Evening Star Newspaper, July 3, 1921, Page 47

N bagied, like & lost HE vear was dying; day was dying: there was a tale that the woman in the nouse on the last hill was. dying: the wind alone was maxing. It seened fit that this should be the last house in the world. There was about the hollow thing some- thing so wasted and blighted, and yet unconquerable, like an enduring disaster. There was a long. loose-boarded oren with pillars across the front of the house and above it a second porch open to the sky, sserving the “plastered tenement.” Summer visi- tors sometimes togk the plastered never stayed long, und they never came back another season. because they could not bear the tragic beauty of the outlook from that hilltop. The land was no longer 1ike itself, but already half in the grip of ocean; at the end, a huddle of sand- bars; and then nothing but the ocean and u bell. The woman on the bed in the plastered tenement was listening to the bell; a faint, repeated note borne in the bosom of the wind. She might be twenty-five years of or forty. She was of rather her face, Large, moving between the low- brown almost to golden tenement The: . quic! arched li and yet carrying an illusion of great depth, all the vital aspirations,seem- ed to have come to center there, and the replica flickering either orb, seemed at home in them, as if they had been used to flame and wind. Save for a sanguine feather on either cheek bone, the rest of the face was glass white, ‘the fea- tures tooled to a fineness so exquisite that they seemed transparent and al- most luminous. he was talking to herself. “T've been so happy here with the sun and the stars and the wind and the bell. Sweet bell, so patient, so kind, calling to me, day in. day out! Mrs. Sparrow, where is the bell?” Mrs, Sparrow, middle-aged, worn and fleshy, answered from her rocker in a shadowed corner: “The bell, dearie? Why, it's out to the Head. dearie.” “The Head™ “Yes. Yes. marshes, y'know. deari “Oh! of the draughty candle, The end—b'yond the B'yond ever'thin’, The end! So if I could go out to the end. then I could see the bell. I wonder, I wonder—" “Hush, dear Now, now! Just be quiet, dearie. There! I hear Mr. Men- dal coming up now." Mrs. Sparrow was already busy with her shawl and bonnet, relieved by the footfalls beyond the door. I hope ¥'ll feel smarter 'n_the mornin’,” she cast over her shoulder and stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her. On the landing she confronted Mr. Mendal. “She says how her money's all gone she announced in tone. idealist, this Widow Sparrow; she would have loved not to have to think of the money part. “If you was t' have four to home, an' the oldest too young yet t' fish! She peered up at him. ~ “Tain’t if 1 knew the first thin' about 'er— where she come from—if she's got folks or no!” “Don't_you worry about the money, Mother Sparrow.” Mendal's voice was rich and quiet. “How does she seem tonignht?"* “Oh, dear about the same. Waitin’ “Oh, dear, about the same. Waitin' to be took.’ I declare she don’t seem t' be worrit much, tholigh. She begins t talk queer, though—talkin' bout goin' out t' the Head an’ the like. It give me a start t' hear ‘er. “She's been out on the porch “Yes, @ while. I carried ‘er in 'bout an hour ago. She don’t seem t' care much what—" “Yes, yes. Well, T guess that's allL Good-night, Mother Sparrow.” Entering the room, he drew the rocker from its corner and sat down beside the bed, leaning a little for- ward. * ‘Well,” he said, “and how are you to-night?” ‘Ah, dear friend, dear friend, you know how 1 am—this last night,” ‘Pshaw! You've sald that every night the past week.” “Yes, my time was up almost a week ago. I've stolen a week, Men- dal—a week of sweetness.” Her eyes went back to the can- dles—two_of them now—on the wash- stand. Mendal's chin sank farther into his neck, and his beard, square and brown and thick, covered his chest. Both were thinking of what was to come. The woman began again, her voice low and powerless and yet full of a kind of color. “It's like a balcony here hung over the edge, beyond nojse and hurry and naggings and heartbreaks, little loves, tiny hates; beyond time and space. Mendal; beyond everything but the bell and the end. I—I've been wondering——" She drew one hand from beneath the bedclothes. “I wonder if you would hold my hand. Mendal?" she asked. alie leaned forward awkwardly and covered the white hand with his own brown one. “Mendal, I wonder if you know— how—how—if_you know what you've been to me. Down here at the end of things you've always known every- thing so well, you people here—your neighbors, your plastered tenement, your marshes, your yesterday, your tomorrow. Dropping out of nowhere as I have, unexplained, nameless even, 1 must have seemed like a—like—" “Like an angel’ There was a ouri- ous harshness in the man's voice. “Is that why you've been so good and never asked? It was raining that night. And you were driving along the road in your buggy in the rain, thinking of—what were you think of, Mendal ™ “I was thinking how late it was.” “[ remember hearing your voice be- fore 1 went down—other voices, too. Were there some men with you, Men- dal?” “Yes, some neighbors. They got out and walked. “And you brought me up here! Why did you bring me up here, Mendal, in- stead of taking me on into the vil- lage?” “The village is noisy sometimes, the carts. on the cobbles, children play- ing and all. And you were sick and frightened.” “Frightened! Oh, how _terribly frightened, Mendal, at first. But now Ionly peaceful and happy watching The sunlight drift across the wall listening to the bell out there at the last end, calling—" Mendal got up suddenly to trim ono of the candles. He stood staring for a moment out of the window that had grown black; then he wheeled around abruptly. “How would you ll}a & little music tonight for a change?’ Th{ ‘woman started to shake her head, and then, seeing by his face how he wanted it, she smiled and nodded. He left the room to return after & few minutes carrying & phonograph, a black-enameled horn and a handful of records. “You see, we're not so countrified down here at the Head; after all. It's e great_comfort; makes things more equal. I can sit down and listen to Caruso or Farnoe sing here as well as your man in New York oity can, Now, here's one called the ‘Mad Song.’ %sr instance—Mad Song from “Lu- s it 18" It was Farnoe singing there in the ship>- born. The record was old and badly marred in places; and yet, with all th perhaps that “Rose of the World” had never sung her “Mad Song” against a background like th tonight—against fitful candles in & rocking house, against the starke or- chestration of the wind, the distract- d sand pelting the clapboards, the oice of the bell, remote and m e, X a_ worried under- “She 'xpected to go a week back, she says.” * ok kX SHE would have liked to be an Illustrated by C. D. Batchelor the breakers. At times the silver thread seemed to go out of the cham- ber, mount up through the roof, searching for something not to be found, and then &ome back again to break its heart play. * x x'% "THE woman did not onge,move_her eyes from Mendal,' ‘who sat hunched on his elbows in a curiously relaxed posture. The aria came to a close, and the needle whirred on un- tended in the blank. “It seems queer to me,” he dreamed aloud, “how anybody could make- believe like that about a thing like inscanity; make a thing that isn't real 80 much more real than any- thing else. I suppose that's what they call being an artist.” “That isn't artistr: The woman raised berself on an elbow. “That's not make-believe, as you call it. No, no—that was Farnoe herself—inside —something she was searching for, a flame for her to play with. Remem- ber, Mendal, when she sang for that record she had just—just—It was about Terry Kew.” “In the play?” “In the flesh! It was perilous, sing- ing that, Mendal. No one could have dreamed how perilous but L I could —because—I am Mary Farnoe.” For a moment the man continued in the same posture, as though he had not heard, or, hearing, had failed to comprehend. “Mendal. look at me!" He turned his head slowly. “This is Mary Farnoe, here. Do you understand? This is ‘The Be- ioved;' this is ‘Rose of the World, Mendal—'Fleur d'Amour'—'Farnoe’!” He got up finally and stood with his hands behind his back. *“My house is honored.” he stam- mered with an awkward bow. Then he continued to stare down at her till she cried at him in her strength- less volce: “And still you don't ask me how I came here—why 1 came? Have I had to come to the end of the earth to find a man who would ask nothing of me? 8it down again! Nearer! There! 1 tell you, Mendel. Because 1 couldn't bear their watching and waiting and pretending; I couldn’t bear_their not knowing that I knew. Oh, Mendal, I couldn't lodk forward to the whisperings and telegrams and bulletins. I've amused the street all my life, Mendal—wasn't that enough? Must I die for them in the paper each morning along with their ball games and stocks and coffee? And then 1 was frightened. too. Mendal, do you know what it Is to be frightened?” A faint color dyed her cheeks, like tha sun seen through a shell. She raised herself higher on the pillow, and her voice grew stronger: “If they'd only told me, Mendal! I ‘went to pleces at the symphony that night, but they were 8o kind and made nothing of it. I had to get it from a hysterical, eavesdropping maid at the hotel. Three weeks to live! Mendal! Mendal! I who had loved life so, faithless as it had been! “And then there was the train; the hot, bright, varnisheq cage rushing me away through the dark; the nurse in and out; little Blomberg in and out, puckering his fat forehead, smoking hard, trying for once in his life to be gay. Poor little Blomber; after all, I made him—the great manager. Norway Wwas somewhere in the train, too, covering me for the A. P.—like a—a hanging, Mendal. “They were taking me somewhere for a rest, Blomberg said. But why then the wire for Dr. Westcountry to meet us? Didn't they imagine I knew vho'Dr. Westcountry was, what he was? “They were all asleep, even the nurse. The traiy was a nightmare. It smothered me.' 1 got to thinking. *Am I Mary, or am I Farnoe? I said over and over, ont loud. “The train stopped for something. I crept out. I had to have air. An- other train from the opposite direc- tion came in between me and my own. It was like the hand of God. I turned my back and started to run along & road. I must have been guite out of my head with it all, for the train, I remember, turned down the road after me; I could hear it thundering through the trees behind me—the ral; I suppose. How far did I come, Men. da “Five miles—or better. “How could I? I don't remember ft. There was a sign-post under & lantern with three white fingers waeping for.me, add.thary was & dog LAND’S END BY WILBUR DANiEL STEELE. Love, The Life Guard—And New Worlds To Conquer. - ’ that trotted beside me for a while: I don't know how long. And by and by you were behind me, and that fright- ened me more than anything else had. You were Blomberg coming to get me; you were Dr. Westcountry com- ing o do something to me: you were Norway coming to ‘cover' ‘me; you Were— Oh, you must think me a silly, hysterical thing, Mendal.” Getting to his feet, Mendal thrust his_hands deep in his pockets and then took them out again, his beard still shaking with the savage nega- tive. The woman went on talking, as if to herself now, arms outspread and eyes on the ceiling, her voice scarcely audible above the wind: EE nPEnHAI‘S I died that night, really, and this is another life. It's been so sweet here; it seems as long already as the other was, looking back—that other little life, so crowd- ed, so empty, so happy. so sad! There were triumphant moments in it, Men- day; I try to get hold of them now, and they slip away, one by one, as I come to them; mist, nothing. 'Only one stays, very smali, so small that 1 had forgotten it till I lay here in the quiet sky. Just a man in the dark; a boy, really—a feverish boy crying for me ‘to stop. It's like a fairy tale, where the thing that seemed So lit- tle eats up all the things that seem 80 big. “‘Fleur d’'Amour’ they called me. ‘Flower of Love’' that means, Mendal. ‘Whatever would the Sunday papers have done without Mary Farnoe? ‘What reams on reams they fllled with their Farnoe, their queer, Farnoe, whom 1 never knew. They wanted me complex, and 1 couldn’t be anything but simple; they made me a butterfly. and I was a rock for faith. I forgive them. I can begin to un derstand an all-forgiving God. 80 easy to forgive—in heaven. I can even forgive the men who never loved 1 can even smile at them now. me. They all thought they loved me, poor things! Youth was what Tom Lord loved. I think. Bennington loved me for the crowds: Von Huhr because I was so essentially American; Belham because I was so essentially un-Am distorted | it's | fean. Terry Kew loved himself. “I isay, 1 forgive them. ‘rhey lip | away, mist, noth'nz. How 1 should have smiled then had any one told me I was to look back out of the fu- ture and remember tnat bov only lover of Mary Farnoe. IUs queer, isn’t it, Mendal?" “What?" #To call him that. When he never spoke a word of love to me. [ never saw him except once, and that in the dark; I1_don't so much as know his name. But why do you listen to my maunderings, Mendal? ~ Haven't 1 asked enough of you, first and last?” “No. I will listen. ‘You won't hear. It's too phantas- mal. It's just that he seems to fit in here with the wind and_ocean and marshes_and sea birds. He was an interne, I think. (Oh, just then I was getting well in a hospital, slowly.) He must have been an interne; he wore white, I remember, and looked like a ghost standing at the foot of my bed in the dark. I knew he had no business there, but, oddly enough. that wasn't my first thought. If he had a queer flair about me, perhaps I had a sort of one about him, too. It may have been just his attitude. At, mny rate my first impulse was to say aloud: ‘You poor boy! “He started and stammered that he hadn't known 1 was awake. Idon’t be- lieve there was ever such a queer conversation as that. “Why do you do it? he asked, out of nothing. “‘Do what? “He wouldn't listen to myv ques- tions, but shook them off with a fe- vered impatience, his words seemed to get in the way of his thoughts. “’f wish you'd stop! I wish to God d stop! ‘Stop what? “They're eating you up—burning you up! Can’t vou see thev're eating you up as fast as they can?” “*Who are? ‘T wish, for dear Christ's sake. you'd run away from them,’ he cried in a passionate whisper. “I sat up in bed and You can't endal, how weird it was. 1 't frightened in the least. I forgot who I was and who he was. “‘Come around here beside the bed.’ 1 said to him. He came, sank down on hts kaees, and buried his face his hands, and when I laid a hand on =h‘ h-l.rfll he w‘n “-lhlvefl&: 1 over. ad a 8¢ O ng & tho ears older than-he. 2 ared at him. | as the . l in You poor, poor .child’ I sald. *You've fallen in love with Mary Farnoe, like the rest of them. What a pity! And you want me to run away with you; is that it? ks protested wildl: No, no, no! Thi ‘what I'm lfllnfiblo tell you— not with anybody! ver let any one get a hold on you again. only you could be turped to ice somehow. Ice, cold, qulet! Close the doors on them. Lock them out. They don’t bring you anything! Al- ways taking—taking you awa ittle by little, till one day there'll pe noth- ing left of you! “He may_ have been older than 1 in years; I might have been his mother. I smoothed his hair, couldn’'t help smiling at him, he seemed so tried tod tell utterly outlandish. 1 him “how we weren't : how what there was to spend had to be spent. ‘You don't understand. poor lad, [ was saying when the night nurse's 1sh found him there beside my bed. s discharged next morning, 1 * ok k% JFOR a time therc was silence, every- thing in the world seemed to have been said. Mary Farnoe's sen- tence had carried a curious feeling of finality, like the settling of a last account. She lay on her side with her hands clasped, searching Mendal's half-lowered face. “Mendal” He looked up, moved by the change in her voice, and found her em- barrassed as a girl with the color coming and going across her face. “I—I don't seem to know how to say it, Mendal. You seem &0 big and solid ‘and dependable; sometimes it almost frightens me to find myself clinging to you so for everything. You've been like a breath of clear air to me after the other sort of thing—their precious frailties, their precious personalitics, their pre- cious spirits. their whims. But out here, Mendal—why, you're no body. And I'm nobody. "It doesn't seem to matter much whether you She broke off for a mo- ment. “I don't want you to laugh at me. she implored “Laughing at you' “No. It's about the bell, at_the last end of everything. Mendel checked her “there by put- ting out a hand and covered both! hers. You've been ihinkin | a zood dr ' tace b tic or melodr: than that, Mendul. It's me. I've always 1 thAt Sfue ,wosivn, oo through, to go through to the nd, whatever it might be. Listen, Mendal! Hear!" Do you mean” he put to her slowly, “that you would like t ont there tonight?” il He got up and moved to the door, where he turned with his hand on lhl‘blll(‘h. i - “Do you think vou're strong enough, on a night like this?" . e “Yes, yes! 1 feel stronger than 1 have for weeks." “I'll be back in a minute.” He came back into the room and stood over her, studying the face against the plllow. “You look like a bride,” he sald. Bending over suddenly, he wrapped the bedclothes tight about her, picked her up in his arms and went down- stairs and out of the house. Once beyond the half shelter of the porch, the wind claimed them. Men- dal's first rush carried him as far as the break of the hill, but there he hesitated and looked down at the face against his shoulder, dim-gray in its mufiiings. His own was gray, and a h:;dz of l;firlg(ra:'londcll’uilg for an in- stant on his forehead before wl\lDeked it away. % thesmise “Do you want to go?" he asked, berullng se that his lips were elol‘fl to her ear. “Am I heavy?" He shook his head savagely. “What's that, Mendal—over the He followed the direction of her eyes, slanting over his shoulder. Be- yond Barnham Head village the moon was rising, casting a dome of light before it into the EKy, and vertically across this dome, from a farther abutment of the hill, rose the stark bln_fil: : en of : c:ou.d ““Thaf e hesitated an in “That's the telegraph.” Sant. “But I didn't know—' “Oh, what erence does it make, after all? Why do we stop h o, Senaal?” . P here so e started down the slo) waded through the bit of marsi ll!,eihe bot- tom that sucked at his shoes, found the hard, uneven footing of the breakwater, and passed out once more into the wind. 1t was one of /those nights that come once or twice in‘an autumn, swept clean of all the dusts and mists of the world, everything shorn and incisive; even the sound of the water hing through the crevices of the 8 had an edged quality, 1like liquid blades playing in the rock, Mendal had to keep. sharp watch of his path, for even in the growing 1| light the tilted slabs were treacherous footing. When the arm about his aeck, tightening. begged bis atten. out there ; ‘'Oh, please don't think I'm roman-; tion, he had to bring up and stand balanced ageinst the 'Ins. “What is it? he asked. He bent to_catch her answer. “I'm getting ‘so small, Mendal, and you're growing bigger and bigger all the while. And I don't hear the bell any more. You—Mendal, you're not_fooling me?" “No!™ His voica was sharp. ‘The surf at the head drowns it now. You won’t hear it any more till we come up_with it” He went forward agalg. Her ‘weight, frall it was, began to tell. When he had reached the square hewn boulder rising like ort of keystone at the center of the wall but 1|he had to pause a moment in its le resting his back against the rock." ‘It 18 here?” she asked him. A “No, no! I'h only getting my wind; that's all."” d"l\fi'hv won't you look at me, Men-- a7 ) For some reason or other it seemed an effort for him. For & moment she lay there watching him. “Why won't you say it, Mendal?" Her hand crept up to touch his cheek, and it was whiter now than her own. . “You would have sald it, Mendal, it T hadn’t told you abogt=about me. ‘But what dlfl?!nce éan that make— now—out her The world's gone. We're all thefe are, Mendal, one man and one woman. But why should I want you to tell me, after all? It's 8o different from anything else that ever happened. I can love you to the last depths, Mendal, without it's seem| 50 fatal a thing whether you ldwe me or net. Of course. that would be sweet, incredibly—— He had forgotten to be careful with her or with himself. His kiss left them both shaken and breathless. “You— You' He seemed unable to say anything but that: “You— You— You—. +x % I,IE was going forward again, al- most at & run. The breakwater came to an end: he was floundering up the rise to Barnham Head; one instant In the lee, the next, crushed and deafened, face to face with the driven sea. Farnoe's fingers dragged at his cheek. “Where is it, Mendal? Mendal “Look!" He pulled the blanket away from her face. A puff of spray like cannon smoke drove across them, bllndll;‘ lh:| eyes. “Lool n Grayness swooned into blacknes: a thin, wide tongue lashed out ol the .smhother, glistening with aim stars, clotted with ropes of ume ;. licked up at them across the sand with a sinister hunger; fell ack THROUGH MI NEVADA TO A SEAT 1 BY V. M. HUDSON. BOUT a score of $ears ago Jim Butler, while chasing burros, stumbled on a rich outcrop- ping of rock that, when sayed, gave high values In gold and silver, particularly silver. The place of the dlscovery, which Is now, and has been for a decade or 80, one of the steadiest and best producing camps in the west, {8 named Tono- pah. The name is of Indlan origin and means “Waterbrush." In addi- tion to being a famous mining cen- ter, it is the home of Key Pittman, senfor senator from the Sagebrush state. The people of Nevada are proud of the statesman who has long and ably represented them in m; r house of Congress. They stan SePhim, irrespective of party, because he is on the alert to safeguard their interests, because he is & distin guished legislator and because of the fact that he believes in the same high standards of fair dealing as dogthe people of the state which has plven so much new wealth to man- kind. 1y fifty years ago there came Inre the world at. Vicksburg, Mies, a Iittle black-haired youth, a tiny mite, with a line of distinguished ances- tors, who held positions of honor and trust in the south; ancestors who were conservative yet constructive. Young Pittman was reared in the lap of luzury, every want could be gratified for the mere asking. As a again, leaving a serpent of kelp at Mendal's feet, writhing and faintly luminou “Look!" he shouted for the third time, shaking her. “Out there! Be- yond!' ¥ But she had. tufned her face the! other way. 5 “Why do you do this? Mendal! Mendal! Why do you frighten me s0? Why don't you take me to the bell?* “I am! It's out there—over the outer bar. Come!" He started down the shining slope, but now she was crying terribly in his ear: “Menda)! Mendal! Mendal “Good God!" he shouted. “What's the matter?” Stumbling back again, he stared into the staring eyes. “Don't you want to £0?" They looked incredibly old, of them! . . . They were on higher ground and wire-grass was catching at Menda shoes and trying to trip nlm. He umbled once 'and went down on one knee, but the sand was soft, and he did_not lose holg of his burden. A building with two yellow windows came around a hummock lo meet| them. i It was hard for Mary Farnoe lo remember what bappened after that for a _time. Whatever it was, it led to a kipd cf bed bullt into the xid of a small room filled Wwith papers ana” outlandish instruments and | warmth and light. Some one had hold of one of her wrists. She began to realize that it was Mendal, and that his eves. fixed and unwinking, were holding her up out of something. There were others in the room: an old man Wwith a blue coat and gray whiskers; still other men behind him. _ “Where am 17" she asked with her lips. for she scemed to have no voice. Mendal's eyes came dowp 3 littte closer, still holding her tight. “You're 4t Barnham' Head, Mary the life-saving station 'm so weak ', 8O W ‘vl-k, ) course you're weak. Youll bej stronger by and by!" Without moving his some word or ers out of the “The broth.” g captain. And then to y Farnoe “Open your mouth and swallow this 1t's a little brandy. There!” i She lay quiet as death itself, watch- | ing him. He began to K with a nful dellberation, making each Word count as a separate thing, hum mering, hammering! | “Mary Farnoe. listen' You couldn't £o through! You failed in that role: that gesture is gone. I proved it to you. You had hold of a fine fanc there; a deep, dramatic symbolism— Lands End, Iternal Ocean. the Bell| calling. caliing, day and night. from | the bosom of Oblivion. A big idea— both | 1, he gave t the oth-| Ned after the M | thoroughly T hav, i to live, then? yes, yes. But it fell Now you're rting all over again, on something | . Listen, Mary Farnoe! 1 want| to understand this; learn it by s the lines of your new role:| There bsolutely nothing organ- ically wrong with you now. That| wne all over two weeks ago. Tn a month you will be vourself. Here's | another swallow oft the brandy and | then a little broth. You'll see how it over you; the tell you I phoned | before we left the| T'll hold you up a | you heart; aptain_here will about this broth house an hour ago. moment, so! The spirits and hot broth began to tell; a fiew color crept into her cheeks as she lay there, with no will of her own. “You talk so queerly, Mendal: so different, so new. 1—I hardly know vou, Mendal.” Jt may have been five she spoke again. minutes before ve me three weeks “Why did they gl “Three weeks as you were living then—on vour heart and nerve “Why didn't a tell me before, Men —that T was all right?" “What would have been the use? You wouldn't have bel «d me. No. no. Mary Farnoe: I don’t think you'd believe anything in the world unless the stage were s for it—as 24 well. you wouldn't hav your life cept in a life ving station. a denourment or it is noth- Truth ing™ Another minute passed 1 at him dream 11 1 ming again, t's on the kne —he tried to smil while she of the ~“the gods, gl lery gods! You'll do what your au dience expects of you, even the im possible. “Tut M-e-n-d-a- A hand came toward him across_the covers, ap- pealing. ~ You said spent remember what once, Mary? ‘What's musf be spent’?” Rut what if T was wrong, Men- da1>” laok you to be and whi | “Blomberg will | “balcony i nobod. it _on the wire tonight arnoe will sing in three months’' Thal all. Thank: Thanks. Nor- way. Good-night!” he said, his eves still on the knot, “Now you're playing to the old audience again. I'm tired,” he went on. “And I'm afraid to look at_vou. “Westcountry,” came her wonder- ing voice. “Westcountry! You're— you're Westcountry? You're angry! ‘When she didn't speak he had to cover up the silence somehow. be glad to get away. Poor Blomberg! The Barn- ham Head House isn't quite up to Rlomberg's style, though he's been a surprising brick about it. And Norway. How they've played chess down there, and how they hate chess! I've wanted them to o, but they wouldn’t. They we-e the ones vou saw in the buggy with me that night. That was my train that came in between you and vours. It took us a little while to pick up the trail Mary, Mary, if vou knew how TI'd dreaded this moment, when I should have to tell you.” Why He had to look at her when she spoke so, and now it was his eyes that were bewildered and hers sure and full of light. “1 was afraid it might you see that—what you hung over the edge" woman and one man—nobody ary, can't alled the one and “Was that sweet to you. too”" “Sweet? Is it sweet when a dream comes true, even for a little while— % dream one's been alone with for ten years? Once I kmelt in the dark, Mary, beside a bed in a hospital. very young and foolish and fever- ish. Ana knees again, with his face buried in her hands, and she was smiling at him again, but not because he was outlandish this time. knew.” she whispered. “I began to know almost a week ugo. Do you 1 “And W right?" he said. were He got up suddenly as if he wers aid of himself. and. tirning to a telephone on the wall. took down | e receiver: “Is this the Barnham Head Touse? with Yes? Rlombs way? May T speak | vou. Rlomberg? srner, ; eak with Nor- Thanks * * % x [T was hard to wait there, staring at a knot in the paneling; he seemed actually to grow whiter and aunter with every dragging second. “Oh, hello! Hello! Norway? . . . Iv's Westcountry speaking, Norway. Tl give you a leader, Norway; put ENATOR KEY PITTMAN'S Career Reads Like a Bit of Fiction—His Early Experi- ences in the Gold Terr In the Silver Mines of Fortunes Were Made. itory of the Far North. Nevada, Where Great young student he Tle analytical mind. g uating from the Southwestern Uni- sity the call of the west reached im. It became insistent, the spirit :l adventure selzed him and he head- ed for the country where skles are blue and sunshine bright. His pri- mary object 'lu ‘nnd .lho e ic forests a 3.”5.‘5 woods in order that he migh n a robust stature. B ler enjoying three or four weeks of genuine sport, rumors o_l the prog- Tess of the towns around Puget sound reached Pittman and he accordingly invested his patfimony. It was at the time when every one was buying or ling in those boom towns, and as Pittman laughingly remarked. he in- n every boom town in Puget He further said that his in- Vestments were permanent. He never tonk anything away from these boom towns. = After six months he was broke. He had neith'r the money nor the nerve to go nome. 8o In or- et ve out a fortune without the - tamily purse, he plunged ginz woods, where he se- joyinent ut skinning the ¥ Tiis was at a time ki = one end of an * % ¥ % PPiIf oL i gt wed perilaps one of 1 the most beneficial that ever happened to young Pittman, because oot elk in the | nd weeks | it bullt up & physique that, whilc not huge, porsessed amasing strength. Graduating from this school i the woods he left for Seattle, opbning law offices there nnd nt Mount Vernon, .usih. Hls praciice almost at once J.aue a lucrutive onc. Such creature comforts his large fees could provide Soare fis. Then cime the famous financinl cras: of the Baring Brot! " Pittman hud recelved, in add er: tlon to cash, numerous notes Oof clients, but he found thit these bits of paper hud shrunk in value to a pfu:t Dehere they were no longer good to pay board. A:nln the spirit of adventure seized him. He yearned for newer and fairer flelds, 8o he pre- sented his offices to a younger lawyer and to the judge of the court he gave his library. His little mony he in- yested in a twelve-month stock of food, or “grub,” as the prospector calls it, which consisted largely of 5. He sailed on the e ka, from which point 1d Gll?‘)verhllhl(} me. He was equipped with & pair o ::mdly mackinaws, so shoddy that they would hardly do for 8 spring duy in Washington. He llkewise pot !hor.l‘l)‘ I’es“lnl‘eed rthern clime. m:)n the trip to Alaska Pittman and twenty others became involved in a row because one of the party had lost his lpvoh‘l ;:&I tor‘k:‘ g):::::;" tied, wen " el ':' met a French-Canadian ‘with whom he bunked until they were ready to hit the Skag- way trail to Lake Bennett. Both Pittman and Lashus rled one hundred pounds on it backs every day as they ‘mushed’ over this heart-breaking trail. The two intrepid seekers for opportuni- ty whipsawed lumber from which they bullt thelr own boats and in them ran the Miles Canyon White Horse ) After a strenuous trip they arrived Dawson with fioating ice. Delays and distribution of food to less foi pilgrims ha reduced ' Pittma: cash practically nil. In fact, & man who knew him in Alaska and from whom the writer has secured much of these data, stated that Pittman arrived in Dawson with exactly 10 cents in his ket, and this was at a time when g:adh,nl De! jwitches were selling at 33 ;hu next day SENATOR KEY PITTM (Copyright by H: arris & Ewing.) after hig arrival he was employed as an attorney in a big mining suit, but was denied the right to practice before the gold commissioner, even | fter he had passed his examination, because he had not served three | years as an apprentice in the solici tor's office in Canada. Disgusted with the unreasonable | regulations of the Canadian govern- ment, Pittman temporarily forsook the law and worked with his own hands as a miner for over two years. Leaving Dawson, he proceeded 1o Nome, just after that famous camp | was discovered, and he helped or- ganize the “consent” form of govern- ment for the miners. The part he played in bringing order out of chaos resulted in his election as the first district attorney of that section. Re- alizing that the new district attorney occupied a posiion fraught with ex- treme danger, the authorities assign- ed three deputy marshals for duty in the courtroom to protect the district attorney while he prosecuted cases. ok k% ‘HOSE who were in Alaska at the time said that although numer- ous attempts were made to assassi- nae Pittman and that numerous plots were hatched, the district attorney failed at any time to show the slight- est sign of nervousness. Then Con- gress passed a law which resulted in many undesirable persons coming or being sent to Alaska, individuals who brought about conditions resulting in Rex Beach writing his famous novel, *“The Spoilers.” Pittman then became the attorney for the miners and others who owned mining claims. Upon his last trip to the states, ‘where he appeared before the circuit court at San Francisco, which court had jurisdiction in the cases, he heard of the rike” made at Tonopah, and for those not familiar with the no- menclature of mining, “strike” in min- Ing means a discovery. When he heard of the wonderful find, Pittman finished his legal work and proceeded to this new El Dorado. The train in those days ran as far as Sodaville, from which point it was necessary to atage it into.the new camp. This ride took eighteen hours with three changes of horses. When he arrived at Tonapah he became interested in the mines ,and rapidly acquired one of the largest practices of any lawyer in the state. He had given but little thougkt to politics. With a number of friends he journeved to Reno to witness the Jeffries and Johnson prize fight, and while there he accepted the nomination for the United State Sen- ate on the democratic ticket to op- pose the late George S. Nixon. Nixon was popular, and had numer- ous mining and banking interests and knew nearly everybody in the state. After Pittman’s nomination he ap- | proached Senator Nixon and suggest- ed that the loser abide by the popular vote of the state, 5o that there might be no suspicion of corruption of the legislature. = This was the first time in the history of the United States that such a proposition had been made. Pittman was defeated, but the legislature was democratic by thrce on joint ballot. Friends urged Pitt- man not to stand by the agreement, because they charged that Nixon's friends had spent considerable money in the fight. Pittman not only re- fused to heed these pleas, but went before the legislature and urged the democrats to vote for Nixon, stating i that any other action would destroy the theory of popular government. The members of the legislature fol- lowed his advice, with the result that every democrat voted for Nixon. Then both the scnate and assembly passed a joint resolution congratulating Pitt- man on the high stand he had taken in_the matter. Two years later, while Pittman was addressing the democratic state con- vention assembled to clect delegates to the Baltimore convention, new: came_that Senator Nixon was dying. Mr. Pittman expressed the hope that Senator Nixon would win his fight against death. After Senator Nixon's death Judge Massey was appointed by the governor, elected as a republican, to serve out the unexpired term. Pittman was nominated as his oppo- nent. Judge Massey had occupled po- sitions of trust in the state and had made many friends. The fight was a bitter one. It was clean cut through- out. The day after the election Pitt. man was one hundred votes behind on and it was & week before ‘was_announced.. The the return: the final i that l NING FIELDS OF ALASKA AND N THE U. | know How? Well, there couldnt be [ two of you 1—1 thought you wers going » tell me tonight.” Her lips were against his cheek “Does that mean, Mary—that kiss. it doesn't matter, after all” That even without my romantic trap- pings, rather gray and prosaic Her low laughter was like caress “The sca must be going down.” st whispered afer a long time. T heard the bell, just then, very faint- ly. 5! The bell's a masker, too. It's gone back to the role that made it famous—warning people off the bar.” Copyright, Harper & Tiros. Al Rights Reserved. S. SENATE | contest was the subject of much bet- | ting between the friends of each can- didate. The outside precincts, the farmers, the ranches and the mining camps. brought in a total which gave Mr. Pittman the election by eighty- nine votes. The same agrement had existed between Judge Massey and Pittman as had existed between Sena- tor Nixon and Pittman. The legisla- ture gave its unanimous vote for | Pittman. After having served through the unexpired term to which he had been elected, Senator I’ittman was |again nominated and elected by @ plu- rality of over 2.400, * o ox RBY birth and raising Senator Key Pittman was a democrat; by ex- i perience and association in the west he became thore independent, and while he has stood by the party of which he is a member in matters that have been purely political, he has never hesitated to vote as his con- science dictated, where he thought the matters came in conflict with the interests of the state he represented He is not a devotee of theorienerath- er believes that theories should be ad.- ¢ | justed to necessities—for instance, in' 1813 he spoke for free raw wool on the ground that the tariff had noth- ing to do with wool. In the last Congress he voted for the tariff on wool because conditions had changed {He is for a tariff on raw materials as well as manufactured articles. He believes that tariffs should equalize i conditions abroad and at home. He | i# opposed to tariffs that create mo- nopolies, but realizes the necessity of a tariff that permits our own indus-/ tries to live without lowering the soctal standards of our own people. | He cares nothing about the theories of the past: he is solely niteresteg in | problems as they are presented. He stood loyally by the former adminis- tration during the war, and is one of the group of senators who devised the plan to table the Gore resolution (1o prevent the arming of American ships). _Senator Pittman does not bounce up in his seat every day or o and make 1a speech, but when he does address, i the Senate he speaks directly to the | point. He has no patience with dema gogues. He advocates the ratification { of “the peace treaty. He was not | actuated by political desires to be- lieve it was the only possible plan that would make world peace. He | voted for the ratification of the treaty | with mild reservations: he voted for { the Lodge reservations: hy voted for {the amendments that wolld contain the principles in the covenant of the league of nations. He hates war. hates militarism; realizes the futility of all of it, and when all concert of i nations was turned down and it ap- | peared that the old order of force would be maintained, he favored a Navy that could conquer any navy in the ‘world. ’ Senator Pittman is. a patriotic American, und the writer of this story the other day secured from u government official the information that when this country declared war Senator Pittman had quictly gone to the War Ipartment and waived all exemptions and asked to be allowed to serve. The oflicial replied that under no circumstances would the department avail itself of his patri- otic offer, because they realized that it was absolutely essential that he re- main in the Senate. There is not today in the United States Senate a man who is more keenly desirous of giving the worker a chance than is the senior senator from Nevada. This is all the more remarkable because of the environment of his early life, reared amid luxury, removed from contact with those who gained their daily bread by the sweat of their brow, he gained but little knowledge of how the other half of the world lives until he came in contact with | those who toil in the great northwest and later with those who labor in {Nevada. In securing the passage of the bill which now bears his name, he practically saved the mining in- dustry of the west. He has fought for over six years the ideas of the {cast in regard to leasing as it ap- plies to land. He has fought for it continuously, 8o that the rancher could turn arid regions into fertile fields and give the homeseeker an on- portunity to become a producer. While figures are not avallable, it is more than probable that through his activities over 200,000 prospecting | permits have been granted. In 1904 the Miners' Univa Wt oo- jected to the contract system, and it seemed probable that there would be a clash between the Mine Owners’ Association and the miners. Both sides called upon Mr. Pittman to act as a referee in the matter. He skilfully adjusted the differences that the agreement was signed and it lasted until 1916, and, while other mining camps throughout the coun- try were torn by strife, Taropah re- mained & peaceful community. It was not until six years later, long fter the agreement had expired. that differences arose in Tomopah) betweéen the mine owners and the miners. This may be called a war strike. Senator Pittman stands about ‘five feet eleven, is of the wiry athletic type, clean shaven, brown eyes, black hair shot with gray at the temples aud is fond of all outdoor sports. He possesses an analytical mind, is an eloquent speaker and has a ki nse of humor. He is prurll“ atesman by training. He works incessantly for his constituents: he belleves in the people of Nevada and , the people believe in him. there he” was down on his « ' t ' !