Jasper County Democrat, Volume 22, Number 71, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 3 December 1919 — WHITE MAN [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

WHITE MAN

By George Agnew Chamberlain

Author of "Boom.” "Through Stained Claaa." “John Bogardua.” etc.

Copyright, 1919, The Bobbo-MerriU Company f SYNOPSIS, 1A CHAPTER I.—Andrea Feller, handsome daughter of Lord Pellor, impecunious aristocrat. Is doomed to marry an Illiterate but wealthy mfddle-agea diamond mine owner. She disconsolately wanders from her hotel In South Africa and discovers an aviator about to fly from the beach. Impulsively, of course Imagining that the trip will be merely a pleasant excursion, and a welcome relief from thoughts of her Impending loveless marriage, she begs to be taken tor a flight, although she does not know him. He somewhat unwillingly agrees, and they start. \ CHAPTER IL—When she realises her unknown aviator is not going back Andrea in desperation tries to choke him with one of her stockings. He thwarts her and they sail on Into the very heart of Africa. Landing in an Immense craal, Andrea finds the natives all bow in worship to her mysterious companion. She is given a slave boy, “Bathtub," and the White Man sets about building a but for her.

“So he can, ordinarily,” answered the man, almost as absently, “but there are times when ten *boys,’ picked ‘boys’—” He stopped as if he were lost in some far reminiscence. A silence fell to the end of the meal, which coincided with the sudden end of the tropic day. The man spoke to the servants for the first time. They cleared the table, set it again with glasses and liqueurs, cigars, cigarettes and coffee, and moved it slightly to one side. Then, from the nearby hut, they brought out two cushioned wicker chairs, home-made but comfortable. Andrea sank into hers with a peculiar feeling of well-being mixed with suspense. The man sat down opposite her, the table within easy reach of both but not between them. Something swayed with a jerk above their heads. Andrea, starred, looked up just in time to see an enormous white disk unroll from Its edges, letting fall In a circle around them a snowy mesh of bobbinet. They, and all they needed for comfort, became enclosed In an Insectproof cage that swayed softly to the evening stir of air. The servants weighted down Its edges with f flat stones and then lit two acetylene lamps that stood outside on stands placed at right angles to the couple within the net so that the eyes of both ■were spared the glare. The man poured coffee and liqueurs, lit Andrea’s cigarette, chose a cigar for himself and sat down. During the Coffee they eyed each other In silence, taking each other’s measure. “It is too bad,” he said finally, “that we can’t take this hour for itself alone and drink together a cup of peace and Stillness an.d comfort.” His words were half a question and It was so that Andrea understood them. She drew a deep sigh, shrugged her bare shoulders and turned squarely to her companion. “It Is too bad,” she said, repeating his words with bitter emphasis, “that I can’t forget that on this night I lose everything that matters —too bad I can’t brush catastrophe and ruin aside for the sake of a fool moon and a cigarette.” As she spoke, the man braced himself. “Everything that matters,” he repeated. “Ruin! What have you lost that matters? Wherein have you been ruined?”

The girl stared at him, open-eyed. “You know who I am, what I stand for in my world, and how that world [will make a chasm that I can never recross after this night and you can 'sit there and say It doesn’t matter and task where’s the ruin?” * The man looked away from her tense (face. “The things that matter,” he •aid quietly, “are health —first of body and then of soul —honor that can stand alone, and the flame of an inner lamp. (There Is nothing else that really counts and you’ve lost none of these. As for ruin—” He turned his eyes back to her and In them was a gleam of quizzical challenge. “.Shall I define ruin tor you?” “Please do,” said Andrea, unsmiling. “Ruin,” said the man, “is burlah (Whether It’s Pompeii or an entire civilization lying under strata of a ten thousand years’ stride of time —or an Individual rotting under the sod of tonventions, ft’s all one and the same thing. Routine Is a tomb, and when yon go bo deep In Its foul air Jthat you can’t keep burning the flame of that inner lamp I mentioned, why you’re dead to every Intent and *Overy purpose. That, Andrea Pellor, Is ruin.” He used her name without prefix, but without familiarity; simply as a icorollary to his stark frankness. She this almost subconsciously. Her thoughts lingered on the substance Of what he had said, but when she spoke she proved herself a woman. “Speaking of names, what is yours?” she asked. "Mine? My name?” said the man, Startled out of his role. He stared absently through and beyond her? "Why, I haven’t any—now. Not that amounts to anything.” His eyes came back tp her. "Call me Mr, White Man

as you have begun— just White Ilan when you feel genial, if you ever do.” “Well, Mr. White Man.” said Andrea, with emphasis, “what you said about ruin didn’t pass quite over my head. I believe you spoke with genuine sincerity and that, as you doubtless remember, is conversational bad taste. Somehow it didn’t bore me, but do you really think that women are persuaded by words?” The man dropped bls eyes. “No,” he said listlessly. “I don’t. I know, but I had forgotten, that women are persuaded by love alone.” "What!” cried Andrea. “Women,” said the man, “know no conversion except through love.” “I have no Interest whatever in your abstractions,” said Andrea angrily. “I don’t care what you think on any subject under the sun. At this moment there is only one thing that concerns me—only one.” She turned from him, threw her bare arms across the table and dropped her face against them. “What is to become of me? What do I care about women? I care about myself, about Andrea Pellor.” "I am glad that you do,” said the man, and added grimly, “If you cry, if you even start to cry, I shall go to bed.” Andrea threw back her head and turned her face toward him. “I am not crying,” she said quietly, “and I will not.” Her anger had died and In Its place had come Into her eyes something terribly potent, the unforgettable look of a hunted thing at bay. “I want to ask you,” continued Andrea, “to Implore you, to take me back. If not tonight, then tomorrow. Flying or on foot. If only we could start now. I will say that It has all been my fault, that you did nothing beyond what I asked you to do In bringing me with you, if only—ls only you will take me back. Will you?” z

The .man clenched his teeth. “I would if I could. I’ve told you that already,” he said almost in a whisper. Then his voice grew clearer and colder. “It would take eight days by any means at my disposal—eight days there and eight days back. I can’t afford It and nothing would be saved or gained as far as you are concerned. It would only entail a loss I have no right to give.” His mood hardened Andrea’s. “You mean that when it comes to choosing between my personal loss and yours, you see no reason to hesitate.” The man flushed under his tan and his eyes gleamed as though her words had given them new life. “Mine would not be a personal loss,” he said. “I am not a loafer nor am I here for my pleasure.” “I see,” said Andrea. “My life against the Interests of your employer. Are you a foreman?” He shrugged his shoulders and ignored the question. “Your life?” he said. “What are you worth, after all? The best specimen of woman in this camp represents an Investment on the part of the husband of two pounds

ten shillings—say three pounds at the most Every girl child she bears and rears brings him a hundred per cent return, and in addition she keeps house, cooks, chops wood, totes water and tills his fields.” Again Andrea jerked him out of his role with her Inconsequence. “What does tote meant’ she asked rather icily. “To tote means to carry, fetch, lug, beai>-” "Thank you,” she Interrupted. "By the way, did you mean to measure me against that three-pound standard?” “I did,” said the man. She threw out her arms In a gesture of disclosure and laughed. “Tp think,” she said, “that it’s only a few weeks since I was knocked'down to the highest bidder at twenty thousand a year I” “Not you,” said the man quickly. “He wasn’t buying you. You never even thought It. I happen to know him, perhaps better than you do, and I can assure you that the tinsel and the pomp he was bargaining for, innocent enough In themselves; would have become despicable and tainted by his possession.” He was silent for a moment: then.

just as Andrea’s lips were opening to a remark, he added, 'Tm flad you brought him to my mind. The thought of him has freed me from my regret. You’re here, I’m glad you are, and you shall stay. The only question is whether you are going to sulk or 'whether you will smile and accept the cure of the philosophy of contrasts.” “That’s a new one,” said Andrea. “Not at all,” replied the man. The philosophy of contrasts is based on the idea that a rut and death are one and the same thing.” "You’ve missed your vocation, White Man,” said Andrea flippantly. “You should get your pulpit and turn missionary to society.” “I’ve got the face of the earth for a pulpit,” said the man easily, “and I couldn’t do with less.” “I had suspected that there was something colossal about you,” replied Andrea quickly, “and now I know it It is your Impertinent self-suffi-ciency—

“You misunderstood me,” Interrupted the man, himself unmoved. “What I mean by that flamboyant statement was that no philosophy has ever lived except through example and one can’t fulfill the creed of contrasts with less than the whole world for a playground.” “And has It never failed?” His eyes wandered to the halfwrecked aeroplane. “Yes, it has failed —once.” “A case of ‘physician cure* —” began Andrea and stopped. His eyes had swerved back to hers and the naked look of regret In them frightened her. “Well,” She continued, glancing away hastily, “do you really want to—to convert me?” He started in his chair and if he had been thinking of his personal troubles, promptly forgot them. Had it been merely a chance shot, he speculated, or was this young lady possessed of that rarest of virtues, a quirk of mischief In the face of adversity? “Women know no conversion except through love,” were the exact words he had used. He recalled them perfectly, and watching In silence a telltale flush rise from her bare neck into her hot cheeks, he perceived that she also remembered. “Oh!” cried Andrea, “I think you are horrible.” “I haven’t said anything,” remonstrated the man. “That’s why,” snapped Andrea. “You could have said something. You keep quiet and give a beastly significance —significance —’’ He helped her out. “To a little joke,” he finished and added quite gravely: “Be sure I shall do all in my power not to convert you.” ITO BE CONTINUED)

“It's Only a Few Weeks Since I Was Knocked Down to the Highest Bidder."