Jasper County Democrat, Volume 17, Number 65, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 21 November 1914 — The Hollow of Her Hand [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

The Hollow of Her Hand

By GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON

Aathor of “GrMusixrk' * "Truxton King,” etc.

Illustrations by Ellsworth Young

CHAPTER XXII. i t 1 • \ denunciation. On the third day after' the singular trial of Hetty Castleton in Sara’s library, young Mrs. Wrandall’s motor drew up in front of a lofty office building in lower Broadway; its owner stepped down from the limousine and entered the building. A few moments later she walked briskly into the splendid offices of Wrandall & Co., private bankers and* steamship-own-ers. The clerks in the outer offices stared for a moment in significant surprise, and then bowed respectfully to the beautiful silent partner in the great concern. It was the first time she had been seen in the offices since the tragic event that had served to make her a member of the firm. A boy at the information desk, somewhat impressed by her beauty and the trim elegance of her long black broad-tail coat, to say nothing of the dark eyes that shone through the narrow veil, forgot the dignity of his office and went so far as to politely ask her who she wanted to see and “what name, please." The senior clerk rushed forward and transfixed the new boy with a glare. “A new boy, Mrs. Wrandall,” he made haste to explain. To the new boy's surprise, the visitor was conducted with much bowing and scraping into the private offices, where no one ventured except by special edict pf the powers. “Who was It?” he asked, in some awe, of a veteran stenographer who 1 oajne up and jsneered at him.

ir Challis WrandaTT, you little' simpleton,” said she, and for once he failed to snap back. It is of record that for nearly two whole days, he was polite to every visitor whb apßjcoached him and was generally worth his salt. Sara found herself in the close little room that once had been her hubband’s, but was now scrupulously held In reserve for her own use. Rather a waste of space, she felt as she looked about the office. The clerk dusted an easy chair and threw' open the long desk near the window. “We are very glad to see you here, madam,” he said. “This room hasn’t

been used jnucta, as you may observe. Is there anything I can do for you?” She continued her critical survey of the room. Nothing had been changed since the days w'hen she used to visit her husband here on occasions of rare social importance: such as calling to take him out to luncheon, or to see that he got safely home on rainy afternoons. The big picture of a steamship still hung on the wall across the room. Her own photograph, in a silver* frame stood in one of the recesses of the desk. She observed that there was a clean'white blotter there, too; but the ink wells appeared to be empty, if Bhe was to judge by the look of chagrin on the clerk’s face as he inspected them. Photographs of polo scenes in which Wrandall w r as a prominent figure, hung about the walls, with two or three pictures of his favorite ponies, and one of a ragged gipsy girl with wonderful eyes, carrying a monkey in a crude w'ooden cage strapped to her back. On closer observation one would have recognized Sara’s peculiarly gipsy-like features In the face of the girl, and then one would have noticed the caption written in red ink at the bottom of the photograph: “The Trumbell’s Fancy Dress Ball, January, 10, ’O7. Sara as Gipsy Mab." With a start, Sara came out of her painful reverie. She passed her hand over her eyes, and seemed thereby to put the polite senior clerk back into the picture once more. “No, thank you. Is Mr. Redmond Wrandall down this afternoon?” “He came In not ten minutes ago. Mr. Leslie Wrandall Is also here. Shall I tell Mr. Wrandall you wish to see him?” “You may tell him that I am here, if you please,” she said. "I am very sorry about the Ink wells, madam,” murmured the clerk. “We —we were not expecting —” “Pray don’t let It disturb you, Mr. Bancroft. I shall not use them today.” “They will be properly filled by tomorrow.” “Thank you.” He disappeared She relaxed in the familiar, comfortable old leather-cush-ioned chair, and cloßed her eyes. There was a sharp little line between them, but it was hidden by the veil. The door opened slowly and Redmond Wrandall came into the room. She i rose at once. , “This Is—er—an unexpected pleasure, Sara,” he said perplexed and ill-at-ease. He stopped just Inside the door he had been careful to close behind him, and did not offer her his hand. “I came down to attend to some business, air. Wrandall,” she said. he repeated, staring. She took note of the tired, haggard look in his eyes, and the tightly compressed lips. “I intend to dispose of my entire interest in Wrandall & Co.,’’ she announced calmly. He took a step forward, plainly startled by the declaration. “What’s this?” he demanded sharp,y ‘ , “We may as well speak plainly, Mr. Wrandall.” she said. “You do not care to have me remain a member of the firm, nor do I blame you for feeling as you do about it. A year ago you ofTered to buy me out —or off, as I took it to be at the time. I had reasons then for not selling out to you. Today I am ready either to buy or to sell.” “You —you amaze me," he exclaimed. “Does you ofTer of last December still stand?” “I—l think we would better have Leslie In, Sara. This it .most unexpected. I don’t quite feel up to—" "Have Leslie In by all means," she ■aid, resuming her seat. He hesitated a moment, opened his (TO BE CONTINUED )

"What’s This?" He Demanded, Sharply.