Jasper County Democrat, Volume 20, Number 3, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 7 April 1917 — Then I'll Come Back to you [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

Then I'll Come Back to you

By Larry Evans

s -^ S AUTHOR of ONCE TO EVERY MAN'

SYNOPSIS * Ca’eb Hunter and his sister Sarah welcome to their home Stephen O’Mara, a homeless and friendless boy, starting from the wilderness to see the city. Stephen O'Mara catches a glimpse of Barbara Allison. The girl is rich. The O'Mara boy falls in love with her. She fa ten. he fourteen. me boy and girl are in a party that go to town. The old people watch with concern the youth's growing attachment for the girL Caleb Is much impressed with the boy’s ideas on the moving of timber. He predicts a great future for the lad. O’Mara whips Archibald Wickersham in a boyhood fight over Barbara. She takes Wickersham’s side, and Stephen leaves Cor parts unknown, saying, “I’lll come back to vou.” Tears later the boy returns as a man. Ha is a extractor. Sarah welcomes him. Barbara is a beautiful woman. CHAPTER VII. Harrigan, That’s Me! SEVER before had the «i? of that long, paneled room been so surcharged with half suppressed hilarity. At first her father merely scowled at Barbara’s intermittent little gurgles, which refused to stay entirely pent up. He frowned at her seemingly inane interruptions of the technical discussion into which he had immediately plunged with the East Coast company's engineer until he could no longer ignore the smile which pulled at the lips of the latter, too, at every fresh attempt of the girl to swing the conversation into an utterly irrelevant channel. He locked ■round the table then and caught the gleam in Caleb’s eyes. He took note of Miss Sarah’s illuminated face and gave way to a burst of querulousness not all simulation. “What is the joke?” he demanded in a voice that set them all to rocking in their chairs. “Let me in on it, let me laugh, too. if there is anything worth laughing at. Cal. you’re growing oldold and feeble witted.” Barbara bobbed her head meekly. Her giggle, however, was shameless Allison had had experience with his daughter’s seeming meekness. Moreover, the working of Caleb’s and Sarah’s faces baflled He waited, fuming. “Just before you and Uncle Cal came In we —we were talking about the weather,” the girl gurgled. “Mr. O’Adarn predicted it would rain soon, and I just wanted to ask him what made him think so.” " It was very quiet for a moment. Steve sat, a little red of face himself, gazing across into the girl’s starry eyes. “Go ahead,” she prompted him. with a gasp. Then his Ups began to curl until a smile overspread his face and half closed his eyes. He leaned back and raised obediently a quaintly solemn, quaintly boyish’ trebl e. “I wa’n’t guessin*,” he averred soberly, “ner I wa’n’t thinkin’ it will. It’ll jest be rainin’ come sun up, and it’ll be good fer till Wednesday fer sure.” At the beginning of that quavering statement Dexter Allison’s lips fell apart. They remained open long after Steve had finished. Once he started to rise, and then dropped back into his chair, dumfounded. There .was no doubt concerning the success of his daughter’s query. At last he got to his feet and padded around the table. "With a hand on either of the boy’s shoulders.be turned that browned face up to his own. “You,” he murmured weakly. “You! And Elliott said that you could outguess dear old Mother Nature herself! Well, I—l’m blanked!” They talked no more business at table that morning, and Allison found scant opportunity to make himself heard at all. Even the reticence which seemed a part of Steve’s grave face and big body was swept aside before the tumult of questions that tumbled from Barbara’s lips, promptly to be supplemented by Caleb whenever her breath gave out. It was minutes before Allison could wedge tn a single remark, longer than that before be stopped frowning to hinself in a fashion which made Caleb remember that moment of inexplicable vehemence outside on the veranda. They had retrogressed ds far as the “injine”—the “steam injine”—when Allison finally made himself heard. “What I cah’t remember is just why you left us so suddenly. I know it was some sort of a rumpus, with Barbara in it—there’s always a woman, of course —but I can’t recall” — He paused to ponder—paused and became aware immediately of Barbara’s swift silence and Steve’s hint of self consciousness. Then it all returned to him with a rush. He had his turn. “Oh, but I do remember.” he drawled. “Why. of course—of Course.’ It was a matter Of knight errantry and ladies fair! But who was it whose choice conflicted with your own?” He cocked his head on one side, mock , thoughtful; then he fell to pounding his knee and roared with laughter. “Archie Wickersham!” he shouted. “Archie Wiekersham—oh. Lord! I nev-

er really appreciated that melee until *his minute. And you promised that you’d be back, didn’t you, and—well, b’gad, here you are! Shake hands again, Steve. And, If I may be pardoned the idiom, allow me to assure you that it was some battle!” If it did nothing else, Allison’s ponderous raillery served one end. It removed any sentimental awkwardness which might have attached to the episode, and yet the girl rather resented its being so completely reduced to terms of farce comedy. When the men rose, after breakfast, to go down into the town, she, too, declared her intention of accompanying them, as though it were the expected thing. She crossed the lawn at Steve’s side, ahead of her father and Caleb, with Miss Sarah watching from the door. Both men walked for a short time in silence, their eyes upon the slender figure in short skirt and wooly sweater beside the taller one in blue flannel before them. And, as usual, Allison was the first to speak. “Now I know what yoq meant when you referred to that trip up the west branch, Cal,”,he said. “And you were right. It does stuff to sort of gentlema^^lsp^g^gre^anything more to tell BeFi am truly Interested. Cal." So Caleb told him then of “Old Tom’s” tin box. And while he was explaining the man and girl ahead, all in one breath! skipped back to that day before yesterday, now many years gone. There was a quality of camaraderie in the girl’s half parted lips and eager impulsiveness of tongue that morning that was entirely boyish. But when Steve finally asked for Devereau —Garry Devereau. who had followed him to the hedge gap that day and laid one hand upon his bowed, shamed shoulder the light—went from Barbara’s eyes. And Stephen O’Mara, who did not understand at first the quick hurt which entered them, stopped smiling tob. “I liked him,” Steve said simply. “I’ve always remembered and liked him. Thinking of him and—and—has often kept me from being too lonely nights, when I was lonely enough." “Do you remember a little girl whe was at, our place the summer you were here?” Barbara then asked. "A pale, red lipped, very shy little thing named Mary Graves?” Stephen nodded. “And do you remember how even then Garry seemed to care for her? He was always supercilious with the rest of us; he tormented us or ignored us entirely, but never her.” Again the inclination of the head. “Well, he grew up just that way.’’ Barbara went on, thoughtfully. “One never could tell what was behind his indifference or—or flippancies. He mocked at things, customs and courses of action, which we have come to accept and—and recognize. But he was always gentle with, her, and kind, and —oh, I think reverend is the right word! Now. knowing Garry as I do—as you will when you see him again—the phrase may seem a/strange one to apply to him. And yet it describes best his bearing toward Mary Graves two years ago.” She was walking more slowly now, without knowing it. “He loved her with his whole soul. Mr. O'Mara, and she married another man, almost without a word of explanation to him. Nobody ever cited Garry as a shining example, but he—that man whom Mary Graves married—had an unspeakable record! Her family made the match—the newspapers call it a union of America's fairest youth and powerful millions, don’t they? Well, lie had them—and she married him. And Garret Devereau dropped out of the world fdr a long time. “It was a year before he came back. People bad already begun to talk about' the way his father had gone before him —he shot himself, Mr. O’Mara, when he became tired of waiting for Garry’s mother to return—and when Garry reappeared they talked more. I never knew before that a change so terrible could take place in any one so much a man as I know Garry to be. It’s not .Just his face and his rather dreadful silence. It’s not the fact alone that he drinks too much and shows it pitifully. It’s—oh. it’s the pity that a brain so keen could so deliberately commit sui- 1 ' . ’ .A ‘-They’ve begun to drop him, Mr. O’Mara, and you know what that means. But I’ll always care for him deeply, ihat’s why I have asked him up this fall. Don’t you think you could come down again Friday if you have to go back into the woods before then? I’m going to have a party for some week end guests, a masque dance., Garry needs his friends now more than j he ever did, and—and when you meet ■ him" will you—will you, please, not let | him see that you notice how much he hag changed?” . They found the,conversation semehow less easy after that. Morrison had grown inconceivably in those elapsed years. It was no longer a river vil-

lage. Morrison was a city now. Once when a squatly huge, red headed, red shirted riverman with a week's red stubble upon his cheeks lurched

out of a doorway ahead of them and stood snarling malevolently at O'Mara the girl shrank against her companion and clutched his arm. The red shirted one fell to singing after they had passed. A. maudlin rendition of “Harrigan. That’s Me,” fallowed them long after they had rounded a corner. Steve looked down and smiled casually into Barbara’s wide and startled eyes. “That’s a river boss,” he explained, “enjoying what he considers a roaring good time. His name is Harrigan. He works-on the Reserve company’s cut. .-rWlficlr.we are to move in the” spring, and whenever he has had a trifle more than enough he always sings that song. He’s willing to fight too, to prove that it was written especially for him!” “He’s not exactly a friend of yours, is he?” she said. “Well, not exactly.” Steve admitted. “Not when he is in that frame of mind.” “Or in any other,” the girl persisted, and she glanced down at her hand, still lying upon the blue flannel sleeve. “Did you know that your arm grew as hard as iron for an instant? T never knew that any one’s arm could grow as hard as that. And is that you always prepare to receive your—friends?” Steve colored a little. “Perhaps I'm overcautions,” he replied. “But it has to be hard. It constitutes what one of my men, Joe Morgan. calls ‘accident insurance." ” Then her face lighted up again. The delighted bob ofher head with which she greeted that name astonished the man. ““Do you —why, you must have heard Of Joe!” he exclaimed. “Joe Morgan,” she laughed. “‘Fat jbe.’ isn't it? And of course I have heard of him. You don’t realize it. but I know more about this East Coast work and—and the men who are doing it than I had any idea myself. Why, I’ll wager that you never knew yourself, that he once wrote in to the officials insisting that the entry of his name on the files be changed from ‘Joe Morgan, cook,’ to ‘Joseph Morgan, as sistant to Chief O’Mara!’ ” Steve’s chuckle of appreciation wai answer enough. “I want to know Joe. please! Can’t I meet*him. Mr. O’Mara?” But the question was unnecessary. Joe Morgan—Fat Joe to the river front* and the construction squad—was already hustling in their direction, even before Steve, with that slow smile tugging at his lips, had finished assuring her that it was never necessary to summon Joe into the presence of an attractive member of the opposite sex. He came without being called. “Morning, chief,” Fat Joe saluted, in that thin and reedy tenor which none but fat men have. Sieve managed the presentation with extreme punctility and left them. When he returned, almost an hour later, he heard them both laughing long before -he came into view, and on the way back up the hill the girl detailed for him much of her conversation with Fat Joe. “Why should there be any—any element of personal danger in this work you are doing, Mr. O’Mara?” she finally asked. “And did I do wrong in mentioning to Mr. Morgan how that man came out of that—place and glared so at you?” , His rejoinder should have been very reassuring. “So Joe has been hinting at • that mystery stuff again, has he? After listening to him one is compelled to believe that I run daily a veritable gauntlet of nameless perils.” Barbara stood, small fists buried in her sweater pockets, studying his smile of amusement. “I shouldn’t like to believe so,” her voice was faintly diffident. “And you —you haven’t accepted my invitation for Friday. May I expect you? I didn’t tell you, but Archie —Archibald Wickersham—will be there, as well as Garry. So —so you won’t be entirely unacquainted.” And then at those words his face changed. A All Tn one fleet second, ip 'hpite of the whole morning's quick intimacy of mood apd the spirit of companionship whith to her had seemed a delightfully new yet time tried thing. Barbara found that she could not read an inch behind those grave gray eyes. She found his quiet countenance as unreadable as that of the utmost stranger might have been. And while she wait - ed. not entirely certain how displeased >

she was at ids deTbrranoat. a kkdk of black bosses soared spJmfiCy ever a fence to the north awd oat cntXrr ing down the road. The riier, a tad. bareheaded girt fitted her te salute as «be caught right of .them. “My friend. Miriam Burred” the girl murmured in expiaaatum to Steve, and something had gone frees her voice and left it cOßvcatMmafiy “She's riding Ragrise. and fi&T he a beauty—almost as Brach a beauty as 1 ■fie is herself?” The' bone 'cuius. «su to be retoed ap at last directly in fioet es the two ax the roadside. Stephen OTMkra metfor a anmnent'the level, sacaautteg firare of its rider before Miriamßurndß taite,ed to Rsrtwra .•- - - - ——- A “I’ve enjoyed war morning canter. Bobs.” her aba voice drawled. Then, before Barbara could reply. she threw one booted leg firanf the Mitiap and dismounted. With the neats leaped over her elbow she faced the esxs ia . blue flannel and corduroy, a tafi. Stoe figure with coppery red hair and whitest skin and doubly virM ifipa. “You're Stephen O'Mars-” she sail “You're Stephen O'Mara, tor a teansand!*’ “Tve just asked Mr. O'Mara to etane to my danOe. Miriam.” Barbara said, “and how did you know him. pray? Tve asked him. but he is urfxrteriagiy long in aeceriring.” “Know him?" Miriam echoed. “Know him! Oh. Mr. O'Mara and I have met before. I think before the fall cf the Roman empire, wasn’t ft. Mr. O'Mara’ dragging me ia at the wheel of a chariot one afternoon when you were dealing ens a gold piece -to. each of your lericnaries?" . She laughed dryly, aasd Eartora feit smaller and more fortara ami Inaeficr still. “No doubt Mr. O'Mara has't time to be flattering. Dobs.” she esntmeateC “But you wfl! have rime to erae Friday for a Little winie. wrn't yon?" she asked. . ■ . . ■ -. Steve glanced dowE at the hand which still felt the pressure of her buckskin clad fingers. “I have to work day and acme weeks when things tseak t>ns!y.~ .Steve told her Erniply. “If I can.” and he turned to Bartiara—“if I can I want to come.” .. . ■ / . Miriam nodded £>er head wish brisk finality. V “If you ean.” she anted. “Barbara no doubt has been tefstog ywn ataat Garret Devereau. hasn't shie?-. Yes. come if you can. I hav» heard. Mr that you bare once or twice fought your way out of the dark ahea everylxidy else had last hope. I want an opj •ortuniiy to talk wiih a speciilisr in such campaigns.” Stephen O'Mara bad rend,a sneasmg to words of that contaißed. oftea

am apt. strafshtly t«II gtrl of which Barbara AHsson had not even dreamed. He stood watching them when they tamed np the driveway, the horse Raji hue nnßriing the woolly white ‘ sweater and flowing like a dog. But { he wwsß't thinking of Miriam Burrell lar of Garry Devereau. He was won dEring aboßt Archie Wickersham—thi : Hom Anrhie—thinking about that fUU ay brawl of before, which had not been so fanny after aIL wonderinLate that night, before she slept. Barbara asked Miriam this question “Should I have told Mr. O’Mara thiii mgr engagement to Archibald tYlcker sham was to be announced at th, party?” “Why sbeedd you have?” Miriam eiianfar reofied. / (To be continued.)

The Girl Shrank Against Her Companion and Clutched His Arm.