Richmond Palladium (Daily), Volume 37, Number 186, 10 June 1912 — Page 2

HE WHITE HORSE

By LEWIS ALLEN

OR the love of Lucifer. BUI. who ever

saw a Venetian sunset In northern New Hampshire In the middle of the forenoon?" "Didn't know as any one ever did." replied Bill, turning nevertheless and looking toward the West. Carstair laughed. rabbed Bill by the shoulder and wheeled him about, face. "Not in the West this time. Right Cead ahead of you on the porch." Bill looked, then he grinned, for there on the porch of the little Summer hotel stood a young woman with the most wonderful head of red hair either Jack Caratair or Bill Winslow had ever been privileged to behold. "Ye gods' That's all to the carmine, eh?" and Bill stared at the young woman. "Also all to the vermilion, lurid flames arid any other particularly brilliant red color you can recollect Just now." And Carstairs lookeu his surprise. Bill stopped and gazed about him. To the right and left he turned, around and about, as though earthing for something "Figuring out which way to escape?" asked Carstairs, wondering what Bill was doing. "Nope. Looking for the white horse." responded Bill, seriously. Then he started for the stable back of the hotel. Carstairs followed him. There were eleven horses in the stable. "These all your horses?" asked Bill of the stable boy. "Ain't them enough? Watcher goin' to do, drive 'leven of 'em tandem?" asked the stable boy scornfully, thinking Bill was trying to make sport of him. "What my paronolac friend is seeking to learn." explained Carstairs, handing the boy a quarter and tipping him a chummy wing, "Is whether by any chance this little hotel possesses a white horse." "Nope. We've got bays, chestnuts, blacks an 'bout every' color but white," answered the boy. "Now, Bill," said Carstairs. turning to his friend, "I trust you were not serious about this." "Serious? You bet I'm serious. Say, Carst-.lrs, I've done it all my life, I've watched every red headed girl In the country and never failed to hud a white horse, I'll bet there's one somewhere within a few miles of this place and that it will drive past the house to-day, or somewhere near the lady with the sunset hair." "And I'll bet you the value of a white horse that It won't happen," laughed Carstairs. Meanwhile, back on the porch of the little hotel the girl with the red hair sat on the railing and looked down across the valley with snapping eyes. "The nerve of them!" she kept saying to herself, "the absolute nerve, to discuss my hair. I'll Ignore them. I'll" Then she had a better idea. "I'll be as good and mushy as a matinee girl tj them, until I find some way to get square." she told herself. Bill and Carstairs sauntered Into the hotel and out on the porch where the farmer landlord Introduced ' the young lady with the all-to-the-vermllion hair. She was Miss Bertha Rockwell,

THE TRUE STORY OF ROSE

By GEORGE DUBONNET R OSE MIREUIE had been the undisputed queen of Vr-wC'-Msht restaurants ten years ago. She was fall and fair, had big blue eyes and a 6hrlll voice and, when one of the men-about-town present put an orange on the back of his hand, she kicked it to the ceiling with her golden slipper, never railing tq hit it. . Imagine a frail, slender little girl from one of the great dressmakers' workrooms in the Rue de la Paix suddenly spreading her wings and hurrying along the glittering asphalt, where the old timers wink at her with their monocles queexed tight in the other eye. Rose was one of the little working girls who at two minutes past twelve came rushing out like lightning with Fernande. Clementine, Marguerite and the whole gay crowd, flirting, smiling and chatting, throwing themselves down on one of the lawns of the Tuilerles Garden to eat their thick slices of bread and ham, which was all they had for luncheon. I was just twenty years old then, very awkward and bashful, so I dared not tell Rose how much I admired her. Then I quite unexpectedly inherited a little money from an old aunt and this suddenly gave me the needed courage. It was no easy matter, for Rose at first turned a deaf ear to my entreaties, and it took more than three weeks to woo and win her. One evening my little friend with blushing cheeks and sparkling eyes stood as fascinated in front of one of the round poster columns which was covered with glowing advertisements describing the charms of the towns along the Riviera, where artistocracy spends a few months nd squanders money recklessly. Rose stood and looked at them in silence for several moments, but at last It came from her lips: "Yes. that is the place where I should like to live," and her dark eyes shot fire. "Would you like to go to Italy, darling? Nothing is easier. We will take a trip down there." "Oh, nonsense!" But she soon saw that I- was In earnest, and I shall never forget the wonderful trip. How she cried with Joy at the sight of the mountains and the blue sky. which greeted us on the other side of the Slmplon pass, the fragrance of the flowers and the sight of the rows of beautiful little cottages along the swiftly rushing rivers. Then followed a series of wonderful days, during which we thought of neither past nor future, but simply gloried in our youth and happiness. I had figured that, as we were living, my money would last for about three weeks, but what did I care? Three weeks seemed a very long time then when looking ahead, and what was to come afterwards did not worry me In the least. Opposite us at the dinner table every evening sat an old English major, who was evidently enormously rich. He was ugly as sin. and the waiters said he was not quite right in his mind. 1 Boon noticed that he began trying to flirt with Rose. She noticed it. too. so we changed our seats, only to be followed to the other table by the major. 1 was only twenty, hotheaded and Impulsive, and the next time I caught him maVing eyes at Rose. I struck him squarely in the face. A challenge followed, and the next day we met In an orchard outside the city. I fired the first shot and calmly waited for the major s. He hit welL I felt a stinging blow in the chest, everything turned black in front of my eyes and 1 fainted away. My awakening to life I can never forget. In '.he room there was a smell of ether and carbolic acid, and Rose, suddenly transformed into a silent nurse, was bending over me. , She kissed me tenderly and whispered: "Now you are safe, darling. The bullet has been extracted. All you need is rest." I felt terribly weak, could not stand the least ray of laylisht.- an my head was hot and dizzy with fever. I slowly recovered my strength, and Rose never te't my bedside. Her presence was life itself

and was there for a few weeks with an invalid aunt. Bill and Carstairs made themselves as entertaining as they knew how, and but for the fact that Miss Rockwell had overheard their con ersation about her hair, she would have been deeply Impressed with them. As it was she became as gracious as possible, but kept telling herself meanwhile that before they left that hotel she would certainly revenge herself on them. Bill and Carstairs talked and talked and became more and more uneasy. Finally they left Miss Hockwell and. taking their golf sticks, sauntered down to the pasture where they had devised some passable links. Miss Rockwell watched them and then by a roundabout way went down the walled cow lane, bordered by alders, and seated herself under a tree with a book. Carstairs and B;ll did not seem inclined to play"Say," said Bill, "there are white horses and white horses." 'Well. I bet you the price of one of them that no white horse is driven or passes within sight of Miss or the lady with the bonfire hair:" The lady with the bonfire hair, sitting on the other side of the wall gave a gasp of indignation. "i'es. but which one of them?" insisted BUI. "Oh, I see. some white horses may be worth $3.". and others worth J-OO," remarked Carstairs. "Great intellect." said Bill. "Well, make it a hundred dollars," was Carstairs's response. Then he added, "I'm not going to play to-day Sot to write letters," and he started for the hotel. "Fine: I'll take a little practice." answered Bill, and the moment Carstairs was out of sight he started down the country road. Carstairs went up the road. Kach stopped at the first farm house and learned that, as far as each farmer knew, and they knew every man, woman and critter thereabouts, no white horse was owned in that county. Carstairs was delighted. BUI was sore. Bill's farmer, with native-born curiosity, asked him the whyfore of such a peculiar question. Bill told him. The farmer brought out a pitcher of cider. "I have heerd o' slch a thing as paintln' a hoss," he said. Bill leaped to his feet 'You're a wonder. Here's ten dollars. Paint me up a horse, make him good and white and drive up and call for me about o'clock this afternoon," Bill exclaimed. The farmer took the ten dollars. "I'll be thar. white hoss and all, at tew o'clock." he said. At two o'clock Bill sat out on the porch, trying to look as gloomy as possible. Carstairs sat beside him, grinning happily, for had he not been assured there wasn't a white horse in the entire county? Miss Rockwell sat on the porch, a glow in each cheek even redder than hev hair. She was thinking of the word "bonfire." Suddenly Carstairs lost his grin, for plodding toward them along the dusty road was a white horse! And it was a white horse, a decidedly white one. A farmer sat on the front seat of the old open carriage, driving. He drove up to the porch, halted his milk-white steed and asked for Mr. William Winslow.

'Yes, that is the place where I should like to live, she said. to me. I had lost every sense of time and, without thinking of the future, I enjoyed Rose's loving care. One night, however, I woke up with chattering teeth and shaking with fever. "Rose," I said, "we must have been here for more than a month the money! What is to become of us, darling?" ihe blushed a little as she answered: "You must not worry about it. I have arranged everything " "How?" She turned her face away. "Have a little patience. To-morrow I will tell you everything." The next morning when I woke up and looked for Rose, the place next to me was empty. She had gone, but on the little table next the bed was a letter: 'Forgive me, darling! I cannot lie to you. It is of no use to tell you how I had to struggle with people who wanted to take advantage of our desperate position. Many ttmes I was ready to despair and now I cannot hide it from you that the one who has paid our hotel bill, the doctors and everything else is the English major who nearly killed you. I knew how you would despise ie if I told you this, and that is why 1 am leaving you. I could not bear to look at your angry, sad eyes. Goodbye forever, darling. Your loving Rose." Next to the letter was my pocketbook with my last bank note the money for our trip back. I went back to Paris and for three weeks I searched for Hose in rain. At. last after more than ten years I found her a fallen woman. How strange life often is! You may believe me or not. but I wish the major's bullet had found my heart and finished an existence for which I have never cared since I lost my first love.

'Bill gave her one Bill got up. Miss Rockwell's face was seversl shades redder than her hair. It was too much, altogether too much. She was trying to decide whether she should go to her room and have a fit of angry weeping, or give both those young men a fine tongue-lashing such as a woman with her shade of hair has the reputation of being able to do she was Just trying to decide this when her sharp eyes caught the sight of white that was rubbing off on the inside of parts of

THE CRIPPLE

THK following adventure happened to me about 1SS2. I had just taken the train and settled down In a corner, hoping that I should be left alone, when the door suddenly opened again and I heard a voice say: "Take care, monsieur, we are Just at a crossing; the step Is very high." Another voice answered: "That's all right, Laurent, I have a firm hold on the handle." Then a head appeared, and two hands seized the leather straps hanging on either side of the door and slowly pulled up an enormous body, whose feet, striking on the step, sounded like two canes. When the man had hoisted his torso into the compartment I noticed, at the loose edge of his trousers, the end of a wooden leg. which was Boon followed by its mate. A head appeared behind this traveler and asked: "Are you all right, monsieur?" "Yes, my boy." "Then here are your packages and crutches." And a servant, wh0 looked like an old soldier, climbed In, carrying In his arm a stack of bundles wrapped in black and yellow papers and carefully tied; he placed one after the other in the net over his master's head. Then he said: "There, monsieur, that Is all. There are five of them the candy, the doll, the drum, the gun, and the pate de foles gras." "Thank you, Laurent; good health!" The man closed the door and walked away, and I looked at my neighbor. He was about thirtyfive, although his hair was almost white; he wore the ribbon cf the Legion of Honor; he had a heavy mustache and was quite stout, with the Stoutness of a strong and active man who is kept motionless on account of some infirmity. He wiped his brow, sighed, and, looking me full In the face, he asked: "Docs smoking annoy you, monsieur?" "No, monsieur." Surely I knew that eye, that voice, that face. But when and whero had I seen them? I had certainly met that man. spoken to him, shaken his hand. That was a long, long time ago. It was lost in the haze wherein the mind seems to feel around blindly for memories and pursues them like fleeing phantoms without being able to seize them. He, too. was observing me, staring me out of countenance, with the persistence of a man who remembers slightly but not completely. Our eyes, embarre-ssed by this persistent contact, turned away; then, after a few minutes, drawn together again by the obscure and tenacious will of working memory, they met once more, and I said: "Monsieur, Instead of staring at each other for an hour or so. would It not be better to try to discover where we have known each other?," My neighbor answered graciously: "You are quite right, monsieur." I named myself: "I am Henri Bonclalr, a magistrate." He hesitated for a few minutes; then, with the vague look and voice which accompany great mental tension, he said: "Oh, I remember perfectly. I met you twelve years ago. before the war, at the Polncels!" "Yes. monsieur. Ah! Ah! You are Lieutenant Revaliere?" "Yes. I was Captain Revaliere even up to the time when I lost my feet both of them together from one cannon ball." Now that we knew each other's identity we looked at each other again. I remembered perfectly the handsome, slender youth who led the cotillons with such frenzied agility and gracefulness that he had been nicknamed "the fury." Going back into the dim, distant past. I recalled a story which I had heard and forgotten, one of those stories to which one listens but forgets, and which leave but a faint impression upon the memory. There wax something about love in it. Little by little the shadows cleared up. and the face of a young girl appeared before my eyes. Then her name stfuck me with the force of an explosion: Mademoiselle de Mandel. I remembered everything now. It was indeed a love story, but quite commonplace. The young girl loved this young man. and when I had met them there was already talk of the approaching wedding. The youth seemed to be very much in love, very happy. I raised my eye to the net. where all the packages which had been brought in by the 'servant were trembling from the motion of the train, and the voice of the servant came back to me. as If he had just finished speaking. He had said: "There, monsieur, that is all. There are five of them: the candy, the doll, the drum, the gun, the pat de foies gras." Then, In a second, a whole romance unfolded itself in my head. It was like all those which I had already read, where the young lady married notwithstanding the catastrophe, whether physical or financial; therefore, this officer who had been . maimed in the war had returned, after tho campaign, to the young girl who had given him her promise, and she had kept her word. I considered that very beautiful, but simple, just as one considers simple all devotions and climaxes

long, startled look

the harness, especially along the tuss Carstairs hadn't a word to say. but he nearly collapsed when BUI politely invited Miss Rockwell to take a ride with him. A moment before she would heaven only knows what she would have done but she had seen something that made her suspicious and she very sweetly accepted, climbed into the back seat. Bll followed, and with a wave of his hand to Carstalrj. they drove away. By in books or in plays. It always seems, when one reads or listens to these stories of magnanimity, that one could sacrifice one's self with enthusiastic pleasure and overwhelming joy. But the following day, when an unfortunate friend comes to borrow some money, there is a strange revulsion of feeling. But. suddenly, another supposition, less poetic and mote realistic, replaced the first one. Perhaps he had married before the war. before this frightful accident, and she. in despair and resignation, had been forced to receive, care for, cheer, and support this husband, who had departed a handsome man. and had returned without his feet, & frightful wreck, forced Into immobility, powerless anger, and fatal obesity. Was he happy or in torture? I was seized with an irresistible desire to know his story, or. at least, the principal points, which would permit me to guess that which he could not or would not tell me. Still thinking the matter over, I began talking to him. We had exchanged a few com-

"Hello! my dear Revaliere P he shouted.

monplace words: and I raised my eyes to the net. and thought: "He must have three children: the bonbons are for his wife, the doll for his little girl, the drum and the gun for his sons, and this pat de foies gras for himself " Suddenly I asked him: "Are you a father, monsieur?" He answered: "No. monsieur." I suddenly felt confused, as If I had been guilty of some breach of etiquette, and I continued: "I beg your pardon. I had thought that you were when I heard your servant speaking about the toys. One listens and draws conclusions unconsciously." He smiled and then murmured: "No. I am not even married. I am still at the preliminary stage." I pretended suddenly to remember, and said: "Oh! that's true! When I knew you. you were engaged to Mademoiselle de Mandel. I believe." "Yes. monsieur, your memory is excellent." I grew very bold and added: "I also seem to remember hearing that Mademoiselle de Mandel married Monsieur Monsieur" He calmly mentioned the r.ame: "Monsieur de Fleurel." "Yes. that's it! I remember it was on that occasion th'at I heard of your wound." I looked him full In the face, and he blushed. His full face, which was already red from the over-supply of blood, turned crimson. He answered quickly, with the sudden ardor of a man

Carstairs went to his room and wrote BUl a che.k for a hundred dollars. Bill and Miss Rok'll had been driving on: a l:tt'.e while when the farmer atd tf-ey woull have to hurry under cover, as It a golnr t ru n. Miss Rockwell giggled Jut then, aithou?! Bill couldn't understand why. II agreed t:;t they should get under cover. A big drop splashed down. The farmer started t whip the horse. Ml Kockwe.l touched h;:n on the arm "Please." s-e said. "1 just love the rain, and If I am not afraid surely jou it r.ot. Mr. Winslow." turning to Bill. "s long a I am your guest, wont ou let me riue out is the ra.n? It is so glorious"'" " All right, if Miss Rockwell 1 willing to taV a chance of setting pneumonia and giving u pneumonl.t." began Bill, but Miss Rockwell looked at him so sweetly and sa.d "Bosh'" tht thre was no help for It. It was a Summer torrent. For ten minutes It literally poured and they were far from evea a shed Miss Rockwell shrieked with laughter to see the streaks show through the ""whits horse, until by the time they got back to te hotel and It hal nearly stopped raining, that "white" horse had become an ordinary bay. ( rept for the ina.de of his ears and a llltls stria under his neck and body, whl.e the harness Tn mottled with t!e white coloring Bill was so ashamed he dared MOt look at Miss Rockwell, and as for Carstairs. he came forward down the porch rtepa. simply howling, for had taken In at a g.aiice all the circumstances. "Bill. I wrote you a check for a hundred t now tear It up. Kindly come In and write m on 4 " Bill Hushed got out of the carriage and tur. et to help Miss Rockwell down. He gars her on long, startled look, then he, ton began to shout with laughter. Carstairs gave her a quick, put zled look and fled Into the house. The same rain that had changed the "white" horse to a hay. had changed Miss Rockwell from a red-headed girl to a woman with pale brown hair! All bets were oft"!

Guy de Maupassant: who Is pleading a cause which Is lost in his mln and in his heart, but which he does not wish to admit : "It Is wrong, monsieur, to couple my name with that of Madame de Fleurel. When I returned from the war without my feet, alas! I never would have permitted her to become my wife. Was It possible? When one marries, monsieur. It Is not In order to parade one's generosity: it Is In order to live every day. every hour, every minute, evetv second beside a man: and if this man is disfigured, as I am. It Is a death sentence to marry him! Oh. I understand, I admire all sacrifices sod devotions when they have a limit, but I do not admit that a woman should give up her whole life all her dreams. In order to satisfy the admiration or the gallery. When 1 hear, on the floor of my room, the tapping of my wooden legs and of m crutches. I grow angry enough to strangle nr servant. Do you think that 1 would permit woman to do what I myself am unable to tolerate? And. then, do you think that my stumps are i. pretty?" He wss silent. What could I uy: lie ccrtalelfwas right. Could I blame her. holu her In contempt, even say that she was wrong? No. However, the end which conformed in the rule, to the truth, did not satisfy my poetic appetite. These heroic deeds demand a beautiful sacrifice, which seemed to be lacking, and I felt a certain disappointment. I suddenly asked: "Has Madame d Fleurel any chlldren?" "Ves, one girl and two boj s It Is for them that I am bringing these toj s She and her husband are very kind to me." ' The train wss going up the Incline to SaintGermain. It passed through the tunnels, eptered the station, and stopped T was about to effer rny arm to the wounded cJTIeer. ! order to' belo him descend. hen two hands mere stretchel up to him through the open door. , "Hello! my dear Revalierer - "Ah! Hello. Fleurel!" . Standing behind the man. the woman, still beautiful, was smiling and waving her hands to Ifli.L A little girl, standing beside her. was jumping foe. Joy. and two young boys were eagerly watching the drum and the gun. which were passing from the car into their father's hands. When the cripple was on the ground all the v children kissed him. Then they set off. the Ilttl 2 girl holding In her hand the small Tarnished run ' of a crutch, just as she might walk betide her Mr friend and hold hi thumb.