Jasper County Democrat, Volume 19, Number 7, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 22 April 1916 — Untitled [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

to suggest”— “I think it is onlv right that Mr. Schmidt should return good for evil,” Interrupted the girl gayly. “Please inquire, Mr.~§chmidt. No doubt the deck steward will know." Again the prince bowed, but this time there was amusement instead of uncertainty in his eyes. It was the first time that any one had ever urged him, even by inference, to “fetch and carry.” Moreover, she was extremely cool about it, as one who exacts much of young men in serge suits and outing caps. He found himself wondering what she would say if he were to suddenly announce that he was the Prince of Graustark. The thought tickled his fancy, accounting. no doubt, for the even deeper bow that he gave her. “They can’t be very- far away,”’ he observed quite meekly. “Oh, I say, steward! One moment, here.” A deck steward approached with alacrity. “What has become of Miss Guile’s chair?” The young man touched his cap and beamed joyously upon the fair young lady. “Ach! See how I have forgot! It is here! The best place on the deck—on any deck. See! Two—side by sideabove the door, away from the draft —see, in the corner, ha, ha! Yes! Two by side. The very best. Miss Guile complains of the draft from the door. I exchanged the chairs. See!. But I forgot to speak. Yes! See!” And, sure enough, there were the chairs of Miss Guile and her companion snugly stowed away in the corner, standing at right angles to the long row that lined the deck, the foot rests pointed directly at the chair R. Schmidt had just vacated, not more than a yard and a half away. “How stupid!” exclaimed Miss Guile. This is much better. So sorry, Mr. Schmidt, to have disturbed you. I abhor drafts, don’t you?” “Not to the extent that I shall move out of this one,” he replied gallantly, “now that I’ve got an undisputed claim to it. Are you not going to sit down, now that we’ve captured the disappearing chair?” “No,” she said, and he fancied he saw regret in her eyes. “I am going to my room—if I can find it. No doubt it also is lost. This seems to be a day for misplacing things.” “At any rate, permit me to thank you for discovering me, Miss Guile.” “Oh, I daresay I shall misplace you, too, Mr. Schmidt.” She said it so insolently that he flushed as he drew himself up and stepped aside to allow her to pass. For an instant their eyes met, and the sign of the humble was not to be found in the expression of either.

“Even that will be something for me to look forward to, Miss Guile,” said he. Far from being vexed, she favored him with a faint smile of—was it wonder or admiration? Then she moved away, followed by the uneasy lady—Who was old enough to be her mother and wasn’t. Robin remained standing for a moment, looking after her, and somehow he felt that his dream was not yet ended. She turned the corner of the deck building and was lost to sight. He sat down, only to arise almost instantly, moved by a livelier curiosity than he ever had felt before. Conscious of a certain feeling of stealth, he scrutinized the cards in the backs of the two chairs. The steward was collecting the discarded steamer rugs farther down the deck, and the few passengers who occupied chaifs~appeared to be snoozing—all of which he took in with his first appraising glance. “Miss Guile” and “Mrs. Gaston” were the names he read. “Americans,” he mused. “Young lady and chaperon, that’s it. A real American beauty! And Blithers loudly boasts that his daughter is the prettiest girl in America! Shades of Venus! Can there be such a thing on earth as a prettier girl than this one? Can nature have performed the impossible? Is America so full of lovely girls that»this one must take second place to a daughter of Blithers? I wonder if she knows the imperial Maud. I’ll make it a point to inquire.” Moved by a sudden restlessness, he decided that he was in need of exercise. After completely circling the

deck once Tie decided ThatTFe did not need the exercise after all. His walk had not benefited him in the least. He returned to his chair. As he turned into the dry, snug comer became to an abrupt stop and stared. Miss Guile was sitting in her chair, neatly incased in a mummy-like sheath of gray that covered her slim body to the waist. She was quite alone in her nook, and reading. An astonishing intrepidity induced him to speak to her after a lapse of five or six minutes, and so surprising was the impulse that he blurted out his question without preamble. “How did you manage to get back so quickly ?” he inquired. She looked up, and for an instant there was something like alarm in her lovely eyes, as of one caught in the perpetration of a guilty act. “I beg your pardon,” she said, rather indistinctly. “I was away less than eight minuted,” he declared, and she was confronted by a wonderfully frank smile that never failed to work its charm. To his surprise, a shy smile grew In her eyes, and her warm red lips twitched uncertainly. He had expected a cold rebuff. “You must have dropped through the awning?” “Your imagination is superior to that employed by the author of this book,” she said, “and that is saying a good deal, Mr.—Mr.”—

“Schmidt,” he supplied cheerfully. “Many I inquire what book you are reading?” “You would not be interested. It is by an American.” “I have read a great many American novels,” said he stiffly. “My father was an American. Awfully jolly books, most of them.” “I looked you up in the passenger list a moment ago,” she said coolly. “Your home is in Vienna. I like Vienna." He was looking rather Intently at the book, now partly lowered. “Isn’t that the passenger list you have concealed in that book?” he demanded. “It is,” she replied promptly. “You will pardon a natural curiosity? I wanted to see whether you were from New York.” “May I look at it, please?” She closed the book. “It isn’t necessary. I am from New York.” “By the way, do you happen to know a Miss Blithers—Maud Blithers?” Miss Guile frowned reflectively. “Blithers? The name is a familiar

“Your imagination is superior to that employed by the author of this book." one. Maud Blithers? What is she like?” ‘‘She’s supposed to be very good looking. I’ve never seen her." “How queer to be asking me If I know her, then. Why do you ask?” “I’ve heard so much about her lately. She is the daughter of William Blithers, the great capitalist.” » “Oh, I know who he is,” she exclaimed. “Perfect roodles of money, hasn’t he?” “Roodles?” “Loads, if it means more to you. I forgot that you are a foreigner. He gave that wonderful ball last week for the Prince of—of—oh, some insignificant place over in Europe. There are such a lot of queer duchies and principalities, don’t you know; it is quite impossible to tell one from the other. They don’t even appear on the maps.” He took it with a perfectly straight face, though secretly annoyed. “It was the talk of the town, that ball. It must have cost roodles of money. Is that right?” “Yes, but it doesn’t sound right when you say it. Naturally one doesn’t say roodles in Vienna.” “We say noodles,” said he. “I am very fond of them. But to resume I supposed every one in New York knew Miss Blithers. She’s quite the rage. I’m told.” “Indeed? I should think she might be, Mr. Schmidt, with all those lovely millions behind her.” , He smiled introspectively. “Yes, and I am told that in spite of them she is the prettiest girl in New York.” She appeared to lose Interest in the topic. “Oh, indeed?” “But,” he supplemented gracefully, “it isn’t true.”

"wnar isn’t truer* “The statement that she Is the prettiest girl in New York.” "How can you say that when you admit you’ve never seen her?" “I can say it with a perfectly clear conscience, Miss Guile,” said he and was filled with Relight when she bit her lip as a sign of acknowledgment. “Oh, here comes the tea!” she cried, with a strange-eagerness in her voice. “I am so glad.” She scrambled gracefully out of her rug and arose to her feet. “Aren’t you going to have some?” he cried. “Yes,” she said quite pointedly. “In my room. Mr. Schmidt.” And before he could get to his feet she was moving away without so much as a nod or smile for him. The following day was as unlike its predecessor as black is like white. During the night the smooth gray pond had been transformed into a turbulent, storm thrashed ocean. Only the hardiest of the passengers ventured on deck. R. Schmidt, being a good sailor and a hardy young chap, albeit a prince of royal blood, was abroad early. He took two turns about the deck, and each time as he passed the spot he sent a covert glance Into the corner where Miss Guile's chair was standing. Of course he did not expect to find her there in weather like this, but—well, he looked, and that is the end to the argument. Quinnox and Dank were hopelessly bedridden, so to speak. They were very disagreeable, cross and unpleasant, and somehow he felt that they hated their cheerful, happy faced prince. At last the young man battled his way down the deck and soon found himself in the well protected corner. A half dozen unoccupied chairs were cluttered about, having been abandoned by persons who overestimated their hardiness. One of the stewards was engaged in stacking them up and making them /ast. Miss Guile’s chair and that of Mrs. Gaston were stanchly fastened down and their rugs were in place. R. Schmidt experienced an exquisite sense of pleasure. Here was a perfect exemplification of that much abused thing known as circumstantial evidence. She contemplated comifig on deck. So he had his chair put in place, called for his rug, shrugged his chin down into the collar of his thick ulster and sat down to wait. She literally was blown into his presence. He sprang to his feet to check her swift approach before she could be dashed against the wall or upon the heap of chairs in the corner. She uttered an excited little shriek as 'she came bang up against him and found his ready , arms closing about her shoulders.

“Oh, goodness!” she gasped, with what little breath she had left, and then began to laugh as she freed herself in confusion—a very pretty confusion, he recalled later on, after he had recovered to some extent from the effects of an exceedingly severe bump on the back of his head. “How awkward!” “Not at all,” he proclaimed, retaining a grip on one of her arms until the ship showed some signs of resuming its way eastward instead of downward. “I am sure it must have hurt dreadfully,” she cried. “Nothing hurts worse than a bump. It seemed as though you must have splintered the wall.” "I have a singularly hard head,” said he, and forthwith felt of the back of it.” “Will you please stand ready to receive boarders? My maid is following me, poor thing, and I can’t afford to have her smashed to pieces. Here she is! ” Quite a pretty maid, with wide, horrified eyes and a pale green complexion came hustling around the corner. R. Schmidt, albeit a prince, received her with open arms. “Merci, .m’sieur!” she squealed and added something in muffled French that strangely reminded him of what Hobbs had said in English. Then she deposited an armful of rugs and magazines at Robin’s feet and clutched wildly at a post actually some ten feet away, but which appeared to be coming toward her with obliging swiftness, so nicely was the deck rotating for her. “Mon dieu! Mon dieu!” “You may go back to bed, Marie,” cried her mistress in some haste. “But Ze rug, I feex it,” groaned the unhappy maid, and then once more, “Merci, m’sieur!” She clung to the arm he extended and tried bravely to smile her thanks.

“Here! Go in through this door,” he said, bracing the door open with his elbow. “You’ll be all right in a little while. Keep your nerve:" He closed the door after her and turned to the amused Miss Guile. “Well, it’s an ill wind that blows no good,” tie said enigmatically, and she flushed under the steady smile in his eyes. “Allow me to arrange your rug for you, Miss Guile.” “Thank you, no. I think I would better go inside. It is really too windy”— “The wind can’t get at you back here in this cubbyhole,” be protested. “Do sit down. I’ll have you as snug as a bug in a rug before vou can say Jack Robinson. See! Now stick ’em out and I’ll wrap it around them. There! You’re as neatly done up as a mummy and a good deal better off, because you are a long way short of being 2,000 years old.” “How is your head, Mr. Schmidt?” she inquired, with grave concern. “You seem to be quite crazy. I hope”— “Every one is a little bit mad, don’t' you think, especially in moments of great excitement. I daresay my head has been turned quite appreciably, and