In demonstration of what he could and would do. The man was sickened of the husks; his prodigal heart was turning again toward the mountains. His mind was yet strangely clogged, and his thoughts and memories were returning to his brain one by one, like carrier pigeon* over a stormy sea. But Coltrane was satisfied wlih the progress he had made. Bethel received the surprise of its existence that afternoon when a Coltrane and a Goree rode amicably together through the town. Side by side they rode, out from the dusty streets and gaping townspeople, down across the creek bridge, and up toward the moun tain. The prodigal had brushed and washed and combed himself to a more decent figure, but he was unsteady in

ferent to any one she had ever met—a law unto himself. The silence Ml again and this time Cavanagh himself broke it. “Ninette, why have you never asked me about your mother?” He felt her wince, and saw that she turned her head a little to hide her face i from him as she answered: | “Perhaps because I don't want to I know.” His hard face relaxed a little, j “You mean that you think I was not kind to her?” he asked. Ninette's head sank lower. “Josh told me—years ago—that when she died she had only a few shillings In ! the world and that she died alone in the I little back room that looked out on a j yard where a dog doctor lived. He said I that the dogs used to bark and howl night and day. Josh knew my mother, you see. He used to watch her go up and down stairs, nnd I know he was 6orry for her. He said she had the saddest eyes be had ever seen. He said that she was like me, only prettier. I think—l've often thought that perhaps j tie loved her, Just a Uttle, and that was why he took me and looked after me when she died.” Caranagh rose to hls feet, putting Ninette gently aside. Hls sbsggy brows were frowning as he crossed the room, and. unlocking the bureau, took out a Uttle bundle of papers. He brought them ; back to where the girl sat, and took his chair beside her again. “I've often wondered If, when the time came, I should ever bring myself to tell ! you the truth,” he said harshly. “But 1 you may as well know It, Ninette—as. ai any rate, I should have told you at my death. Your mother left me—of her own will. M'e married for love. I was a poor man in those days. Sometimes we hardly knew how to get the money together to pay for the two rooms In which we lived. But I think—” He broke off, seeming to forget her for a moment. “I think those were the happiest years of my life. Then—then my chance came A man I worked with In the city ofiler —ho was crooked but as clever as they make them— gave me my first chance to make money quickly—and dishonestly! I need not tell you the details, Ninette, but I took the chance, and that was the first rung of the ladder of success for me. I've never gone back since, though I've deserved to, as, according to the doctrine they teach us when we are children, the wicked never really prosper. But I’ve prospered, Ninette. I can write my name to a check of more figures than almost any man in London today, and—aud—” Ills voice fell back to its own hard tones, and he said again, more quietly: “Where wat 1? Oh. yes, your mother! She knew nothing about It all, of course. I knew her well enough not to let her guess the truth. She was a good woman, Ninette, but she had her own narrow Ideas of what was right and what was wrong, and I knew she would never admit of any half measures. Y’ou were coming then, and she was too happy dreaming about the future and all that It meant to her to think much of me and what I was doing. And then, one day, she found out! I forget quite how It was, but one thing led up to another, and one night she taxed mo with the truth. I tried to lie to her, but it wag no use. She had eyes like yours, Ninette—dark eyes, that seem to see behind a lie, and scorn It; and In the end 1 found myself blurting it all out to her. She listened very quietly, and when I had finished she asked me what I was going to do—ls I was going to take back tho money which should really never have been i mine, or if I meant to keep It. Well, yon can guess what I answered. I was poor, j and it meant a start lu life. Other men did the same sort of things and prospered, and so would I! She hardly spoke then; she Just looked at me, and all my life I shall remember the expression of her eyes. I think I thought I had convinced her that I was Justified in what I had done. It shows how little I knew her, because in tho morning she'd gone—nnd I never suw her again as long as sh lived!" —Copyright, 1921, by The Wheeler Syndicate, Inc. (To be continued.)

j the saddle, and he seemed to be deep In the contemplation of some vexing I problem. Coltrane left him in hls mood! I relying upon the Influence of changed j surroundings to restore his equilibrium, i Once Goree was seized with a shaking fit, and almost came to a collapse. He I had to dismount and rest at the side of I the road. The colonel, foreseeing such a condition, had provided a small flask of whisky for the journey but when it was offered to him Goree refused it al most with violence, declaring he would never touch it again. By and by he was recovered, and went quietly enough for a mile or two. Then he pulled up his horse suddenly, and said: “I lost S2OO last night, playing poker. Now, where did I get that money?” “Take It easy, Yancey. The mountain air will soon clear it up. We’ll go fishing, first thing, at the Pinnacle Falls. The trout are jumping there like bullfrogs. Well take Stella and Lucy along, and have a picnic on Eagle Rock. Have you forgotten how a hickory-cured-ham sandwich tastes, Yancey, to a hungry fisherman?” Evidently the colonel did not believe the story of his lost wealth; so Goree retired again into brooding silence. By late afternoon they had traveled ten of the twelve miles between Bethel and Laurel. Half a mile this side of Laurel lay the old Goree place; a mile or two beyond the village lived the Coltranes. The road was now steep ana laborious, but the compensations were many. The tilted aisles of the forest were opulent with leaf and bird and bloom. The tonic air put to shame the pharmacopaela. The glades were dark with mossy shade, and bright with shy rivulets winking from the ferns and laurels On the lower side they viewed, framed to the near foliage, exquisite sketches of the far valley swooning in its opal haze. Coltrane was pleased to see that his companion was yielding to the spell of the hills snd woods. For now they had but to skirt the base of Painter's Cliff; to cross Elder Branch and mount the hill beyond, and Goree would have to face ths squandered home of his fathers. Every rock he passed, every tree, every foot of the roadway, was familiar to him. Though he had forgotten the woods, they thrilled like the music of “Home, Sweet Home.” They rounded the cliff, descended Into Elder Branch, and paused there to let the horse* drink and splash in the swift water. On th* right was a rail fence that cornered there, and followed the road and stream. Inclosed by it was th* old apple orchard of the home place; the house was yet concealed by tbe brow of the steep hUL Inside and along the fence, pokeberries, elders, sassafras, and sumac grew high and dense. At a riistie of their branches, both Goree and Coltrane glanced up ,and saw a long, yellow wolfish face above the fence, staring at them with pale, unwinking eyes. Tne head quickly disappeared: there was a violent swaying of the bushes, and anungainly figure ran up through the apple orchard In the direction of the house, zigzagging among the trees. “That's Garvey,” said Coltrane; “the man you sold out to. There's no doubt but he’s considerably cracked. I had to send him up for moonshiuing once, several years ago, iii spite of the fact that I believed him Irresponsible. Why, what's the matter, Yancev Goree was wiping hls forehead, and hls face had lost its color. “Do I look queer, too?” he asked, trying to smile. "I’m Just remembering a few more things.” Some of tbe alcohol Lad evanorated from hls brain. "I recollect now where I got that two hundred dollars.” “Don’t think of It,” said Coltrane cheerfully. “Later on we’U figure it all out together.” They rode out of the branch, and when they reached the foot ‘of the hill Goree stopped again. “Did you ever suspect I was a very vain kind of a fellow, Colonel?” he asked. “Sort of foolish proud about appearances ?” The colonel’s eyes refused to wander to the soiled, sagging suit of flax and the faded slouch hat. “It seems to me.” he replied, mystified, but humoring him, “I remember a young buck about twenty, with the tightest coat, the sleekest hair, and the rranclngest saddle horse in the Blue Ridge."

! “Right you are,” said Gore eagerly, j “And It's in me yet. though it don’t ! show. Oh, I'm as vain as a turkey ! gobbler, and as proud as Lucifer. I'm going to ask you to indulge this weaki ness of mine in a little matter.” “Speak out. Y’ancey. We’ll create yo i Duke of Laurel and Bpron of Blue Ridge, j if you choose; and you shall have a - feather out of Stella's peacock's tail to wear In yon hat.” “I'm la earnest. In a few minutes j we'U pass the house up there on the hill where I was born, and where my people I have lived for nearly a century. Strangers live there now—and look at mo! 1 am j about to show myself to them ragged and poverty-stricken, a wastrel and a beggar. Colonel Col trnne, I'm ashamed jto oo it. I want you to let me wear your coat and hat until we are out of sight beyond. 1 know you think it a foolish pride, but I want to make as good a showing as I can when I pass the j old place.” ! "Now, what does this mean?” said Col- ; trane to himself, as he compared hla ; companion's sane looks and quiet demeanor with his strange request. But he was already unbuttoning the coat, assenting readily, as if th* fancy were in no wise to be considered strange. The coat and hat fitted Goree well. He buttoney the former about him with a look of satisfaction and dignity. He and Coltrane were nearly the same size ! —rather tall, portly, and erect. Twentyfive years were between them, but in appearance they might have been brothers. Goree looked older than his age; hls face was puffy and lined: the colonel had the smooth, fresh complexion of a temperate liver. He put on Goree’s disreputable old flax epat and faded slouch hat. “Now.” snid Goree, taking up ifce reins, “I'm all right. I want you to ride about ten feet In the rear as we go by. Colonel, so that they can get s good look at me. They'll see I’m no back number yet, by any means. I guess I’ll show up rretty well to them once more, anythow. Let’s rid* on.” He set ont up the hill at a smart trot, the colonel following, as he had bees requested. Goree sat straight In the saddle, with head erect, but hls eyes were turned to (he right, sharply scanning every shrub and fence and hidlng-placo in the ojd homestead vard. Once he muttered to himself. “M 111 the craav fool try it, or did I dream half of It?” It was when he cam* opposite the little family burying ground that he saw ■what he had been looking for— a puff of white smoke, coming from the thick cedars In one corner. He toppled so slowly to the left that Coltrane had time to urge his horse to that side, and catch him with one arm. The squirrel hunter had not overpraised his aim. lie had sent the bullet where he Intended, and where Goree had expected It would pass-through the breast of Colonel Abner Coltrane’s black frock coat. Goree leaned heavily a<rlust Coltrane, hut he did not fall. The horses kept pace, side by side, and the Colonel's srm kept him steady. The Uttle white houses of Laurel shone through the trees, half a mile away. Goree reached out one hand nnd groped until it rested upon CoUrane's fingers, which held the brldl*. “Good friend,” he said, and that was all. ■’hu' did Yancey Goree, as he rode past hls old home, make, considering all things, the best showing that was In hls power.

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