Bemidji Daily Pioneer Newspaper, February 1, 1921, Page 2

(. TUESDAY EVENlfiC, FEBRUARY 1, 1921 BEMIDJI DAILY PIONEER 4 PUBLISHED EVERY AFTERNOON EXCEPT SUNDAY THE BEMIDJI PIONEER PUBLISHING CO. i E. H. DENU, Sec. and Mgr. G: B. CARSON, President J. D. WINTER, City Editor n G. W. HARNWELL, Editor Telephone 922 Entered at the postoffiee at Bemidji, Minnesota, as second-class matter, | under Act of Congress of March 3, 1879. | No attention paid to anonymous contributions. Writer's name must| be known to the editor, but not necessarily for publication. Communica-| tions Zor the Weekly Pioneer must reach this office not later than ’.l‘lu:uimyl of each week to insure publication in the current issue. SUBSCRIPTION RATES By Carrier By Mail 6.00 o0 Mot ¥000 One Year $5.00' Three Months 160 o | One Month ‘g5 Six Months - 2.60 Ohe Week :16 Three Months .. — 7 | THE WEEKLY PIONEER—Twelve pages, published every Th\lrsday’ . and sent postage paid to any address fcr, in advapce, $2.00. OFFICIAL COUNTY AND CITY PROCEEDINGS PROFITABLE MARINE, OR FACTORIES AND FARMS? | Eastern so-called “trade experts” are now advancing the theory that America cannot maintain a profitable merchant’ marine unless a greater volume of imports are rrthcoming from European and other foreign countries. America’s prosperity has, for many d~cades, depznded upon the sale of her surplus production and tac absorption of domestic production. Our own American markets are far great- or for our own production than the combined {oreign market.; 1If ships must depend on revenue derived from ca.ryving importa- worth the price. ment of American production by foreign production, thon the; volume of American consumption is so reduced as to far out-' weigh in its adverse effect on the prosperity of the nation, any: gain derived from temporary advantages gaincd by contact! with foreign markets, which may, at any time, be cut off by un-. favorable tariffs or changed conditions of world trade. Such a policy will not find favor with thinking Americans., Any prosperity of a merchant marine, promoted at the expense, of home industries, which are the stamina of our national in-| dustrial life, is a prosperity purchased at ‘oo high a price for the sake of a few whom it may benefit, and at the expense of the many who depend upon the factory, the workshop ard the tarm: for employment. The doors of our factories must not be closed and agricul- ture allowed to become unprofitable by exposing the American producer to the unequal competition of the alien producer, whose lower standards of living allow him to produce more cheaplv, even though it might result in providing profitable cargoes for our ocean vessels. T . THE HABIT OF ACCUSING i Severe condemnation should be heaped on the practice of i many persons, which has almost attained the proportiong of a| ] national habit, to make charges against public ofticials or other { { i prominent persons through the newspapers or in ways that give them no opportunity of defending themselves. | Charles M. Schwabh, president of the Bethlenem Ste:l cor- H poration, who gave much of his time to tho Emergency Fleet corporation during the war, became the victim of an unwar-| ranted attack when Colonel Abadie, former controller of the t United States Shipping Board, charged that Mr. Schwab had 1 collected $260,000 {rom the government in a single month. Mr. | Schwab promptly went before a congressional committee and ¥ produced evidence to show that he had not received a dollar 1] from the government as salary and that he had paid his own| i personzl expenses. Colonel Abadie apologized for his hasty charge, but a grave injustice has been done te Mr.'Schwab. Serious charges are frequently made aga.ast officials of the government, usually by persons who are not responsible cither in finances or character, and these individuals are permitted to’ escape the punishment they deserve for their attempts to de- fame the character of public men. Even thouzn apologies are forthcoming. much harm has been done in the minds of theught- less persons. ¢ , —— | BACHELORS AND BACHELORETTES i Should bachelors be taxed? Since Mrs. Clara Tayior of, Washington proclaimed her theory that the 10,000,000 single’ men in this country ought to be subject to a graduated tax of from $1 to $5 a year, everyone from feminist to € conomist has' heen debating: the question. Such a tax, Mrs. Taylor has dis-! ! covered, would yicld the government an annual income of $20,- 000,009. { The stand of the new women voters is peculiar, but legical.! 1 They want to be taxed, too! That is, the “bachelor girls”| | among them do. Let Miss Lucille Pugh, a iawyer, state their| ] case: ] “There it i_s ag_ai}l; the old double standara. Why should i we women be discriminated for or against in the matter of taxa-' tion any more than in voting? Personally, 1 am sure I would ~!)e willing to pay $1 or $2, or $1,000, or any amount a year to insure my continued freedom.” ' It seems curious that the so-called doubls standard should I?e ll_xg.ged from the field of morality to that of noliti Yet the feminists must certainly be congratulated on their vigi'.mme.‘= T}ley went after suffrage with eyes open. Now they show no| o (llsiposmon to dodge the responsibilities which the ballot in-i i volves. | _— | OVERHEARD BY EXCHANGE EDITOR! More than 3,000 immigrants are passing through New York's Ellis Island station daily. For the fi§cal year 1920-1921 maregfl:mn 1,000,000 »\"?!lsh:?‘c passed through the station. More than 10,000,600 are waiting » war- stbrticxer:i Eué;‘);fi ltoh.swarm,to tlhis country as soon as transportation can be obtained. is country let down the bars wi eri a T Ma ity o country ars with alacrity to 21l these An editor is a queer animal. You can damn him to the blackest pit of hell, call his ublication a rag, send your work out of t i ¢ A &, send y own, but when there’s anything to bopn for, the editor is looked up and he writes a big, lonyg artirl: ahnugfl-e _project and enumerates some of his bitter cnem ¢ among the pro- gressive citizens. Funny, ain’t it?—Cass Lake Tines. ) The woman representative-elect from Oklahona i Svi 2 0 g s reported already }5‘: receiving propos:ls of ma}:nage. which news is goirg to n\glwl r: '1:; :f, e congressmen who never had a proposal in their lives e Milwaukee Sentinel. L heir lives pretty jealous.— Many a mute, inglorious Colonel House of the Re; ublican party is get- ;n:",.nto pra?me by keepir.uz silent in all the languages he knov:s.—(‘hica;ro1 i tions to America to the detriment of our home productions in’ : order tn make them profitable, then our merchaut marine is not’ If unemployment results due to the displace-; 1 SYNOPSIS. | CHAPTER I.—John Stuart Webster, mining engineer, after cleaning up a fo tune in Death Valley, Calif., boards a train for t st. e befriends a young ' lady a by & masher, thoroughly | trouncing the “pest.” CHAPTER IL.—At Denver Webster re- celves a letter from Billy Geary, his clos- est friend. Geary urges him 1o come to 2 (e, Certral Americs, to finance e decides a velop a mining claim, to so. CITAPTER III — Dolores Ruey, the young woman Webster befriended, and | who impression on him, on her, Is also on the way to sliop. She Dolores, teiling father, Ricardo fad been I in a revolution led i Dolore Ler oceu; fears to meet Geary to the beat to s to the United States. CHAPT chster, on' his way to | Sobrante, v il on the train, and | 15 in benefactor. love with the g CHAPTER VI iy falls desperately in t New Orleans, wl walting for the mer to Buenaventuri, Webster saves the life of a young man Wwilo 15 atgacked by two ns. The outh leaves Webster without disclosing hiis identity, CrIAT ster find: stranger belng his guest ungered. Wel . somewlyat amicable him e day hefore, not know Webster, argumer Webste 1ife | s the other does) CHAPTIC Ceary w mental i fsh ¢ B Jenks'. v and Dolores with the intention of ¢hance he smilingly contry Katement that they hay 15 the » met before, = i HEE PN (Continued From Last Issue) A wircless from Webster w Billy of the former’s Imminent a Just before sunset Billy and Dolores, riding along the Malecon, sighted s Llur of smoke far out to sea—a blur that grew and grew until they could make out the graceful white hull of astrellita;, before the swift (ropic nigl cended and the lights of the great | el shimmered across the harpor. | 00 late to clenr quarantine to- | night,” Billy mourned, as he and Do- | lores rade hack to ler hotel. “All the | same, I'm going to borrow the launch ' arned ht '| 41“‘,‘/ ”fl'"n gl .b‘ S 4 “That You, Bill?” He Shouted. of my good friend Teber and his pro- tege Don Juan Cafetero, and zo out to the steamer tonizht. 1 can heave to a little way from the steamer and wel- come the old rascal, anyhow.” Fortunately, gond little Leber con- sented to Billy's request, and Don Juan Cafetero was sober enough to turn the engine ovel d run the launch. From | the deck of the steamer Webster, smoking his post-prandial cigar, caught | sight rof the launeh’s red and green | sidelights chngging through the ink_\'! black as the little eraft stid up to within a cable’s length of the steam- er and hove to, something told Web- | ster that Billy Geary would soon be | aging him, He edged over to the il “That you, Bill?" he shouted. “Hey ! Jack, old pal!” Billy's delight- ed voice answered him. “I knew you'd come, Billy boy.” “I knew yowd know it, Johnny. an't come aboard, you know, until the Author of “Cappy Ricks,” “The Valley _ of the Giants,” Etc. ' meals for a couple of weeks. L1 Narelip: | peered over and made out the head | little roll of tinfoilfopencd it and drew h . out a ball of papcwhich he flattened | his eyes, hovered therc the hundredth | ful face and grinned at him. i duction. ! “You young lorse thlef,” he crled, | affectionately. “I believe it's the cus- | tom down this way for njen to kiss | cach other, We'll dispense with that, | but by—" Fe folded Billy in a pater- i mal embrace, then held him at arm’s | length and looked hiw over. “Lord, son,” he said, “you're as thin (as a snake. I'll have to feed you up.” As they sped toward the landing, he looked Billy over once more, “I have it,” he declared. “You need a change of climate to get rid of: that malaria. Just show me 'this little old mining claim of yours, Bill, and then hike for God’s country. “Three months up there will put you right again, and by the time you get back, we'll’be about ready to weigh the first cleanup.” Billy shook his head. “I'd like to mighty well, Jack,” he replied, “but I Just can’t.” “Huh! I suppose you don’t think I'm equal to the task of straightening out o TV B Xree here and ship clegrs, but I can 1ic o How is your internal | say hello. this concession of yours and making a mechanism?” { hummer out of it, eh?” “Grand. However, your query ré-. he young fellow looked across at minds me I haven’t taken the med‘clne*‘ him sheepishly. “Mine?" he jecred. the doctor warned me to take nftcr“ “Who's talking about a mine, I'm Wait 81 thinking of a girl!” minute, Bill, until I go to my stateroom “Oh!” and do my duty to my stomach.” “Some girl, Johnny.” For ten minutes Billy aud Don Juan ; Cafetero bobbed about in the launch; | Webster bantered. then a stentorian voice shouted from ' up her pedigree?” “Have you looked the stcamer. “Hey, you! In the| “Anh-h-h!” Billy spat over the side in lnunch, there. Not so close. Back| sheer disgust. “This is an American off.” | &irl—=born here, but white—raised in Don Juan kicked the launch back| the U. S. A. Tve omly known her| fifty feet. “That will do!” the voice| three weeks, but—ah!” And Billy! enlled again, kissed his hand into space. “Hello!” Billy soliloquized. “'l‘lmt‘sl “Well, I'm glad I find you so happr, Jack Webster's voice. Wonder what| hoy.” When do you pull off the wed- he's up to. I thought he acted| ding?” strangely—preferring medicine to me' “Oh,” sald Billy, “that's premature, the minute I hailed him!” | Jack. 1 haven’t asked her. How While he was considering the mat-| could T until I'm able to support her?” tér, a voice behind him said very soft- “Look here, son,” Webster replied, Iy and indistinetly, like a man with a | “don’t you go to work and be the kind of fool I was. You get married and “Mr. Geary, will you be good enough | take a chance. A man ought to marry to,back your launch a couple ¢f hun-| young, Bill. Hang the odds. I know dred feet? When I'm certain I can’t! what's good for you.” be seen from the steamer, I'll come: At the hotel Billy sent a note to aboard.” . Dolores, apprising her that John Billy turned, and in the dim light ot\ Stuart Webster had arrived—and his binnacle lamp observed a beautiful | would she be good enough to receive pair of white hands grasping the gun-‘ them? wale on the starboard quarter. He Miss Ruey would be that gracious. ) She waiting for them in the veran- and shoulders of a man. i da just off the patio, outwardly calm, “All right,” he replied in a low voice. | but inwardly a foment of conflicting “Hang where you are, and you'll be | emotions. As they approached she af- clear of the propeller.” | fected not to see them and turning. He signaled Don Juan, who backed ; &lanced in the opposite direction; nor | swittly away, while Billy doused the | Uid she tove her head until Billy’s voice, speaking at her elbow, said: “Well, Dolores, here’s my old Jack- partoer wajting to be introduced binnacle lamp. i “That’ll do,” the thick voice said presently. “Bear a hand, friend, and | T'll climb over.” lle came, as raked as Mercury, | sprawled on his belly in the cockpit, | opened his mouth, spat out a compuct | ciously, marking with secret triumph | the light of recognition that lgaped to lores tuey.” out on the floor Of the cockpit and | Dart of a second and departed, leaving handed to Billy. i those keen, quizzical blue orbs appra | ing her in the most natural manner im- u,” he said, very courteous- 8 o | aginable. Webster bowed. ly and distinetly now. “My creden- | %8/ als, Mr. Geary, if you please.” % It is a great happiness to meet you, Billy relighted the lamp and read: -, Miss Ruey,” he sald gravely. el 5 Dolores gave him her hand. “You .‘ L | have doubtless forgotten, Mr. Webster, I do not know the bearer fmm‘ but I think we have met before.” Adagtis offox; all 1. know, about "““i “Indecd t* John Stuart Webster mur- ::f ““,l.t lille.ln'\s u‘l)l Ul'e outw:u”t(l mhm"k: mured Interestedly. “So stupid of me a gentieman, the courage of a bear-, 0 to remember. Where did we meet?” cat, a sense of humor and a head for | < % | “He bas a profound sense of hu- v e pres e I which the presidente of Sobrante will mor,” she soliloquized. “He's going to gladly pay considerable number of | g o ’ . | force me into the open. Oh, dear, I'm pesos oro. Don't give up the head, be- | Nerplesart Aloul ahe" sald s On the canse I like it and we do not nced the | & money—yet. Take him ashoro with- | ;;al: (In P(‘flUI valley last month, Mr. out anybody knowing it; hide him, e‘.s €L . clothe him, feed him—then forget all | \Webster shook his head slowly, as 1f about him. imystmed. 'l fear you're mistaken, Miss Ruey. I wasn’t on the train in | Death valley last month. I was in Denver—so you must have met some other Mr. Webster.” She flushed furiously. *I didn’t think I could be mistaken,” she an- swered a trifle coldly. “Ever thine, “J. 8. WEBSTER.” “Kick the boat ahead again, Caffer- ty,” Billy ordered quictly. He turned to the late arrival. “Mr. Man, your credentials are all in apple-pic order. Do you happen to know that this bay | “It is my misfortune that you were,” is swur:}:ln: with man-eating <harks?” ! y,o replied graciously. “Certainly, had The wfan raised a fine, strong, youth- ‘ we met at that time, I should not have « “Ilob- | failed to recognize you now. Some- Mr. Geary,” he xeplicd. | how, Miss Ituey, I never have any “Afloat or ashore, the sharks axe after | [yl me. I am your debtor.” He — Sne was completely outgeneraled, erawled into the cabin and stretched | q,q having the good sense to realize it, out on the scttee as John Stuart Weh- | submitted gracefully. ster’s voice came floating across the | horrible,” she told herself, “but at least R waters, he can lie like a gentleman—and I al- crything well with you, BIlly?” | \ways did like that kind of man.” “All is lovely, Jack, and the goose | So they chatted on the veranda until lonks high. By the way, that friend | juncheon was announced and Dolores of yours ealled with his letter of intro- | jeft them to go to her room. 1 took care of him.” “Well?” Billy queried the moment “Thanks. T suppose you'll call for | ghe was out of carshot, *“What do you me in that launch tomorrow morming?” | think, Johnny?” 5 “Surest thing you know, Jack. Goofl-l “I think,” said John Stuart Webster, night, old top.” ! slowly, “that you're a good picker, Bill. “Good-night, Rilly.” She’s my ideal of a fine young woman, Don Juan Cafetero swung the | ynd my advice_to you is to marry hel launch and headed back for the city. | I'll grub-stake ‘_\‘ou. Bill, this stiff col- At Leber's little dock Billy stepped | Iar is choking me; T wish you'd wait ashore, while Don Juan backed ont into | here while I go to my room and rustle v again in order to aveid | yp a soft one.” inquisitive visitors. Billy hastcned to| In the privacy of his room John Ll Buen Amigo and returncd presently | Stuart Webster sat down ‘on his bed son's cholce, with a bundle of clothes; at an agreed | and held his head in his hands, for he | signal Don Juan Kicked the launch into | the do ain and Billy went aboard. | “Hat, shirt, necktie, duck suit, white socks and shoes,” e whispered. “Climb ' into them, stranger.” Once more the launch hacked out in the Dbay, where Webster's protege dressed at his leisure, and Billy hand- ed Don Juan a couple of peso: “Remember, John,” he cautioned the bibulous one as they tied up for the night, “nothing unusual happened to- night had just received a blow in the solar plexus and was still groggy. 1y, however, he pulled himself together and approaching the mirror looked . long at his nance. “Too old,” he murmured, “too old to be dreaming dreawms.” He changed to a soft collar, and when he descended to the patio to join Billy once more he was, to all outward appearances, his usual unperturbed self, for his was one of those rare na- tures that can derive a certain comfort from the misery, of self-sacrifice—aund in that five minttes alone in his room John Stuart Webster had wrestled with the tragedy of his life and won. e had resolved to give Billy the right of way on the highway to happi- ivil n thing, Misther Geary. Thank you, sor,” the Gaelic wreck re- plied Withely and disappeared in the darkpess, leaving Billy to guide the | stromger to U Buen Amigo, where he was taken into the confidence of Moth- | er Jenks and, on Billy’s guarantee of the board Dbill, furnished with a room ness. and left to his own devices. - . . b . . . P, el NE el o TR L 8 In Mr. Webster's own whinmsical Joln Stuart Webster came down the sangplank into Leber's launch hard at the_hee the port doctor, .. on the instant he recognize joct of his xo “I hope she's not some parrakeet,” | | Jack, permit me to present Miss Do- | She turned her face and rose gra- | “He's perfectly | Present- | weather-beaten counte- | phraseology, his clock had been fixed, ! imthe ob- ' ! thé same winsomé woman he i { love. From that precise second Billy’s preserve was as safe from encroach- | of Confederate currency in an armor- | steel vault on the three-thousand-foot i level of a water-filled mine. | John Stuart Webster had unanimously | | pursued'in the first place.” He would i investigate Billy’s mining concession Jmmediately; provided it should prove Worth while, he would finance it and put the property on a paying basis; after whiech he would see to it that | the very best doctors in the city of t Buenaventura should fnform Billy, un- i officially and in the strictest confi- + dence, that if he desired to preserve | the life of Senor Juan Webstaire be | shoul2 forthwith pack that rapidly dis- I integrating person off to a more salu- i brious climate. Having made ‘his decision, John | Stuart Webster immediately took heart ! of hope and decided to lead trumps. | Dolores rejoined them for a slesta 1 after luncheon. Webster leaned over and slapped | Billy Geary’s knees affectionately. “Well, Bill, you saffron-colored ‘old wreck, how long do you suppose it will take for you to pick up enough . strength and courage to do some ac- ! tive mining? I'm anxious to get that | property on a paying basis, so 1 can | get out of the country.” | “Why, Johnny,” the armazed Billy i declared, “I thought you would stay and help run the mine.” “Indeed! Well, why do you sup- ! pose 1 spent so much time teaching vou how to run a mine, you young iot, if not against just such a time as this? You found this concession and tied it up; I'll finance it and help you get everything started; but after that, I'm through, and you can man- age it on salary and name the salary yourself. - You have a greater inter- est in this country than I, William; i and so with your kind permission we'll hike up to that concession to- morrow and give it the double-O; then, if I can O. K. the property, we'll cable for the machinery I ordered just before I left Denver, and get bu We ought to have our first clean-up within ninety days.” “Gosh, but you're in a hurry,” Billy murmured. He disliked exceedingly the thought of having his courtship interrupted on a minute’s notice. “You know me, son. I'm a hustler on the job,” Webster reminded him brutally; “so the sooner you start, the sooner you can get back and accumu- late more malaria. What accommoda- . tlons have you up there?” “None, Jack.” “Then you had better get some, Billy. T think you told me we have to take horses at San Miguel de Padua to ride in to the mine” Billy nodded. “Then you had hetter buy a | tent and bedding for both of us, ship the stuff up to San Miguel de Padua, ' ¥o up with it and engage horses, a #ood cook, and a couple of reliable mozos. When you have everything ready telegraph me and I'll come up.” ! “Why can’t you come up with me?” Billy demanded. “I bave to see a man, and write some letters and send a cablegram and wait for an answer. I may have to loaf around here for two or three days. By que way, what did you do for that fricnd I kent to you with the letter of introduction?” “Exactly what you told me to do, Johnny.” : “Where is he now?” “At El Buen Amigo—the same place where I'm living.” “All right. vour hostelry, you might tell my friend 1 shall expect him over to dine with me this evening, if he can man- age.it.” ¥ For an hour they discussed various subjects; then Billy, declaring the siestar was almost over and the shops reopening d4s a comsequence, an- nounced his intention of doing his shopping, said good-bye tc Dolores and Webster, and lugubrim=?y departed on the business in hand. “Why are you in such a hurry, Mr. Webster?” Dolores demanded. *“You haven’t beew in Buenaventura six hours until youwve managed to make me perfectly miserable.” ! “I'm terribly sorry. I didn’t mean to.” % | “Didn’t you know. Billy Geary Is my personal property?” “No, but I suspected he might be. Bill's generous that way. He never hesitates to give himself to a charm- ing woman.” “This was a case of mutual self- defense. Billy hasn't any standing so- cially, you know. When old Mrs. Gen- eral Maldonado lectured me (the dear, aristocratie soul conceived it to be her duty) on the impropriety of | appearing ou the Malecon with Billy and my guardian, who happens to be Billy's landlady, 1 tried to explain our American brand of democracy, but failed. where since, and life would have been very duill without Bill, He has been i a dear—and you have ,taken him away.” Webster laughed. “Well, be pa- tient, Miss Ruey, and I'll give him back to you with considerable more money than he will require for your Jjoint comfort. Billy in financial dis- tress Is a joy forever, but Billy in a top hat and a frock coat on the sunny side of Easy street will be absolutely irresistible.” “He's a darling. Ever since my ar- rival he has dedicated his life to keep- ing me amused.” She rose. *“Despite your wickedness, Mr. Webster, I am going to be good to you. Billy and 1 always have five o'clock tea here in the veranda. Would you care to come to my tea-party?” _“Nothing could give me greater | pleasur throned In his own secret castle of | When you get back to | So 1 haven't been invited aoy- | he assured her. She nodded brightly to bim. “I'm going to run up to my room and put some powder on my nose” she ex- | ¢ his friend as would be a bale | plained. ment by his friend as wou | PiBut youll return befora five ! o'clock?” Webster was amazed to hear himself plead. (v’ “You do not deserve such considera- resolved upon the course he should have | tion, but Ill come back in about twenty minutes,” she answered and left him, As Webster viewed the situation, his decislon to see as little as possible of Dolores during his brief stay In Sobrante was a wise one. The less he saw of her (he told himself), the bet- ter for his peace of mind, for he was forty years old, and he had never loved before. For him this fever that burned in his blood, this delicious agony that throbbed in his heart—and all on the very ghost of provocation— were so many danger-signals, heralds of ghat grand passion which, coming | to 2 man of forty, generally lasts him | the remainder of his natural exis ! tence. ! Webster was forced to admit he was afraid of himself. His was the rapldly disappearing code of the old unfetter- ed West, that a man shall never be- tray his friend in thought, word, or deed. To John Stuart Webster any crime against friendship was the most heinous in all the calendar of human frailty; even to drcam of slipping into Billy’s shoes now would be monstrous; yet Webster knew he could not afford a test of strength between his ancient friendship for Billy and the masculine desire for a perfect mate. Remained. then but one course: N “I must run like a road-runner,” was the way Webster expressed it. CHAPTER X, Dolores had been gone an hour be- ! fore Webster roused from 'his bitter | introspection sufficiently to glance at his watch. “Hum-m-m!” he grunted disapprovingly. “Oh, I've been here fully half an ! hour,” Dolores’ voice assured him. He turned guiltily and found her lean- ing against the jamb in a doorway be- hind him and farther down the ver- ,anda. She was gazing at him with that calm, impersonal yet vitally in- terested glance that had so captivated him the first time he saw her. “Are you quite finished talking to yourself and fighting imaginary enemies? I s0, you might talk to me for a change; 'T'l even disagree with you on any subject, if opposition will make you any happier.” He rose and indicated the chair. | “Please sit down, Miss Ruey. You are | altogether disconcerting—to6 con- foundedly smart. I fear I'm going to be afraid of you until I know you bet- tor? z She shrugged adorably and took the ‘proffered chair. *That's the Latin in her—that shrug.” Webster thought. “1 i wonder what other mixtures. go to | make up that perfect whole.” Aloud he said: *“So you wanted to study me in repose? Why waste your time? I am never in repose.” . “Feminine curiosity, Mr. Webster. Billy has talked so much of you that I wanted to see If you mpasured up to the specifications. Just let me have your hand, and I'll tell you all about yourself.” “Is there any charge?” | “Yes, a nominal one. However, I guarantee a truthful reading; if, when | T am through, you are not wholly sat- | isfied, you do not have to pay the price. Is that a satisfactory arrange- ment?” “Right as a fox,” he declared, and held out his great calloused hand. He thrilled as she took it in both of hers, | s0 soft and beautiful, and fattened It out, palm upward, on her knee. “A fine, large, useful hand,” she conument- ed musingly, “The callouses indicate recent hard manual toil with a pick and shovel ; despite your recent efforts with soap and brush and pumice-stone, there still remain evidence of some foreign matter ingrained in those cal- lous spots. This line Indicates that you are very brave, gentle, and cour- teous. You are quick and firm in your decisions, but not always right, be- czuse your actions are governed by your heart instead of your head. Once you have made a decision, you | are reckless of the consequences. Your lifeline tells me you are close to fifty- three years of age—" “Seeress, you're shooting high and to the right,” he fnterrupted, for he | did not relish that jab about his age. “I'l have you know I was forty years old last month, and that I can still do a hundred yards in twelve seconds flat —in my working clothes.” | “Well, don’t feel peeved about it, | Mr. Webster. I am not infallible; the | best you can hope for from me is a | high percentage of hits, even it I did | shoet high and to the right that time.’ " In point of worldly experience you're ! a hundred and six years old but I | lopped off fifty per cent. to be on the | safe side. To continue. You are of an extremely chivalrous nature— particularly toward young Jladies traveling without chaperons; you are kind, affectionate, generous to a fault, | something of a spéndthrift. One may safely depend upon you to do the un-, | expected. Your matrimonial line is | unbroken, proving you have never | married, although right here the line is | somewhat dim and frayed.” She | looked up at him suddenly. “You haven't been in love, have you?’ she | queried with childlike insouciance. “In love—and disappointed?’ | He nodded, for he could not trust himself to speak. i | “How sadl” she cooed symmpatheti- cally. “Did she marry another, or did ‘ she die?” | “She—she—yes, she died.” ' | “Caulifiower tongue, in all prob- ability, carried_ her off. poor. thing! (Continued on Page §) | m———— —