Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 35, Number 30, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 16 December 1902 — The Iron-Worker’s Daughter [ARTICLE]

The Iron-Worker’s Daughter

BY HOWARD FORRESTER .

4 CHAPTER XIII. , Irene Atherton stood before the winVtow, looking out into the street in an Absent-minded manner. She was thinking of something of the first importance. | Her father's manner had changed so piuch in the last week that she had bejcome concerned for him. He was quiet, Irritable, moody, fitful. • He was observing her covertly. He was keeping somefching from her; they had never had a [secret come between them before. He had never mentioned Mr. Mayberry's name, or referred to him. But tie had said it was possible he had found la capitalist—"or, rather, the capitalist lhaa found me,” he said ironically, ( And when Irene inquired who the capitalist was, her father had answered abjruptly—“Gripp.” It was on the point of Irene's tongue jlo ask him what the paper contained that Sras passed between her rather and Maymerry, and taken back again, but she restrained herself. Some time she would her father into a confession. She Ornew he could not refuse, or. rather, that me would not withhold anything from her Wee she really importuned him. ' One thing she was resolved upon. It fwas her duty to discover what caused Ithe serious change in her father's conduct, and she was resolTed she would get w the truth. j A rap at the door startled her. When jshe hastily opened it, Mr. Gripp faced [ “Oh! Miss Atherton, I am compelled to Intrude on you a few moments —a matter [of business. J was at the mill, and at tyour father's instance called. He requested me to tell you to give me some •drawings you will find on the upper tahelf." ! “I will see." she said simply. ; She left him, and when alone resolved ko send him away as empty handed as pe came. ' “Why does my father send this man Se for his drawings? Or has he sent Anyhow, it may not be; easy finding . At least I will not try.” ten she re-entered the room where E> awaited her, she said, without a lance Of regret or explanation: f, Gripp, my father will have to give gou the drawings himself.” -. L“lt is of no moment—he will doubtless nd them in good time, Miss Atherton.” Then he spoke of the weather, of the fine opportunity presented for outdoor enjoyments and evening entertainments. “Would she like to witness the famous Actor then in the city? He had some •eats at his disposal, two of which he bad retained for Mr. Atherton and his daughter.” y Irene’s response chilled him. “Thanks. Mr. Gripp. I rarely attend the theater, but I will inform my father of your offer.” Mr. Gripp talked of the workmen at the mill —how they earned, hardly, all they received. Then the delights, the pleasure—of a life of ease were envied: but they were not for Mr. Gripp. Alas! no.' His lot was, plainly, to toil for some one else. He confessed, too, he loved an active life, but he could—O, yes, he could —appreciate the softening influences of • refining fireside. And then, not till then, Irene realized suddenly she was the object of Mr. Gripp’s spontaneous adoration. The realization made her sick at heart. Her aversion for Mr. Gripp was, if possible, increased. When he withdrew, bowing politely, and smiling in his most gracious manner, Irene sank suddenly into a seat. Was it possible her father knew this man was desirous of ingratiating himself into her good will? What horrible influence, what evil influence, was this that Mr. Gripp exercised over her father. She resolved to dismiss the subject from her mind. She would go out —anywhere. She would visit a neighbor—walk on the streets. No! she would read a favorite Author. She took down a book, and in doing so displaced a volume her father called to his aid frequently, a book of reference. The book fell upon the floor, and two papers fluttered out of it. Irene stooped and picked up book and papers. She was in the act of replacing the last when her eye fell on a single line: “First room, second floor, Xo. street.” Then she read the note. It was very brief. It was written to Mr. Daniel Atherton, informing him, seemingly by previous understanding, where and when the writer would meet him. I aay seemingly, because this note was strangely worded. It read thus: “Mr. Daniel Atherton: “Dear Sir—ln regard to matter discussed. would say you had best call at the house named. First room, second floor, Xo. street. Do not delay. Unless you are there this evening between six and seven, and everything fully understood, you will regret It. “JACKSOX GRIPr.” “There is a threat in this!” Irene exclaimed, mentally. “I see it now. This man has some secret power over my poor father.” She flung herself passionately upon s diair. The tears sprang to her eye*. She cried with bitter mortification. So this was the end of all her father's Inventions. After all his planning, his nights And days of reading: after all his hoping, his disappointments—this was the ;nd of it * Somebody sise had an invention. Or her father had unwittingly appropriated inventions others had patented in his process. There must be something serious to bring him a note like that. She read and reread it, and ns she reread it she hated Gripp with an intensity that frightened her. She said to herself. As she placed the note in the envelope it had slipped out off: “How wicked I am. I feel as if Ido ■ot want to live in the same city, ia the same world, with Mr. Gripp!” Then ahe debated with herself what she Would do. Would she place the note where it bad been, or elsewhere? Her woman'* wit cam* to her aid here. She pat the note on the shelf between two books, in such a manner as to lead her father to think it had dropped there. If It was missed, and inquiry made, a brief search would reveal it. If her father did •ot deem it of much Importance, he ,W0«ld ** to it.

In the meantime, she would observe closely the relations existing between her father and this Mr. Gripp. As Irene Atherton pondered thus, a faint rap at the door attracted her attention. She opened it. “Does Mr. Atherton—Mr..Daniel Atherton—live here?” Irene looked down upon the small boy who was eyeing her auspiciously. “Yes. This is the place.” —— “Is he in?” “No. He will be home before long, though: la it anything particular?” “Well, I was to be sure and leave: thia for him. I guesa it’s all right.” He handed her a note somewhat reluctantly. “Yes. I will see my father gets It" The small away, turned, glanced back to observe if his movements were noted, then disappeared around a corner. “Another note. I wonder if it ia a mysterious note, like the one I read,” said Irene, thoughtfully, as ahe glanced at the superscription. “Mr. Daniel Atherton, personal.” She laid the note on the mantel where her father could not fail to see it when he returned, then prepared to go out, as she bethought herself of an errand she had forgotten. When khe was bonneted, ready for the street, she locked the door, and, placing the key in a place where her father would easily find it, left the house.

CHAPTER XIV. Irene availed herself of a street car, in which two men were talking loudly, and evidently for the purpose of impressing upon the listeners a sense of their importance. They were discussing the murder. One was a large, red-faced man, with bead-like eyes and a bulbous nose. He wore flashy clothes, and fumbled a large watch seal. His breath smelled of onions —the passengers next him turned aside. His comrade was a small, dark man, with a hooked nose, curling lips that seemed to be sneering at his nose, and to add to a sinister countenance he had a east in one eye. The first word the large man said arrested Irene’s attention.

"I wish I was as sure of a thousand dollars as we are of catching him.” “The chief says he can put his hand right on him.” “Yes, I know—he’s preparing a little surprise for him, that’s all.” “I was the third person there. 1 said' at once—any professional could see it at a glance—that there wasn’t any suicide.” The big man looked up and down the car. His gross look, his intense vulgarity. everything about him excited the profound aversion of Irene. The men sat opposite her. They prolonged the conversation evidently for her benefit. "A pretty hard place, Number .” Irene started. Where had she seen or rend of Number - street?” There was a brief silence, then the lesser of the two suddenly said: “I understand there are two or three people seen the murderer. ’Twon’t be hard to 'ldentify him? 1 “Xo! And it won’t be hard to hang him. The next man caught will stand a poor show. They've been too easy; now they’ve got to makc,an example.” Now, for the first time, “Number street” caused Irene to feel faint —sick at heart. That was the pfflfcc where a horrible murder or suicide was . committed. It was the place her father was requested to visit. Could it be possible his name could be connected in any way with the horrible occurrence? Irene could not remain in the car a moment longer. While the policemen were airing their office and pretensions, she quietly got off the car. Once mofe on the street, she scarcely knew which way to turn. The thoughts suggested by the remarks she had heard distressed her much more than she had thought any similar incident would affect her. She walked at random for a few minutes, to give herself time to collect her thoughts. As she was hastening rapidly on, looking neither to the right nor left, she encountered Mr. Mayberry. Mayberry attracted her attention by removing his hat. They met face to face. He had crossed the street, and was turning in the same direction, when he paused, hat in hand, and seemed to hesitate to walk on or turn in another direction. Irene felt the color flaming in her cheeks. A minute before she was very pale. Mayberry noted the change. “Miss Atherton!” “Mr. Mayberry!” 4 Bhe did not know whether to say more, or permit him to pass ahead of her, as he evidently resolved to do. He was quickening his steps when a low voice arrested him. “Mr. Mayberry, I have something to say to you.” He walked beside her respectfully. More than one passer-by looked admiringly at the handsome young couple; the man with the beariug of a spirited young man, iu high health, with a face inviting confidence; the woman with eyes like stars, and rosy cheeks, all too rare. “I will not detaip you a moment." “I am not in a hurry at all. Anything I can do—any way I may be able to serve you—command me.” “Will you tell me what waa in the paper yon gave my father, Mr. Mayberry?” He waa nonplused. The question wos so unexpected, he was not able to reply instantly. Then he Baid to himself that would never do. "It was a partial agreement your father and I arrived at. Miss Athertou.” “Of what nature?” She was very—very direct. How could he avoid telling her? He would- fib. But when he met her eyes, his resolve melted. She seemed to be looking through him. “If 1 speak at all, I’ll tell yon the troth. I’d rather not—indeed, you ought not to expect me to talk to you of the affair at all.” She paid no attention to the last portion of this spoech. Again came her question, sharp, ftect, almost imperative: “What WA« the agreement? Of couras yon would act tell me anything but the truth, Mr. Mayberry. Who made the agreement first?—who suggested it? What was it about? My lather the find offer, didn't her*

rrhla ia unfair, Mips Atherton.” “Then something happened—yon did not, coaid not, satisfy him—he waa unreasonable, and ao you voluntarily gave him back a paper that you thought—think now—la worth money, maybe a great deal of money to you.” * 4 My dear Miss Atherton,” exclaimed Mayberry, pausing suddenly on the Btreet, ing of the sort. That is, you have misconceived the matter altogether. You do your father—you do me—injustice.” “I am rejoiced to learn it.” “Upon my soul, you have.” “Then you will please explain, ao I can understand it” And so it happened that the demure little puss accomplished her object before' Mayberry suspected her tactics. She had purposely blundered, trusting to him to set her right He began at the beginning, and related the facta. IJe omitted all reference to Mr. Gripp. He fvas too manly to characterize Mr. Gripp’s conduct in that gentleman’s absence. That was a matter he hoped he would be able to do full justice to, with Mr. Gripp before him. “Now I know you have been candid with me,” said Irene slowly. She was blushing for her father—for herself. She somehow connected Mr. Gripp’s sudden friendship for her father and herself with thia business transaction. The patent process lny at the bottom. Irene’s face was now as pale as it was before she recognized him. He noticed the sudden change, and was concerned. “I am very—very much obliged to you, Mr. Mayberry. I wanted to know the truth. I hope you will excuse my curiosity. If you knew all, you would do so.”

“I do, I assure you I do. I think—pardon me, I am quite sure —I appreciate your feelings. But I have said so much, I must say more. You are—you have been—laboring under a false impression. I have lost nothing. How could 1? I have lost neither time nor money.” "You are quite sure you have not lost in any manner?” Again her eyes seemed to search his very soul. “I did make an appointment which I failed to keep." “I understand. You unfolded your plans, excited somebody’s hopes, and i.ow that person will regard you aa a visionary, a trifler, or worse maybe.” “No, no! You are wrong again.” “Then please set me right.” He was silent. What could he say, unless he told her the truth? This young lady was terribly direct —very earnest in her manner. “Well, you do not explain.” “I will. There is no other way to correct a false impression. I called upon a friend, a gentleman who will listen to my explanation, and whose relations with me will not be affected in the least.” “Who is this gentleman?” “Mr. Mead. I explained what your father claimed, and I was to have seen him and satisfied him concerning the details.” “Which you have not done.” He did not answer. He could not without reflecting upon her father. “I am very grateful to you, Mr. Mayberry, for your kindness and candor.” She stopped. He stopped also; he was sorry that the time had come when they must separate. He was beginning to think he ought to direct the conversation; he was preparing a speech suitable for the occasion, and timely, when, with a courtesy and q smite that he carried with him in memory the remainder of the day, she turned and left him as suddenly and unexpectedly as they had encountered each other.

CHAPTER XV. Mr. Mead was in his private office when a visitor was announced. He was seated in front of a handsome writing desk, made of native varied woods, whose beauty was preserved and heightened with oil and polish, and was in the act of opening a letter when his visitor entered. “Ah! I see you are prompt, Mr. Gripp.” “Punctuality is the soul you know the rest, Mr. Mead. I have brought papers with me which will enable you to understand at a glance what I have to offer you.” Mr. Mead waved his hand, and continued opening his letters, as he said: “By and by—when we are ready for that, Let us understand what-is proposed first.” “Eighty per cent of labor is saved, to begin with, and more than that much in time is saved by the process I spoke of, and the result is an iron equaling, if not superior to, the article you are now selling.” “You seem confident. For a sure-foot-ed man, Mr. Gripp, you are almost enthusiastic.” “If I am, I have an excuse—or, rather, the facts warrant the positive statements I have made. I come to offer you such inducements as will justify you in assuming the direction of a new mill for the feew process.” As Mr. Gripp carefully removed the wrapper from a thick roll, a clerk stood in the doorway. “A lady, Mr. Mead, wishes to see you.” “I will see her soon.” Mr. Gripp had almost, removed the wrapping paper. He now turned to Mr. Mead again. “These drawings are so clear, the explanations so simple, that a single glance must suffice to demonstrate to a man lfke you the extraordinary value of the process.” Mr. Mead rose, bent over the roll ns Mr. Gripp laid the paper aside, and both looked at the drawings as they were unrolled, expectantly. Suddeuly Mr. Grlpp's nose and lips curled; the sneer in his face was intensified as he crushed the drawings ruthles# ly in a mass, and twisted the paper over them. ' “Confound it—l beg your pardon. An absurd—a ridiculous—mistake. These, ns you perceived, are flowers, vases, what not—everything but the right thing.” “So I see." “I see now how the mistake was iuade.”‘ Again the clerk entered. “A gentleman to see you, who caunol wait, Mr. Mead.” “Show him in.” The door opened, and a quiet personage entered. He looked like a man who would submit to anything for peace. “Well, Mr. " The visitor interrupted him hastily. “I have called to speak to you concerning a workman—a puddler—a man named Atherton.” “He never worked for me, air.” “I us aware of that, Mr. Mead, bat 1

am Informing myself concerning Ms reff> utation—his antecedents.” “Why, now, there waa nothing at all in Atherton’s record that prevented u* from giving him work. It waa another matter—well, to be frank with yon, so far aa that affair is any gnide, I think Atherton acted as I would have done—as I or you might do to-morrow.” The visitor—-he .was a detective—looked disappointed. “Whoever sent you to me don’t understand the matter at all. Atherton has the reputation of a good workman, but he is a fellow with crotchets—is Impulsive, high-strung—but not a man for yon to lose time looking after-.” “I am glad to hear you say so, Mr. Mead. I have a train to make, and must ask you to excuse me for coming in oq you.” “Oh, that’s all right.” (To be continued.) -