Casper Daily Tribune Newspaper, January 14, 1922, Page 9

ly she’s going to do as she pleases about this." « “Well, of course, tt ts her own ¢f- fair, Mollie," Mr. Atwater said, miidty. “She couldn't be expected to consult the whole Atwater family connection before—” “Oh, no,” she agreed, “I don't say sho could. Still, {t ts rather upset ting, coming so auddenly like this, SYNOPSIS. when not one of the family have ever — seen him—never even heard his very Proud t part it im't espe- squipmes®. Gin’ gift ‘Of Uncle Soeepee to | clatly, strange, Mollie —-=on be was fete See weed tanta Eawortn Atwa-| bora and brought ap im a town three with bis chum, Henry Rooter, | hundred miles from here. I don't see Aye pees: | Jn how we could hay heard bi: ‘Herbert's prih ota, less bo vistted here, or got Baie fom | into the papers tn some way,” conse and at-| Mrs. Atwater seemed unwilling to &, ees fakes | yteld a mysterious point. She rocked sf poe he et writ-| decorously in her chair, shook her or insertion in the Oricis-|'head, and after setting her Mpa rigid- ly, opened them to insist tant she could otter | Dever change her mind; Julla had ie demana for | acted very abruptly. “Why couldn't svith its! she have let her poor father know, at wes least a few days before she did?’ Mr, Atwater sighed. “Why, she ex- _ the fret appear. piains in her letter that she only bere wisit | knew ft, berself, an hour before she wrote.” “Her poor father! his wife repeat- e4 commiseratingly, “Why, Mollie, I. don't see that fath- ers especially to he pitied.” “Don’t you?” sald Mra. Atwater. “That old man, te have to live in that in | big house all alone, except a few ne- gro servants?” a every too,” she said, nodding, “Rath: of course Julla’s dene exactly as pleased about everything, and natural- . “Why, no! Abont half the houses {9 the neighborhood, up and down the ‘street, are fully Ned by close relu. tives of his; I doubt if he'll be really a5 lonely as he'd I to upset.” “No, he tsn't.” her husband aitnit- ted, sertously. “That's alwnys been the trouble with Julia; she never could bear to seem disappointing; and so, of course, I suppose every one of ‘em had @ special idea that he was really about the top of the list with her.” to “Rivery Inst one of 'em was er | Of 16" ald Mrs, Atwater. rf Juila’s way with ’em {* - “Yes, Julia's alweys been much too kind-hearted for other people's good |" : Thus Mr. Atwater summed op—and Fatrehtia | 2@ was this Juite’s brother.- Addition- ally, sinco he was the older, he had ving positive “That was maid throw ‘em out in the yard. ” tomorrow.’ knowm her since her birth. “If you ask me,” sald his wife, “Tl iE throngh without a snicide.” “Oh, not quite suicide, perhaps,” Mr. Atwater protested, “I'm glad it's a dry state, though!” She failed to fathom his simple meaning. “Why?” “Well, some of ‘em might feel that desperate at least,” he explained. “Prohibition’s « safeguard for the dis- appointed in love.” This phrase and previous one stirred Florence, who had been sitting lh ii i about Aunt Julia, and Grandpa goin’ to live alone, and people committing: thelr changing and cackling falsetta “Nothing! That's what you always “Say not a0, Florence!’ Oh, say not | say about the very most Interesting other , ly. tncreaned by their rE of the y her father and mother in the library, |iingly, “I don’t cappose there's any where a gossipy fire of soft coal ef- | harm in your kne-sirg it—i¢ you won't couraged this proper Sunday afternoon j go telling everybody. Your aunt Julia entertainment for man and wifo has just written us that she’ “Bit down and rest awhile,” said her | gaged.” mother, “I'm afraid you play too| Mrs. Atwater uttered an exclama- hawd when Patty and the boys are | tion, but she was too late to check here. Do ait down quietly and rest | him, FYonrgelf a lUttle while.” And.as Flor fence obeyed, Mrs, Atwater turned to her husband, resuming, “Well that's what I said I told Aunt Carrie I thought the same way about it that you did, Of course, nobody ever knows derision out of a conversation between “ever mind,” her father anid sooth- “What's the matter?” he asked. 2 “I'm afraid yon oughtn’t to have told Florence. She isn’t just the most Gscreet—" - “Pshaw!”" he langhed, “Sho certain- ly is one of the family, however, ani} really be surprised if it all goes|- ely like to be. And he's | sald he'd es great deal if water shook her head foreboding!y. “And he isn’t the only one it’s going Tees cel at eee. aes might be told. ¥. not speak of It outside the famfly, will you, Plon encet™ But Florence was not yet able to speak of it, even inside the family— so surprising, sometimes, are parents’ theories of what will not Interest i i g | | i ‘ 4 It's. © & young man tn the place she's visiting—a stranger to all of us. Julia only met him a few weeks ago.” Here she forgot Florence, and tu-ned again to her hushand, wearing her former expression of experienced foreboding. “It's Just as I said, It's exactly ke Julia’ to do such a reckless thing!" “But we don’t know anything at all about the young man,” be remon- strated, “How Go you ever know ho’ young?” Mrs. Atwater asked crisply. | “AN in the world she said about him was that he's a lawyer, He may be a widower, for all we know, or di- vorced, with seven or elght children,” “Oh, Bo, Mollie!” “Wy, he might I” she insisted. “For all we know, he may be a widower for the third or fourth time, or divorced, with sny number of children. If such & person proposed to Julla, you know yourself she’d hate to be disappolnt- tog!” - Her husband langhed. “I don't think she'd go so far as to actually accept such @ person «nd write home to an- nounce her engagement to the family, I suppose most of ber swains here |. have been in the habit of proposing to her just as frequently as she was unable to prevent them from going iH NA At This, the Slender Form of Florence Underwent a Spasmodio Selzure, In Her Chair, thet far; and while I don’t think she’s been as discouraging with them as she might have been, she’s never really accepted any of ‘em. She's never been engaged before.” 4 “No,” Mrs, Atwater admitted, “Not to this extent. She’s never announced ft to the famtly before.” T4 bate to have Julia's job e comes back!” Julia's brother t's that? “Breaking !t to her ‘admirers’” “Oh, che isn't going to do that!” “She'll have to, now,” he said. “Shel elther have to write the news to ’em, or else tell ‘em, face to face, when she rei “‘Tuke it pretty hard!” she echoed lordly. “There's one of ’em, at least, who will just merely lose his reason!” “Which one? “Noble DULY ‘At this, the slender form of. Flor- enc underwent a spasmodic seizure, in her chair, but as the fit was short, and also noiseless, it passed. without being noticed. nothing short. of poignant horror, Joy that was dumfounding. | 4 z é ' i i | i i Hi i Bik in his 2s a lump of sugar; and when any one to him he either doesn’t know it, or else Jumps. i HH H i t Hf fe ry 8 é q sf i it she could tell him. Some- body eught to tell him. and tt ought to be done with the greatest tact. It ought to be broken to him with the most delicate care and sympathy, or the consequences-—" “Nobody could foretell the conse- quences,” her husband tnterrupted— “no matter how tactfully its broken to Noble.” “No,” she enid, “I suppose that's true. I think he’s likely to lose his reason unless it is done very tactful- ly, though.” “Do you think we really ought to tell Mrs. Dill, Mollie? Y mean, sert- ously: Do you?” For some moments she considered his question; then aswered, “No. It's possible we'd be following @ Christian course {n doing it; but still we're rath- er bound not to speak of {t outside the family. and when it does get outs! the family I taink we'd better not be the ones responsible—espectally since It might enshiy be traced to us I think It's usually better to keep ovt of things when there's any doubt.” “Yes,” he said, meditating. “T nev- er knew any harm to come off people's sticking to thelr own affairs.” But as he and his wife became ai- | prestige ag had actually come to be tent for a time, musing tn the fire Meht, their daughter's special convic- tions were far from cuinciding with theira, although she, likewise, wns s!- lent—n strangeness tn her which they should have observed. But so far were they from a true comprehension of her, they were unaware that she had more than e@ casual, young-cou- sinly interest ‘m Jnila Atwater's en- gagement and {In those posslbie con- Sequences to Noble Dill, which they had sketched with some intentional exaggeration, and decidedly without the staggering seriousness attributed té their predictions by thetr danghter. They did not even notice her expres- sion when Mr. Atwater snapped on the light, in order te read, and #he went quietly out af the brary and op to her own room, On the floor, near her bed, where Patty Fairchild had left her coat and hat, Florence made her sécond’ dis- covery. Two small, folded slips of paper lay there, dropped by Miss Fair. child when she pnt on her coat in the darkening room. They were the re- plies to Patty’s whispered questions, in the gnme on-the steps-—the pledged “fruth, written by Henry Rooter and Herbert Atwater on thelr cacrod words and honors. The infatuated pair hed either overestimated Patty's caution, or else each had thought she would 80 prize his Uttle missive that she would treasure It tn a tender safety, perhaps pinned upon her blouse (at the first opportunity) over the heart, Tt ta positively enfe to say that neither of the two veracities would ever have been set upon paper had Herbert and Henry any foreshadowing that Patty might be careless; and the partners would have been seized with the ut- mort horror could they have concetved the possibility of their trustful mes- sages ever falling Into the hauds of the relentless creature who now, with- gut an Instant’s honorable hesitation, unfolded and read them. “Yer, if I got to tell the truth, I know I have got pretty eyes,” Herbert hd unfortunately written. “I am glad you think s0, too, Patty, because your eyes are too, Herbert Dlingsworth Atwater, Jr.” And Mr. Henry Rooter had Itkewize ruined himself in a coincidental man ner. “Well, Patty, my eyes are pretty, but suppose I would lke to trade with yours because you have benutiful eves, also, sure as my name is Henry Rooter.” Florence stood close to the pink- shaded eiectric droplight over her small white dressing table, reading again and again these pathetically “honest little\confidences. Her cyelids were withdrawn to an unprecedented retirement, so remarkably she stared, while her mouth seemed to prepare itself for the attempted reception of i bulk beyond {ta total capacity. And these plastic tokens, so tmmoderate as to be ordinarily the concequence of were overlaid by others, subtler and more gleaming, which wrought the true significance of the contortion—a Ber thoughts were frst of Fortune's Kindness In selecting her for a favor so miracuiously doyetafling into the precise need of hé lffe, then of Henry und Herbert, each at this hour prob- bly brushing his hatr in preparation for the Sunday evening meal, and both touchingly unconscious: ty now befalting the calam!- them; but what even- tually engrossed her mind was the thought of Wallfe. Torbin, Master Torbin, approaching four- teen, was in ell the town the boy most dreaded by. his fellow-boys, and by girls. of his acquaintance, tncluding BOA GRAYS et ee oS eS = But What Eventually Engrossed Her Mind Wee the Thought of Wallle Torbin, many of both sexe’ who knew him only by sight—and hearing, He had no physical endowment or attainment worth mention; but boys, who could “whip him with one ind,” became sycophants In his presence; the terror he inspired was moral. He had a. spe- celal overdevelopment of @ faculty ex- ercined clumsily enough by most hu- man befngs, especially tn their youth; in other words, he had genlus—not, however, genius having to do with anything generally recognized as art or science, True, if he had heen a violinist prodigy or mathematical prod- igy, ho would have had some respect. trom bis felowe—about equr! to that he might have received if he were sifted with some pleasant deformity, | such as six. tees on @ foot—but he would never have enjoyed such deadly bis. In brief, then, Wallle Torbin had @ genius for mockery. Almost from his babyhood he had been a child of one purpose: to in- crease by ghastly burlesque the suf- ferings of unfortunate friends. If one of them Wallie incessantly pu sued him, yelping {pn horrid mimicry; If one were .chastised, he could not appear out-of-doors for days except to encounter Wallie and & complete re hearsal of the recent agony. “Quit, bapa; pah-puh, quee-yet! IU never do it again, peh-puh! Ob, lemme alone, pah-puh |” As he grew older, his tnsntiate cu- rlosity enshled him to expove unnum- bered weaknesses, indiscretions and soctar misfortunes on the pert of ac- quatntances and schoolmates; and to every exposure bis noise and energy gave @ hideous publicity; the more bis victim sought privacy the more rently he was sought out by Wallie, vociferous and ettended by hilarious spectators. But above all other things, what most stimulated the derontac boy to prodigies of sat- fre was any tender episode or symp- tom connected with the dawn of love. Florence herself had suffered excru- Clatingly at intervals throughout her eleventh spring, because Wallle dis- covered that Georgie Beck sent her « valentines and tho tiumorist's many. many squealings of that valentine's affectionate quatrain finally left her snabie to decide which she hated the more, Wallio or Georgie, That was the worst of Wallle: he never “lete up"; ‘and {n Florence's circle there “was no more sobering threat than “Tl. tell Wallle ‘Torbini® As for Henry Rooter and Herbert [lings worth Atwater, Jr. they would as soon have had a head-hunter on thelr trai! as Wallie Torbin with anything tn his hands that could incriminate them tm an Implication of loye—or an ac knowledgement of thelr own beauty , The fabric of civilized life ts inter- woven with blackmail; even some of, the noblest people do favors for other Peopie who are depended upon not 10 tell somebody something that the no blest people have done, Blackmall ts born into us ell, and our nurses teach us more blackmail] by threatening to tell our parenis, if we won't do this and that—end our parents threaten to tell the doctor—and so we learn! Blackmail is part of the daily life of a child; displeased, hia first res-rt to get his way with ‘other children is a threat to ‘“tell*; but by-and-by his experience discovers the mutual bene. fit of honor among blackmailers. Therefore, at eight It {s no longer the ticker to threaten to tell the teacher; and, a little later, threatening to tell any adult at all is considered some- thing of a breakdown tn morals... No- toriously, the code {s more liable to infraction by people of the physically weaker sex, for the very reason, of course, that their inferiority of mus- cle so frequently compels such a sin, if they are to have their way, But for Florence there was now no such temptation, Looking toward the de molition of Atwater & Rooter, an ex- posure before adults of the results of.“Trath” would have been an effect of the sickliest. pallor compared to what might be accomplishe? by a careful use of the catastrophic Wallie Torbin, All in ell, f was a great Sunday for Florence. On Sunday evening it was her privileged custom to go to the bouse of her fat, old great-uncle, Joseph Atwater, and remain until nine o'clock, in chatty companionship with Uncle Joseph and Aunt Currie, his wife, and a few other relatives who were !n the habit of dropping in there om Sunday erenings. In summer, Se hE — fae: SSS AEST -S = cS ier ee lemonade end cake were frequently ; im the eutumn, ons stil} found cake, and perhaps a pitcher of clear new cider; apples were always & certainty. This evening was giorious; there were apples and cider and cake and walnuts, perfectly cracked, and farge open-hearted box of candy. Naturally, these being the cireum- stances, Herbert was emong the guests; and, theagh <ather at a dis advantage, 60 far as the conversation was concerned, nat troubled by the handicap. The reason he was at a conversational @isadvantage was closely connected with the unusual supply of refreshments; Uncle Joseph and Aunt QOaerrie had foreseen the coming of several more Atwaters than asual, to talk over the new affairs of their trantiful relative, Julia. Sel- dom have any relative’s new affairs been more thorongh!y talked over than were Julia's that evening, thougb all the time by means of various symbols, since It was thought wiser that Her- bert ahd Florence should not yet be told of Julia’s engagement, end Fior- ence'’s parents were not present to confess thelr indiscretion, Julia was referred to as “the traveler,” and other makeshifts were employed with the most knowing caution; and all the while Florence merely ate tnscrutably. The more sincere Herbert was as placid; such foods were enough for him, “Well, all I say 1s, the traveler bet- ter enjoy herself on her travels,” said Aunt Fanny fSnally, as the subject appeared to be wearing toward ex- hanation. “She certainly {s !n for tt when the voyaging {a over and she arnyes in the port she sailed from, and hes to show her papers. I agree with the rest of you; she'll have a great deal to answer for, and most of all about the shortest one My own opinion ts that the shortest one ts going to burst like & balloon." “The shortest one.” as the demure Florence had understood from the first, was her Ideal—none other thrn Noble Dill. Now she looked up from the stool where she sat with her back against a pilaster of the mantelpiece. “Unele Josep was just thinking, What ts a person's reason?" The fat gentleman, rosy with fire- light and elder, finished his fifth glass before responding. “Well, there are persons I never could find any reason for ‘em at all. ‘A person’s reason!’ What do you mean, ‘a person’s rea- son,’ Florence?” “I mean I!ke when somebody says, ‘Theyll tose thefr reason,’” e>> ex- plained, “Has everybody got a rea- son, and tf they have, what 1s it, and bow do they lose {t, and what would they de then?” “Oh, I seo!” he sald. “You needn't worry, I suppose since you heard It, you've been hunting all over yourself for your reason and looking to gee if there was one hanging out of anybody else, somewhere. No; it's something you can't see ontinarily, Florence. Losing your reason ts just another way of saying ‘going crazy!” “Oh.” she murmured, and appeared to be somewhat disturbed. At this, Herbert thought proper to offer a witticirm ‘or the pleasure’ of the company, “You know, Florence.” he sald, “It only means acting like you most al- ways do.” He applauded himself with a burst of changing laughter which ranged from a bullfrog croak to a collapsing soprano; then he added: “Especially when you come around my end Henry's newspaper building! You certainly ‘lose your reason’ every time you come around that ole place!” “Well, course I haf to uct like the people that’s already there,” Florence retorted, not sharply, but in a musing tone that should have warned him, It was not ber wont to use a quiet voice for repartee, Thinking her hum- ble, he laughed the more raucously. “Oh, Florence!” he besonght her. “Say not so! Say not sol" “Children, children!” Uncle Joseph remonstrated. Herbert changed his tone; he be- came seriously plaintive, “Well, she does act that way, Uncle Joseph! When she comes eropnd there you'd think ‘we. were runniy’ a lunatic asylum the way she takes on. She hollers and bellers and squalls and scuawks. Tho least little teeny thing she don't like about the way we run our paper, she comes fliappin’ over there and goes to screechin’ aronnd, you could hear her out at poorhouse farm" “Now, now, Herbert,” his Aunt Fan- ny interposed. “Poor littie Florence isn’t saying anything impolite to you— not right now, at any rate, Why don't you be @ little sweet to her just for once?" Her unfortunate expression revolted all the cousinly manliness in Herbert's bossom, “ Be a little sweet to her?” he echoed, with poignant incredulity, and then In candor made plain how Poorly Acnt Fanny Inspired him, “I just exackly as soon be a littie sweet to an alligator,” be asserted; such was his bitterness on this subject, “Oh, oh{” sald Aunt Carrie. *T would!” Herbert insisted. “Or @ mosquito. I'd rather, to either of ‘em, because, anyway, they don’t make so much nolse. Why, you just ought to hear her,” he went on, growing more and more severe. “You ought to just come around our newspaper building any afternoon you please, af- ter school, when Henry and I are tryin’ to do our work in, anyway, some peace. Why, she just squawks and squalls and squ—” “It must be terrible,” Uncle Joseph fiterrupted. “What do you do all that for, Florence, every afternoon?” “Just for exercise,” she answered dreamily; ancé her placidity the more exasperated her journalist cousin. “She does {t because she thinks she onght to be runnin’ our own news- paper, my en4 Henry's; that's why she does it! She thinks che knows more about how to’ rum newspapers than anybody alive; bat there's one thing she's goin’ to Gnd out; and that dont have anything more to my and Henry's newspaper. We wouldn't have another single one of her ole poems in ft, no matter how @ach she offered to pay ust Uncle Jpseph. I think you ought to tell her she's got no busintes around my an‘ Henry's newspaper building.” “But. Herbert,” Aunt Yanny sug- gested, “you might let Florence hare a little share tm tt of some sort. Then everything would be all right.” "it would?” he demanded, his wice crackin, ‘turally, at bis age, but alse under strain of the protest he wished it to express. “Jt woo-wud? Ob, my goodness, Aunt Fanny, I guess you'd Uke to see our newspaper just utter ably ruined? Why, we wouldn't let that girl have any more to do with It than we would some horse!” “Oh, obi” both Aunt Fanny and Aunt Carrie exclaimed, shocked, “We wouldn't,” Herbert insisted, “A horse would know any amoznt more how to run a newspaper thar she does; anyway, a horse wouldn't make so h noise around there, Soon a got our printing press: we fal hat we made up our minds ater wasn't ever goin’ to have a single thing to do with our newspeper. If you let her have any- thing to do with anything she wants to run the whole thing. But she might Just as well learn to stay a’ from our newspaper building, because after | | we got her out yesterday we fixed a way she'll never get in there again Florence looked at him demnrely. “Are you sure, Herbert?” she in- quired. “Just you try MI he advised, with heartiest sarcasm; and he laughed tauntingly. “Just come around to- morrow and try it; that’s all I ask” “I cert’nly Intend to,” she responded, with dignity, “Il may have a slight surprise for you.” “Oh, Florence, say not so!’ Say not 80, Florence! Say not so!” At this she looked full upon him, and already she hed something tn the nature of a surprise for him; for so powerful was the still balefulness of her glazes he was slightly startled. It Staggered Him. “What—What— You Meant” “T might say not £0,” she sald-s"If I was speaking of what pretty eyes you know you have, Herbert.” It staggered him. “What-~what— you mean?" “Ob, nothin’,” she replied, airily. Herbert began to be mistrustful of the sciid earth, Somewhere there was a fearful threat to his equipolse. “What you talkin’ about?” he said, with an effort to speak scornfully; but bis sensitive voice almost failed him, “Oh, nothin," said Florence, “gst about what pretty eyes you know you. have, and Patty's being anywar eh pretty as yours—and so you're gd maybe she thinks yours aro pretty, the way you do—and everything!” Herbert. visibly guiped. So Patty had betrayed him; bad betrayed the sworn confidence of “Truth {" “That's all I was talkin’ about,” Florence added, “Just about how you knew you had such pretty eyes, Say not so, Herbert! Say not so!” “Look here!” he said, “When’d you see Patty again between this after- noon and when you came 7s here?” “What makes you think I saw hert” “Did you telephone her?” “What makes you think so?” Once more Herbert gulped. “Well, I guess you're ready to believe any- thing anybody tells you,” he se{d, with @ palsied bravado, “You don't believe everything Patty Fairchild says, do you?” “why, Herbert! Doesn't she always tell the Truth?” “Her? Why, half the time,” poor Herbert babbled, “yon can’t tell whether she Just makin’ up what she says or not. If you've gone and be- Meved everything that ole girl told you, you haven't got even what Uttle sense I used to think you had!” So base we are under strain, sometimes— so base when our good name is threat. ened with the truth of us! “I wouldn't believe anything she sald,” he tinished, in a sickish volce, “tf she told me Afty time: and crossed her hearti” "t you if she said you wrote pretty you knew your eyes Herbert?” (To be Continued) were, ZS ya 4 A Os 5 Sa! ——s o> Ss — ss TI 7 en AS A <— = = <3 ree F