Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, May 14, 1898, Page 2

THE TRAGEDY OF DERECK PACKENHAN. CHAPTER I. Packenham leaned against the man- telshelf in a typically English atti- tude; while Cleavland, lying well back in a deep arm-chair, looked up at him with inquiring eyes. “Seems to me you haven't told me everything,” said the latter. “No?” Packenham replied, “Do we generally do so?” vaguely. “You speak as if you were in a pre- dicament?” “Weill—suppese I am?’ “Tt can’t be money—unless it’s the very unusual one of having too much?” “Money—be hanged!” “Thank you, no,” Cleavland rejoined, laughing. “It isn’t a superfluous quan- tity with me.” Outside a bitter northeast wind was sweeping the streets ide there was warmth and lavish luxury. Mr, Cleav- Jand could arecely account for the forcible way in which the contrast struck him at the moment. After a moment's silence, he remarked: “T can’t think what the predicament ean be, unle: —he looked up quickly— “unless—it’s a woman?” he added, in- terrogatively. His friend nodded and said: “Right s a woman.” “Ballet—or music hall?” inquired. either. A fi Cleavland an Africander. . untamed animal? Packenham leaned his head against the wall and was silent for a momem, “I came home to get rid of her, as much anything else,’ he rejoined, impatiently. “It’s harder than I thought. You must help me.” Cleavland did not reply at once, but, after a pause, said: “Uf it isn’t too difficult. I must hear what you have to say. I can’t answer or promise anything until then.” ntend to tell you the truth,” um answered, irritably. t's rd to be obliged to con has made a fool of oneself.” “Most of us do, Cleavland rejoined »pened just before I left the ul. But the plot that led up to it began on beard the ship that took me out. There was a man returning mongst the passenge attracted me. He was born in Cape Colony and seemed to know all the ropes. We got very chummy. His father had been a mining engin- eer, and the son had taken up the same profession. He was wild about some reef t 1@ aver soli of gold. The chap seemed to be cock- su nbout and I belicved that he ness. I wanted to go iz hing, and get near a gocd game country. lartrigg—that was his name—told me that his home on the borders of ¢ ation, but just beyond it you could get into a wild part where there were lions and elephants, not to mention an old hippo, He w sant chap—full of tales of adventure, which I, lieve, I thought aim honest—be- ing hone myself, you see. He was going back to Africa, £ come to London to look after ey that had been left him—at I understood so at the time—by aunt, or grandmoth- er, or someone. He told me the story, lamenting at the same time that he was not rich enough to buy this reef. But he hoped to get someone to go shares with him, either in Cape Town or Johannesbur; Although I hadn't the old boy’s pile—and poor Dolly was alive and likely to live—I had a fair capi ith, and could afford to go rigg in his vent- are aud 5 something left to subsist on until the thing began to pay. You never saw such a bit of acting as he went through when I told him so, He protested that he thought me some vut to try to pick up and I was such a ved in him. I was nd before we got up concluded, went equal shares in the mine. It wasn’t such a terrible sum, after all; but the speculation proved to be the indle out, although the few thousands I threw into it wouldn't have ruined me, in any case.” “Phe mine wasn’t a succe: land inquired. “Success! It was a ghastly failure! That's how the girl came to be mixed kenham rejoined, angri- knew his bus for that sort of a ?” Cleay- wondering, his friend re- It was vague—” marked. “How can | explain the situation if you won't let me sak?’ Packenham interrupted, impatiently. “Hartrigg, it had nothing in the world ex- y and 2 couple of thou- sands which his father had contrived to scrape together for Hartrigg’s sis- ter.” “He put it all into the mine?” Cleay- fand asked. “Didn't I say so?’—And lost it?” “There’—and the young man strode away from the fireplace with hasty steps—‘you want to know everything, yet you won't give me time to tell it! How in the world do you expect to un- derstand?” “Drive ont!” ejaculated Cleavland, faughin Cll promise not to inter: fere agai “We went up country, tiresome journey, reached the loca- tion. ‘he house was—well, not fit for ap agricultural laborer; but we livee and, after a in it—he and I and a pack of Kaffir He sed to talk a good deal about his er—the only relative he had in the world. Her name was never @T his lips. He said he’d bring her to live with him as soon as things were bt at the mine. She was South ome mission or other;” enhazu paused., “1 re- member ‘be artful way he led me on— read her letters to me—had a lot of photos of her—and used to get quite eentimenial over them.” “Well—not unnatural,” Cleayland in- servants. s that one he a fool, be- | pS was his only sister, and he was fond of her.” Packenham turned upon his friend fiercely. “If you continue to interrupt me Vl not tell another word,” he said. “I un- derstand now why he went on like that—it was a put-up job from the first, You'll discover that for yourself it you’ v1 only listen.” “1 am all attention; but so far, 1 only see that the man acted in the most straightforward and natural way. Go {on.” “You are very provoking!” Packen- ham rejoined. “My dear fellow, I have a judicial mind, and weigh both sides of the ques- tion.” “It’s not very judicial to form an opinion before you have heard all the evidence.” “Then let me hear it. anxiously.” Mr. Packenham paced the room for a moment or two. “Hartrigg told me, early in the busi- ness, that the old lady’s death had been rather a facer for him, because there wasn’t a soul left in the wirld to look after his sister, if anything should happen to bim. He used to get maud- lin over it, when he had been working dn the mine all day, and had come back tired. He would take out her photos, and sit looking at them. ‘Chey weren't bad likenesses; and—she—L thought the face interesting, you know. I wanted him to bring ler home, like the fool he was making of me. We used to talk about her—at least he used—and I listened. He would say sometimes that she would be left alone in the world—his dear lit- tle sister, his bright, pretty Afra!—un- less she met some good man to marry her. I was told afterwards that it was a put-up job from the first. It appears that I was marked down as the girl’s prey, properly stalked and run to earth. I might have seen that they wanted my money for the mine and myself for the girl.” “But, if I did not misunderstand you, Dereck, the fellow—Hartrigg, did call him ?—lost everything he possess by that speculation. It seems rather a big price to pay for the chances of put-up job.” “I tell you as the fellows at Cape Town told me. They saw through it, and so will you when you hear every- thing, if you will only give me a pa- tient hearing.” “The men at Cape Town were wise after the event, evidently.” “We had been many months on the veldt, and Hartrigg, to get me alto- gether into his clutches, I suppose, let me have my fling. I had a splendid time; I confess I never had anything like it before. I got those lions’ skins, the big tusker, whose ivories are in the hall at Mount Sorrel, and the hippo’s head. Worth going through a bit of ardship to obtain, eh? Independent of that, I shot the larder; but Hartrigg aep the whole mining business to him- self.” id you understand anything about Iam waiting it Not a ha'pworth! But couldn’t 1 have learned? I suppose I have a brain? He took precious care I didn’t get the chance. While the fancy last- ed, I threw myself heart and soul into the shooting. Never had such a time in all my life, and never may again. So he led me on. I was fairly in it, you see—trapped ard and fast—be- fore Hartrigg began to let out that he had been mistaken, and that the mine was not turning out as he expected. In fact, before the cloven hoof showed, I was idiot enough to believe all that he said was gospel. So things went on. One day I took a run down to Cape Town for u spell of such civiliza- tion as they have there. It was poor of the sort; but when a fellow can get nothing else, you know, he’s glad of that. In the city I met a lot of chaps who knew Hartri They all seemed to be friends of his, and evidently be- lieved in his mine and everything he had told them. Not one of them gaye me a note of warning. “I went back; and then the fat was in the fire. Hartrigg had met with a bad accident—been crushed in the mine and his chest stove in. Bless you, no—it wasn’t so bad; it was alla scheme! His sister was there nursing him, and a parson man from some High Church station where she had been staying. He met me with a face y wg was injured for life. He was doctor as well as parson, you know. The mince had come to grief, and ev- erything wis lost. The trap had been properly set, and properly baited, too. The girl? Oh, she wasn’t bad-looking —-sort of wild-thing expression in her es that was—well—fetching. She clever, and neat-handeil, Well, the parson said that Hartrigg was so bad that he could not possibly recover, and that he was dying with the consciousness that his sister— threvgh his mistake—would be left penniless in a lonely wild. I’m an im- pulsive chap. Adolphus was alive, and I knew that if I chose to live in Africa I had enough and to spare. The girl looked the ideal of a settler’s wife, and the parson being handy—there, now you bave the whole story!” “You married her?” “Went through the service; and the next day a telegram came to say that my half-brother had been accidentally shot; also, that old Juggins was dead and had left me a cool half-million.” “And what did your wife say?” “Wife!” the other repeated. “Wife! Does going through a were ceremonial form of words make a girl, of whom you scarcely know anything, your wife?” “I suppose so. You did it of your own free will.” “I deny that. I did it from impulse j—did it because I was a confounded idiot!” “Brother dead?” “No! He recovered, and they fol- | never endeavored to please him. ;from a monetary point of view. ; him. | Now he raged against brother and sis- : Which | brother's life had hung in the balance, rd long, and told me that | too. , lowed me to England—are here in London! What am I to do?” Cleaveland rose to his feet. “Ask me something easy,” he re- plied. “Tell me nore to-morrow.” CHAPTER I. Mr. Packenham sat alone. On the table beside him lay a letter from the her? What wild, singular beauty hers was! And then, again, she had never been forward nor thrust herself into his company; and when they had been thrown together she had disarmed him by the frank camarderie of her man- ner. She had seemed strangely unso- phisticated, with a breezy freshness | about her born of her wild, lonely life in the African solitudes. Put his aunt’s bitter words, “Artiw' girl with whom he had gone through ; Minx!” recurred, chasing the fair vis- that “mere form of words,” hampered them both for life. Divorce would be easy if there was cause for it; but she did not look like a girl who | would give him any reason for com- plaint. He threw the letter to the far- ion away.. ich patel (od on to the measure of education She was uneducated, ac- needed for a position like his own. In Africa she would have done very well, for her gifts were precisely those adapted to her uncivilized surround- ings; but London! A ion of her arose amongst his aunt’s set—cold, su- thest end of the table, and, rising, rang } percilious women, with their shibbo- his. bell. <The room was filled with those costly knick-knacks which bespeak the pos- j man—hand- ; session of wealth. The some, well set-up—looked an ideal En- glishman of good standing; but his chin was more rounded than a man’s should be, and his eyes, if bright and clear,. had a somewhat shallow ex- pression. “I dine with Lady Groby,” he told his valet. Her ladyship was his aunt, only sis- ter to the dashing Hugh Packenham, Lord Mount Sorrel, whose second mar- riage with Annabella, half-sister of the well-known contractor, Alexander Jug- gins, set the family up again after be- ing for years very low in the world. It was thought that Juggins would have left his enormous wealth to a hospital; but he bequeathed it all to his nephew, a graceless boy who had Lady Groby, widow of a famous financier, childless and wealthy, adored her scapegrace nephew, and was already plotting for him. “Dereck must marry well,” she con- fided to Miss Mercer, who lived with her and looked after the decorations of her dinner table. With a bland smile, Miss Mercer re- sponded that Mr. Packenham could please himself. Lady Groby gave Dereck the dainti- est of dinners, with no one but Miss Mercer present. Her ladyship began by informing her darling that he must have a whole his- tory to relate, and he must tell her ev- erything. And then her ladyship said that Alexander Juggins had been an old dear. the right thing with his money, and her d sister was very pleased about it, having written to say that the great wish of her heart had been fulfilled. “Now,” continued dy Groby— boy. I only wish that we could man- age these matters as they do in France —it is so much more sensible. Never- theless, you will meet some charming girls at my house. Don’t be too im- petuous, for remember that money is no object. marry up! Dereck, forgive me, but your good father, when he made his second marriage with your most worthy mother—one of tie sweetest of women—did not marry up—except The duty is thrust upon you—you must marry blood.” “Can’t be done, Aunt Judy”. Gyship’s name was Juliet. “Dereck! Are you mad?” “Perhaps so—but—I’m married ready!” His admission fell like a thunder- clap, and her ladyship sat staring at —her la- al- “Married?” she gasped at last, vis- ions of coryphes and music hall art- isttes floating before her. “Married?” “Even so,” he admitted, and pro- ceeded to relate his story. When Dereck left his aunt it was with such terms as “artful!” “brutal! “erafty wretch!” and “miserable, scheming min: ringing in his ears. Until that night Mr. Packenham had not actually Yes, he had | been duped—heartlessly, duped into marrying Hartrigg’s sister. ter to his heart’s content. Dereck threw off his dress coat and | sat down to meditate. He had been! and. fatal mistake. England. ing reply, “I will stay with my broth- er, The words had been spoken with a determination that startled him. She had not left Hartrigg’s bedside during the whole of the night following the “mere ceremonial form of words” bound them together. Her and the two had watched together. The firm, decided utterance—“I will stay with my brother’—had remained with him and taunted him. She had capabilities and deep affection, for her eyes told him so. Yet her love—he thought she loved him then—and her interest—le lad told her that he was. wealthy—both called her away from the duty she owed her only relation, but she chose to stay and perform it. Although there was something in it net yery flattering to his vanity, he could not help admiring her for it. lgur then the sequel—Hartrigg had re- | covered! For all Dereck knew, that illness and anticipated death might have been no more than a part of the plot—the best-acted bit of the scheme of the parson. At any rate, they had followed him here, the three of them— followed him to insist upon his ac- knowledging his share in the transac- tion, to rivet his chain, and to render him ridiculous in the eyes of all men— | their prisoner, their caged gull. No, he would not submit. He would not. see them. Money? If they demanded money they could have it. He would | fling it to them by the handful, and, possibly, that was all these wretched creatures wanted. Money? He would ; buy his freedom, and then—” There came a revulsion of thought. Hartrigg had been a comrade after his own heart. How unselfish he had been —toiling in those mines, working day after day, contending with those lazy Kaftirs in a stifling atmosphere, while lhe—Dereck—amused himself over the wild stretches of the land and on the mountains, where there were welcome jairs blowing, and all the strong ex: citement of the chase. The girl, too, Had he not songht | She was glad he had done | “now | the m | for the next step—matrimony, my dear | x lhe s You are to marry rank—to | envelope open. realized his position as it | appeared in the eyes of the world to! | which he now belonged. clev erly, | H death-bed? ! her obliged to leave on the evening of the | ulated voice. day that followed his most miserable ; Ile remembered | | the eyes which he told Cieavland had ! j 2 “wild-thing” expression in them, as i oe asked her to accompany him to! There had been just the one ; startled glance, and then the unhesitat- | leths of class! The very qualities which had made her attractive in Africa would render her ridiculous in town; and if there was one thing on earth from which Dereck Packenham shrank it was rid- | icule. Besides, he was well aware that even for himself the vast fortune which he had just inherited—and which was still a novelty to him—was the only thing that lifted him above all remembrance of the contractor. Mr. Packenham could not very well alford to introduce a wife to the world whose manners did not bear the im- press of Vere de Vere. But then there was another side to this question. Hartrigg’s sister had dared to follow him home nparallel- ed audacity!—ventured to assert her- self, with the scheming brother and parson at her back! How could he | best defeat their plot, and repay them in his own coin? He started to his feet, resolved to start for Ireland in the morning, see the mater, and tell her everything. Although the govern- or was not actually heart-broken over the loss of his eldest son—in fact, as Dereck well knew, there had been very bad blood between them—still he was conventionally grieved, and, for appearance’ sake, his heir should be with him in his sorrow. Yes—he ought to be at home. He uttered an imprecation, not loud | but deep; for there upon the table lay the girl’s unopened letter facing him in mute reproach. He took up the mi sive, and his hand hovered oyer it he: itatingly. He seemed to divine its con- tents. But why should he read her demands? He knew that she was no mean-spirited girl, to make an abject appeal, but one to assert her rights and adhere to them. For an instant the h to read what she had written asserted itself; and then, with a sudden impulse, he flung ve into the heart of the roar- ing fire. “I'l have nothing to do with her,” id, aloud—‘o temporizing, no half-and-half measures! I'll not see either of them. Cleayland shall deal with them—give them fifty thousand to be rid of them!” He rang the bell furiously. “I leave for Ireland in the morning,” he told the astonished servant. Kemp made seme inaudible mutter- ing, only to be sworn at for his pains; and then Dereck Packenham went to bed. When he awoke his servant sat at his bedside with a telegram in his hand. “Just come, Yawning drov r,” said the man. ily, Dereck tore the The few words it con- tained caused him to spring from his bed. What freakish trick was life playing with him? “My brother died during the night.” “—Afra Packenham.” But the words trou- That was all. bled him sorely. Died? Died during the night? Then there had be@y some truth in what he had considered an exaggerated story of the injury to his late partner. Afra could not be lying when she told him that her brother was dead. Surely no! Perhaps they had not meant to trick him—or could it be a further move in the conspiracy—a fresh bait to catch | him with a vision of tearful eyes and a desolate young girl hanging over a Was that the news that letter brought overnight? His brain was whirling, and, through ils confusion, came his aunt’s softly-mod- “Artful minx!” she had alled her; and Lady Goby knew her sex. And she sent to tell him of her brother's death? Bah! It was that she might claim him—might rivet his fetters forever. Dereck paced the room and wrestled with his better self. It was a fight be- ; tween the good and evil portions of his | nature. Some malign influence, how- ever, was abroad, for the latter won. Mr. Packenham sent for his friend, Cleavland, and they had a long, and not very tranquil, debate. Dereck was doggedly obstinate, and against this obstinancy the other man’s arguments and adyice were like dashing spray against a rock, and the two parted, un- der conditions which were, to say the least, strained. Dereck Packenham left for Ireland that night by the mail express. (Yo be Continued.) Why Archie Got Mad. “Then nothing I can say, Archibald, will prevent you from going to this cruel war?” “Sorry, little one, but you know— “And you've decided, absolutely, to join the navy?” “That’s right.” “Then, Archibald, will you make me a solemn promise?” “Promise any old thing.” : “Well, I want you to promise me that, before you begin to fight the Spaniards you'll take all the navy but- tons off your uniform and pack them away, with directions that they be sent to me. Navy buttons make such lovely hatpins, Archibald.””—Washing- ton Star. The Kind of Wife to Have. - A man who had been indulging too heavily since the new year was induced to sign the pledge. “You must let me have it,” said the wife. “I will keep it for you.” So ; the pledge was handed over to the wife for enstody. The next day the man was drinking again as freely as before. “How is this?” asked a friend. “You signed the pledge yesterday, and now you are drinking again.” “It is all right,” replied the pledge- signer in unsteady tones. “I don’t have to keep that pledge. My wife says she will keep it for me. That's the kind of wife’ to have, old fellow. Let’s have a drink!” é VICTORIA’S WALKING STICKS, Countless in Number and of Indescrib- able Beauty. Since the infirmities of Queen Vic- toria of England made it necessary for her to use a walking stick, she has been the recipient of many canes. Her friends, relatives and subjects have seized upon every possible occasion to present her with a new cane. One en- tire room of her private suite is stocked with these special gifts. Whenever she expresses her intention of attend- ing a function, like a royal wedding or christening, the interested parties con- sider it fitting to send her another cane. Every anniversary she is forced to acknowledge a score or so more, Says the New York Herald. Hers is a eollection of priceless value. There are solid gold sticks, silver sticks, ex- quisitely engraved sticks that are a marvel of the carver’s art and sticks that contain jewels that would move even a New York opera patron to envy. Queen Victoria has leaned more heay- ily on her stick of late years, using it to cross the room even, instead of only on long walks about Windsor castle, and after a long, tiresome cere- mony. She always places it against her chair, and when she rises it is the duty of the highest court official present to hand it to her. The story of the prank played upon her by the son of the duke of York has never ap- peared in print before. The queen, who is not fond of court ceremonies when she is in retirement, was at Windsor, and had dismissed her at- tendants, who had withdrawn to an arbor near by. She was very much interested in her favorite pastime, knit- ting socks for the prihce of Wales, when that small embodiment of mis- chief, her great-grandson, slipped away with her cane and “played horsey” with it over the lawn. He had to be captured before the queen could enter the house. There her majesty proceeded to teach him that even the future king of England cannot tamper with the dignity of the present powers that be. Of recent years her subjects have hoped in vain to see her use their gifts. She has used only one cane. It is one of great historic value, having been presented to King Charles II. by one of his merry court. Very properly it was cut from an oak tree. When Charles accepted the gift it had a plain gold head, which was round and apt to hurt the hand if the cane was called upon to support much weight. It was whispered about the court re- cently that her majesty used no longer the historic stick. This is not true; only the top has been changed. An idol, which graced the temple of an ill-fated Midian prince, has been added for a handle. This is an exquisitely wrought affair in ivory, on an infinites- imal pedestal of alabaster. The eyes and forehead are jeweled, and on the tongue is the rarest of rubies. SHALL IT BE “MISTRESS”? How the Spinster Suffers from Being Called “Miss.” The question of giving all girls, on attaining their majority, the title of Mrs., is debated from time to time, reinarks Vogue, and there is little doubt that in the course of years this custom will come in. It is likely that the present practice of addressing even the most aged spinsters as Miss will die hard, but in the end common sense may be trusted to prevail. Meantime, however, it is in numberless instances a distinct disadvantage for a person no longer young to be compelled to the perpetual announcement of her un- wedded state. Although there may be many elderly and middle-aged spins- ters, the title of Miss presupposed youth; and in the case of a woman of 30 and cver, who is, say, a singer, au- diences to whom she is known only by reputation will more likely than not be so disappointed at first sight at her maturity of appearance as to be oblivious, for a time at least, to the merits of her work. This particular ef- fect was produced lately in the case of a woman vocalist whose voice is exceptionally beautiful and whose method and interpretation are well- nigh flawless. Known to her hearers only through professional work of a few months’ duration, on the occasion of her appearance at the time under notice a distinct murmur of disapprov- ing surprise was heard on all sides of the crowded hall: “Oh, I thought she Was a young girl!” And by the con- trast between the Miss of her title and the maturity of her face and figure, the woman was made to apppear older than her years, which were not appcr- ently more than 30. It is, as a matter of fact, quite as ridiculous that spinsters of 30 and more should have to go through life labeled with the non-adult Miss as it would be to have gray-bearded, bald- headed bachelors carrying about vis- iting cards engraved with Master Peter Oldboy, for example. Phonograph in the Council Chamber, fhe French town of Etampes has introduced an interesting novelty by replacing the recording secretary of the municipal council with a phono- graph. Some of the members of the council objected to the innovation on account of the too great faithfulness of the apparatus in reproducing defec- tive pronunciation and errors. of speech, but the majority was in favor of making a trial. One good result may be to stimulate the members to polish up their pronunciation, and at-| tend to their grammar more than hcre- tofore, Not a Bed of Ease. ‘As a man who has been unfortunate enough to swallow his store teeth was being hurried to the hospital the jolt- ing of the ambulance proved effective in removing the teeth. That was for- tunate for this particular sufferer, but it does not speak very well for the ambulance service of the hospitals. Bad Eruptions Sores Broke Out and Discharged But Hood’s Cured. “My son had eruptions and sores on his face which continued to grow worse in spite of medicines, The sores discharged a great deal. A friend whose child had been cured of a similar trouble by Hood’s Sarsaparilla advised me to try it. I began giving the boy this medicine and he was soon getting better. He kept on taking et it until he was entirely cured and he has never been bothered with eruptions since.” Mus. Eva DoLBEARE, Horton, Ill. Hood’s ‘sar parilla America’s Greatest Medicine. $1; six for $5. Prepared only by C. I. Hood & Co., Lowell, Mass. Hood’s Pills ji.sduiseissnae So Modest. “Say, sergeant,” exclaimed a woman, as she came into the Denver police sta- tion half out of breath. Then she hes- itated. “What is it, ma’am?’ “TI don’t like to tell you.” “Proceed. Have you been burglar- ized?” “No, but some one stole a lot of clothes from my line last night.” “Just give the detectives a list of the stuff stolen.” |‘I couldn’t do that, for they took two pairs of——” “Go ahead.” “Oh. no; I couldn't do that, but, Mr. Policeman, if you see anybody wear- ing them, arrest them.” With this brief explanation, she de- parted, and the police have no clue.— Denver Times. 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