Evening Star Newspaper, May 31, 1925, Page 80

THE SUNDAY STAR, WASHINGTOY D. - TWO POETS AND A BURGLAR BY ALICE DUER MILLER. A Lesson in Strategy in Which the Heroine Almost Turns Blackmailer. TANA did not at once take in the fact that he was a burg. lar. Her idea of a burglar had always been a heav. thick-set man with a re volver, a mask and a huge unshaven chin. The slim, who turned at her entrance and leaped as lighlty as a faun to the door be. hind her was not her conception of the part She was mnot thinking ahout burg lars. Ordinarily, if she had found herself alone downstairs in the great stone house at 4 o'clock in the morn- ing, her first thought would have been of something hostile and unknown— ghosts or murders; but tonight, after she had let herself in with the latch- key almost forcibly taken away from her maid and had stolen through the heavy grilled doors and over the thick, soundless carpets, her mind had been so full of Bryan and her engagement, of her own daring in letting him bring her home alone, and the uncomforta ble possibility that her grandfather might still be awake, that she had no attention left for commonplace fears. When she saw a dim light shining from the library, she was sure that Mr. Broughton had caught Ellen slip- ping in without her and was now waiting up to reprove her for such irregular conduct. She knew she had made no sound, and she might be able to slip past that open door un seen, and thus put off the dreaded interview until the next morning. The vespite tempted her, for she was afraid of her grandfather; but taking coun- sel of dignity and courage, she de- cided to face him at once; and so she straightened herself and entered the room. She had almost begun her speech: “Grandpapa, 1 sent Ellen awa home, because Bryan is always going to bring me hcme Then she saw that the figure standing at the desk was not her grandfather, but a nger. Don't scream.” he said hurt you if you keep still.” She felt no impulse to scream— surprise was her dominating emotion. It seemed incredible that fifteen min- utes before she had been dancing at a crowded party with the handsomest man in the room. And now here she “I won't was—the same girl—locked in a room | with a burglar with a burglar! The phrase, alarming than the fact, made heart skip its beat. * % % I E was not from any point of view an alarming figure—small. red- haired, with ears that stood away from his head and pale, rapidly-mov ing eves-looking out from his ferret like face. You're deringly. “Oh, well,” he answered common burglar—something different—that’s my motto. an idea—absolutely new Having locked the door, he now moved back 10 the desk with a swaggering motion about his head and hips as he walked. He was arranging little packages which he had evidently taken from e of the inner drawers which Diana had seen all her life and never dreamed of opening. “You see,” he went on, “there’s always room for brains. Those pearls of yours, for in stance—I wouldn’t touch them.” Her hand went to her throat. were my mother’s,” she said. “That wouldn't matter any to me,” said the burglar. “I'm not soft hearted. I'm pretty hard-boiled, but then, you can't be anything else in my profession.” He gave a smile— a smirk. the burglar continued. “I wquidn't care who the pearls belonged to' or how much you bawled, if I wanted them—but T don’t. That's my idea. If you take something valuable. what happens? You pawn it or seli it, and the fence gets the cream of it, and you take the chance. But there is always something to steal that you can get a fancy price for and no questions asked. I guess you get the idea.” “No,” said Diana, stupld, “I'm afraid I don't “Compromising stuff — something they're ashamed of.” answered the burglar. “Then you don't get caught, for every one is just as anxious to have you make your getaway as you are yourself. Suppose vou identify me tomorrow—I' never wear a mask— you'd know me anyvwhere—what dif- ference does it make? Nothing In this house has been taken—nothing, that 1s.” and his slyness became intense “that any _one will acknowledge ever existed. I'm protected. That's the plan. Find a rich man with some- thing that he's ashamed of. Believe me, they are not hard to find The experience had been coming to Diana in layers—surprise, fear and now anger. It seemed to her imperti nent, what this man was doing. She said cold fraid you've come to the wrong house, this time.” “Don’t kid vourself, id the bur- glar with a giggle. “I don't belfeve,” said Diana, “that my grandfather ever did anything in all his life which he believed was wrong.” She phrased this creed with some care, for as she grew older she had become aware that the stern, rigorous, seif-denying old man whom she had been brought up to respect as the wisest and best of men was not uni Locked in a room more her a burglar,” she said won I'm no a little I have Chey to be ferret-faced creature | ¢ and allowed Bryan to bring me | versally respected. She knew now that he had once been described as “a malefactor of great wealth,” and just the other day she had seen him | referred to in an editorial as “one of | the predatory group which domifeted ur finances in the unmorel nineties.” She had had the courage to take the matter up with him; and though his answer had not satisfied her that the editorial writer was wrong, it had satisfied her that he himself believed that he had been perfectly right in all his business ethics: there was nothing in_his conduct of which he was ashamed—nothing he thought wrong. * * % % THE burglar had laid his packets in a row—neat little piles of papers labeled and tied up with red string. “I never come to the wrong house,” he said. “T never make a mistake.” He took up one packet and waggled it at her. “Your grandfather would give me something for that, T can tell you—several thousand dollars. “My grandfather would never let himself be blackmailed,” she said, “even if—which I know isn't true but even if he had done something wrons—something he was ashamed “Ah." said the burglar, “but it isn't the wrong things people do that they're ashamed of—it’s the silly ones. T've heard men hoast of their crimes ones they had never committed, some. times—but, gee, how they hate to be ridiculous!” “Ridiculous!” exclaimed Diana. She could not imagine Mr. Broughton be ing ridiculous. “In my profession you've gotta have a sense of humor.” said the burglar “I found a society dame who married an English lord the other day—well, | she began life preity low down and | | wrote an etiquette book—all wrong | they say it is She gave me some. thing, 1 can tell yer, for the corre spondence that showed she wrote that book. And there's a critic here in this town—one of those sarcastic fellows- he's down on all the sloppy stuff, but I found\out that when he began life he wrote sentimental songs. ‘Whe Mummie Tucks Me in My Beddle-Bye'—That was worth some- thing, believe me.” Diana could not help these two instances. but almost at | once her nd returned to her own | situation.; “My grandfather never did anything like that.” she said Oh, didn't he just!” sald the bur- glar. “How about this?” He with drew a paper from one of the pack ets, and opened it. “Poetry,” he said ‘Wouldn't that make a swell front- page story?’ He slapped his leg. #"Listen to this smiling at n “Violet, sweet fragrant violet How you stir my heart! | 1 know a mortal maiden sweet And modest as thou art “If you were president of a great bank, would vou like to see that in print’ with your name it?” snickered. “I don't believe he wrote it,” said | Diana, but she had a sinking remem | brance that his tage in poetry was. laccording to her standards, beneath contempt. He liked “The Lost Chord"” and “Lady Clara Vere De Vere'—he | really liked them, so that he was an noyed with her because she did not she, who had such important reasons for ‘keeping her taste good and rig as far as poetry was concerned and all in his hand— ‘n-nrrev-u-d. too,” =said the hurglar “There’s heaps. Listen to this: “The lights of the ballroom are gleam- ing On satin and diamonds and pearls— | But I am slone. thinking Of the fairest and brightest | Rirls | “That's rather pretty.’ | “I shall warn my grandfather just what You mean to do,” said Diana proudly.- Swell. kid, go to it,” with a warm, Kindly intonation. “I'm | going to warn him myself. I'm go-| ing to leave a letter for him telling { him where to meet me and how much | money to bring—and everything, and he sat down at the desk and squared his_elbows. He won't come.” said the girl “and if he does, he'll bring a police man.” I'm glad you said that,” the man, waving of said the man, answered his hand with the pen in it round and round like a baseball pitcher warming up. put it in the letter that an business like that will mean page stuff the next morning.” pen began to move slowly. Compo- sition was evidently not so easy to him as speech. He kept drawing in his head and shooting it out again. like a turtle, and once Diana thought he saw the tip of an agonized tongue. T JFOR 2 few minutes she stood watching him. Beside him on the desk lay the fatal put back the packet. He had others in the drawer but now Diana saw had dropped that one of them unnoticed under the chair, pushed off by his elbow as he settled to writing. She stooped quiet- Iy and picked it up. The idea occur red to her that she might outwit him by substituting this packet—a harm. less collecttion of receipted hills—for the other. Her heart began to pound —yet there really wasn't much risk. front His | Diana I | both She stole toward the desk, holding the wrong packet behind her bac “May I see what you're writing she asked He nodded. He was panting just u lite. “Sure,” he said. “Pretty hum writing, I suppose you think, but I've gotta disguise my hand. I can write a lot better than this, of course.” e leaned over and looked at the writing, which appeared more like a wire-entanglement than a_letter, and document was spelled with an “in" where she believed a “u” should be. “It's wonderfully disguised,” she murmured, “so much like what a blackmailing letter ought to be.” “Ain’t it?” said the burglar, running his tongue all the way round the cir- cle of his puckered mouth. “or course, I can write a lot better than that,” he said. “That’s just to make it look right.” He put the letter in an envelope and propped it up against the ink-stand, and, still admiring it he put out an absentminded hand and took the packet from the place on the desk where he had left it my way,” he said. “I must hand it 10 you—you're a sensible woman.” He uniocked the door, waved his hand and was gone like a shadow. Diana did not pause in the darkened room. She ran straight up the two flights to her own bedroom, turned on all the lights and bolted the door. She felt more afraid now than during the entire interview. Suppose he should come back and murder her? She did not get to sleep until daylight, pale but reassuring, began to illuminate the squares of her windows. It was the routine of the hold that when house elf and rang the bell that hung at the head of her bed Then Ellen, who had been her nurse as a child, came in and shut the win dows and lighted the fire and told her—as if there would never be any other way for her to find out just what sort of a day it was. But this morning Dlana was wak ened by Ellen’s knocking on the locked door. Tt was not the girl's custom to lock her door, and she was obliged to get out of bed to admit Ellen, who came in silently, yanked back the cur- tains so that every brass ring rang on its brass rod. Diana, looking at her former nurse, saw that her face was stained with tear: “Ellen, what is claimed Diana. The story was quickly told. The chauffeur had betrayed them. He was an elderly Englishman who had had longstanding political differences with Ellen over the Irish question e had come for orders that morn ing and had inquired stifly if he was to be kept out of his bed every night simply to bring Ellen home in the car? ~ The phrase had caught Mr. Broughton's ear, just as it was meant to do, and he had asked whether Miss d not come home at the same 0 indeed. The car had taken Ellen and Miss Diana, but had brought home only Ellen. Ellen was sent for at once and confronted by a bland and triumphant adversary and a stern and inquiring employer, she had confessed everything—how at about half-past 1 o'clock Miss Diana had come up to the dressing oom where the maids were having a bite of supper and had told her to go home without her. with a steely * x x MR BROUGHTON voice cut her short. Her useful- ness to him was over, he said, since he had now lost confidence in her I think T can do something,” Diana. She had not. of course, the least intention of imitating the meth ods of the burglar. Such an idea hac not as yet crossed her mind. but she refiected that she had done her grand father a considerable service. He would be obliged to recognize that, She looked at the clock. It was after 11. At 12 Bryan was coming to ask for her grandfather’s consent to their engegement She was much too excited to eat she set to work at once to dress rapidly as was allowed by the trem bling of her fingers—and Ellen's. By the time she was dressed she had thought it out. There had never been much confidence between her and_ her grandfather, but she knew he loved her; and living alone with him, as she had, since her mother’s death, she had formed the habit of telling him most of the events of her day, without any assurance in his manner that he even heard what she said. Ordinarily after such an ad venture as she had had the night before she would have rushed into his room and poured it all out She thought of doing so now; but with a wisdom that comes to vyouth only spasmodically with each new emotional experience, she saw that she must first let him dis the matter?” ex time. Even If he caught her doing it, what could he do “I'll be on | Diana had been to a | party she was permitted to sleep until | | she wakened of her: said | cover his danger before allaying his fears. She must let him go down to the library—which he probably had not yet done—and discover the letter propped agaigst the ink-stand: then when she saw his brow furrowed with anxiety she would step forward: “Grandpapa. give yourself no concern I have the papers— . The imaginary scene was inter- rupted by a knock at her door and Mr. Broughton entered. His brow, it was true, already contracted, but not apparently from fear. He had come to speak to her, he sald, about her conduct of the night before. She must know—she was old enough to understand—that to send away her maid in order to arrange a clandestine return in the middle of the night with a man of whom her family did not ap- prove—even in this age, a woman's reputation- He went on and byt with a slow, reproof. He was a cavefully dressed in of the middle about the points on—not_rapidly, crushing, deliberate tall old man, ack, with a hint nineteenth century of his collar. He had a cold, hard profile and eves which even in old age had not lost their color of arctic ice. Diana Kept repeating to herself that she was not a child—that she had proved herself to be a person of cour. age—that she had done him a service —it did no good. She felt like a naughty little girl. Several times she made a weak effort to interrupt | “Grandpapa, I have something to teil | you 2 He smiled fronic | she said it I b it is,” he said that’ you and this my consent to your marriage. The |older generation, my dear Diana, is not totally lacking in the power: | of observation as the younger one |always supposes. You may have my answer now. It Is ‘mo.’ 1 do not |give my consent. T never shall. Yes, | T know what you are about to say— that I have no right to disapprove of a_ young man because he is poor. That is no objection to him. “And what s it then Diana, who honestly could not of any other disadvantage. “I object to him,” answered Mr | Broughton. “because he is a poet.” Diana was so astonished at this that she could only repeat her grand father's words, and misunderstanding the cause of her surprise he went on “I see you suppose that a source of pride. Let me tell you, I should not care how poor he was if he were working at some virile profession—if he were an engineer or an explorer something that would keep him ir touch with reality. A poet, Diana. is a coward B whot dehliasatar fiies from real life. I don't say they haven't thelr uses, but they are people who must be guarded and protected T am an old man. I do not intend to leave you in the charge any man who can’t face life. “Bryan is not a coward,’ Diana passionat “He is tive—" “F with marry man.” THIS speech had vantage: it left power_of speech procrisy ally the third time ieve 1 know what ou wish to.tell me young man desire asked think said nsi actly.” answered Mr. Broughton faint smile. “When you my dear, You must marry a a at least one ad Such profound hy was beyond bellef. She had {read every one of her grandfather’s | verses bhefore she went to bed the night before and, silly as they were 'lhe_\ were undoubtedly intended to be postry. She could do nothing but | stare’at the old man as if he were n and in the silence another came at the door. It was a | servant, announcing the arrival of Bryan. Ah, my prophetic soul!” said Mr. Broughton The formal interview. No, my dear, it will not be necessary for vou to come down,” he added, as Di; made a quick step toward the door: but at the same instant his at tention was directed by the footman's presenting to him a small tray bea ing a letter. “I found this on library, sir,” he said. Mr. Broughton felt for his eye. glasses. which always dangled from a | black ribbon about his neck. *Did | the gentleman send this up to me?’ | he asked, for he had not vet seen | the strange quality of the writing. “No sir,” said the man. “I found it on the library desk this morning. It wasn't there, sir, when I tidied the room last night.” . As her grandfather opened the let ter, Diana saw her chance, and slipped out of the room with the packet in her hand. Bryan, she thought, was the person to use it. This was how blackmailers were made—by hypo erit She found the desk in the Bryan in the drawing Diana without the | room, down. “Oh, my darling,” he exclaimed as she entered. “What a comfort to see you first for a few minutes. Wil vou despise me if T tell you I am horribly frightened?” Her heart sank a how her grandf: striding nervously up and little—knowing ther would interpret this natural nervousness. “But what can he do do to us, dear,” she sald, quite maternally. She wished now that she had had the intelligence to say to her grandfather that it is true Bryan had a certain timidity of man ner, especially in dealing with older people (and waiters)—but when it came to questions like love, death and religion—he was as brave as any her I'm not afraid of anything he can | do to us,” Bryan answered. “I'm | afraid because, you see, he is really rather a great man. It's a 'miracle o have done what he's done, Diana to have started with nothing—not even an education—and to have made a_ fortune so cleanly and quickly. That's why I'm afraid of him—he's great—he's a genlus.” “But you're a genius, Diana He laughed and kissed her. “You know that, and I know that, but your grandfather—I don’t suppose he ever read a line of poetry in his life.” “Didn’t he just?” answered the gir and she produced her packet. They had only a few minutes, and she rushed through her narrative with a speed made possible by Bryan’s ex traordinary intuitive understanding When the footman came in to sav that Mr. Broughton was waitlng in the library, Bryan had read only five or six of the pvems. but he had read those carefully. They rose once and followed the man to the library Diana knew her grandfather’s man ner like a book so0on as she saw him sitting erect in his thronelike armchalr, with a face like a steel | mask, his slow wave toward a suff little chair, she knew what he meant to do—he meant to terrify the voung man In the first impact of the inter view—to crush him and then to pre sent him to her as a humiliated, ridiculous object—to say, in effect “And this is the creature you selected to stand between you and the world!’ Mr. Broughton spoke first. *Well sir.” he said It was a terrible tone, and Diana glanced sympathetically at Bryan Then she opened her eves wide and turned her head fully toward him | the nervous angel of the drawing room was gone: he seemed calm, cool and perfectly at ease “I think you know. sir,” he said “that Diana and I want your consent to our engagement The old man smiled a faint, smile. “I can readily believe | would like it.”” he answered: and then | jadded fiercely with a complete dra matic change of manner: “You will | never get my consent—never.” The violence which was intended to shake Bryan seemed merely to render him calmer. He folded his arms medi- | tatively. “Well, Mr. Broughton,” he sald, “we must try to change your | {mind about that x * | THINKING it over afterward Diana | was never able to remember the | moment at which she understood that | Bryan wasn't pretending not 1o be | frightened, but that he wasn't fright |ened. She stood ready to protect him when he broke down, to catch him | when he fell. as at first she felt he | must fall—all the harder ‘because of | the haughty pinnacle from'which he | | opened the ‘interview. But as the dis. | cussion went on, following the ancient | model-—-was vouth nd love to thwarted by the terror of poverty she slowly began to see that he was | |calmer and femer than her grand.| father and quite as determined.- She | saw, too, that her grandfather, not vielding and not intending ever | vield an inch, glanced at him now as | 4 respectable antagonist The role of calm super ority having been taken from him, Mr. Broughton too,” sald A cruel you _— BY GEORGE PORTER. | EARLY 450 young men who | have successfully devoted the | past four years of their lives 10 learning the art and science | of being eflicient officers in Uncle Sam's Navy will have their ef- | forts rewarded this week at the an-| nual graduation exercises of the United States Naval Academy, An- napolis, when most of them will re-| ceive commissions as ensigns in the | avy, while a few will be awarded lieutenancies in the Marine Corp: The presentation of commissions is the final event on a ‘seven-day pro- gram of athletic games, social func- tions, military drills and traditional ceremoiies that comprise what is | known as ‘“June week’—the most in teresting seven days, from an out-| sider's viewpoint, of the Naval Acad- emy’s vear. For those who like aceuracy and | numerical precision in all things, it | may be said that this year's official | program called for two competitive and two exhibition drills, four dress parades, six motion picture shows, three hops or dances, a garden party. | a base ball game and a lacrosse con- | te: uch an extensive schedule is a far cry from the short and simple cere- monies which marked the Naval | Academy’s first graduation, held in | 1851. In June of that year the mid- shipmen were assembled one day at noon. a prayer was delivered by the chaplain, followed by a brief address the superintendent, Comdr. L. N. Goldsborough, after which certificates, not commissions, were presented. It was all over in one afternoon. This year “June week” comes a little earlier than usual. TInstead of being the customary first regular | calendar week in June, it started on Thursday, May 28, and runs through to Wednesday, June 2. None of the academy's natural af- tractiveness is lost by the shift in time, however, for the grounds are in the “full dress” of early Summer; the lawns and trees have put on fresh “‘greens”; the buildings are attired Ja spotless “whites,” and the Severn River is wearing its best “blues.” All have been at their best and ready to “pass inspection” by the scores of sitors who attend the festivities of une weelk 2 With the annual exams off their minds, the midshipmen were ready to | give their full attention to the com petitive drills between the regiments, battalions and companies, which were the first events on the official pro. gram. They started Thursday morn- ing at 8:30 on Farragut and Worden | fields and continued until 3:30 in the afternoon. The following day they were resumed and completed. SRR THESE drills are interesting to both the spectators and middies alike. The winning company obtains posses- sion of the regimental flag, and com- petition for that honor is always | | | | {turn C., MAY 31, 1925—PART found himself obliged to find another and as the conversation progress violent—he exaggerated unnecessarily interrupted was s re a he made he W quit 1 he constan all, sir,” Bi poverty is situati became nd raged ments rude, “After politely, or abnormal m [ nore te tly ryan not on an Ninety stat unusu, ed he e. ving al er cent of the couples who marry do it on incomes smaller— “But they are not Broughton 4 poet, do you ave vou never Not a line ‘I think you shou sir,” Bryan answered reproof in man's poetry his character loved L position i looked “oni ing ye his voice his I 1 vour bank ) my Kr 90 record answered t Diana’s patience She glanced at Bry ad come. she thoug nowledge of the Violet, sweet fr Bryan was letting | slip from him—was versation to take a drawing to a close poets,” said Mr “You do not deny read any 1d have of m read i being | - t with temperate il. You you we he oid 1 The violet." opportunity e the dept knew had applied fo: 1 1d have v if T had some idea of empl moment quc Bu al te it llowing the con- nother turn. | fact it seemed as if the interview were heard In that Bryan was being forbidden the house prohibited from with writ stil his mann and Diana heer had was serving inz. He notice N accustomed meeting and would find means of com municating with He rose She couid not bear upon the eurt “Bryan,” she said, Have you forgot He ‘started . he returne pocket, he produced and laid it the Broughton. ‘“‘Diana ha of them?" she wailed Bryan sm use of them,” he vou see, I've used They've made a th one ed at her new anothe: ind sajd good-hye it. She rmal are ad the litt fesk e broke. farewe you n—you know what almost %and, feeling in h crazy forge packa ide A d I have so be | thing to return to you, sir. | - “You aren't going to make any i em man “Don n it se 1 have made answered. to the limit 1t re. They've given me confidence that even od business man. inferior- a bad poet can be a They've done away ity complex, Diana keen. the and extended the manual of spect the larger units as they Three judges order arm battalions with my Do vo carefully various companies through think folle clos maneuver They and view through i t t functions of parade and review. conclusion by At the points made judges’ morrow at 5:30 in as the “pr each totaled and the winner of the evenir Worden Field, at the ceremony known ntation of the color The victorious company will ba dered to the fro regimental line. The! and center will be pre. re it of t w se nd n he he the drills the company selected decision will be announced to re The sented with the flag by a young lady the been chosen by who has comp escor by the superintendent of the ac No naval event cheering. ning company is ch fortunate rivals, an middies cheer the “SNAKE DANCE,” ONE OF THE FEATURES OF THE JUNFK, WEEK CEREMONIES young pany rted and eered 1 a st dem its le: Tl commander, ed is complate without and on this occasion the win the victorious lady. he “I OBJECT TO HIM,” ANSWERED MR. BROUGHTON, “BECAUSE HE IS A POET.” could have talked to your grand. vears together had she ever known father ltke this it 1 had not remem- |him to appeal for anything—for love bered that I was talking to a weak |or pity—but now as his eyes met her imitator of Tennyson's worst manner, |and glanced quickly ay agal who actually ymes ‘dawn’ and |there was an appeal in them. “I sup ‘morn'” Oh, Diana, no poet could |pose you entirely agree with this ver be afraid of any one who rhymes | young man—that they are utterl: ‘dawn’ and ‘morn.’ Good-bye, mY |worthless,” he said, and she saw tha darling, I'll see you tomorrow,” and |the man of iron was hurt—that like with the utmost effrontery he kissed |any other man, in a moment of fail her under Mr. Broughton's nose and|ure and humiliation he wanted to be left the room praised and comforted by the woma “And may 1 ask Mr. Brough- | of his hou on when he was gone, “how that ex- Mentally she could hardly belleve tremely insolent young man came into but her maternal instinct acted possession of my private papers?” without thought, and to her own sur “l gave them to him, grandpapa,” 'prise she heard herself saying: “Oi answered Diana—and told the whole |10, grandpapa, not at all. I thought story. She told it coldly, baldly, like | some of them weré very sweet—tha a witness the stand-—not|gne about the dance, particularly at all as would have told it to him | She named it n the first flush of her triumph. | gh that!" Broughto Nevertheless, her grand grasped | “Jt's odd you should have spoken c the fa | that. That was the one that appeared e her and his glance soft- | iy my hometown paper.” If she ha ened You behaved w great cour- | pnown iore of writers, she wo age and good have recognized the tone—mod praise was rare. but tenacious. which means that Diana_ ced subject is to be relinquished ust tell you “though | ~yqy see,” he went on, “I never 1 wishe you fram f4ye sort o ation you young pe entirely | 10 ot T just °d the | \yrite them T meant him 10 | meant a great deal to me at the time yau_and “Fiwas | 5o cersiconne No woiider ¥ down,” said M sudden gesture he made a motlo to Ik to vou. to th he papers into the fire. Bu yed, hut ne did - -yDiana caught his arm He ing into the “Oh. mustn't do i PRV — papa,’ said v them again. They're part vouth, aren’t they”? And of my mother’s T dare say.’ It was just the right t He nodded. “That ball “that was where I first | grandmother.” “Read it to me,” said the same tone of soft il interest that “Read me that o and the pearls. R grandpapa Broughton laughed a self-co scious laugh—as if his granddaughter were being too feminine ar absurd to su such a thing. * my dear child he said, “T can't dc hat—I really can't It would bore to death—to s S of me —a | But out the corner of her e one | Diana saw that he was already {ing for his eyeglasses <ht sense, head replied 1gs have when 1 passed n at humiliat hanged packet it ' Sit T want She ately "‘: edu and to blackmail used to t odd moments. They Dia ted, watched him 1at, grand 1 want of WITH an thought. however, | she w terly unprepared for | thing he did say, when at last he What did that young man he asked irritably, morn” and He re- | times. her ing to he sa malc mean,” 1hout peated the Don’t_the “No."” said ity. She the girl affec she used © e about the d them a with cruel brev- herself that he he truth—he is of others ring. “Have ixked sternly e replied, unwillir pang then been the well know contempt migh who w He 1 read these “Every to spare him a sin There was “Some of e es a e. ave ed vears he said published, kne paper zreat many ago—I v {ever said anythingabout the rhymes She looked at him. Never in all their them vou —pr ir (Copy Years Make Annapolis June Week More Elaborate and Impressive ° triumphant company then swingstoma back to its place in line and the regu lar evening dress parade follows Athietic. and scholastic honors which have been won during the year are awarded. The athletes receive their prizes at an assembly in Memorial Hall, and the midshipmen prominent place on the week's program of diversion. R TTOMORROW night each class will have a separate entertainment. The plebes will have a movie show in Mahan Hall: the third class will stagd who have exceiled in their studies are (% dance in McDonough Hall: the firet presented with the prescribed awards | €1ass will attend the annual garden at evening dress parade. There are|PArtY given by the superintendent to |cups, - swords, - watches, sextants, |the graduates in his large and well medals, etc., in the list of prizes. IepCignienzind. the Second class 3 Seaterday. Memorih] QA hold its first “ring hop” in the gym- over almost entirely to sports nasium. b | This latter dance is a substitution he farewell sermon to the graduat-| for “The Baptism of the Rings, ing class will be preached in the| 5 custom which the authorities and mic academy chapel this morning by |shipmen agreed to abolish this year Chaplain Sydney 1. Evans. To most|” The June ball or farewell hop i | of the attentively alert midshipmen |yucually held the night after gradua | this service is deeply impressive, con-|tion, but this year it is to occur the |cluding, as it usually does, with a |night hefore in Dahlgren Hall. This | quartet singing the appropriate selec- {is the first hop which the plebes, sho | tion, “Till We Meet Again.” have formerly been held as “too youns | The ever-popular Naval to associate with girls,” are allowed | dances or “hops” have to attend. s given Academy their cus [ e il pri g L} ’ AL AT THE . ACADEMY. ey