Jasper County Democrat, Volume 9, Number 30, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 27 October 1906 — The Manager Of the B. @ A. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Manager Of the B. @ A.

By VAUGHAN KESTER

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. I—Dsn Oakley, Manager of the Buckhorn and Antioch railroad (known as the ‘'Huckleberry”), receives two letters, one telling him that his convict father, Koger Oakley, has been pardoned, and the other that General Cornish, the owner of the B. & A., is about to visit Antioch. ll—Oakley visit, Dr. Emory and meets Constance Emory. Other visitors are Griff Ryder, owner of the Antioch Herald, and Turner Joice, the local artist. lll—Oakley tells General Cornish that in orderto keep the car shops running a cut in wages is necessary. IV--Oakley tells Holt, his assistant treasurer, of the proposed cute. V—Roger Oakley appears in Antioch. He Is a worthy old man. who killed an enemy in self defence and was unjustly convicted of murder. VI Roger Oaklev goes to work in the car shops. Gr'ff Ryder tries to induce Dan to keep a friend at work. Oakley refuses. Vll—Oakley and Ryder are rivals for Constance Emory's favor. Vlll—Through Kenyon, candidate for congress, whose cousin is warden of the prison in which Roger Oakley was confined, Ryder learns the old man's history. IX—Oakley cuts wages in the car shops He Is attacked by the lieraid. X -Oakley's office boy learns from the son of one of the men that the men are planning a strike and that Ryder is spreading the tale that Roger Oakley is a criminal. Xi—The men in the car shops refuse to work with Roger Oaklev. Branyon, their leader, is discharged. Oakley tells Dr. Emory that he will stay in Antioch and race the situation. CHAPTER XIII. PERHAPS it showed lack of proper feeling, but Oaklej' managed to sleep off a good deal of his emotional stress, and when he left his hotel the next morning he was quite himself again. His attitude toward the world was the decently cheerful one of the man who Is earning a good salary and whose personal cares are far from being numerous or pressing. He was still capable of looking out for Cornish’s Interests, and his own, too, if the need arose. He went down to the office alert and vigorous. As be strode along he nodded and smiled at the people he met on the street. If the odium of his father’s crime was to attach Itself to him it should be without his help. Antioch might count him callous if it liked, but It must not think him weak. His first. official act was to go for £err, who was unusually cantankerous. and he gave that frigid gentleman a scare which lasted him for the better part of a week, for Kerr, who had convinced himself overnight that Oakley must resign, saw himself having full swing with the Huckleberry and was disposed to treat his superior with airy Indifference. He had objected to hunting up an old order book Dan wished to see on the score that he was too busy, whereat, as Holt expressed it, the latter "Jumped on him with both feet.” His second official act was to serve formal notice on Branyon that he was dismissed from the shops. He was even harsh witli Miss Walton, and took exception to her spelling of a typewritten letter which he was sending off to Cornish in London. * He also Inspected every department in the shops and was glad of an excuse he discovered to reprimand Joe Stokes, who was stockkeeper in the carpenter’s room, for the slovenly manner in winch the stock was handled. Then he returned to the office and as a matter of discipline kept Kerr busy all the rest of the morning hauling dusty order books from a dark closet. He felt that if excitement was what was wanted he was the one to furnish It He had been too easy. Naturally the office force gave a deep sigh of satisfaction when Oakley closed his desk and announced that he was going uptown and would not return. Miss Walton confided to Kerr that she Just hoped he would never come back. It was a little before 3 o'clock when Dau presented himself at the Emorys'. The maid who answered his ring ushered him into the parlor with marked trepidation. She was a timid soul. Then she swished from the room, but returned almost immediately to say that Miss Emory would be down in a moment. When Constance entered the room be advanced a little uncertainly. She extended her hand quite cordially, however. There was no trace of embarrassment or constraint In her manner. As he took her hand Dan said simply, going straight to the purpose of bis call: "I have thought a good deal over what I want to tell you. Miss Emory.” Miss Emory instantly took the alarm and was on the defensive. She enveloped herself In that species of Inscrutable feminine reserve meu find 60 difficult to penetrate. She could not imagine what he hnd to tell her that was so pressing. He was certainly very curious and unconventional. There was one thing she feared ho might want to tell her which she was firmly determined not to hear. Oakley drew forward a chair. "Won’t you sit down?” he asked gravely, “Thank you, yes.” It was all so formal they both smiled. Dan stood with his back to the fireplace, now filled with ferns, and rested an elbow on the mantel. There was an awkward pause. At last be said ■lowly: "It seems I’ve been the subject of a lot of talk during the last two days, and I have been saddled with a matter for which 1 am in no way responsible, though It appears to reflect on me quite as much as If I were.” "Really, Mr. Oakley,” began Constance, scenting danger ahead. But her visitor was in no mood to temporize.

"One moment, please," he said hastily. “You have heard the story from Mr. Ryder.” “I have beard It from others as well." “It has influenced you”— “No, I won’t say that,” defiantly. Bhe was not accustomed to being catechised. “At least it has caused you to seriously doubt the wisdom of an acquaintance,” blurted Oakley. “You are very unfair,” rising, with latent anger. “You will greatly oblige me by slttiug down again.” And Constance, astonished beyond measure at his tone of command, sank back Into her chair with a little smothered gasp of surprise. No one had ever ventured to speak to her like that before. It was a new experience. “We’ve got to finish this, you know,” explained Dan, with one of his frankest smiles, and there was a genial simplicity about his smile which was very attractive. Constance, however, was not to be propitiated, but she kept her seat. She was apprehensive lest Oakley would do something more startling and novel If she attempted to cut short the Interview. She stole a glance at him from under her long lashes. He was studying the carpet, apparently quite lost to the enormity of his conduct. “You have heard their side of the story, Miss Emory. I want you to hear mine. It’s only fair, Isn’t it? You have heard that my father is an ex-convict?” “Yes,” with a tinge of regret “That he Is a murderer?” plunging ahead mercilessly. “Yes.” “And this Is influencing you?” "I suppose it is,” helplessly. “It would naturally. It was a great shock to us all.” “Yes,” agreed Dan, “I can understand, I think, just how you must look at It.” “We are very, very sorry for you, Mr. Oakley. I want to explain my manner last night. The whole situation was so excessively awkward. I am sure you must have felt It.” ‘T did,” shortly. “Oh, dear, I hope you didn’t think me unkind!” “No.” Then he added, a trifle wearily: “It’s taken me all this time to realize my position. I suppose I owe you some sort of an apology. You must have thought me fearfully thick skinned.” He hoped she would say no, but he was disappointed. Her conscience had been troubling her, and she was perfectly willing to share her remorse with him since be was so ready to assume a part of It. She was as conventional as extreme respectability could make her, but she had never liked Oakley half so -well. She admired his courage. He didn’t whine. His very stupidity was In its way admirable, but It was certainly too bad he could not see just how Impossible he was under the circumstances. Dan raised his eyes to hers. “Miss Emory, the only time I remember to have seen my father until be came here a few weeks.ago was through the grating of his cell door. My mother took me there as a little boy. When she died I came west, whip? no one knew me. I had already learned that, because of him, I was somehow judged and condemned too. It has always been hanging over me. I have always feared exposure. I suppose I can hush it up after awhile, but there will always be some one to tell It to whoever will listen. It is no longer a secret.” “Was It fair to your friends, Mr. Oakley, that it was a secret?” “I can’t see what business It was of theirs. It Is nothing I have done, and, anyhow, I have never had any friends until now I cared especially about.” “Ob!” and Miss Emory lowered her eyes. So long as he was merely determined and stupid he was safe, but should he become sentimental it might be embarrassing for them both. “You have seen my father. Do you think from what you can judge from appearances that he would kill a man in cold blood? It was ouly after years of Insult that It came to that, and then the other man was the aggressor. What my father did he did In self defense, but I am pretty sure you were not to'ld this." He was swayed by a sense of duty toward his father and a desire to vindicate him—he was so passive and enduring. The Intimacy of their relation had begotten warmth and sympathy. They had been drawn nearer and nearer each other. The clannishness of his blood and race asserted Itself. It was a point of honor with him to stand up for his friends and to stand up for his father most of all. Could he, he would have ground his heel Into Ryder’s face for bis part in circulating the garbled version of the old convict’s history. Some one should suffer as he hnd been made to suffer. “Of course Mr. Ryder did not know what you have told me,” Constance said hastily. She could not have told why, but she had the uneasy feeling that Griff required a champion, that he was responsible. "Then you did hear It from Mr. Ryder T'

She did not answer, and Oakley, taking her silence for assent, continued: “I don’t suppose it was told you either that be was pardoned because of an act of conspicuous heroism, that at the risk of bls own life he saved the lives of several nurses and patients in the hospital ward of the prison where he was confined.” He looked inquiringly at Constance, but she was still silent. “Miss Emory, my father came to me to all Intents an absolute stranger. Why, I even feared him, for I didn’t know the kind of man he was, but I have come to hffve a great affection and regard for him. I respect him, too, most thoroughly. There is not an hour of the day when the remembrance of bis crime Is not with him. Don't you think It cowardly that it should have been ventilated simply to hurt me, when it must inevitably hurt him bo much more? He has quit work in the shops, and he is determined to leave Antioch. I may find him gone when I return to the hotel.” “And you blame Mr. Ryder for this?” “I do. It's part of the debt we’ll settle some day.” “Then you are unjust. It was Mr. Kenyon. His cousin is warden of the prison. He saw your father there and remembered him.” "And told Mr. Ryder,” with a contemptuous twist of the lips. “There were others present at the time. They were not alone.” “But Mr. Ryder furnished the men with the facts.” “How do you know?” And once more her tone was one of defiance and defense. “I have been told so, and I have every’ reason to believe I was correctly

informed. Why don’t you admit that it was a cowardly piece of business to strike at me over my father’s shoulder?” demanded Oakley, with palpable exasperation. The narrowness of her nature and her evasions galled him. Why didn’t she show a little generous feeling? He expected she would be angry at hls words and manner. On the contrary. she replied: “I am not defending Mr. Ryder, as you seem to think, but I do not believe in condemning any one as you would condemn him—unheard.” She was unduly conscious perhaps that sound morality was on her side In this. “Let us leave him out of it. After all, It is no odds who told. The barm is done.” “No, I shall ask Griff.” Dan smiled doubtfully. “That will settle it if you believe what he tells you.” "Hls denial will be quite sufficient for me, Mr. Oakley,” with chilly politeness. There was a long pause, during which Dan looked at the carpet and Miss Emory at nothing In particular. He realized how completely he had separated himself from the rest of the world In her eyes. The hopelessness of hls love goaded him on. He turned to her with sudden gentleness and said penitently: “Won’t you forgive me?” “I have nothing to forgive, Mr. Oakley,” with lofty self denial, and again Dan smiled doubtfully. Her saying so did not mean all It should have meant to him. He swept his hand across hls face with a troubled gesture. “I don't know what to do,” he observed ruefully. "The turf seems knocked from under my feet.” “It must have been a dreadful ordeal to pass through alone,” she said. "We are so distressed for your sake." And she seemed so keenly sympathetic that Dan’s heart gave a great bound in his breast. He put aside hls mounting bitterness ugalnst her. ”1 don’t know why I came to see you today. I just wanted to, and so I came. I don’t want to force a friendship.” Miss Emory murmured that no excuse was necessary. "I am not too sure of that I must appear bent on exhibiting myself and my woes, but I can’t go Into retirement and I can’t let people sc« I’m hurt” Hls face took on a strong resolve. He couldn’t go without telling her he loved her. Hls courage was suddenly riotous. • “Once, not long ago, I dared to be-* Here I might level the differences between us. I recognized what they were, but now it is hopeless. There are some things a man can’t overcome,

nd matter how bardlie' tries, -andT suppose being the son of a murderer is one of these.” He paused and, raising hla eyes from the carpet, glanced at her, but her face was averted. He went on, desperately: “It’s quite hopeless, but I have dared, to hope, and I wanted you to know. I hate to leave things unfinished.” There was a long silence, then Miss Emory said softly: “I am so sorry.” “Which means you've never cared for me,” dryly. Put she did not answer him. She was wondering how she would have felt had the confession come fortyeight hours earlier. “I suppose I’ve been quite weak and foolish,” said Dan. She looked into his face with a slow smile. "Why do you say that? Is It weak and foolish to care for some one?” “Wasn’t It?” with suddenly kindled hope, for he found it hard to give her up. Miss Emory drew herself together with a sigh. “I never thought of this," she said, which was hardly true; she had thought of it many times. “No,” admitted Dan, Innocently enough, for her lightest word had become gospel to him, such was his love and reverence. “You couldn’t know.” Poor Oakley, hls telling of It was the smallest part of the knowledge. “I think I see now, perfectly, how great a difference this affair of my father’s must make. It sort of cuts me off from everything.” “It is very tragic. I wish you hadn’t told me just now.” Her lips trembled pathetically, and there were tears in her eyes. “I’ve wanted to tell you for a long time.” "I didn’t know.” “Of course you couldn’t know,” he repeated. Then he plunged ahead recklessly, for he found there was a curious satisfaction in telling her of his love, hopeless as it was. “It has been most serious and sacred to me. I shall never forget you—never. It has helped me in so many ways just to know you. It has changed so many of my ideals. I can’t be grateful enough.” Miss Emory approved hls attitude. It was as it should be. She was sorry for him. She admired his dignity and repression. It made him seem so strong and purposeful. “You will find your happiness some day, Mr. Oakley. You will find some one more worthy than I.” She knew he would be insensible to the triteness of her remark.

“No,” generously, "that couldn’t be. I’ll not find any one. I’ll not look.” “Oh, but you will!” Already, with the selfishness of her sex and a selfishness which was greater than that of her sex, she was regretting that she had allowed him to step so easily into the position of a rejected lover. “I don’t want you to think It is going to ruin my life,” he said quietly, “or anything of that sort.” An appeal to her pity seemed weak and contemptible. “I have striven to win what I can’t have, what is not for me, and I am satisfied to have made the effort.” Miss Emory bit her lip. He was going to put her out of his life entirely. It was ended, and he would do his best to forget her with what speed he might, for he loved her and was too generous to wish her to suffer. This generosity, needless to say, was too altruistic for Constance to fully appreciate its beauties. Indeed, she did not regard it as generosity at all. She resented it. She realized that probably she would not see him again—at least, the meeting would not be of his makIne or choosing. There was to be no sentimental aftermath. He was preparing to go, like the sensible fellow he was, for good and all, and she rebelled against the decree. It seemed brutal and harsh. She was angry, hurt and offended. Perhaps her conscience was troubling her too. She knew she was mean and petty. “I don’t think It could have been very serious to you, Mr. Oakley,” she murmured, gazing abstractedly from the window. “I don’t know why you think that I can’t say any more than I have said. It Includes all.” -She wanted to tell him he gave up too easily. “At any rate, we are friends,” he added. “Are you going?’’, she cried, with a ring of real longing and regret In her voice, lifted out of herself for the moment at the thought of losing him. Dan nodded, and a look of pain came Into bis face. "Yes, I am going.” “But you are not going to leave Antioch ?” “Ob, no!” And Miss Emory felt a sense of relief. She rose from her chair. “Then I shall see you again?” “Probably,” smiling. “We couldn’t well avoid seeing each other in a place the size of this.” He held out his hand frankly. "And I shan't see you here any more?” she asked softly. “I guess not,” a little roughly. The bitterness of bls loss stung him. He felt something was wrong somewhere. He wondered, too,* If she had been quite fair to him, If her ability to guard herself was entirely commendable after all. He knew In the end his only memory of her would be that she was beautiful. He would carry this memory and a haunting sense of Incompleteness with him wherever he went She placed her hand in his and looked up Into bls face with troubled, serious eyes. “Goodby.” It was almost a whisper. Dan crossed the room to the door and flung it open. For an instant be wavered on the threshold, but a mojpent later _wtm striding dowp the

itreeTwlffi- hlsTKFJarnmed Meffiessly low over hls ears and hls hands thrust deep in hls trousers pockets. At the window Constance, with a white, scared face, was watching him from betwee%the parted curtains. She hoped he would look back, but be never once turned his head. [ TO BE CONTINUED)

"You have heard the story from Mr. Ryder."