Casper Daily Tribune Newspaper, January 28, 1922, Page 7

jum, Henry Rooter, = oe age, begins gh fledged new: per, No} ves Aieecec ieee Base a in any kind of partistpation in te © prise, on account of her intense and ni ural feminine desire to “bi fa frank! fae onan not at all ba in in say- "However, & poem she has. writ- ten ts accepted for insertion tn the Lepr from on a atrictly commercial basis—cash in firarcy, The poem suffers somewha Ly experience of the youthful peblisnere in the “art preservative” Her publica brea, ea publishers or aa Atwater and the ens, The Sunday Toltowioe the first appear- ole. Fiorence’s particular am, Patty irchild, s her @ visit. ey are joined, despite Miss Atwater’s ly ©: by Master ¢ ter and ter. Not all disconcerted by the coolness of elt AeeNetCR the visitors apd Miss rch dulge in a series of innocent day ames, Among them is ene called the feature of which {s a con- frost to write a question and answer, to be rt e ment to im hy ome ft: ely iat pany ot mensely jn the com: iS Wsitors and lear © with them. PART TWO, On her visitors’ departure, Flore.ice jearns carouns: & conversation between Parents, that her aunt, Julia Atwater, jdol of the greater part of the male popu: ace, but at present out of has apperently become tleman of ine name of r unknown to the At- Indulging in speculation fortunal youth, Mr. and concede, that for ail they or divorced, kno-s he may be a widower, with wy number of childrén, etc. Flor: ence h.'sses none of th In her room that e' finds two brief notes used game of “Truth,” and unfortunate- y's (HUCrY, AS to whether they aid not think they pretty eyes, both Herbert Henry admitted they did, and had ed thelr signatures to the statement. Maing that neither of the young gen- tlemmen would care to have it known t they had thus acknowledged the jossession pretty eyes," Florence per- ives what a powerful weapon has been in her hends, for among the outh of the town is a boy, Wallie Tor- ifted with a nble talent for le mil and an altogether mallgn: isposition. ‘The combination has ma {medreaded, and Florence realizes tha: reat to put Wallle Torbin in possession of the it concerning their “pretty eyes" would ing at her fiat tot probably len’ an greatly desired her rticipation in thelr Journalistic ent Acquaintingsthe two unfortunates with her knowled t, they © complete submission and Florence comes the undisputed master mind of fn the next tenue, with which the erst nex ©, 1 erat re Proprietors of The aheet have ites do, editorially, among the ‘new: {toms ja relatea en ent of M. Julia Atwater to Mr. , the gentle- man being referred to as a widower, also divorced, and with @ “great many ons ee. most ardent and hopel: irers of the beautiful Julia ts « youth the name of Noble Dill, an alt pager commonplace and uninteresting individual. chil notable only among his fellow townstaer his devoted attachment to the object ffections. He jor. Ideal, and that young lady, desir reaking the ne en- ment *‘gently.” herself presents him Oriole conf is the with a copy of announcement. Florence, in fact, kad about reached the conclusion that far from the likell- hood of her receiving praise for her thoughtful circulation of the news concerning her aunt Julla, there was 4 strong probability that dire results, wordy and otherwise, would ensue. Hence her extreme thoughtfulness, Among those who observed her un- usual expression was a gentleman of great dimensions disposed in a closed automobile that labored through mud- holes fn an unpaved ™ ‘'rt of the town. He rapped up: class tn front of him, to get th atten- tion, and a moment i. he car drew up beside Florence, as she stood in deep reverie at the intersection of two roads. Oncle Joseph opened the door and took his cigar from his mouth, “Get in, Florence,” he sald, “I'll take you for a ride.” She started violently; whereupon he restored the cigar-to his mouth, puffed upon it, breathing heavily the while, as was his wont; and added: “I’m not going home, I'm out for = nics Jong ride. Get tn.” “I was takin’ « walk,” she sald dubi- ously, “I haf to take a whole lot of exercise, and I ought to walk and walk and walk. I guess I ought to keep on walkin’.” “Get in,” he sald. “I’m out riding. I don’t know when I'll get home.” Florence got in, Uncle Joseph ‘closed the door, and the car slowly bumped onward, “You know where Herbert ist Un- ele Joseph tngulred. “No,” sald Florence, in a gentle voice, “I do,” he sald. “Herbert and your friend Henry Rooter came to our house with one of the last copies of the Ori K ole they were distributing to subscrib- ers; and after I read it I kind of fore- saw that the feller responsible for thelr owning a printing press was golng to be in trouble. I had quite a — fe NI =e =z Ta pili g lew mr y cee~ “Get 's" He Sald. “i'm Out Riding. 1 Don’t Know When I'll Get Home.” I thought they better not stay too long, because I was compromised enough already, without being seen in thelr company, and I gave ‘em something to help ‘em out with the movies, You can stay at movies an awful long time, and if you've got money enoug’ to go to several of ‘em, why you're fixed for as long as you please. A body ought to be able to llve a couple o' months at the movies for nine or ten dollars, I should think.” He was silent for a time, then asked: “I don't suppose your papa and mama will be worrying about you, will they, Florence?” “Oh, no!" she said quickly. “Not in the least! There was nothin’ at all for me to do at our house this after- noon. “That's good,” he said, “because before we go back I was thinking some of driving around by way of Texas.” Florence looked at him trustfully and sald nothing. It seemed to her that he suspected something; she was uot sure, but his conversation was a little peculiar—though not in the least sinister. Indeed, she was able to make out that he had more the air of an ac- complice than of a detective. Never- theless she was convinced that far, far the best course for her to pursue, dur- ing the next few days, would be one of steadfast reserve. And sucha course Was congenial to her mood, which was subdued, not to say apprehensive; thodgh she was sure that her recent conduct, if viewed sympathetically, would be found Christian. The trou- ble was that probably it would not be viewed sympathetically. No one would understand how carefully and tactfully she had prepaged the items of the Oriole to lead suavely up to the news of Aunt Julia's engagement and break it to Noble Dill in a manner to save his reason. Therefore, on ac- count of this lack of comprehension, really the only wise and cood thing to do was to claim nothing for herself, and allow Herbert and Henry to re- main undisturbed in full credit for publishing the Oriole, This involved disappointment, it ts true; neverthe- less she decided to bear it, - She had looked forward to surpris- ing “the family" delightfully. As they fluttered in exclamation about her, she had expected to say, “Oh, the poem isn't so much, I guess—I wrote it quite a few days ago and I'm writ- ing a couple new ones now—bnt I did take quite a lot o' time and tronble with the rest of the paper, because I had to write every single word of It, or else let Henry and Herbert try to and ‘course they'd just of ruined it. Oh, {t Isn't so much to talk about I guess; it just sort of comes to me to do things that way.” Like so many other young unearthed rehearsals, this one was never to be played for an anglence. Adults are un- dependable. Ttirteen attempts to ex- ercise a great philanthropy, and every grown person in sight, with the pos- sible exception of Great-uncle Joseph, goes into wholly unanticipated fits of horror, Oause and effect have no re- lation: Fate operates without reason- able sequence—ifke a monkey. And while Florence, thus pensively disturbed, sat beside fat Uncle Joseph during their long, long drive, relatives of hers were indeed going into fits; at least, so Florence would have de- scribed their gestures and incoheren- cies of comment, And strafght into such a fitful scene did the luckless Herbert walk when driven home, after the movies, by thoughts of food, ct about six that evening. Henry Rooter had strongly advised him against return- ing. It may reasonably be felt that it required no particular gift of prophecy to hazard the prediction that in all probability a must unpleasant form of inquisition awaited Herbert on his re- turn to his home. And Henry Rooter had the wisdom (and experlencp) ot thirteen. —‘Xou_ better not,” he sald, wisely. SS SS Sys 4 —= WI O- Sea ee) es Oe ee “Nor me, either,” his friend tnter- pose@ hurriedly. “I don't worry about anything like that! Still, if I was you I wouldn’t tet!. She's onty a girl, we got to remembe:.” “Yes,” said Hervert. “That's the woy I look at it, Henry; and the way I look at it ts just simply this: long as she’s a girl, why, simply let her go. You can't tell what she'd do, and so what's the use to go and tell on a girl?” “That's the way I look at it,” Henry agreed. “What's the use? If I was in your place, I'd act just the same way you do.” “Well,” said Herbert, “I guess I better go on home, Henry. It’s a good while after dark.” “You're makin' a big mistake!” Henry Rooter called after him. “You won't see any apple dumplings, I bet a hundred dollars! You better come on home with me.” And Herbert no more than half opened his front door before he per- ceived that his friend's advice. had been excellent. So clearly Herbert perceived this, that he impulsively de- cided not to open the door any far- ther, but on the contrary to close it, and retire; and he would have done so, had not his mother reached forth and detained him. She was, !2 fact, just inside that door, in the hall with one of his great-aunts, one of his aunts, two aunts-by-marriage, and an elderly unmarried cousin, who were all just on the point of leaving. How- ever, they changed thelr minds and decided to remain, now that Herbert was among them. It really seemed that to many per- sons who were gathered there, appar- ently im important consultation, his appearance was distinctly welcome. His own feelings were in nowise mixed. They were distinctly appre- hensive, and the folley of mingled questionings and reproaches which met him did hot tend to remove them. Each member of the party seemed to feel in some manner particularly ag- grieved. Herbert's father joined them, a few minutes later, but it had already be- come clear to the son that the North End Daily Oriole was in one sense;a thing of the past, though tn another sense this former owner and propric- tor war certain that he would never hear the last of {t. However, on ac- count of the Ilfe of blackmall and slavery now led by the members of the old regime, the Ortate's extinction was far less painful to Herbert than bis father supposed; and the latter wasted a great deal of severity, In- sisting that the printing press should be returned that very night to Cucle Joseph. Herbert's heartiest retrospec- tive wish was that the ole printing press had been returned to Uncle Jo seph long ago. “If you can find him to give it tol” Aunt Harriet suggested. “Nobody knows where he goes when he gets the way he did this afternoon when we were discussing it all with him, I only hope he'll be back tonight!” “He can't stay away forever,” Aunt Fanny remarked. “That garage !8 charging him five dollars an hour for the automobile he’s in, and surely even Joseph will decide there's a mit to wildness some time!” “*T don't care when he comes bactt,” Herbert's father declared grimly. “Whenever he does he’s got to take that printing press back—and Herbert will be let out of the house long enough to carry it over. His mother or I will go with him.” Herbert bore much more than this; he had seated himself on the third step of the stairway in the hall, and maintained as much dogged silence as he could. Once, however, they got a yelp of angalsh out of him. It was when Cousin Virginia sald: “Oh, Herbert, Herbert! How could you make up that terrible falsehood about Mr, Crum? ¥.nd, think of it; right on the same page with your cousin Florence's pure little poem !” Herbert uttered some sounds, totally incoherent but loud, and expressive of @ supreme revulsion. The shocked audience readily understood tiat he Uked neither Cousin Virginia’s chiding nor Cousin Florence's poem. “Shame!” said his father. i ii : iF Hey Fp As “Why, his mother said he just went up to his room and changed his shoes and tie—" “I thought so,” Aunt Fanny whis- pered, hurriedly, but solemnly. “Crazy. “And then,” Mr, Atwater continued, “he left the house, and she supposed he'd gone down to the office; but she was uneasy, and telephoned his fa- ther. Noble hadn't cor-2, de didn't come, al‘ afternoon, and he didn’t go back to the house; and they tele- phoned around to every place he could go, that they know of—and they couldn't find him or hear anything about him,” Mr, Atwater coughed, and paused. “But what,” Aunt Harriet cried, “what do they think's become of him?” “Old man Dill sald they were all pretty anxious,” sald Mr. Atwater. “They're afraid Noble has—disap- peared.” Aunt Fanny screamed. Then, in perfect accord, they all turned to look at Herbert, who rose and would have retired upstairs had he been able. As that perturbing evening wore on, word jually reached the most out- lying members of the Atwater family connection that Noble Dill was’ miss- Ing. Ordinarily, this bit of news would huve caused them no severe anxiety. Noble's person and intellect were so commonplace—“Iinsignificant” was the term usually preferred in his own circle—that he was considered to be as nearly negligible as it {s charita- ble to consider a fellow being. True, there was one thing that set him apart; he was found worthy of a su- perlative when he fell in love with Julia Atwater, Of all the large and ardent group Mm Ike condition, he ob- tained conspicuousness as “The Worst.” Of course, this distinction caused him to become better known and more talked about than in his earlier youth. . However, the eccentricities of a per- son In such an extremity of love are ; seldom valued except as comedy; and even then with no warmth of heart for the comedian, but rather with an incredulous dl. jo itis safe to say that under other circumstances Noble might haye been missing, indeed, and few of the Atwaters would have minsed him, But as-matters were, they worried a great deal about him, fear- ing that a rash act on his part might reflect notoriety on themselves through thelr_beautiful relattve—and through the North End Dally Ortole. And when nine o'clock came and Mrs, Dill reported to Herbert's father, over the telephone, that nothing had yet been heard from her son, the pressufe of those who were blaming the Oriole more than Julia became so wearing that Herbert decided he would rather spend the remaining days of his life running away from Wallie Torbin than put in any more of such a dog’s eve- ning as he was putting tn—thus he defined it. He made a confession; that ts to Say, it was a proclamation. He pro- claimed his innocence. He began the history of it with a degeription of events distinctly subsequent to the lit- tle game with Patty Fairchild, and explained how he and Henry had felt that thvir parents would not always be with u-em, and as their parents wished them to be polite, they had resolved to be polite to Florence. Proceeding, he rejated in detail her journalistic -explolt. } Of the matter in hand he told the perfect and absolute truth—and was immediately refuted, confuted and demonstrated to be a false witness by Aunt Fanny, Aunt Carrie, and Cousin Virginia, who had all heard him ve- hemently declare, no longer agp than the preceding Sunday, that he and his partner had taken secure measures to prevent Florence from evér again set- ting foot within the newspaper bulld- ing. In addition, he was quite show- ered with definitions; and these, though So variant, all sought to phrase but the one subject; his conduct in seeking to drag Florence through the mire, when she was absent and could not defend herself, Poor Florence would answer later in the evening, he was told, se- verely; and though her cause was thus championed against the slander it is true that some of them felt stirrings of curiosity in regard to Florence, In fact, there was getting to be something ke a cloud upon her reputation. There ‘Were several important things for her to explain; among them, her taking it upon herself to see that Noble re- celved a copy of the Oriole, and also her sudden departure from home and Herbert controlled himself, It | rather odd protraction of absence could be seen that his spirit was not | therefrom. It was not thought she broken, even when Aunt mourned, shaking her head at him, Fanny | was in good company. Uncle Joseph had. telephoned from g suburb that Mining at a farmhouse ana | F f That word from Uncle Joseph was in a measure reassuring, but the alr of perturbation and gloom was not noticeably re- : : : Aunt Fanny shook her head in mourning. “That may be, Herbert,” she said gently, “But you must try to renlize it can’t bring poor young Mr. Dill dDack to his family.” Again Herbert just looked at her. He had no indifference more profound than that upon which her strained conception of the. relation between cause and effect seemed to touch; and, from his point of view, to be missing should be the lightest of calamities. It ts true that he was concerned with the restcration of Noble Diil to the rest of the Dills so far as such an event might affect his own incompara- ; ble misfortunes—but not otherwise. He regarded Noble and Noble's disap- pearance merely as unfair damage to himself. He continued to look at this sorrowing great-aunt of his, and his thoughts made his strange gaze ap- Dear to her so hardened that she shook her head and looked away. “Poor young Mr. Dill!” she sald. “If eomeone could only have been And Under That Light Sat Noble Dill. with him, and kept talking to him un- til he got ased to the idea a little!” Cousin Virginia nodded comprehend- ingly. “Yes, {t might have tided him over,” she said. “He wasn't handsome, nor impressive, of course, nor any- thing like that, but he always spoke 80 nicely to people on the street. I'm sure he never harmed even a kitten, poor soul!” “Tm sure he never did,” Herbert's mother agreed, gently. “Not even @ kitten. I do wonder where he is now.” But Aunt Fanny uitered a little cry of protest. “I'm afraid we may hear,” she said, “any moment!” And the most tragic news of Noble Dill these sympathetle women could have heard would have surprised them Uttle; they had unanimously set their expectation in so romantically pessi- mistic a groove. But if the truth of his whereabouts could have been made known to them, as they sat thus together at what was developirg vir- tually into his wake, with Herbert as a compulsory participant, they would have turned the session into a riot of amazement. Noble w..s in the very last place (they would have said, when calmer) where anybody in the world could have madly dreamed of looking for him! They would have been right about It. No one could have expected to find Noble tonight inside the old, four-square brick house of Mr. H. L Atwater, Senior, chief of the Atwaters and father of the dis- turbing Julia. This was an old man of rigidly Mmited sympethies; and his opinion of Noble Dill had become al- most notorious; here was no bosom of refuge for a lorn Noble needing sol- ace, nor was his house for any moment hospitable with Julia out of it. More- over, Mr. H, I. Atwater, Senior, was not at present in the house; he had closed and locked it yesterday, giving the servants a week's yacation and telling them not to return till he sent for them; and had then gone out of town to look over a hominy mill he thought of buying. And yet, as the wake went on, there was a light in the house, and under that light sat Noble Dill. Returning home, after Florence had placed the shattering news within his hand, Noble had changed his shoes and his tie. He was but a mechan- ism; he had no motive. The shoes he put on were no better than those he took off; the fresh tle was no lovelter than the one he had worn: nor had it even the fucidity to be « perple one, took this form; that was all. end change of dress are closely allied; acd is happier times when Noble came home from work and would see Julia in the evening .be usually changed his clothes, No doubt there is some faint tracery here, too indistinct to repay contemplation, When he left the house he walked rapidly down-town, and toward the end of this one-mile Journey he ran; but as he was then approaching the rallway station, no one thought him eccentric, He, was, however; for when he entered the station he went to « bench and sat looking upward for more than ten minutes; then rose and went to a ticket-window and ashed for a timetable. “What road?’ the clerk inquired. “All points south,” sald Noble. He placed the time-table, stil! fold- ed, in his pocket, rested an elbow on the brass apron of the window, and would have given himself up to re- flections, though urged to move away. Several people wishing to buy tickets had formed a line behind him and they perceived that Noble hed nothing more to say to the clerk. The Intter encouraged thelr protests, and even went so far ‘as to exclaim, “For heaven's sake! Can't you let these folks buy their tickets?" And since Noble still did not more: haven't you got no feet?” “Feet? Oh, yes,” sald Noble gently. ." And went back to After a while he songht to study his time-table, Ordinarily, his mind was one of those able to decipher and comprehend railway timetables; he had few gifts, but this was one of them. It failed him, now; and he wandered back to the. ticket-window. and, after urgent coaching, eventually tools his place at the end Instead of at the head of the line that walted there. In his turn he came again to the win- dow, and departed from {t after a conversation with the clerk wiich left the latter in unconscious accord with Aunt Fanny Atwater’s commiserating adjective, though the clerk's own pity was expressed in argot. “The poor nut!” he explained to his next client. “Wants to buy a ticket on a train that don’t pull out till ten thirty-five tonight; and me fillin’ {ft all ont, stampin’ It and everything, what for! Turned out all his pockets and cowldn’t come nearer’n efght dollars short o' the price! Where you want to go?” Noble went bick to his bench and sat there for a long time, though there was no time long or short for him. He was not yet consciously suffering greatly, nor was he thinking at all. True, he had a dim, persistent impulse to action—or else why should he be at the station?—but for the clearest expression of his condition It Is neces- sary'to borrow a culinary symbol; he war jelling. The’ stfte of shock was slowly dispersing while a perception of anguish as slowly Increased. He was beginning te swallow nothing at intervals, and the intervals were grow- tng shorter. Dusk was misting down, outdoors, when with dragging steps he came out of the station. He looked hazily up and down the street, where the corner- lamps and shop-windows now were Ughted, and, after dreary hesitation, he went fn search of o pawn-shop, and found one. The old man who operated it must have been a philanthropist, for Noble was so fortunate as to secure a loan of nine dollars upon his watch. Surprised at this, he returned to the station, and went back to the same old bench. A little after stx o'clock a clanging and commotion in the train-shed out- side, attending the arrival of a “through express,” stirred him from his torpor. He walked heavily across the room to the same ticket-window he had blocked before, but there was no queue attached to it now. He rested his elbow on the apron and his chin upon his hand, and for some mo- ments the clerk waited until he should state his wishes. This was a new clerk, who had just relleved the other. “Well! Well!” he said at Inst. “T'll take it now,” Noble responded, gently. “What'll you take now?" “That ticket!" “What ticket?” “The same one I wanted before,” Noble sighed, The clerk gave him a piercing look, glanced out of the window and saw thnt there were no other clients, then went to a desk et the farther end of his compartment, and took up some clericai work he had tn hand. Noble leaned upon the apron of the window, waiting; and if he thought anything, he thought the man was serving him. The high, resonant room became clamorous with voices and with the minglirig echoes of footsteps on the tiled floor, as passengers from the ex- press hurried to the street, or more gaily straggled througb, shouting to friends who came to greet them; and among these moving groups there walked a youthful fine Iady noticeably enlivening to the dullest eye. She was preceded by a brisk porter who car- ried two traveling bags of a rich sort, as well as a sack of implements for the game of golf; and she was warm in dark furs, against which the vasty clump of violets she wore showed dewy gleamings of blue. At sight of Noble Dill, more than pensive at the ticket-window, she hes!- tated, then stopped and observed him. Here was a coincidence, in a mild way, for, as it happened, she was her- self the most observed person in all that place. She was veiled in two vellssbut she had been seen in the train without these, and*some of her “My gosh, | though sfraigers 1 near her tn a hypo- i still not to lose n velled. And although KS permitted the most formation of her features, id reveal was harmfully moreover, there was a sweet- the 2gure, a disturbing gruc nothing disguises such an alr Wearing that many riolets as a dal perquisite and matter of course. Tt was Julia's fortune ( father had other ideas co: matter) to be the possessor of a per sonality distinctly pleasing to the masculine eye, and of this the fair a was probably awa any event she was quite conse the Stir which her passage thro throng created. So the coincidence came ab this chserved lady stopped and ob- he “Nobile!” She Said. served Noble, who in return observed her not at all, being but semtconscious. “Noble!” she said. He stared at her, Hig elbow sagged away from the window; the whole person of Noble Dill seemed near qoi- lapse. He shook, and had no voice. “I just this minute got of the train,” Julia sald. “Are you going away somewhere?” “No,” he whispered; then obtained command of a buskiness somewhat greater in volume. “I'm Just standing here.” “I told the porter to get me.a taxt- cab,” she satd. “If you're going home for dinnér I'll drop you at your house.” “I— T'm— I—" His articulation encountered unsurmountable difficul- ties, but Julla had been with him through many such trials aforetime. She said briskly. “I'm awfully hungry and I want to get home. Come on—if you lke,” He walked waveringly at her side through the station, and followed her * Into the dim interior of the cab, which became fragrant of violets—an ema- nation at once ineffable and potsonous, “’m so glad I happened to run across you,” she sald, as they began to vibrate tremulously in unison with the flerce little engine that drove them. “I want f° hear all the news. Nobody knows a’In home. I didn’t write or telegraph t \@ soul; and I'll be a complete surprise to father and every+ body—I don't know how pleasant a one! You didn’t seem so frightfully glad to see me, Noble!” “Am I?" he whispered. mean—I mean: Didn't 12” “No!” she laughed. “You looked— you looked shocked! It couldn't have been because I looked {ll or anything, because I'm not; and it I were, you couldn't have told it, through two vells, Possibly I'd better take your expression as a compliment.” She paused, then asked hesitatingly, “Shall I" This was the style the Atwaters “I mean—l held Julia responsible for; but they were mistaken: she was unable to con- trol ft, She at once went cheerily on: “Perhaps not, as you don't answer. I shouldn't be so bold! Do you sup- pose anybody'll be glad to see me?” “I— I—" He seemed to hope that } worts would come, all in thelr own good time. “Noble!” she cried, “Don't be so glum!” And 6he touched his arm with her muff, a fluffy contact causing within him a rt convulsion, natural- ly Invisible. oble, aren't you going to tell me what's all the new: “There’s—some,” he man: form her. “Some—some ne “What ts it?” “It'—tt's—" “Never mind,” she said soothingly. “Get your breath; I can walt. I hope nothing’s wrong in your family, Noble.” “No—oh, ro.” “It isn't just my turning up un- expectedly that’s upset you so, of course,” she dered to say. “Naturally, I know better than to think such a thing as that.” “Oh, Julia!” be said. “What Is it, Noble?” “Noth—ing,” he murmured, disjoint- ing the word with a gulp. “How odd you happened to be there at the station,” she saidp “Just when my train came in! You're sure you weren't going away anywhere?” y oh, no.” fhe was thoughtful, then laughed confidentially. “You're the only per- son in town that knows I'm home, “Ob, Julia!” Noble.” “Tm giad.” he said, humbly. (To be Conanuec) :Gnee = wR oeer ES 2 ~~ Cra a Fa SOS SSSI SS CR WAAR Se Se eS SS SS oe Yk Iwan OS ae Fe Sy) ss iG SEZ SASS a — Faroe =