Jasper County Democrat, Volume 9, Number 42, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 January 1907 — How St. Albe Helped [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

How St. Albe Helped

By INA WRIGHT HANSON

There are whims and whims. My particular one might be discovered in Mrs. Jerome’s house party invitation, which read, “Yourself and St. Albe.” My motor car never for a moment had replaced my racer, St. Albe, In my affections. I loved him for his swiftness, his beauty, his gentleness. Mora than I loved woman did I regard my horse, but that was before I had met Elsie Hyler at my hostess’ country home. I had always believed that I should recognize my mate as soon as I saw her or at least when I heard her speak. Miss Hyler’s pure, Madonna-like face held my eyes, her voice set my heart strings atune, and in the evening, when I waltzed with her, I knew her for my very own. I almost told her so. Afterward I was glad I had not. It was a month long house party, so I should have plenty of time to woo

my darling, but from the first matters went not to my liking. A ghost seemed to stalk In our midst, and from my dear lady's lambent eyes looked often a haunting fear. Iler voice, face and sweet disposition seemed % perfect trinity to compel any man’s admiration, and at times she had the whole crowd literally at her feet; then, presto, the intangible something which made her a woman apart from her sisters. I exercised St. Albe every day, usually preferring to drive him hitched to my easy going phaeton. I never went out that I didn’t try to get Miss Ilyler to accompany me, but she never accepted. The seventh time her excuse was too flimsy to bear investigation, and she ran from the room. I was puzzled. She wasn’t cold to me except In connection with my horse. As I stood frowning Mrs. Atherton patted my shoulder In her motherly way. ’’Better not waste time on what can’t be helped," she counseled. Another day I overheard Mrs. Jerome and Miss Cecilia laughing about the "poor little Gumpie,” as they called Elsie. Doubtless if I had asked a direct question I should have found out sooner, but I couldn’t bring myself to discuss her, and they, supposing I understood, talked In metaphors and left me Ignorant. One golden- morning I left her huffily and went after St. Albe, Miss Cecilia’s mocking laughter trailing after me. I drove away—miles away. Coming back, I was still pondering on the situation. What had Jerome meant with his epigrammatic "better chuck It, Den?” As one joins mosaic work, I put together Mrs. Atherton’s advice, Miss Cecilia’s laughter, Jerome’s words and various hints from the others, but when I had my pieces fitted I failed to read the design. As St. Albe turned eastward 1 saw the girl of my thoughts sitting by the roadside. Her white face, her little shoe In her lap, her swollen foot, told the tale of a sprained ankle. I jumped out. “Let me lift you In,” I said. “I won’t hurt the poor foot.” "Oh, no!" she exclaimed, her blue eyes black with some strong feeling. “I shall be able to walk pretty soon. Please go away.” “I shall do nothing of the kind,” I replied, promptly growing angry. “I’m sorry to "bo so distasteful, but 1 guess you can endure me till I get you home or you can drive the horse yourself.” That ride was a memorable one. If St. Albe started Into a gentle trot Elsie shrieked with fright. If I slowed him down Elsie knew he was going to kick. The toot of an auto horn In the far distance nearly threw her Into spasms, though St. Albe knew an automobile better than he knew hN mother. I tried to reason with her, but she bade me keep my mind on my driving. At last she put her elbows on her knees and her face-Into her hands, the while she shook as with an ague chill. “I can’t help It!” she moaned. “I was born with It, as some are bom with crooked feet I can’t help it I can’tf With her In this undignified position and myself grim, silent, but furious, I drove up to the house into a perfect

cloud of laughter, from which I escaped as soon as possible. I understood my mosaic now, and I began weighing my desire for her against my pleasure in St. Albe. The latter it was evident she could never share with me. I avoided her for several days, while my anger cooled and my love Increased. Then one morning as I drove out on the pleasant country road I overtook her. She was walking very slowly, aided by a cane. As she turned her startled eyes on my glossy horse a blind rage suddenly possessed her. In less time than It takes to tell it I was out of the buggy, had Elsie in my arms, into the buggy and we were off! Her face went white, and the fear in her blue eyes was mixed with unmitigated scorn and anger. “You are a brute!” she said tremblingly. “I know it,” I agreed. “I can’t reason about it! I can’t help it! Oh, please put me out!” The piteous voice appealed to what little manhood I had left. I stopped the horse and Jumped out. As I held up my arms a paper careened across the road. St. Albe, noted for his quiet nerves, snorted and ran. Elsie screamed and shouted “Whoa!” But he ran the faster, while I scurried after in the cloud of dust, my heart fairly bursting with fear and remorse. It seemed to me that I ran for hours. The road had many turns, so they were immediately lost to sight. At every corner I expected to come upon the tragedy. At last I fell breathless by the roadside, and while I waited, sick at heart, I heard the toot of the tallyho horn. “Thank God!” I cried, for I knew it was the other guests who had early in the morning gone for a tallyho ride. “Thank God!” I cried, and, staggering up, I ran dizzily on. As the road swerved sharply to the west a most surprising sight met my eyes. St. Albe was trotting swiftly toward me—swiftly, but under perfect control—and Elsie was his driver. Behind them came the tallyho crowd shouting itself hoarse. Elsie drew proudly up beside me. The tallyho folks spilled out, all talking at once. “Oh, you brave creature!” “How did you dare?” “Shan't I help you out?” ‘‘Why, you don’t look a bit scared!” “Why, I am not scared, and I am so happy I think I shall die!” Elsie exclaimed when she could get a hearing. “It’s wonderful! The minute I felt the reins in my hands that horrible fear left me. I slowed him down, turned him around, and now I am going to drive him home. Oh, I’m so happy!” Every one—at least every man in the house, barring Jerome —entertained me that evening. They seemed to take turns at it. At last I wrenched myself away and went into the garden where I had last seen her. She was not there, nor could I find her in the moonlit or-

chard. At last I gave her up and started for the stables. St. Albe was In the paddock, and I caught the flutter of white beside him. Crying and laughing and murmuring, there was my darling with her arms around St. Albe’s unappreciative neck. “Just think of it, St. Albe,” she was saying. “I’ve had my first proposal tonight and five besides. It’s owing to you, you beauty.” “And this is the seventh,” I observed, taking the white arms and putting my own neck where St. Albe’s had been. “If you accepted any of the six, you may as well tell him you have changed your mind, for I will have you. I will, Elsie beloved!” “Why, Dennis, of course you will!” she answered, putting up her red lips to be kissed.

ST. ALBE, NOTED FOR HIS QUIET NERVES, SNORTED AND RAN.