Casper Daily Tribune Newspaper, January 19, 1917, Page 2

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OREO THE CASPER DAILY TRIBUNE Novelized From the of the Same Name Copyright, 1916, by SYNOPSIS. | railroad id da Pierpont Stafford, banker an: magnate, with his sixteen-ye r ter, . is wintering at Palm Beach Gloria is a vivacious but willful young lady who cha es under the hand of a governess from whom she re 1 peatedly escapes. Her childish capers cause young Doctor Royce to fall in love with her She steals from her room at night and in an auto into the surf where st aves the coming Jost in the ever les she hands of the Seminole Indians. §& 4 and returned to her father who Tered 3 her return. Glo uer, Fre neau aves school and mee attention ha r sister-in-law he has f ria feels that her or Later Freneau persuades her to him, Gloria’s sister-in Lalas, beco ctor Royce dis- ssist in thwart and intensely jeal covers {n her an ally ing Freneau. Doctor neau that there { Gloria; Freneau ria without her f sults in pneu fly becom they learn the truth. to alleviate Gloria's suffering. Fr finances bein Btafford for a loan. warns Freneau of his conduct. But Lois, learning of Freneau's betrothal to Glort threatens him with dire punishment. Her husband, Gloria's brother Dayid, becomes suspicious: he plans a trap for his wife. Freneau driven to desperation by Lois’ threats agrees to spend a week with her in the Catskills. He plans to have Mulry send Glori bunch of telegrams. La husband t to kill a man. A neau's low he approaches Pierpont Doctor Royce again Freneau ta she sees him wher r Doctor Royce convinces her that what she has seen is the result of delirium, Later a telegram, followed by a letter, comes from Freneau, She replies, but her telegrams are returned. The first morning she is al Jowed from her room, she accidently se the supposed suicide of Freneau reporte in the paper. NINTH EPISODE The Shadow of Scandal Pitiful fate played on Gloria. She had ordered her wedding gown while she was dangerously tll. But now her bridegroom would not appear. The newspapers said that he was drowned in the lower bay. She belleved she had seen him throttled to death on River- side drive, and her mourning was em- bittered with doubt. At such an incongruous moment the little bridal gown came home from the dressmaker’s to torture her with its beauty and its futile intent. Gloria was in her bedroom, looking out of her window at the fateful monument be- low, living over again the scene of the murder. With the pathetic droop of her head, and her arms hanging at her sides, and the long lines of her gown sweeping about her inert, almost lifeless form, she stood like a Tanagra figure of grief. Poor little soul, she was just entering the real world of womanhood when the grim arms of tragedy tnfold- ed her! It was her first great sorrow. Her old nurse came toward her. Gloria moved, gave a little moan of horror, and ran to put her head on the urse’s breast, sobbing out her pent-up gony. “It can't be true! TI can't bear it! ¥t's too horrible. A week ago he was alive and happy. Now he—oh, I'll go mad if I think about what he fs now!” “There, there, Miss Gloria,” the nurse importuned her. “Try to keep your mind off your loss as much as you can, Think of your father and your brother and how much they need you. That will help you.” A knock was heard at the door and the nurse went to it to admit Doctor Royce. His heart contracted with quick pain at sight of his idolized pa- tient’s distress. Gloria sank into a chair and made a brave effort to stifle “How Did This Come Here?" her cries, gritting her teeth together and wringing her hands, but In vain. The doctor prepared a sedative and held it out to her, “Take this, dear child; it will quiet your nerves.” But before the words were finished she had brushed the glass from his hand. 0 “I don't want your opiates, Stephen; there ta only one medicine for my pain, Lym's MXC RUPERT HUGHES Motion Picture Play by George Kleine Adelaide M. Hughes and that Is revenge. to that He shook his head sadly. Struck with a sudden memory, Gloria pulled him toward the window. “I saw him murdered and you told 28 delirium, Why?" ou admitted It yourself when you sived his letters and telegrams,” ce answered hastily. Sut I don't believe that now. I don't belleve th you do either.” Royce winced at this. “It was too much of a coincidence, continned Gloria. “I am not a child any longer, Stephen, and though this tragedy has nearly unbalanced my mind, I am still able to think and rea- son. Why, if this had happened a lit- tle later I would have been hia wife.” Iler lips trembled like a hurt child's and Royce turned his head away in pity. “If I were his wife I should not sit idly by and let the demon who took his precious life go scot free, should 17 Should I, Stephen?” Royce was silent. Gloria went on: “Iam going to act as though I were his widow in reality, as I am in heart. I shall go to the police.” Royce start- ed. And tell them everything. Will you help me?" “I will do anything I can, Gloria, but first we must consult your father.” Doctor Royce was dumbfounded at the new Gloria he had to face, and to save from monsters she knew nothing of—the Juggernauts of scandal and publicity. He determined to confer with Mr. Stafford at once, and descend- ed the stairs to find Pierpont in his brary. Royce told Mr. Stafford things which amazed and horrified him, and when he had finished he saic “I did not want you to know any of this as long as I could keep it from you, Mr. Staf- ford. There seemed to be nothing for you to do and J felt that you had enough on your shoulders as it was. I do not know if I acted wisely in keep- ing you In the dark so long, but now that Gloria wants to go to the police with the matter I had to tell you so that we could keep her from it and | Save an Investigation that would ruin your son's wife and bring horrible no- toriety to our Innocent Gloria. Who- ever it was that killed Freneau, he must have had his reasons. He has made good his escape. Incidentally he has saved Gloria from marrying a scoundrel. I could almost thank him } for that. But we must never let Gloria | know Freneau's unworthiness; it would leave too deep a scar on her fresh young heart, ruin all her ideals and kill her faith in humanity.” Stafford gave Royce his hand. “How right you are, Stephen. You are al great and a noble friend to her and to my children, Gloria will get over her lover’s death. She would never re- cover from the knowledge of his treachery. Yes, we must save her from that. May God help me to save David, too.” After Royce had left her Gloria went to her dressing room. Her maid and the nurse were unpacking a large box. They tried to conceal it as she came in, but she commanded them to give it to her. It was her wedding gown, Clasping the soft shining robe to her heart with a little ery, she motioned them to leave her alone w:th it. Then she sank to the floor, clutching it in her arms. She pressed her lips to the satin folds and cuddled its beauty to her cheek. As she fondled the precious lace tn her fingers, she visioned her- self in the gown. She was standing at the altar with Frenean by her side; all the friends of her world were sit- ting in their pews behind her, To her rapt ears came the organ music swell- ing into the wedding march, as with her hend erect and her heart high she came back up the aisle on her hus- band’s arms, The dream crumbled and the girl woke to the truth with nothing left of her dream but the gown in her arms. She kissed tt reverently, and laid it away in its box, as in a coffin, Then her tears vanished and her eyes hardened with resolution, She went down to the library, where she found her father pacing the floor in deep meditation. Gloria ran to him and put her arms about his neck. “Daddy,” she spoke determinedly. “Have you notified the police yet?” Pierpont was fully prepared for this, He shook his head. “Why not, father? You must, or I will, at once.” “Gloria, we can't tell the police any- thing, If they learned that you were engaged to Freneau, the house would be besieged by detectives and report- ers, What evidence have you? Noth- ing but the imagination of a delirious girl If you told them of your de- lirtum you would only stir up a scan- dal. It would have no value in court.” Gloria stared at him incredulously, but he went on vividly to conrince her, “We should be laid open to enormous Will you help me me it v And publicity at once. There would be head- lines in all the papers about you every day. ‘Gloria Stafford Involved in Fre- neau Mystery’; ‘Secret Engagement of Heiress Just Discovered’; ‘Gloria Staf- ford Claims She Saw Freneau Mur- dered’; ‘The Beautiful Daughter of Pierpont Stafford— ” She groaned. “Oh, don’t, father; I can't bear it.” 3ut Stafford continued inexorably: “You could never leave the house nor enter it without a dozen cameras be- ing focused on you. The police would swarm the house, demand all your ppf- vate correspondence with Freneau. If you refused them anything they would use force and I should be powerless to help you. And what the police get the reporters t. Do you want your love and your sorrow given over to the gos- sip: Now do you see why we cannot set the machine in motion? I have only one desire, to protect your reputation. If you want to protect Freneau’s, you will keep silence. Promise?" Gloria was convince at least for the moment. She nodded her head in obedience, kissed her father’s cheek, patted him absent-mindedly, and left him. But once alone again she burned with resentment at the plan to shield the murderer of her lover. She re- spected her father’s dread of publicity and she shared his hatred of publicity, but she would not relinquish her de- mand for justice. She realized, how- ever, that she would have no help now in her hunt for the murderer. Sut this only strengthened her determina- tion, Alone she would unravel the se- cret knot and bring the guilty to pun- ishment. Meanwhile Lols, tn her own passion- ate way, was suffering also, but her suffering was tinged with a certain amount of horrible satisfaction. Death, instead of Gloria, had taken Freneau from her. Gloria could not claim one smallest part of him from her now. He had never cared one atom for Gloria; he had told her so, It was for financial reasons alone that he had intended to} marry Gloria, but she could not buy him now. Freneau had been struck down in his youth and strength by women eyed each other with con- straint. Neither wished to speak first of Freneau. Gloria noted the haggard mien of Lois with wonderment. Cast- ing about for something to say, she fumbled with the books on the rack. The picture of Freneau fell out. The blood pounded in Gloria's heart and spread a quick flush over her face as she picked it up. She turned it over and read the inscription. She asked bewilderedly: “How did this come he ! Lols, controlling herself with diffi- tried to speak. “9 it you, then, who stole it from my ro ?” Gloria hurled the question with set lips and glittering eyes. With a desperate inspiration Lois explained. “Yes, I stole it. I was go- g to surprise you with it, And then Gloria was touched, and believed as imy lvely as she had suspected. Throwing her arms about Loi er iced her. “Thank you, dear; it wa ful of you to think of that. You are so very thoughtful. I must go now.” She slipped into her coat in spite of the protests of Lois, and left her. She took the photograph with her, and Lols dared not protest. . . . . . . . Far away In a Colorado town lived a woman who after all was most to be affected by Richard Freneau's death, for had given him more than Glo- ria with her young girl's heart or Lois with her guilty love. She had given him birth. In a quaint, old-fashioned sitting room the venerable, sweet woman was sitting in a rocking chair before the fire. On her mantel were portraits of F auasa child and as aman. She put down her knitting and rose with some difficulty, Clinging to the man- tel, she took down one of the photo- graphs and, turning it, read in the beloved handwriting: “To my darling mother from her adoring son, Dick.” She kissed the photograph and car- ried it back to her chair. An elderly mald brought in the morn- ing paper and a few letters, which the mother ran through eagerly. Find- She Dreamt She Was Standing at the Altar With Freneau. some fiend, but he was hers, hers in death as he had been in life. Neither Gloria nor her own husband, David, could ever take him from her now. Lois went to her dressing table, took from a locked drawer her open bag, end drew from tt the silver-framed photograph of Freneau that she had stolen from Gloria. Staring at it long- ingly, she kissed it, then, pausing with anxious jenlousy, lifted {tt from its frame and read the Inscription on the back: “To Gloria, my only love, with all my heart. Dick.” ols recoiled from the words as If uzed at it gearchingly. Suddenly she smote it with her clenched fist and threw it from her, But at once, with swift revulsion of feeling, she knelt and clasped it to her bosom again, bursting into dry sobs and misery. She was interrupted by a knock at the door and the warning voice of her maid: “Miss Stafford is calling, mad- am.” Lols was startled. She rose and slipped the photograph between two volumes in a book rack on a table and called to her maid: “Show Miss Stat- ford up here.” Rushing to her dressing table, she hastily ran a powder puff over her face and brushed back her hair. When she turned it was to confront Gloria clad tn heavy mourning. For a moment the sight of the crape stung Lois to jealous frenzy; next she deter- mined to make some excuse to wear black herself, She felt that she had a better right to mourning than Gloria had, Advancing, she kissed Glorins cool cheek, mumbling: “How are you, dear? Do you think you ought to be out on such a cold day?” “Oh, yes,” anawered Gloria listlessly. “I thought a drive would do me good. I just dropped in on you for a mo- ment.” ‘ Putting up her furs, Gloria wan- dered aimlessly about the room, then sank into a chair hy the table. The ing none from Dick, she shook her fin- ger reprovingly but affectionately at the photograph; she then leaned back in her chair to glance carelessly over the paper. Almost immediately her eyes lighted on the headlines announcing her son’s death, with a hint of suicide. The shock of the news almost killed the mother; for she was old and Dick was her only child and she knew only the good side of him. The evil that he wrought in the world was mercifully kept from her. The maid, hearing her moan, ran | out of the house and summoned the doctor who was caring for her. He saw that her disease was the incurable one that mothers are often prey to, the loss of their children. There was no remedy for this in the doctor's books and the only help he could give was to answer her one remaining wish that her son's body should be brought home to be buried in the family plot where his father Iny and where she hoped soon to rest. The doctor telegraphed the mother's request to Freneau’s partner, Frank Mulry, who took steps at once to comply. Thus it was that Gloria was de- prived even of the sad satisfaction of following her lover to the grave. Her chief enemies were those who loved her best, Stephen Royce and her own father. They would do everything they could to thwart her. When she learned of his mother’s wishes her first impulse was to go to Colorado herself, but that impulse she quickly put aside; for her most important duty was to find his murderer, and that search she must start at once. Pierpont Stafford felt a deep resent- ment against the world for its treat- ment of his children. He had won and held a position of power in the finan- celal world. He had made millions of dollars and he controlledsmore, yet his son was married to a worthless woman and his daughter mourned the death of a blackguard. He could not buy happiaess for his children and his own success was |h, | room. therefore worthless. His whole soul rose in revolt. His son would have to win his own way out of his mesh; he was a man. But his daughter, his Gloria, must be helped out of the shadows and back into the light. Stafford could hardly think of Fre- neau without wishing to kill him over again with his own hands. It was un- thinkable that his girl should be al- lowed to wear his engagement ring and mourn for him. Yet it was a dell- cate matter for a father to handle. He could not bear to blast the fresh inno- cence of his daughter by a recital of Freneau’s wickedness. He felt also that her loyalty would not permit her to believe evil of the dead man who was now unable to defend himself. The whole situation was intolerable. He went to Gloria’s room, finding her as he had expected, brooding by the window. He took her in his arms and clasping her hands found they en- folded a picture of Freneau. Anger mastered him; he took the photograph from he aying: “I wish you would put that out of my sight and out of your life.” Gloria stared up at him in amaze- ment, tears trembling on her eye- lashes. Then she gently disengaged the picture from his grasp and hugged it to her breast. “Why do you hate him now? do you know against him? you be so cruel, so unjust?’ Pierpont uneasily avoided her gaze and shrugged shoulders with a sigh. Gloria put her hands pleadingly on his shoulders and he tried to take her in his arms ag@®in, but noting the en- gagement ring on her hand, he froze. Then, with determination in his tone, he commanded: “Take it off!” Terrified, Gloria snatched her hand away from his arm and shook her head, moving swiftly away from him. Plerpont followed and clasped her hand. Pointing to the photograph ac- cusingly, he said: “Everyone will ask who it ts you are engaged to. You are not engaged to him any longer. I insist on your re- moving that ring.” Gloria protested. Pierpont firm. She studied him anxiously. He reiterated his demand. She refused. Baffled in his coercion, the old man be- gan to plead. She was all he had. He was old and heartbroken. He could not endure the sight of her in black. He was Jealous of the dead man’s hold on her heart. Pity moved her as fear could not. To comfort him she yield- ed. She drew the ring from her finger, dropping it into his outstretched palm. He clutched it with a sigh of relief and put it in his waistcoat pocket. At the finality of this Gloria's cheeks flamed with remorse. She ran to him, begging for it again. Pierpont only held her off with his right hand, took out his watch with his left, and sald: “It’s time to dress for dinner.” At this moment Burroughs entered with a black dinner gown on her arms for Gloria, Plerpont motioned it away. No, not that, Burroughs! Bring Miss Gloria a bright gown.’ Black Jy not becoming to her at any time. You understand me, Burroughs?” The maid nodded a respectful “Yes, sir,” and withdrew to the dressing She presently re-entered bear- ing a gown of brilliant turquolse blue, festooned with garlands of varicolored flowers. Gloria shuddered. But her father nodded his head approvingly “That's it. Now I shall have my What How can his stood me. He left her. Gloria studied the blue gown for a moment, then snatched it from Bur- roughs, threw it on the floor in wrath and burst into tears, The maid was at a loss. She pon- dered, then went again to the dressing | room and brought forth another gown, |“Here, Miss Glo: dear, here's your little black tulle dress with the gold and black brocade bodice. Mr. Staf- ford won't mind that and you'll feel better in it, too.” Gloria patted Burroughs on the shoulder tenderly. “Yes, that will have she murmured sorrowfully, and she let the maid dress her. Then she went slowly down the stairway. Her father met her and they entered the dining room together. The table, laden with its lace and | silver, was alight with candles; the | butler was waiting; a man stood be- | See little beautiful girl to dine with | Royce Told Stafford Things Which Amazed Him. hind each chair. Seating themselves, Plerpont took up his cocktail glass and lifted it to drink to Gloria, who picked up her own glass with a faraway look. Suddenly, it was as if Freneau stood beside her. She imagined he was put- ting his cheek close to hers to sip from the same brim. So vividly did she feel his presence that she gave o startled gasp and put down her glass, Her father half rose: “What is it, oney? You look as pale as a ghost.” Gloria shivered at the werd “ghost,” but summoned a smile to reassure him. “It’s nothing, dad. I'll be all right tn a minute.” And raising her glass again, she put it to her lips. The butler at the serving table han4- ed the soup plates to the second man, who conveyed them to Gloria's side. Pierpont chatted jovially to entice Gloria to a cheerful mood. She tried to be gay with him, but her heart would not respond. She tried to eat, Sobbed Out Her Pent-Up but food was distasteful to her, and, dropping into a reverie again, she seemed to see Freneau as she had so often seen him, enter the room and greet her. Again the vision became almost real; it was as if he put hts arms about her and embraced her, then her eyes fell to her left hand, which their engagement ring had adorned, and its nakedness rebuked her. She seemed to see the look of anguish and re- proach on Freneau’s face as he took account of its absence, She put her hands before her face. Pierpont looked up anxiously, then went to her side. She shivered with a chill, “I'm sorry, daddy, to spoil your dinner. Please let me go to my room. I'll pull myself together after a bit. It's just a fit of nerves. No, don’t come with me; I'm all right. Finish your dinner, dear; don’t mind at all I'll be all right.” She dragged herself wearily away from him and on up to her own room. She threw herself down upon the bed moaning: “They've even taken your ring from me, O Dick, Dick, come back and help me.” (TO BE CONTINUED.) Agony. NEW DISEASE IS ANNOUNCED From the Strain of Working Too Hard Comes “Angina of Effort,’ a Pain. The rush of modern life has pro- duced a new disease, greatly increasing in extent and especially prevalent among doctors, teachers, clergymea, lawyers and other men of affairs, ob- serves the Philadelphia Bulletin, Dr. Oliver S. Haines, who announced the new ailment, calls it “angina of effort.” In plain English that means a sudden shooting pain under your breastbone because you're working too hard. If, at the age of 50, you find your- self unable td walk a city block with- out a pain, you probably have “angina of effort.” It eomes from having Itved too hard and sometimes from an “an- tagonistic attitude toward the prob- lems of life.” No happy-go-lucky ever gets it. Those who have been obsessed _by love of power, love of struggle, or who harbor exaggerated tdeas of their rights and privileges usually do. Everybody who gets “angina of effort” dies a sudden death, usually aseribed to gastritis, according to Dr. Haines. Deadly, corked up venom, brought on by mental conflict with the prevail- ing ideas, becomes @ toxin, he says, which gives rise to a pain that radl- ates Into every part of the body. Neu- ralgia, rheumatism and similar aches may be symptoms of it. You can best be cured by slowing down, Dr. Haines thinks, and by modt- fying the war spirit which, he says, you carry Into every day life. If you don’t slow dotwn, you're doomed. For certain temperaments Dr. Haines announced more specific reme- dies. The victim of “Old Man Con- science,” who worries over unimport- ant details, and cannot sleep at night because of the passionate and harsh way he hus treated his family during the day, ought to be given a potash preparation, For the emotional idealist who dis- solves readily into tears—“at the mov- les, for instance, or the theater,” Dr. Haines sald—treatment by oxalic acid is the cure. The prey of suicidal de- sires is about hopeless In Dr. Haines’ estimation, but he recommends aurum for a trial. ; Sure Remedy. “Ah, dearest,” sighed the young man who had just broken into the sily class, “my heart is burning with love for you,” “Ts that so!" exclaimed the practical maid, “Walt a minute and I'll get you a little soda. Grandma says that’s the only thing for heartbura,”

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