The Syracuse and Lake Wawasee Journal, Volume 15, Number 13, Syracuse, Kosciusko County, 27 July 1922 — Page 2

® The Big-Town Round Up | © By WILLIAM MAC LEOD RAINE & Copyright by William MacLeod Raine / —————————— H a————

BEATRICE WHITFORD SYNOPSIS.—A foreword tells this: Motoring through Arizona, a party of easterners, father and daughter and a male companion, stop to witness a cattle round up. The girl leaves the car and Is attacked by a wild steer, A masterpiece of riding on the part of one of the cowboys saves her life. Then the story begins thus: Clay Lindsay, range-rider on an Arizona “ranch, announces his intention to visit the "big town,” New York. On the train Lindsay becomes interested in a young woman, Kitty Mason, on her way to New York to become a motion-picture actress. Sne is marked as a fair prey by a fellow traveler, Jerry Durand, gang I politician and ex-prize tighter Perceiving his intention, Lindsay provokes a quarrel and throws Durand from the train. L —II: CHAPTER ll—Continued. —2— Clay stopped In front of Kitty and said he hoped she would have no trouble making her transfer In the City. The girl was no fool. She had sensed the antagonism that had flared up between them in that moment when they hud faced each other five minutes before. "Where’s Mr. Durand?” she asked. “He got off.” “But the train hasn’t stopped.” “It’s just crawlin’ along, and he was in a hurry.” Her gaze rested upon an angry bruise on his cheek. It had not been there when last she saw him. “I don’t understand it,” she murmured, half to herself. “Why would be get off before we reached the depot?” She was full of suspicions, and the bruise on the westerner s cheek did not tend to allay them. They were, still unsatisfied when the porter took her to the end of the car to brusti her clothes. / The discretion of z that young man had its limits. While he brushed the girl he told her rapidly what he had seen in the vestibule. “Was he hurt?” she asked breathlessly. “No’m. I looked out and seen him standin’ beside the track jes’ a-cussin’ a blue streak. He’s a sho-’nough bad actor, that Jerry Durand.” Kitty marched straight to her section. The eyes of the girl flashed anger. . . “Please leave my seat, sir,” she told Clay. The Arizonan rose at once. He knew that she knew. "I was intendin’ to help you off with yore grips,” he said. ’ She flamed into passionate resentment of his interference. "I’ll attend to them. I can look out for myself, sir.” With that she turned her back on him. CHAPTER 111 The Big Town. When Clay stepped from the station at the Thirty-fourth Street entrance New York burst upon him with what seemed almost a threat. He could hear the roar of it like a river rushing down a canyon. Clay had faced a cattle stampede. He had ridden out a blizzard hunched up with -the drifting zz 'h" *eM| 'WIIK I “Might You Would Want a Good Suit of Quality Clothes, My Friendt?” He Suggested. herd. He had lived rough all his young •nd joyous life. But for a moment he felt a chill drench at his heart that was almost dread. He did not know a soul in this vast populace. He was alone among seven or eight million crazy human beings. He had checked his suitcase to be free to look about. He had no destination amVwas in no hurry. All the day was before him, all of many days. He drifted down the street and across to Sixth avenue. Chance swept him up Sixth to Herald square. He was caught in the river of humanity that races up Broadway. He wondered where all this rush of,.people was going. What crazy impulses sent them surging to and fro? And the girls—Clay surrendered to them at discretion. He had not supposed there were so many pretty, welldressed girls in the world. “First off I’m goin’ to get- me a real city suit of clothes,” he promised himself. “This here wrinkled outfit is some too woolly for the big town. It’s a good suit yet—’most as good as when I bought it at the Boston store In Tucson three years ago. But I reckon JTi save It to go home In.*’

He stopped in front of a store above which was the legend "I. Bernstein, Men’s Garments.” A small man with sharp little eyes and well-defined nose was standing in the doorway. “Might you would want a good suit of quality dotijes, my friendt,” he suggested. “You’ve pegged me right,” agreed the westerner with his ready smile. “Lead me to it.” Mr. Bernstein personally conducted his customer to the suit department. "I wait on you myself on account you , was a stranger to the city,” he explained. The little man took a suit from a rack and held it at arm's length to admire it. His fingers caressed the woof of It lovingly. He evidently could bring himself to part with it only after a struggle. "Worsted. Fine goods.” He leaned' toward the range-rider and whispered a secret. “Imported.” Clay shook his head. “Not what 1 want.” His eyes ranged the racks, "This is more my notion of the sort of thing I like.” He pointed to a blue serge with a little stripe in tfie pattern. The dealer detached the coat lovingly from the hanger and helped his customer into it. Then he fell back, eyes lit with enthusiastic amazement. Only fate could have brought together this man and this suit, so manifestly destined for each other since the hour when Eve began to patch up tig leaves for Adam. “Like a coat of paint,” ne murmured aloud, The cowpuncher grinned. He understood the business that went with selling a suit in some stores. But it happened that he liked this suit himself. "How much?” he asked. The owner of the store dwelt on the merits of the suit, its style, its durability, the perfect fit. He covered his subject with artistic thoroughness. Then, reluctantly, he confided in a whisper the price at which he was going to sacrifice this suit among suits. “To you, my friendt, I make this garment for only sixty-five dollars.” He added another secret detail. "Below wholesale cost.” A little devil of mirth lit in Lindsay’s eye. “I'd hate to have you rob yoreself like that. And me a perfect stranger to you too.” “Qvality, y’ understan' me. Which a man must got to live garments like I done to appreciate such a suit. All wool. Every thread of it. Unshrinkable.” Mr. Bernstein caressed it again. “One' swell piece of goods,” he told himself softly, almost with tears in his eyes. “All wool, you say?” asked Clay, feeling the texture. He had made up hi' mind to buy it, though ne thought the price a bit stiff. Mr. Bernstein protested on his honor that there was not a thread of cotton in it. "Which you could take it from me that when I sell a suit of clothes it is like I am dealing with my own brother,” he added. “Every garment out of this store takes my personal guarantee.” Clay tried on the trousers and looked at himself ifi the glass. So far as he could tell he looked just like any other New Yorker. The dealer leaned forward and spoke in a whisper. Apparently he was ashamed of his softness of heart. "Fifty-five dollars —to you.” “I’ll take it,” the westerner said. The clothier called his tailor from the rear of the store to make an adjustment in the trousers. Meanwhile he deftly removed the tags which told him in cipher that the suit had cost him just eleven dollars and seventyfive cents. Half an hour later Clay sat on top of a Fifth avenue bus which was jerking its way uptown. His shoes were shined to mirror brightness. He was garbed in a blue serge suit with a little stripe running through the pattern. That suit just now was the apple of his eye. It proved him a New Yorker and not a wild man from the Arizona desert. The motor-bus ran up Fifth avenue, cut across to Broadway, passed Columbus circle, and swept into the Drive. It was a day divinely young ami fair. The fragrance of a lingering spring was wafted to the nostrils. Glimpses of tne park tempted Clay. Its winding paths! The children playing on the grass while their maids in neat caps and aprons gossiped together on the benches near! This was the most human spot the man from Arizona had seen in the metropolis. Somewhere in the early three-figure streets he descended from the top of 5 the bus and let his footsteps follow his inclinations into the park. He struck f across the Drive.into a side street. An > apartment house occupied the corner, t but from the other side a row of hand- ( some private dwellings faced him. 5 The janitor of the apartment iiouse was watering the parking beyond the sidewalk. The edge of the stream ; from the nozzle of the nose sprayed ' the path In front of Clay. He hesi- . tilted for a moment to give the man ? time to turn aside the hose. > But the janitor on this particular morning had been fed up with trouble. One of the tenants had complained of } him to the'agent of the place. Another had moved away without tipping him , for an hour’s help in packing he had given her. He was sulkily of the opin- ? ion that the whole world was in a j conspiracy to annoy him. Just now the . approaching rube typified the world. A little flirt of the hose deluged Clay’s newly shined boots and the lowI er six Inches of his trousers. “Look out what you’re doing!” pro s tested the man from Arizona. s “I tank you better look where you’re going,” retorted the one from Sweden. 1 He was a heavy-set, muscular man j with a sullen, obstinate face. "My shoes and trousers arg sopping

SYRACUSE AND LAKE WAWASEE JOERNAL

wet. I believe you did it on purpose.” "Tank so? Vai, yust one teng I Ink to tell you. I got no time for d —n fule talk.” ' The westerner started on his way. There was no use having a row with a sulky janitor. But the Swede misunderstood his purpose. At Clay’s first step forward he jerked round the nozzle and let the range-rider have it with full force. Clay was swept back to the wall by the heavy pressure of water that played over him. The stream moved swiftly up and down him from head to foot till it had drenched every inch of the penect fifty-five-dollar suit. He drowned fathoms deep in a water spout.. He was swept over Niagara Falls. He came to life again to find himself the choking center of a world flood. He gave a strangled whoop and charged straight at the man behind the hose. The two clinched. While they struggled, the writhing ’ hose slapped back and forth between them like an /I- E Iwk > ! i )'WOT A Smothered “Vat T’ell!” Rose Out of the Waters. agitated snake. Clay had one advantage. He was wet through anyhow. It did not matter how much of the deluge struck him. The janitor fought to keep dry and he had not a chance on earth to succeed. For one. hundred and seventy-five pounds of Arizona bone aiid muscle, toughened by years of hard work in sun and wind, had clamped itself upon him. The nozzle twisted toward the janitor. He ducked, went down, and was instantly submerged. When he tried to rise, the stream oeat him back. He struggled halfway up, slipped, got again to his feet, and came down sitting with a hard bump when his legs skated from under him. A smothered “Vat t’ell!” rose out of the waters. The janitor could not understand what was happening to him. He did not know that he was being treated to a new form of the water cure. Before his dull brain had functioned to action an iron grip had him by tlje back of the neck. He was jerked to his feet and propelled forward to the curb. Every inch of the way the heavy stream from the nozzle broke on nis face and neck. It paralyzed his resistance, jarred him so tnat he could not gather himself to tight. Clay bumped him up against a hitching post, garroted him, and swung the hose around the post in such away as to encircle the feet of the man. The cowpuncher drew the hose tight, slipped the nozzle through the iron ring, and caught the flapping arms of the man to his body. With the deft skill of a trained roper Clay swung the rubber pipe round the body of the man again and again, drawing it close to the post and knotting it securely behind. The Swede struggled, but his furious rage availed him nothing. When Clay stepped back to inspect his job he knew he was looking at one that had been done thoroughly. “I keel you, by d —n, es you don’t turn me loose!” roared the big man in a rage. The range-rider grinned gayly at him. He was having the time of his young life. He did not even regret his fifty-five-dollar suit. “Life’s just loaded to the hocks with disappointment, Olie,” he explained, and his voice was full of genial sympathy. “I’ll bet a dollar Mex you’d sure like to beat me on the head witli a two-by-four. But I don’t reckon you’ll ever get that fond wish gratified. We’re not liable to meet up with each other again pronto. Today we re here and tomorrow- we’re at Yuma, Arizona, say, for life is short and darned fleetin’, as the poet fellow says.” He waved a hand jauntily ami turned to go. But he changed his mind. His eye had fallen on a young woman standing at a French window of the house opposite. She was beckoning to him imperiously. The young woman disappeared as lie crossed the street, but in a few moments the door opened and she stood there waiting for him. Clay stared. had never before seen a girl dressed like this. She was in riding boots, breeches and coat. Her eyes dilated while she looked at him. “Wyoming?” she asked. “Arizona,” he answered. “All one. Knew it the moment I saw you tie him. Come in.” SDe stood aside to let him pass. That hall, with its tapestried walls, its polished floors, and oriental rugs, was reminiscent of “the movies” to Clay. Nowhere el«e had he seen a home so stamped with tfie‘ YnaVk" oY ample means

“Come in,” she ordered again, a little sharply. ’ He came in and she closed the door. “I’m sopping wet. I’ll drip ail over the floor.” “What are you going to do? You’ll be arrested, you know.” She stood straight and slim as a boy, and the frank directness of her gaze had a boy’s sexless unconsciousness. There came to them from outside the tap-tap-tap-tap of a policeman’s night stick rattling on the curbstone. "He’s calling help.” “I can explain how it happened.!!— “No. He wouldn’t understand. They’d find you guilty.” To a manservant standing in the background the young woman spoke. “Jenkins, have Nora clean up the floor and the steps outside. And remember —I don’t want the police to know this gentleman is here.” “Yes, nnss.” “Come!” said the girl to her guest. Clay followed his hostess to the stairs and went up them with her. but he went protesting, though with a chuckle of mirth. “He sure ruined my clothes a heap. I ain’t fit to be seen.” The suit he had been so proud of. was shrinking so that his arms and legs stuck out like signposts. The color had run and left the goods a peculiar bilious-looking overall blue. She lit a gas-log in a small library den. “Just a minute, please.” She stepped briskly from the room. In her manner was a crisp decision, in her poise a trim gallantry that won him instantly. “I’ll bet she’d do to ride with.” he told himself in a current western idiom. When she came back it was to take him to a dressing room. A complete change of clothing was lahl out for | him pn a couch. ‘A man wliom Clay j recognized as a valet—he had seen his duplicate in the moving-picture theaters at Tucson —was there to supply his needs and attend to the temperature of his bath. “Stevens will look after you,” she said; “when you are ready come back to dad’s den.” His eyes followed to the door her resilient step. Once, when he was a boy, he had seen Ada Behan play In “As You Like It.” Her acting had entranced i.im. This girl carried him back to that hour. She was boyish as Rosalind, woman in every motion of her slim and lissom body. At the head of the stairway she paused. Jenkins was moving hurriedly up to meet her. “It’s a policeman, miss. ’E’s come about the —the person that came In, and ’e’s talkin’ to Nora on the steps. She’s a-jollyin’ ’im, as you might say, miss.” His yourg mistress nouded. She swept the hall with the eye of a general. Swiftly she changed the position of a Turkish rug so as to hide a spot on the polished floor that had been recently scrubbed and was still moist. Then she opened the door and sauntered out. “Does the officer want something, Nora?” she asked innocently, switching the end of a crop against her rid-ing-boots. “Yes, miss. There’s been a ruffian batin’ up Swedes an’ tyin’ ’em to posts. This officer thinks he came here,” explained Nora. "Does he want to look in tbe house?” “Yes, miss.” "Then let him come in.” The young mistress took the responsibility on hetown shoulders. She led the policemm into the hall. “I don’t really see how he could have got in here without some of us seeing him, officer.” “No, ma’am. 1 don’t see now he could.” The patrolman scratched his red head. “The janitors a Swede, ! anyhow. He jist gt.esseti it. I came* to make sure av it. I’ll be sorry fcr troubling yuh, miss.”

TAKES HIGH RANK AS A CRITIC # —

Friend Paid Tribute to James Huneker's Virtues as a Writer—Fearless and Stimulating. If one were to choose one word that was lo sum. up all of Huneker’s virtues, one would say that he was refreshing, writes Norman T. Byrne in ; Scribner’s. He was an inestimable breath of fresh air that deranged the j , musty rooms of a criticism grown ■ didactic and lifeless. Life and vigftr were typified by his style—a sheen of [ sparkling phrases set in a rhythmical , ’prose that borrowed much from his i musical training. . lie was well versed in the seven i i arts, and if his knowledge of some of . I them was not always profound, his i love of them was sincere, and the ; manner in which he criticized each one in terms of the other is a contini | tied delight to his reader. His taste. entirely European in character, was i rarely at fault. He was’taken in by . some things that were ephemeral, yet , he rarely failed to notice each rising star of genius. His defense was fear- , less and his article always stimulating. Neverxdidaetie. never pedantic. If I he was found wanting in philosophical . ballast he did possess that sense of I esthetic value that the scholar too often lacks and that the critic must j have. That was Huneker’s forte —his taste and his verve. Nelson’s Dying Request Unheeded. ' “Take care of my poor Lady Hamlll ton,” gasped Lord Nelson dying. “Remember, I leave her and my daughter to my country.” On the eve of the ’ Battle of Trafalgar he wrote a last > paragraph in his diary, recounting her i services to England, and begging the • HmtTlm’s to the woman ‘or jhiiß heart. England, cold to bis plea,

The smile she gave him was warm and friendly. “Oh, that’s all right. If you’d care to look around . . . But thee really is no use.” “No.” The forehead under the red thatch wrinkled in inoiigiit. “He said he seen him me in here or - ext door, an’ ne came up the steps. But nobody could have got in without some of youse seein’ him. That’s a lead pipe.” The officer pushed any doubt that remained from his mind. “Only a mud-dle-headed Swede.” CHAPTER IV Clay Takes a Transfer. While Beatrice Whitford waited in the little library for the Arizonan to join her, she sat in a deep chair, chin in hand, eyes fixed on the jetting flames of the gas-log. A little flush,, had crept into tbe oval face. In her blood there tingled the stimulus of excitement, For into her life an adventure bad come from faraway Cattleland. A crisp, strong footstep sounded in the hall. Her fingers flew to pat into place the soft gulden hair coiled low ■ at the nape of the neck. At times she had a boylike unconcern of sex ; again, a spirit wholly feminine. The clothes of her father fitted Lindsay loosely, for Colin Whitford iiad begun to take on the flesh of middle age and Clay was lean and clean of build as an elk. But the westerner was one of those to whom clothes are unimportant. The splendid youth of him would have shoie through the rags of a beggar. “My name is Chiy Lindsay,” he told her byway of introduction. “Mine is Beatrice Whitford,” she answered. They shook hands. “I’m to wait here till my clothes dry, yore man says.” “Then you’d better sit do.vn,” she suggested. Within five minutes she knew that he had been in New York less than three hours. His impressions of the city amused and entertained her. He w-.s quite simple, bhe could look into his mind as though it were a deep, clear well. There wr.s something inextinguishably boyish and buoyant about him. But in his bronzed face and steady, humorous eyes were strength and shrewdness. He was the last man in the world a bunco-steerer could play for a sucker. Site felt thac. Yet he made no pretenses of a worldly wisdom he did not have. A voice reached them from the top of the stairs. “Do you know where Miss Whitford is, Jenkins?” “Hin the Red room, sir.” The answer was in the even, colorless voice of a servant. The girl rose at once. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, and stepped out of the room. “Hello, Bee. What do you think? I never saw such idiots as the police of tiiis town are. They’re watching this house for a desperado who assaulted some one outside. 1 met a sergeant on our steps. Says he doesn’t think the man’s here, but there’s just a chance he slipped into the basement. It’s absurd.” “Os course it is.” There was a ripple of mirth in the girl’s voice. “He didn’t come in by the basement at all, but walked in at the front door.” “The front door!” exploded her father. “What do you mean? Who let him in?” “I did. He came as my guest, at my invitation." • v “What?” “Don’t shout, dad.” she advised. “I thought I had brought you up better.” “But —but —but —what do you mean?” he sputtered. “Is this ruffian in the house now?” * “Oil, yes. He’s in the Red room here —and unless he’s very deaf lie hears everything we are saying," the girl

v" paid no attention to the dying request of the hero of Trafalgar. An earldom, a great estate, and an hereditary annuity of $25,000 were given to a brother he disliked. Lady Hamilton, responsible for Nelson’s going to sea after retirement, and winning, in 1805. a victory over the Franco-Spanish fleets that destroyed forever Napo- ! leon’s naval power, died ten years I later in disgrace' and penury. Yet. “Did I not share in his glory? Even the last fatal victory: it was I bade him go fortii. Did he.nOt call me brave Emma, and said, ‘lf there were more Emmas, there would be more Nelsons.’ ” Couldn’t Fool Him. The ventriloquist managed to scramble aboard the train as it was leaving the station in England. He had had no time to get a dog ticket for his terrier. When the cry: “All tickets ready I” was heard a few stations farther on, the ventriloquist dropped the dog into a hamper, which was labelled in bold characters, “Professor Jones. Ventriloquist.” The conductor opened the door- and the dog began to bark. Noting the label on the hamper, the conductor turned to the ventriloquist with a self-satisfied grin and said: “All right, mister! That’s very clever; but you can’t fool me! That trick’s been played on me before!” Transferred the Attachment. Oldfriend.—l expected to hear of your marriage before this. If I remember rightly there was quite an atachment between you and Miss Mainchance. Lothario —That attachment’s broken off. But she’s suing me for breach of promise and piif an* attachment on my bank account.

. <Uid..vi*u luu.i amazement of her father. “Won’t you I come in and see him? He doesn’t seem | very desperate.” (.’lay arose, pinpoints of laughter dancing in his eyes. He liked the gay audacity of this young woman. A moment later he was offering a brown hand to Colin Whitford. “Glad to meet you. Mr. Whitford. Yore daughter has just saved my life from the police,” tlie westerner said, and Ids friendly smile was very much in evidence. “You make yourself at home,” answered the owner of a large per cent of the stock of the famous Bird Cage mine. “My guests do, dad. It's proof that I’m a perfect hostess,” re»*rted Beatrice, her dainty, provocative face flashing to mirth. "Hmp!” grunted her father dryl.v, “I’d like to know, young man, why the police are shadowing this house?" “I expect they’re lookin’ for me.” "I expect they are, and I’m not sure I won’t help them find you. You’ll have to show cause if I don’t.” “His bark is much worse than his bite,” the girl explained to Clay, just as though her father were not present. "Hmp!” exploded the mining magnate a second time. “Get busy, young fellow.” Clay told the story of the fifty-five-dollar suit that i. Bernstein had wished on him with near-tears of re<gret at parting from it. The cowpuncher dramatized tiie situation with some native talent for mimicry. His arms gestured like the lifted wings of a startled cockerel. “A man gets a chance at a garment like tiiat only once in a while occasionally. Which you can take it from me that when I. Bernstein sells a suit of clothes it is shust like he is dealing with his own brother. Qvality. ray. friendts,-qvality! Why. I got anyhow a suit which I might be married in without shame, un’erstan’ me.” Colin Whitford was of the West himself. He had lived its rough-and-tumble life for years before lie made h.s lucky strike ir the Bird ('age. He had moved from Colorado to New York only ten years before. Tiie sound of Clay’s drawling voice was like a message from home. He began to grin in spite of himself. This man was too good to be true. It wasn’t possible that anybody could come to the big town and import into it so naively such a genuine touch of the outdoor West. It was not possible, but it had happened just the same. Long before tlie cow puncher had finished his story of hog-tying the Swede to a hitching post with Ills own hose, tlie miningman was sealed of the large tribe of Clay Lindsay’s admirers. He was ready to hide him from all the police in New York. Whitford told Stevens to bring in the fifty-five-dollar suit so that he could gloat over it. He let out a whoop of delight at sight of its still sodden appearance. He examined its sickly hue with chuckles’ of mirth. “Guarhnteed not to fade or shrink,” murmured Clay sadly. He managed to get the coat on with difficulty. The sleeves reached just below the elbows. "You look like a lifer from Sing Sing,” pronounced Whitford joyously. "Get a hair-cut, and you won’t have a chujaee on earth to fool the police.” did run and fade some,” admitted Clay. “Worth every cent of nine ninetyeight at a bargain sale before tlie Swede got busy with it —and he let you have it at a sacrifice for fifty-five dollars!” The millionaire wept happy tears as a climax of his rapture. He swallowed his cigar smoke and had to be pounded on the back by his daughter. Jenkins came to the door and announced “Mr. Bromfield.” Almost on his heels a young man in immaculate riding clothes sauntered into the room. He had the assured ease of one who has the run of the house. Miss Whitford introduced tlietwo young men and Bromfield looked tlie westerner over witli a suave insolence in his dark, handsome eyes. Clay recognized him immediately/ He had shaken hands once before with this well-satisfied young man, and on that occasion a tifty-dollar, bill had “His Bark Is Much Worse Than His Bite,” the Girl Exclaimed to Clay. passed from one to the other. Tho New Yorker evidently did not know him. It became apparent at once that Bromfield had called to go riding ir* tbe park with liss Whitford. That young woman came up to say good-by to her new acquaintance. “Will you be here when I get back?" “Not if our friends outside give me a chance for a getaway,” he told her. Her bright, unflinching eyes looked into his. “You’ll come again and let us know how you escaped,” she invited. “H I's going to pop in about three seconds,” announced Clay to himself. (TO CONTINUED.)

| SUCH FAINS AS THIS WOMAN HAD Two Months Could Not Turn in Bed. Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound Finally Restored Health Seattle, Washington. —“I had dragging pains first and could not stand on

my feet, then I had chills and fever and such pains in my right side and a hard lump there. I could not turn myself in bed and could not sleep. I was this way for over two months, trying everything any one told me, until my sister brought me a bottle of Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vege-

Ifc. 'll

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