The Syracuse and Lake Wawasee Journal, Volume 15, Number 24, Syracuse, Kosciusko County, 12 October 1922 — Page 2

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CHAPTER XX—Continued. —l3— "I’m not going to argue this with J’ou. And I’m not going to tell you «rhat I think of you beyond saying that we’re through with you. The less said about it the better. Man, don’t you see I don’t want to have any more talk about It? The engagement was a mistake in the first place. Bee never loved you. Even if you’d been what we thought you. it wouldn’t have done. She’s lucky to have found ©ut in time.” “Is this a business rupture, too, Mr. Whitford?” "Just as. you say about that, Bromfleld. As an investor in the Bird Cage you’re entitled to the same consideration that any other stockholder Is. Since you’re the second largest owner you’ve a right to recognition on the board of directors. I’m not mixing ’my private affairs with business.” Bromtield rose, pulled on the glove he had removed, nodded good-bye without offering to shake hands, and sauntered out of the office. There was a look on his face tire mining man did not'fike. It occurred to Whitford that Clarendon, now stripped of selfrespect by the knowledge of the reguni in which they held him, was in a position to strike back hard if he cared to do so. The right to vote the proxies of the small stockholders of the Bird Cage company had been made out in his name at the request of the president of the corporation. ■»***•• The case against Durand was pigeonholed by the district attorney without much regret. All through the underworld where his influence had been strong, it was known that Jerry had begged oft’. 110 was discredited among his following and was politically a down-and-out er. But he knew too much to permit him to be dragged into court safely. With his back to the wad he might tell of many shady transactions implicating prominent people; There were strong influences which did not want him pressed too hard. The charge remained on the docket but it was set back from term to term and never brought to trial. Colin Whitford found his attention pretty fully absorbed by his own affairs. Bromtield had opened a tight against him for control of the Bird Cage company. The mine had been developed by the Coloradoan from an unlikely prospect into a well-paying concern. It was the big business venture of his life and he took a strong personal interest in running it. Now, because of Bromfield’s intentioa to use for his own advantage the proxies made out in his name, he was likely to lose control. With Bromtield in charge the property might be wrecked before he could be ousted. "Dad’s worrying.” Beatrice told Lindsay. “He’s afraid he’ll lose control of the mine. There’s a fight on against him.’’ ► “What for? I thought yore father was a mighty competent operator. Don’t the stockholders know when they’re well off?” She looked at him enigmatically. “Some one he trusted has turned out a traitor. That happens occasionally in business, you know.” It was from Colin himself that Clay learned the name of the traitor. “It’s that fellow Bromtield,” he explained. “He’s the secretary and second largest stockholder in the company. The annual election is to be tomorrow afternoon. He’s got me-where the wool’s short. I was fool enough to ask the smaller stockholders to make out their proxies in his name. At that time he was hand in glove with us. Now I’m up against it. He’s going to name the board of directors and have himself made president.” Clay ventured on thin ice. The name of Bromtield had not been mentioned to him before in the last twenty-four hours by either Beatrice or her father. “Surely Bromtield wouldn’t want to offend you.” “That’s exactly wha,t he would want to do.” “But—'’ 7 “He’s got his reasons.” “When ‘is the election?” “At three o’clock.” “Where?” “At the company offices." “Perhaps if I talked with BromBeld—” Whitford laughed shortly. “I’d talk an arm off him if it would do any good. But it won’t. He’s out for revenge.” Clay’s eyes alighted swiftly on the older man. They asked gravely a question and found an answey that set his heart singing. Beatrice had broken her engagement with Bromtield. It was a little after eleven o’clock next morning when the cattleman walked into an apartment house for bachelors, took the elevator, and rang the t»el1 at Bromfield’s door. Clarendon, fresh from the hands of bls valet, said he was glad to see Lindsay, but did not look it.: He offered his guest a choice of liquors and selected for himself a dry martini. Cigars and cigarettes were within reach on a tabouret. Clay discovered that one difficulty be had expected to meet did not complicate the problem. The valet had left to select the tom-made

I put the proposition up to you the way it looks to me.” Bromfield’s eyebrows lifted. His face asked with supercilious politei ness what the devil business it was of j Lindsay's. “Mr. Whitford has put In twenty | years of his life building up the Bird I Cage Into a good property. It's a • I one-man mine. He made It out of a i hole in th6 ground, developed it, expanded it, gave it a market value. He’s always protected the stockholders and played the game square with them. Don’t It look like he ought to stay in control of it?” - “Dili he send you here to tell me that?” “No, he didn’t. But he’s gettin’ along in years, Bromtield. It don’t look hardly right to me for you to step in and throw him out. What do you think about It, yourself?” The clubman flushed with anger. “I think that it’s d—d Impertinent of you to come here meddling in my business. I might have expected it. You’ve always been an impertinent meddler.” “Mebbeso,” agreed Clay serenely, showing no surprise at this explosion. “But I’m here. And I put a question. Shall I ask it again?” “No need. I’m going to take what the law allows me—what I and my friends have bought and paid for in the open market. The more it hurts Whitford the better I’ll be pleased,” answered Bromtield, his manner of cynical indifference swept away by gathering rage. The interference of this "bounder” filled him with a pas-' sion of impotent hate. "Is that quite correct? Did you I buy control in the market? In point ■ of fact, aren’t you holdin’ a< bunch ' of proxies because Whitford wrote and asked the stockholders to sign them for you to vote? What you intend doing is a moral fraud, no matter what its legal aspect is. You’d be swindling the very stockholders you claim to represent, as well as abusing the confidence of Whitford.” “What you think isn’t of the least importance to me, Mr. Lindsay. If you’re here merely to offer" me your advice, I suppose I shall now have regretfully to say good-day.” The New Yorker rose, a thin lip smile scarcely veiling his anger at this intruder who had brought his hopes to nothing. “I reckon I’ll not hurry off, Mr. Bromtield,” Clay replied easily. “You might think I was mad at you. I’ll stick around -awhile and talk this over.” “Unfortunately I have an engagement,” retorted the other icily. “When?” “I really think, Mr. Lindsay, that is my business.” “I’m makin’ it mine,” said Clay curtly. Bromfield stared. “I beg your pardon ?” “I said it was mine too. You see I bought a eoupla shares of Bird Cage stock yesterday. I’d hate to see Whitford ousted from control. I’ve got confidence in him.” “It’s your privilege to vote that stock this afternoon. At least it would be if it had been transferred to you on the books. I’ll vote my stock according to my own views.” “I wonder,” murmured Clay aloud. “What’s that?” snapped Bromtield. “I was just figurin’ on what would happen if you got sick and couldn’t attend that annual meeting this afternoon,” drawled the westerner. “I reckon mebbe some of the stockholders you’ve got lined up would break away and join Whitford.” The New Yorker felt a vague alarm. What idea did this fellow have in the back of his head. Did he intend to do bodily violence to him? Without any delay Bromtield reached for the telephone. The large brown hand of the westerner closed over his. “I’m talkin’ to you, Mr. Bromfield. It’s not polite for you to start ’phoning, not even to the police, whilst we’re still engaged in conversation.” “Don’t you try to interfere with me,” said the man who paid the telephone bill. “I’ll not submit to such an indignity.” “I’m not the only one that interferes. You fixed up quite an entertainment for me the other night, didn’t you? Wouldn’t you klnda call that interferin’ some? I sure ought to comb yore hair for it.” , Bromfield made a hasty decision to get out. He started for the door. Clay traveled in that direction too. ’ They arrived simultaneously. Clarendon backed away. The Arizonan . locked the door and pocketed the key. ' His host grew weakly violent. From . Whitford he had heard a story about , two men in a locked room that did not reassure him now. One of the > men had been this cattleman. The , other—well, he had suffered. .“Let me . out! I’ll not stand this! /Yqp'can’t I bully me!” he cried shrilly. “Don’t pull yore picket-pin, BromJ field,” advised Lindsay. “I’ve elected myself boss of the rodeo. What I say r goes. You’ll save yorese’f a heap of . worry if you make up yore mind to

er JM had fixed It up. Wouldn’t a firat-ciaM thrnahtQ* with a haw sawhip be about right?” Bromtield turned pale. “I’ve got a weak heart," he faltered. “I’ll say you have," agreed Clay "It’s ’pumpin’ water In place of blood right now. I’ll bet. Did you ever have a real hoiiest-to-G —d lickin’ when you was a boy?” The New Yorker knew he was help- ■ less before this clear-eyed, supple ath- | lete who walked like a god from Olympus. One can’t lap up half a dozen highballs a day for an indeterminate number of years without getting flabby, nor can he spend himself in feeble dissipations aiid have reserves of strength to call upon when needed. The tongue went dry in his mouth. He began to swallow- his Ad- ; am’s apple. "Let’s look at this thing from all sides,” went on Clay cheerfully. “If we decide by a majority of the voting stock —-and I’m carryin’ enough prox- | les so that I’ve got control —that you’d I ought to have a whalin’, why, o’ : course, there’s nothin’ to it but get to business and m»»ke a thorough job.” “Maybe I didn’t do right about Maddock’s.” “No mebbe about that. You acted like a yellow hound.” “I’m sorry. I apologize.” “I don’t reckon I can use apologies. I might make a bargain with you." “I’ll be glad to make any reasonable bargain.” “Mow’d this do? I’ll vote my stock and proxies in the Bromfield Punishment company, Limited, against the whalin’, and you vote yore stock and proxies in the Bird Cage company to return the present board and direc-| torate.” “That’s coercion.” “Well, so it is." “The law—” “Did you go hire a lawyer for an opinion before you paid Durand to do me up?” “You’ve get no right to hold me a prisoner here to help Whitford." “All right, I won’t. I’ll finish my. business with you and when I’m through, you can go to the annual meetin’ —if you feel up to travelin’ that far.” “I’ll give you a thousand dollars to let me alone.” “That’d be a thousand and fifty you had given me, wouldn’t it?” returned Lindsay gayly. Tears of vexation stood ip Bromfield’s eyes. “All right. Let me go. I’ll be fair to Whitford and arrange a deal with him.” “Get the stockholders who're with you on the ’phone and tell ’em to vote their stock as Whitford thinks best. Get Whitford and tell him the sight's off.” “If I do, will you let me go?” “If you don't we’ll return to the previous question —the annual meeting of the Bromfield Punishment company, Limited.” Bromtield got busy with the telephone. When he had finished, Clay strolled over to a bookcase, cast his eyes over the shelves, and took out a book. It was “David Hannn.” He found an easy-chair, threw a leg over one arm, and presently began to chuckle. “Are you going to keep me here all day?” asked his host sulkily. “Only till about four o’clock. We’re paired, you and me, so we’ll both stay away from the election. Why don’t you pick a good book and enjoy yoreself? There’s a lot of A 1 readin’ in that case over there. It’ll sure improve yore mind.” "Qlarendon ground his teeth impotentiy. His guest continued to grin over the good stories of the old horse-trader. When he closed the book at last, he had finished it. His watch told him 111 I# - K IM ■*- z; rw flUffiß jifw “I Think It’s D—d Impertinent cf You tv Come Here Meddling in My Business.’’ that it was twenty minutes to five. Bromfield s man was at the door trying to get in. He met Lindsay going out. “No. I can’t stay to tea today, Mr. Bromtield,” the Arizonan was saying, a gleam of mirth in his eyes. “No use urging me. Honest, I’ve really got to be going. Had a fine time, didn’t we? So long.” Bromtield used bad language. CHAPTER XXI In Central Park. Johnnie burst into the kitchen beaming. “We’re gonna p’lnt for the hills, Kitty.. i t!lay’"he.’s. had a jetter callin’ him home.” ■' ■- t’When are you going?” “Thursday. Ain’t that great?” She nodded, absently. Her mind was on another tack already. “Johnnie, I’m going to ask Miss Whitford here for dinner tonight.”

SYRACUSE AND LAKE WAWASEE JOURNAL

Wtoe© Clay came bom* that evenia* he stopped abruptly at the door. The lady of his dreams was setting the table in the dining-room and chatting gayly with an invisible Kitty in the ! kitchen. The delicate fragrance of the girl’s personality went to Clay's head like wine as he stepped forward and shook hands. To see her engaged ii» this I intimate household task at his own | I table quickened Ids pulse and sent a glow through him. “You didn’t know you had invited me to dinner, did you?” she said, little flags a-flutter in her cheeks. They bad a gay dinner, and afterward a pleasant hour before Clay took her home. Neither of them was in a hurry. They walked through Central park in , I the kindly darkness, each acutely sen- | ! sitive to the other's presence. Her gayety and piquancy had given , place to a gentle shyness. Clay let ! | the burden of conversation fall upon her. He kpew that he had Come to his ; hour of hours and his soul was ! wrapped in gravity. She too sensed what was coming. ( and the sex instinct in her was on tiptoe in flight. She was throbbing with excitement. Her whole being j longed to hear what he had to tell her. | Yet she dodged for away of escape, i Silences were too significant, too fullpulsed. She made herself talk. It did not much matter about what. “Why didn't you tell us that it was Mr. Bromfield who struck down that I man Collins? Why did you let us think you did it?” she queried. “Well, folks in New York don't know me. What was the use of gettin' ; ■ him in bad?” "You know that wasn't the reason. , You did it because —” She stopped in | the midst of the sentence. It had oc- [ curred to her that this subject was | more dangerous even than silence. “I did it because he was the man you were goln’ to marry,” lie said. They moved side by side through the shadows. In the faint light he . could make out the fine line of her , exquisite throat. After a moment she | spoke. “You're a good friend. Clay. I It was a big thing to do. I don’t know ; anybody else except Dad that would j have done it for me.” “You don't know anybody else that loves you as much as I do.” It was out at last, quietly and with- i o«t any dramatics. A flash of soft ! eyes darted at him, then veiled the i shining tendernes beneath long lashes. : “I’ve had an attack of common 1 sense,” he went on, and in his voice was a strength both audacious and patient. “I thought at first I couldn't hope to win you because of your fortune and what it had done for you. Even when I knew you liked me I felt it wouldn't be fair for me to ask you. I couldn’t offer you the advantages you'd had. But I’ve changed my mind. I’ve been watching what money does to yore friends. It makes them soft. They flutter around like butterflies. They’re paupers—a good many of them —because they don’t pay their way. A man's a tramp if he doesn’t saw wood for his breakfast. 1 don’t want you to get like that, and If you stay here long enough you sure will. It’s in my heart that if you’ll come with me we’ll live.” In the darkness she made a rustling movement toward him. A little sob welled up in her throat as her hands lifted to him. “Oh, Clay! I've fought against it. I didn’t want to, but —I ' love you. Oh, I do love you!” He took her lissom young body in nis arms. Her lips lifted to his. Presently they walked forward slowly. Clay had never seen her more lovely and radiant, though tears still clung to the outskirts of her joy. “We’re going to live—oh, every [ hour!” she cried to the stars, her I lover’s hand in hers. Johnnie felt that Kitty’s farewell i dinner had gone very well. It was her 1 first essay as a hostess, and ail of them had enjoyed themselves. But, so far as he could see, it had not achieved the results for which they had been hoping. Clay came home late and next morning was full of plans about leaving. “Two more days and we’ll hit the trail for good old Tucson,” he said cheerfully. “Y'betcha, by jollies,” agreed his bandy-legged shadow. None the less Johnnie was distressed. He believed that his friend was concealing an aching heart beneath all this attention to impending details. As a Benedict he considered it his duty to help the rest of the world get married too. A bachelor i boob. He didn’t know what was best for him. Same way with a girl. Clay was fond of Miss Beatrice, and she thought a heap of him. You couldn’t fool Johnnie. No, sirree! Well, then? Mooning on the sad plight of these ■ two friends who were too coy or too ! perverse to know what was best for i them, Johnnie suddenly slapped him- : self a whack on the thigh. A brilliant idea had flashed into his cranium. It proceeded to grow until he was like to burst with it. When Lindsay rose from' breakfast he was mysteriously beckoned into another room. Johnnie outlined sketchily and with a good deal of hes- , Ration what he had in mind. Clay’s eyes danced with that spark of mis- > chief his friends had learned to recognize as a danger signal. “You’re some sure-enough wizard, Johnnie,” he admitted. “I expect you’re right about girls not knowin’ their own minds. You’ve had more experience with women than I have. If you say the proper thing to do is to abduct Miss Whitford and take her , with us, why—” “Onct in a while you got to play like you’re gonna treat ’em rough,” said Mr. Green sagely, blushing a trifle nevertheless. * I “All right. I’ll let you engineer this ■ if I can make up my mind to it after I I’ve milled it over. I can see you know what you’re doin’." ■ MMHfltaMKnirators arranged,' details.

figure to treat har noways but like th© princess she is.” “Yes.” agreed Clay humbly. According to program, carefully arranged by Johnnie, Beatrice rode down to the train with him and Kitty in their taxicab. She went on tmard for the final good-by and chatted with them in their section. The chief conspirator was as easy as a toad in a hot skillet. Now that it had come down to the actual business of taking this young woman with them against her will, he began to j weaken. His heart acted very strange- - ly, but he had to go through with it. | “C-can 1 see you a minute in the next s car. Miss Beatrice?” he asked, his voice quavering. Miss Whitlord lifted her eyebrows, I but otherwise expressed no surprise. ■ “Certainly, Johnnie.” He led the way down the aisle into • the next sleeper and stopped at one of the staterooms. Shakily he opened the doer and stood aside for her to pass first. “You want me to go in here?” she askeil. “Yes’m." Beatrice stepped in. Johnnie fol-1 lowed. Cipy rose from the lounge and said, [ “Glad to see you. Miss Whitford.” “Did you bring me here to say good- i by. Johnnie?” asked Beatrice. The Runt’s tongtie stuck to rhe roof ot his mouth. His eyes appealed dumb- < ly to Clay. “Better explain to Miss Whitford,” ; said Clay, passing the buck. “It's for yore good. Miss Beatrice,” ' stammered the villain who had brought ■ her. “We—we —I —l done brought you j here to travel home with us.” “Yon —wnat?” Before her slender, outrageil dignity Johnnie wilted. “Kitty, she —she can chaperoon you. It’s all right, ma'am. I —we —I didn’t go for to do nothin that wasn’t proper. We thought—” “You mean that you brought me here expecting me to go along with you—without my consent —without a. trunk —without —” Clay took charge of the kidnaping. “Johnnie, if I were you I’d light a shuck hack to the other car. I see I’ll have to treat this lady rough as you advised.” Johnnie wanted to expostulate, to deny that he had ever given such counsel, ta advise an abandonment of the whole project. But his nerve unexpectedly failed him. He glanced at Clay and fled. He was called upon the carpet immediately on joining Kitty. “What are you up to, Johnnie? I’m not going to have you make a goose of yourself if I can help it. And where’s Mr. Lindsay? You said he’d meet us here.” “Clay, in the next car.” “You took Miss Beatrice in there to say good-by to him?” “No—she —she*s goin’ along , ith us.” “Going along with us? What do you mean, Johnnie Green?” He told her his story, not at all cheerfully. His bold plan looked very different now from what it had two days before. Kitty rose with decision. “Well, of all the foolishness 1 ever heard, Johnnie, this is the limit. I’m going right to that poor girl. You’ve spoiled everything, between you. She'll hate Mr. Lindsay for the rest of her life. How could he be so stupid?” Her husband followed her, crestfallen. He wanted to weep with chagrin. Beatrice opened the door of the stateroom. She had taken off her hat and Clay was hanging it on a hook. “Come in*” she said cordially, but faintly. Kitty did not quite understand. The atmosphere was less electric than she had expected. She stopped, taken ab&ek at certain impressions that began to register themselves on her brain. “Johnnie was tellin’ me—” “About how he abducted me. Yes. Wasn’t it dear of him?” “But—” “I’ve decided to make the best of it and go along.” “j.—your father, Mr. Whitford —” Kitty bogged down. Beatrice blushed. Little dimples came out with her smile. “I think I’d better let Clay explain.” “We were married two days ago, Kitty.” “What!” shouted the Runt. “We intended to ask you both to the wedding, but when Johnnie proposed to abduct Miss Whitford. 1 thought it a pity not to let him. So we—” Johnnie fell on him and beat him with both fists. “You daw-goned ol’ scalawag! 1 never will help you git married again!” he shouted gleefully. “Oh, Johnnie —Johnnie —you’ll be the death of me!” cried C.ay, “It’ll never be a dull old world so long as you stay a bandit.” “Did you really advise him ;o beat nrn, Johnnie?” asked Beatrice sweetly. “I never would have guessed you were such a cave man.” Johnnie flamed to the roots of his

•®©@©@*®*®»®*®*®*®*®*®*®*®*®*®*®*®*®*®*®*®*® >;S} *®*®* ABOUT WOMAN AND HER SECRETS

* Admitting That She Keeps Them Well, Writer Wonders If She Has Any to Reveal. Heaven knows there is little novelty about woman. Adam was the only man to whom she was something new. Het “elemental Inconsistencies” have lent color to every page of the world’s history, and she has shown no disposition to conceal them. “W oman does not Botray her secret,” wrote Immanuel Kant, ponderously, and with that truly German air of providing food for thought. Just what he expected her to betray, just what anybody expects her to betray, htjs n6vei”.bieen made, manifest. The cat is the only one Os God’s, creatures that suggests reserve and perhaps secrecy. I have sometimes thought that

hair. “Now, ma'am, if you’re gonna believe that—" Beatrice repented an«f offered him her hand. "We’ll not believe anything of you that isn't good, even if you did want to kidnap me,” she said. CHAPTER XXII’ The New Day. The slapping of the wind agalnat > the tent awakened Beatrice. She I could hear it soughing gently through -| the branches of the live oaks. An out- ■ flung arm discovered Clay missing. Her questing glance found him busy over the mesquite tire upon j which he was cooking breakfast. She j watched him move about, supple and ; light and strong, and her heart lifted | with sheer joy of the mate she had j chosen. He was such a man among men. this clear-eyed, bronzed husband of a week. He was so clean and simple and satisfying. As she closed the flaps she gave a deep sigh of content. Every minute tilt she joined him I was begrudged. For Beatrice had learned the message of her heart. She I knew that she was wholly and com- ; pletely in love with what life had ' brought her. And she was amazingly, radiantly I happy. What did motor cars or wine ■ suppers or Paris gowns matter? They i were the trappings that stressed her slavery. Here she moved' beside tier I mate without fear or doubt In a world I wonderful. Eye to eye. they spoke the j truth to each other after the fashioa i of hravej simple souls. Glowing from the ice-cold bath of water from a mountain stream, she stepped down the slope Into a slant of /i'. —si'*® £ a. £ • “I Hope Heaven’s Like This,” She Whispered. sunshine to join Clay. He looked up from the fire and waved a spoon gayly at her. For he too was as jocund as the day which stood tiptoe on the misty mountain tops. They had come into the hills to spend their honeymoon alone together, anti life spoke to him tn accents wholly joyous. The wind and sun caressed her. As | she moved toward him, a breath of ; the morning flung the gown about her I so that each step modeled anew the slender limbs. ■ ! Her husband watched’ the girl streaming down the slope. Love swift as old wine flooded his veins. He rose, ! caught her to him, and looketl down I into the deep, still eyes that were ■ pools of happiness. ' “Are you glad—glad all through, j sweetheart?” he demanded. j A little laugh welled from her throat. She gave him a tender, mocking smile. “I hope heaven’s like this,” she whispered. “You don’t regret New York —not a single, hidden longing lor it ’way down deep in yore heart?” Site shook her head. “I always wanted to be rescued from the environment that was stifling me, but 1 didn’t know away of escape t.U you came," she said. “Then you knew it?” “From the moment I saw you tie the janitor to the hltching-post. You remember I was waiting to go riding with Mr. Bromtield. Well, I was bored to death with correct clothes ana manners and thinking. I knew just what j he would say to me and how lie would say it ana what 1 would answer. Then you walked into tlie picture ami took me back to nature.” “It was the hitching-post that did it. then?” “The hitching-post began it, anyhow.” She slipped her arms around his neck and held him fast. “Oh. Clay, isn’t it just too good to be true?” A ball of fire pushed up Into the crotch between two mountain peaks and found them like a searchlight, filling their little valley with r. golden glow. [THE END]

f- — the same reason. The only tbfng she does not tell is how she is Jntng to vote. This makes her interesting to the politicians, if not to the world at large. The basic principles of party politics have not taken firm hold ot her intelligence. By-paths and side issues seduce her from the main traveled roads over which the male voter sturdily trudges. India Rubber. Few articles seem more strangely named than india rubber. It gfcts the “rubber” from the first use to which it was put —that of erasing pencil marks by rubbing. Nor should it be associatied with India. The tree was first mentioned by an explorer among centuries

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