Jasper County Democrat, Volume 12, Number 22, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 June 1909 — The Man From Home [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Man From Home

A Novelization of the Play of the Same Name

By BOOTH TARKINGTON and HARRY LEON WILSON

CHAPTER 11. \ THE EXILES. SIX years of life abroad, and these during the most Impressionable period of their young lives, had left an indelible Imprint upon the two young people. Horace Simpson bad taken to himself the manners of the Harrow and Oxford youth. He had eschewed the society of what he had learned, with parrot-Ilke aptness, to call those “vulgar Americans’’ and had confined his social intercourse solely to such of the European “haut ton” as he could manage to scrape acquaintance with. And this last was a somewhat uphill task, for, whatever else one may say about the English, they are Inclined to view with very little favor the possessor of no other attribute than money. True, there are exceptions, and these but prove the rule. Ethel, who had grown Into a really beautiful young woman, had followed suit, so far as in her modest powers lay. Such of her school friends as would permit the half formed acquaintance to ripen she had retained., Such others of her own modest beginnings she had quietly but emphatically dropped. From plain democracy she had sought the antithesis, and the leap was all the more an earnest one because of its breadth.

The Simpsons—and they had added their mother's maiden name and linked It to the paternal nomenclature with a hyphen—had been deeply bitten with the aristocratic virus and after a long and arduous struggle had managed to meet Lady Creech. This titled mondaine had the misfortune to be viciously short of patrimony and inordinately long of lineage, and, while her life of self denial had doubtless imbittered her, she had a most inordinate value of birth and a distinct appreciation of cash; hence when it came her way to pick the Grangerfiimpsons out of the slough of commonplace acquaintance she did It with a royal favor and for a stipulated consideration. “Really, my dear Hawcastle”—she pronounced it as old sailors pronounce “fo’c’s’tle”—she was wont to say, “really, of course, they are quite impossible, but the girl is an adaptable little thing, and I may be able to make something of her in time, while the boy—ah, I fear I shall have to leave him to you and St. Aubyn.” “Do as you like,” replied the Earl of Hawcastle, with some choler, “but keep them out of my way as much as possible. I positively will not be badgered by these unbaked colonists.”

“One might stand a quantity of badgering. Hawcastle, for £300,000,” at which the genial earl would squirm nervously. At any rate, the Simpson children began to be seen In the second stratum of London society and met endless numbers of the shopworn nobility, but, sad to relate, never one of the truly respectable. To those who know their London there are several layers of nobility, and the layer the ordinary individual meets, who has no social prestige to begin, wttli/ls composed of that peculiar class that lends its name to doubtful to queer prospectuses, to struggling milliners with an eye on the main chance and who gladly extend unlimited credit to their patrons In return for modest and well put advertisement Strangely enough, the HawcastleCreech combination did not drag the willing Simpsons Into the glittering presence of the real set. On the contrary, with a somewhat dog in the manger policy, they awakened both the earl and his sister-in-law to the fact that they wished no sharers in those American dollars that John Simpson had sweated his brow for, and as a consequence they proposed a little trip—a quiet, ante-season trip—to Sorrento, where not a guest would disturb them and where matters might be given a chance to right themselves. And there, strangely enough, the Simpsons met the Comtesse de Champlgny and were quite delighted to find the gifted and brilliant Frenchwoman an intimate of the earl’s. The second morning of their arrival the gay comtesse put In an appearance and with a promptitude that was astonishing took young Horace under the wldowly wing and marked him for her own. And that same morning the noble earl took his equally noble son into the shrubbery and spoke to him. “You’ve got to do it, St Aubyn,” he said. “The family honor is at stake. For heaven's sake, marry the little fool! What if her scurrilous name is Wmnson? You can make her forget ft. iwe are atony broke, my good boy, and she has a hundred and fifty thou. That will keep us going for another year or two, and if Helene can capture the young ass, Horace. I’ll force her to divide with me." “But it’s such a beastly bore, governor,” drawled Aimeric St Aubyn, and be flicked idly at the rhododendron bushes with bls stick.

He was a pale, washed out youth, with an inimitable drawl and a shimmering of intellect that might, if it had been given an opportunity, have resolved itsel? into a good working imitation of a brain. To his friends he’ was “that hopeless ass” and to his enemies and debtors—of the latter not a few—"that beastly bounder, St. Aubyn.” “You see, governor,” the honorable Almeric went on, “it isn’t as if I cared for the little gal. I’m a queer beggar.

you know, and it’s fearfully rough on a chap to pretend interest in such a little vulgarian. Of course I know we’re awfully hard up and all that sort of thing, but”— His noble father seized him roughly by the arm. “You don’t have to live with her, you know,” he said savagely. “It will be easy enough to make it so unpleasant for the minx that she’ll be glad to go back to the States, and she can’t get back a penny. We’ll have that tight enough.” The Hon. Aimeric laughed. “Oh, all right, old chap!” he drawled. “I’ll lift her to the infernal seventh heaven, or whatever you call it. Don’t expect me to moon over her, though.” And that compact being settled, the earl Went off for his morning walk along the cliff and Aimeric to keep his engagement for a morning ride with Ethel Granger-Simpson.

CHAPTER 111. IN DISGUISE. jBN hour later Mariano, the maltre fl d’hotel of the Regina Margherlta, stepped out upon the terrace and began to lay a cloth upon one of the small round tables that stood close to the white marble balustrade. On the other side of the wall could be heard the mandolins and guitars of the fishermen, and Mariano glanced up crossly as the song arose upon the morning air, “Sllenzlo!” he cried, and for a moment the music died down. Mariano went at once to the table upon which he had spread the cloth and placed silverware and delicate china upon it, and be was thus engaged when Michele, the commisslonnaire, appeared at the top of a flight of marble steps that led into the eastern wing of the hotel, fronting on the terrace, “Here is M. Ribiere to see you, sir,” he said softly, with a backward glance over his shoulder, and Mariano straightened up instantly, with a smile of welcome, for Ribiere was an old and valued accomplice in the gentle art of soft Italian legal stealing. A tall, alert young Frenchman, clad in an English walking suit of gray and carrying a portfolio beneath bis arm, ran lightly down the steps and approached the maltre d’hotel. “Ah, Mariano!” he cried as he approached. The genial Mariano bowed gracefully and rubbed bls flexible hands together. “M. Ribiere!” he chattered gayly. “This is one of the days of days”— The music burst forth again, and he whirled about angrily in the direction of the lemon grove. “Sllenzio!” he cried, with waving hands. “Sllenzlo!” and turned again to Ribiere. Michele, with a glance at them, went back within the hotel. Ribiere turned a warning glance toward the hotel and whispered In Italian: “Let us speak Engleesh. Fewer understand.” ’ Mariano again bowed and spread out bls bands in assent { “I hope m’sleu still occupy, the exalt’ position of secretar* to monseigneur the gran’ duke.”

The Frenchman walked quickly to one of the little wicker tea tables that were scattered about, sat down and opened his portfolio. “We will not mention either the name or the rank of my employer,” he said gravely. “There are reasons of state. You understand?” The maitre d’hotel threw up his hands tn despair, and his round eyes rolled heavenward. “Again incognitol Every year he come to thees hotel for two, three or four day. but always incognito!” Ribiere paid little attention to fifth, but opened a notebook and removed a fountain pen from his pocket Mariano Shrugged his shoulders rind went on setting the table, then stopped and looked up. “Each time we lose the honor to have it known," be went on. “In Naples, everywhere, are reech American peoples that would give large pourboire to mingle with his highness”— <3 The secretary lifted a warning finger.

“Have I not said it Is to be incognito, and yet you prate of highness in the first breath. Would you wish he shall withdraw his patronage?” He looked staringly at the man opposite him. “See that you do not offend again.” He consulted his watch. “He comes In his machine from Naples. As on former visits, all is to be as before. No one must guess. To all he must be Herr Grollerhagen”— “Herr Grollerhagen!” ejaculated.Ma-' rlano quickly and with astonishment In his round features. “Herr Grollerhagen 1” “He wishes to be known as a German,” went on M. Ribiere. “It pleases him to be so thought.” Mariano stood lost in contemplative astonishment. “What a man,” he sighed—“of caprice, eccentrlque, so wonderful! Ha!” The secretary smiled in a superior manner.

“You have said it. Last night he talked by chance to a strange North American in the hotel at Napoli. Apparently he is much interested. Today he has that stranger for companion in his automobile. I remonstrate. What use? He laugh for one-half the hour.” Again the maltre d’hotel remained lost in astonishment. For some moments he stood with the napkin in his hands gazing out over the wonderful bay that lay before the hotel. “He is not like those cousin of his in Petersburg and Moscowa,” he said at last, with a touch of awe in his tones. “And yet, though monseigneur is so good and generoso, will not the anarchist strike against the name of even royalty himself? You have not that fear?" ’ The secretary shivered in the soft warm air and seized bls companion by the wrist. “I have!” he said quickly. “He has not I take what precautions I can secretly from him. But of what use? You have few patrons?” A smile crossed Mariano’s face, and he shrugged his shoulders expressively. “It is yet so early in the season. “Those poor musician”—he pointed off beyond the gates—“they wait always at every gate to play when they shall see any one coming, but of late they are disappoint. Within, with us in the hotel, are but seex people, all of one party!” An expression of relief crossed the Frenchman s face, and he opened his notebook quickly. “Good!” he murmured. “Who are they?”

Mariano scratched his head with one ruminative finger and bent his brows upon the table in thought. “There is mllor’, an English excellency—the Earl of Hawcastle; there is also his son, the excellency honorabile Aimeric St. Aubyn; there is Miladi Creeshe, an English miladi, who is sister-in-law to Mllor’ Hawcastle.” Quickly Ribiere Jotted down the names in his book and then looked up. “Three English,” he said. “Good so far. Those English are safe." Mariano went on: “There Is an American slgnorina, Mees Granger-Seempsone. Miladi Creeshe travel with her to be chaperon.” Here he became enthusiastic as the memory of sundry pieces of gold and silver wakened bls keen thoughts. “She is young, generoso; she give money to every one; she is multa bella, so pretty, weeth charm”— “You mean this Lady Creeshe?” interrupted the Frenchman, with a puzzled frown. “No, no, no!” cried Mariano in horrified amazement “Miladi Creeshe is ole lady and does not hear so well; quite deaf; no pourboires; nothing. I speak of the young American . lady, Mees Granger-Seempsone, who the English honorabile son of MUor* Hawcastle wishes to espouse, I think.” Ribiere wrote rapidly in his notebook and without looking up said: “Who else is there?” “There is the brother of Mees Gran-ger-Seempsone, young gentleman from also North America. He make

the eyes all the day at another lady, who Is of the party, a French lady, Comtesse de Chdmpigny. Ha, eet amuse me!” And he burst into a respectful titter. Ribiere looked at him with grave astonishment and bent once more to

his notebook, over which the pen flew with a practiced hand. “Why?" be said shortly. Mariano smothered his mirth with the napkin he carried and with an effort controlled himself. “Becoss.” he answered—“becoss I have thought that madame the comtesse Is so good a friend of the oi’ English Milor’ Hawcastle. A maitre d’hote! see many things, eh, and I think Mllor’ Hawcastle and madame have known each other from long perhaps. This dejeuner is for them; also 1 1 think from what I hear that both have been in Russia one time. They spik togezzer in Russ.” “Pouf! They will not recognize my employer,” said Ribiere, “no more than this North American who travels with him and who Is as Innocent as a babe. Set dejeuner on the table Instantly, when he shall arrive, for two—a perch, petit pois, Iced figs, tea. I will send his own caviare and vodka from what I carry.” “Va bene, signor!” answered Mariano and vanished Into the hotel. (To be Continued.)

“The. family honor is at stake."

"Always incognito!"