Jasper County Democrat, Volume 13, Number 88, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 18 February 1911 — THE FORTUNE HUNTER [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

THE FORTUNE HUNTER

Novelized by Louis Joseph Vance From the Play of tl|e Same Name by , WINCHELL SMITH etn Copyright, 1910, by Winchell Smith and Louis Joseph Vance

CHAPTER XIX. A CUSTOMER came and went after Kellogg had gone upstairs to meet Sam Graham, and then Nat noticed that twilight was beginning to darken the store. Tracey returned to look after the Btore during the supper hour, but was delighted to hear that he ne|£ not remain, but could go back to his beloved Angie. Now Nat moved to the windows and switched on the bulbs behind the huge glass jars tilled with tinted water. Returning, be was about to connect up the remainder of the illuminating system when Josie, entering, stayed him. Later he was glad of this. “Nat.” He knew that voice. “Why, Josie!" he exclaimed in surprise, swinging about to discover her standing on the threshold, very dainty and fetching—

Indeed, In one of the summery frocks she had bruuglU hack from New York. She moved over to him, holding out her hand, lie took it with disguised reluctance. “I’m so glad.” She sighed. “I wanted to see you—to talk to you alone.” He bit his lip in his annoyance, shivering with a presentiment. “What about Josie?” “About Wednesday night, after prayer meeting. Why didn’t you wait for me?” * “Why—ah—i had to get back to the store, you know. There were some checks to be made out and sent off, and I’d forgotten them. Besides,” he added on inspiration, “you were talking with Roland, and 1 didn’t want to interrupt you.f “So you left use to go home with him?” “Why. what else”— , “You're making me awful’ unhappy.” Her voice trembled. "You knew I didn’t want to walk home with Roland” ’ “How could I know that?” ' K 'y “I should think you ought to know it, Nat unless you’re blind. Besides, 1 told you once.” “True,”, he fenced desperately, “but that was a long time ago, and how } could I be sure vcu .hadn’t changed your mind? Besides, you know, I” mustn’t monopolize you. If I do”— “Well?” “Why, if 1 do-ah”-“If you’re afraid people will talk about us, seeing us so much together, you needn’t worry. They’re doing that now.” “Why, Josie!” “Yes, they are. We’ve been going together so long. And even now you don’t seem glad to see me.” “You should know I am.” “You don’t act like it” “It’s so unexpected.” he muttered wretchedly. “You didn’t really think 1 wanted Roland Barnette to go home with me Wednesday night did you. Nat?” “it seemed so, but that’s all right

Why shouldn’t you: She turned to him. trembling a little. “Must I tell you, Nat?” “Oh. no!” he cried in dismay* “Please don't!" “If see I must.” she persisted. “You’re so blind. It”“dosie, don’t say anything you’ll be sorry for.” he entreated wildly. “I can’t help it; I’ve got to. It was —it was because I wanted to be with -you. There!” she gasped, frightened ■by her own forwardness. “Now I’ve said it!” Duncan grasped frantically at straws. “But you don’t really mean It, Josie. Vou know you don’t,” he floundered. ’’You're just saying that because you—you have such a kind heart and-ah—don't want to hurt me —ab—because”— “Nat." she said gently. looking up into his face, "would it make you happy to know I really meant it?" “Why—ah—why shouldn’t it. Josie?” “Then please believe me when I say it.” “But.l do-believe it. I” He stammered and fell still. “Because 1 do like you. Nat, very much, and and it’s very hard for me to know that folks think I'm pursuing you and that you’re. trying to avoid me.” “Josie!" he exclaimed reproachfully. “Well, that's the way it looks.” she

affirmed plaintive!,) You don't want It to, do you?" “Why, no; of course I don’t.” “Then why don’t you stop it?” She watched his face, her manner coy yielding. “Nat” she said in a softer voice, “if you like me as well as I like you”— He moved away a pace or two. “Ah, child.” he said, with a feeling that the term was not misapplied somehow, “you don't know what you’re saying!” “Yes, I do,” she” pouted. “I don’t believe you care anything about me.” “Oh, Josie, please”— “Well, anyway you’ve never told me so.” She turned an indignant shoulder to him. “How could I?” >

“Why couldn’t you?” “But don’t yon see that I shouldn’t, Josie?” He turned back to her side, looked down at her, pleaded his defense with the fire of desperation. “Just think, you are an only daughter"—just what this had to do with the case was not plain even to him—“ah only daughter. v he repeated—“ah. not only your father's only daughter, but your mother's only daughter. Your father—ah—is my friend. llow unfair it would be to him to”— But the girl interrupted with decision. “But papa wants you to. He told me so.” - He could only pretend not to understand. “But consider. Josie. You are rich, an heiress. I’m a poor man. Would you like it to be said I was after your money?” “No one would dare shy such a thing,” she asserted, with profound conviction. “Oh. yes, they would! You don’t know the world as I do. And for all you know they might be right. How do you know that”— “Nat!” A catch in her voice stopped him. “Don’t say such horrid things! I could tell—a woman always can. I know you would be incapable of such a thing. Papa knows it too. No one has ever got ahead of papa, and he says you. are a fine, steady, Christian man and be would rather see me your wife than any”— “Josie!” ‘ '

The interjection was so imperative that she was silenced. “Why, what, Nat?” she asked, rising. ‘ "The time has come,” he declared. “You must know the truth. ” “Ob. Nat!" “I’m not what you think me,” he continued dramatically. “Oh. Nat!” •

“Nor what your father thinks me, nor what anybody else in this town thinks me. I’m not a regular Christian—it’s all a bluff. I didn’t knpw anything about a phurch till T came here. I smoke, and I drink, and 1 swear, and I gamble, and I only cut them all oiit in order to trick “you into caring for me!” , “Oh. Nat, I don’t believe it!” “Alas, Josie,” he protested violently, “it’s true, only too true!”

“But you did it to win my love, Natr

“Ye-es.” He saw suddenly that he had made a fatal mistake. “Then, Nat, I will be your wife in spite of all.” He found himself suddenly caught about the neck by the girl’s arms. His bead was drawn down until her cheek caressed his and he felt her Ups

warm upon Ijis own. ~ , “Josie!” he gasped. “Nat. my darling!” “ With a supreme effort b* polled himself together and embraced the girl. "Josie,” he said earnestly, “I—I’m goiug to try to be a good husband to you And that,” be concluded, sotto voce, “wasn’t in the agreement.” She held him to her passionately. “Dearest. I’m so glad!” “It makes me very happy to know you are. Josie,” he murmured miserably, and to himself while she still treihbled in his embrace: “What a cur you are! But 1 won’t renege now. I’ll play my hand out on the square with her.” Upon this tableau there cagie a sudden intrusion. The back door opened, and Grahkm came in. Kellogg at his heels. It was the voice of the latter that told the two they were discovered, a hearty “Hello! What’s this?” that rang in Nat’s ears like the trump of doom. In a flash the girl disengaged herself, and they were a yard apart by the time that Graham, blundering in his surprise, managed to turn on the lights at the switchboard But even in the full glare of them he seemed unable to credit his sight. “Why. Nat!” he quavered, coming out toward the guilty pair. “Why. Nat!” j_ Duncan took a l ina tn.aih and Jo sie’s hand at one and the same timet I “Mr. Graham," be said coolly, “I’m glad you’re the first to know it Josie ! has just ask—agreed to be my wife.” Old Sam recovered sufficiently to take the girl’s hand and pat IL “I’m mighty glad, my dear,” he fold her. “1 congratulate you both with all my heart.” “And so will 1 when I have the right,” Kellogg added, smiling. “Oh, I forgot!" Nat hastened to remedy his oversight. “Josie, this is my dearest friend. Mr. Kellogg; Harry, this is Miss Lockwood." Josie gave Kellogg tier hand. “I—I,” she giggled—“l'm pleased to meet you. I’m sure.” “I’m charmed. I’ve heard a great 'deal of you. Miss Lockwood, from Nat’s letters, and I shall hype to know [you much better before long.” ! “It’s awful nice of you to say so, Mr. Kellogg." "And Nat. old man”—Kellogg threw an arm round Duncan’s shoulder—"! congratulate you! You’re a lucky dog!” “I’m a dog. all right,” said Nat glumly. “But we mustn't disturb these young' people, Mr. Kellogg.” Graham broke in nervously “They’ll—they’ll have a lot to say to one another. I’m sure, so we’ll just run along. I’m taking Mr. Kellogg up to the house, Nat You’ll follow us as soon as you can. won’t you?" | “Yes—sure.” • “I’ve got some news for yon. too. 'that’ll make j r ou happy.” “Never mind about that; it’ll beep till supper, Mr Graham.” Kellogg laughed, taking the old man’s arm. “Goodby, both of you—goodby for a little while.” “Goodby.” “Wasn’t that terrible?” Josie turned back to Nat when they were alone

“1 think it was real mean of Mr. Graham to turn on all the lights that way,” she simpered. “Somebody else might !ve seen.” “Yes,” agreed the young man, half distracted, “but of course I daren’t turn them off again.” "Never mind. We can wait.” Josie blushed. “I’ll just sit bpre and wait. We can talk till Tracey comes, and then you can walk home with me.” “Yes, that’ll be nice,” he agreed, but without absolute ecstasy. Fortunately for him, in his temper of that mopoent, Pete Willing reeled into the shop two-thirds drunk, with his face smeared with blood from a cut on his forehead. “Scuse me,” be. muttered huskily, “Kin 1 see you a minute, doc?’ He reeled and almost fell—would have fallen had hot Duncan caught his arm aiid guided him to a chair. “Great Scott, Pete!” he cried. “What’s happened to you?” “M’ wife,” Pete explained thickly. (To Be Continued.)

TRACEY WAS DELIGHTED.

FOUND HIMSELF CAUGHT BY THE GIRL’S ARMS.

“I’M A DOG, ALL RIGHT,” SAID NAT.