Grand Rapids Herald-Review Newspaper, June 18, 1904, Page 7

A Woman of Craft By Tom Gallon CL) CHAPTER X. (Continued.) “Then that man lied to me,” she whispered to herself. “Owen was not there, after all. I wonder what he’ll do; I wonder what he’ll say. He was always a violent brute, and we haven't met since that night he rode away from the hut in Nevada. Well, at all events, we'll put you off a bit, my friend, and let you understand, if pos- sible, that you're not wanted.” She rang her bell quickly, and on the appearance of the maid spoke quite calmly and coolly, with a jerk of her head toward the window. “There’s a man coming to the house, probably to inquire for me,” she said “He is not under any circumstances to be admitted, no matter for whom he may ask. He is never to be admitted at any time—and they can be as rough to him as they like. He wants money, Janet,” she added, with a laugh—“as most people do in this world; and he has sponged on me before.” “I will give instructions, miss,” said the maid, who was beginning to won- der into what sort of service she had got. Joyce waited to hear the sounds of an angry altercation; there were none. Peeping cautiously from the window, she watched to see if Owen Jaggard went away; if he did go, he had chos- en another route, for he did not come within sight of the window. She laugh- ed to think how easily she had cowed him, and ran down stairs with a new sense of security. The maid Janet met her in the hall. “The man went away at once, miss; he was most polite, I believe,” said the girl. Joyce turned and walked into a room on the ground floor, which had been used, so she was told, by the late John Hawley as a sort of office. Swinging light-heartedly into it, she closed the door, and came in a moment face to face with Owen Jaggard, who had evi- dently at that moment stepped over the windowsill. She was drawing back, with a startled exclamation, when he reached a hand behind him and pointed the other sternly at her. “Stop it!” he commanded. “What sort of stuff do you think I’m made of, Joyce Bland, that I'll be turned from your doors by your lackeys, like a dog? So like these English,” he mut- tered, with a laugh; “turn a man away from the door and leave the. windows open.” “Gentlemen don’t generally enter by the window,” she said. “When I claim to be a gentleman I'll do as they're supposed to do,” he re- torted. “Until then you've got to deal with the man you knew in Nevada, San Francisco, and a few other places; and you know him, don’t you, Joyce Bland?” “Not that name here; it’s not mine,” she exclaimed, quickly. “Where were you last night?” she added, incautious- ly, and bit her lip the next moment that she should so have betrayed her- self. “Where you expected me to be,” he replied. “In the place you so kindly prepared for me—but not after the tire started. Don’t take so much trouble next time, old girl; Um a bit too slip- pery for you.” “What do you mean—what mad idea have you got into your- head now?” “Do you see that?” he asked, pulling a little shred of lace from a pocket and holding it out to her. “Ask that girl of yours to look through your things and try to match it. I found it hanging on a bush near to the place you fired last night.” “Pray go on; I wonder what else you will say; it is not worth the trouble of denying. We can come to something more important. Tell me what you want here, before I have you turned out of the house.” “Start the turning out business, and I'll tell ’em all here who you are and where you came from,” he _ replied, slowly. “Come, Joyce, you’re not play- ing the game squarely or reasonably; treat me well and I won't do you any harm; treat me badly and it'll be the worse for you.” “I begin to understand,” she said, with a sneer. “Like all the rest, you are to be bought, I suppose. Come, name your price; I can probably give you more money than you've ever had in all your life before.” “No, you've not hit tt right,” he re- plied, steadily. “I don’t ask you for money; there’s no question with me of being bought off. 1 don't want the money; I want you.” “Dismiss that idea from your mind at once,” she replied, coolly. I have done with that life and with you for- ever. Ask for what you like, and I'll give it, within reason, to keep you quiet, and for the sake of the old days; but here we part company as we part- ed in Nevada. The partnership is dis- solved.” “When I left you at the door of that hut in Nevada,” he went on, patiently, “you were to join me in San Francisco. We had roughed it and smoothed it to- gether before that; we were to meet at the place you knew in San Francisco again. You never appeared.” “And never intended to appear,” she said. ‘“You’ve got to understand clear- ly that all that is left behind and done with; I’ve played for a big stake and I’ve won it; I don’t let a man like you step in and take it from me. You can [J L] Fe H: OO OOOO0OOOOOoOOoOooOooogooO ‘that I did not know Owen Jaggard and go your way as I’ve gone mine; but from the time you left me on that night in Nevada I made up my mind that I should not know him again.” “That’s all right from your point of view, Joyce,” he replied, calmly; “but you'll find you can’t shake me off like that; I’m a bit of a sticker. Besides,” he added, striding across to her and fluttering the little rag of lace before her eyes, “what about this? Why, when you find I’m here, before even I’ve had a chance to say a word to you—why try to murder me?” “What is your proof concerning this fire?” she asked, looking him steadily in the face. “How do you know that had any hand in it?” r “Why did you ask me, when you first saw me here just now, where I slept last night?” he demanded. ‘As far as you were concerned I might have been in London or any other place—miles away. I happen to be aware that you knew I should sleep in that cottage last night; I happen to know that the fire was no accident, but a deliberate thing, planned and arranged by some one who wanted me—and perhaps the other man, too—out of the way.” “Well, setting aside all suppositions, suppose- we come to business,” said Joyce, quietly. “What are we going to do?” “After last night I don’t trust you as I did,” said Jaggard. “You were al- ways a fierce sort of tiger-cat, who never would let anything stand in your way. I did my best to tame you, and managed it for a time.” “And dragged me down a little lower than I might have been in the process.” she reminded him. “Never mind that; that was part of the game,” he retorted. “Now you happen to have struck it rich here and you don’t want me. Nevertheless, I’m here, and here I mean to stay. Our partnership was all right while we were poor; it’s got to be all right now one of us is rich. If there are any for- tunes going, my dear, we lshare ’em together.” “That’s out. of the question,” she said. “Whatever fortune I have here comes to me under certain conditions.” “Conditions?” “Yes. I take this fortune under an- other name; I step into someone else’s shoes to claim it at all. And, stepping into those shoes, I take the responsi- bilities of the former owner. In other words, I am disposed of—arranged for. One of the conditions of my fortune is that I marry; if | fail to marry one certain man, | get nothing.” ‘And you mean to do that?” he asked. “Yes, I mean to do that,” she replied. “You've got to understand, Owen Jag- gard, that I'm tired of the old life— the mad, dare-devil existence that was all cards, and hard riding, and hard drinking, and hard living, and hard swearing; 1 want something cleaner. This is my chance--and I've got it Joyce Bland never left. Nevada. Go back and look for her, and if you can’t find her you'll find some one else of the same type that will do as well. Now you can go.” “T'll put aside everything you’ve told me,” he said, quietly. after what seem- ed a long pause: “and I'll come to my proposition. As it seems you can’t take this fortune without taking a man with it, it ain't much use to you, be- cause I’m the only man who can step in here so far as you are concerned. Therefore, Joyce, you'd better realize and raise what you can, and we'll clear out together. I can buy a ranch or something of that sort, and we can go back to the old life as cleanly and nicely as you like; and we'll be as happy as the day is long.” “I don’t want any one to come in by accident and find you here,” she said, moving towards the bell. “Will you go out the way you came, or by the door; I can easily make explanations to the servants, and U’ll take care no one hurries your departure. How is it to be?” “Ts that all you have to say?” he asked. “You needn't ring that bell; when I choose to go I'll go in my own fashion. I ruled you before, Joyce Bland; (il rule you again. Yes or.no; do I stand in this, or do you mean to shake me off?” “You certainly do not stand in any- thing with which I am concerned,” she said. “You have forced your way into this house; let it be for the last time. ve too much at stake to have you prowling about and interfering. Go back to the life you know and under- stand. If you want money I'll arrange that you shall have it. And that’s my last word.” “Well, it isn’t mine,” he exclaimed, savagely, as he caught her wrist. “You thought you'd got clear of me long ago; I’ve tracked you down and I don’t mean to lose sight of you again. It happens that I’ve got the right girl in tow—the real Grace Yarwood—and I mean to let her know, and let every one else know, who you are and where you came from. You share what you can get with me and I’m silent; put me out of it and I talk. That’s all I’ve got to say; decide for yourself.” “I have already decided,” she re- plied. “If you come ‘near this place again I’ll set men and dogs on you as I would any tramp who threatened me, Now you can go. If you want to know, I did fire the cottage last night, be- thought I could get rid of you once and for all. Perhaps that will teach you what kind of a game I am playing; perhaps that will show you that I can fight, too.” , “Very well; we’ll see who wins,” he said, with a grim laugh; “I’m not sure that I don’t like you better than ever for this; if you’d caved in I mightn’t have thought you were worth winning back. I see we understand each other; it’ll have to be a fight to a finish.” He put a leg over the window-sill, “Speaking of the curious routes let- ters sometimes take in reaching their destination,” said an old newspaper man, in the New Orleans Times-Demo- erat, “reminds me of an extraordinary experience I had in 1901, when I re- glanced back into the room at her for } ceived two letters which had been a moment, and then dropped over and was gone. She laughed a little uneasi- ly, then slipped across the room, closed the window and fastened it. Owen Jaggard, with her threats and her scorn of him rankling\in his breast, turned his back on the House for the last time, as he told himself, and made his way straight down through the woods to the gipsy camp. In that mo- ment there was probably more deter- mination in him than there had ever been before. “I'll beggar her; I'll let her see she has some one to reckon with she has not yet understood. I'll declare who she is; I'll put this other girl in her rightful place. “Perhaps then, Joyce Bland,” he added, turning and shaking a fist in the direction of the house— “perhaps then you'll come _ creeping back to me to beg that I’ll take you to my arms again. And I suppose,” he added dejectedly, and in quite another tone—“I suppose then I shall do so, and be glad of the chance.” He made his way straight into the camp, and came face to face with Neal Ormany, the elder gipsy, who looked at him inquiringly and seemed for a moment to bar his way. “You have an old man here—a tall old man, named Enoch Flame—he has a girl with him,” said Owen Jaggard, suppressing his excitement with an ef- fort. “Well, what of it?” was the surly re- | ply. 5 “I want to see him now, at once,” cried Jaggard. “Can't you see for your- self it’s a matter of moments; can’t you understand it may mean some- thing of life and death? Where is the man?” At the sound of the’ raised voices Enoch Flame himself had come strid- ing in through the trees; the flap of the tent had been lifted and the two women—the young and the old—had come out also. In the midst of that curious group old Enoch Flame faced Owen Jaggard and waited for him to speak. “When I met you before, Mr. Flame,” said Owen, speaking in a suppressed voice, and yet loud enough for them all to hear, “I told you I did not know which side I would take, which woman I would cast my vote for. “Flame”— he stretched out his hand to him sud- denly—“I play the straight game. The woman up at the house is no more Grace Yarwood than you are; the girl who is with you in this camp is the Grace Yarwood that’s wanted, and I can prove it. I’m with you heart and soul!” Another figure joined’ the group, coming slowly and timidly among them. It was Grace. She looked won- deringly from one to the other, and seemed to ask a question with her eyes. Old Flame put an arm about her and drew her close to him. “My dear,” he said softly, “no more trouble or‘anxiety for you. This is our witness”—he pointed to Owen Jaggard —“the man who was with this woman the night she stole your birthright in Nevada. He can prove it; he means to do the square thing. The fortune is yours; the one witness we wanted is found.” Grace stepped forward a pace and held out her hand to Jaggard. He did not seem to notice it. “From the bot- tom of my heart I thank you,” she said. She looked back, as it seemed, into the depth of the wood from which she had come; there was a strange light in her eyes. “It is all so wonder- ful,” she said, softly. “I never wanted my fortune so much as I want it to- day, ard it has all come to me in a moment.” (To Be Continued.) HER WIRELESS TELEGRAPHY. When China Would Have Appreciated Present Means of Communication. The announcement recently made that the Italian legation at Pekin has been provided with a wireless tele- graph station which enables direct communication to be maintained be- tween the legation and vessels of the Italian fleet in Chinese waters, calls attention to the recent development and application of this means of com- munication which would have been greatly appreciated at the time of the siege #f the legations in Pekin in 1900. Thus the Italian legation will be able to communicate with ships at Ta-ku and Tien-tsin without recourse to the lines of the Chinese government, and may even reach them while cruising about the northern part of the China sea. The use of wireless telegraphy for such diplomatic work, as well as in military and “naval operations, seems capable of considerable extension, espe- cially in semi-civilized countries where the capital is distant from the seaport. —Harper’s Weekly. Severe. Husband-in-waiting—I must take you to see the woman lightning-change art- ist at the halls. Wife—Is she good? Husband—Great! She puts on her hat in less than fifteen minutes— Punch. Charlie (whose salary is $6 per)—I was reading the other day where a girl was poisoned by eating chocolates and died in awful agony. Mabel—The poor girl would have been alive yet if she had been with you.—Comfort. . AR | mailed to. me in 1888, thirteen years before. I had been with a friend in ‘Washington up to early in 1888, when I concluded that I would go to my old home in Boston. I remained in Bos- ton a few days, going from there to New York. My movements were so ‘sudden that he did not at any time know exactly where to find me. The two letters to which I have referred were sent to my Washington address, ‘and, fortunately, fell into the hands of my friend. Not knowing exactly where I was after hearing that I had left Boston, he did not know where to ‘send the letters, so he just kept them, thinking that he would finally learn my address and would send them on to me. While loafing around in New York I was suddenly seized with a sara to go to Europe and, without aying anything to anyone about my intentions, I boarded a ship and start- ed for foreign lands. . “For nearly four years I was abroad and during that time, while communicating with relatives and friends on this side I never wrote to my friend whom I had left in Wash- ington, for I did-not know his ad- - No Human ~ Letters Long on Way dress and could get no trace of him. He had left Washington in the mean- time and had come South. Those facts were, of course, unknown to me at the time.- I never heard a word from him and never knew anything of his whereabouts until some time after my return to America; in fact, not un- til the year 1901, when I suddenly ran across him in the city of New Orleans. I secured employment here and was surprised one day to learn that I was working in the same office with my long-lost friend, “By the way,’ he said, when we first met, ‘I have a couple of letters for you which I have kept for thir- teen years, since shortly after we sep- arated in Washington—in 1888.” He gave me the letters. They were yel- lowed somewhat by age. They were from two very dear friends and I asked my friend what had become of the boys, telling him whom the letters were from. ‘They are both dead,’ he said, ‘and have been dead for a num- ber of years.’ I suppose those two boys died thinking just a little un- kindly of me because of failure to an- swer their letters, for they never knew the letters had not reached me. It was a strange experience and one which had no small amount of pathos in it for me, and one, too, which is brightened by the pretty friendship of the man who had kept the letters all these years for me.” Life There % The coast of Labrador is the edge of a vast solitude of rocky hills, split and blasted by the frosts and beaten by the waves of the Atlantic for un- known ages. A grand headland, yel- low, brown and black in its nakedness, is ever in sight, one to the north of you and one to the south. Here and there upon them are strips and patches of pale green mosses, lean grasses and dwarf shrubbery. There | are no forests except in Hamilton inlet. Occasionally miles of precipices front the sea in which fancy may roughly shape all the structures of human art. More frequent than headlands and perpendicular sea fronts are the sea slopes, often bald and tame, and then the perfection of all that is pictur- esque and rough. In the interior the blue hills and stony vales that wind up from among them from the sea have a summerlike and pleasant air. One finds himself peopling these re- gions and dotting their hills, valleys and wild shores with human habita- tions, but a second thought, and a mournful one it is, tells that no men toil in the fields away there, no wom- en keep the home off there, no child- ren play by the brooks or shout around the country schoolhouse, no bees come home to the hive, no smoke curls from the farmhouse chimney, no orchard blooms, no bleating sheep flock the mountain side with white- ness, and no heifer lows in the twi- light. There is nobody there, there never was but a miserable and scattered few, and there never will be. It isa great and terrible wilderness, thou- sands of miles in extent and lonesome to the very wild animals and birds. Left to the still visitation of the light from the sun, moon and stars and the auroral fires, it is only fit to look upon and then be given over to its prime- val solitariness. But lor the living things of its waters, the cod, salmon and seal, which brings thousands of fishermen to its waters and traders to its bleak shores, Labrador would be as desolate as Greenland. The time is now coming when with good steam- ship accommodations the invalid and tourist from the States will be found spending the brief but lovely summer here, notwithstanding its ruggedness and desolation.—Boston Transcript. Romance of a Farm A romantic story, one in which a number of stirring incidents are relat- ed, 1s told of a little farmhouse and forty-seven acres of land ‘that within the last week have been turned over to a great church organization for an orphanage. The property is located on the main line of the Northwestern road, about two hours out from Chicago, and ad- joins the little village of Nachusa. The land was handed down from genera- tion to generation by a family of the name of Dysart. By a member of this family it was originally taken up from the government, and remained in the family until it fell into the possession of Col. Alexander Dysart, who for years was one of the best known citi- zens of this section. He was a man of some eccentricities, but beloved by the whole community. He raised a family of sons, three of whom became engineers on the Northwestern road and are now running trains. The colo- nel, during his lifetime, improved the old home, which in early years was but a cabin, until it assumed the pro- portions of a fine country home. He surrounded it with a double row of pine trees, and these for miles may be seen from points along the road. When the colonel was well along in years he fell in love with a widow, and against the wishes of his family married her, only to be divorced in a few years. Within sight of the Dysart home was the farm of Peter Burham, a sturdy German, the father of an in- dystrious family. Among the children was a daughter, Mary, who grew up to be as pretty a lass as could be found in all Lee county. A farmer’s daugh- ter, she in due time became a farmer’s wife, marrying Henry Shippert. Both husband and wife had not one but several farms of rich Lee county land, but after the body of old Col. Dysart was laid to rest and the property was of- fered for sale, Mrs. Shippert bought it. Then she proposed to the Evangelical church, of which she is a member, to convert the little farm into an orphan- age. The church accepted the charge and only the other day the home of the kindly old colonel was dedicated to its noble purpose. Ways of the Mosquito That adult mosquitoes live through the winter is evident to all who have seen and felt them on the first warm days of early spring, says a writer in the Literary Digest. Now we are told in addition that larvae and even the egg of the insect may survive great cold. Says a writer in the Revue Scientifique: “It is well known that mosquitoes hibernate in the adult state; a certain number of these vexatious insects pass the winter in various retreats— in slaughter houses, granaries, cellars, etc., and in the spring they resume active life and multiply their kind. (Hibernation, however, does not always take place in the adult form only; the larvae can also pass the winter with safety. This has been shown by the observations of John B. Smith made during the winter of 1901-1902 and at the end of 1902. The winter ‘cold does not regularly destroy aquatic larvae. They will bear a con- siderable degree of it; they have been seen surrounded with ice, the water having frozen around them, and after the melting of the solid envelope they still lived. The same larvae may be alternately frozen up and melted sev- eral times in the course of the win- ter. This is true of the culex pungens and of several other species both of culex and of anopheles, etc. Certain species hibernate in the adult state; others in the larval state also; others still hibernate in the egg. Put many have hibernating larvae; with many the larvae pass the winter under the ice, or in the ice, without the least injury. It may easily be seen that cold will not kill mosquitoes, for numbers of polar explorers have noted the abundance of the insects in the regions of ice, and it is well’ known that the mosquitoes are one of the plagues of the summer in the moist parts of Alaska. POIs } World’s Lepers. “here is one leper for every 500 of the world’s population. Siberian Sables. The Siberian sable, unless protect- ed by law, will soon be extinct, PATRIOTISM IN JAPAN. All Classes Contribute to the Mikado’s War Chest. And then the stories I heard of the devotion and sacrifice of the people who are left at home! The women let their hair go undressed once a month that they may contribute per month the price of the dressing—5 sen. A gentleman discovered that every serv- ant in his household, from the butler down, was contributing a certain amount of his wages each month, and in consequence offered to raise wages just the amount each servant was giv- ing away. The answer was: “Sir, we cannot allow that; it is an honor for us to give, and it would be you who would be doing our duty for us to Japan.” A Japanese lady apologized profuse- ly for being late to dinner. She had been to the station to see her son off for the front, where already were three of her sons. ‘Said another straightway: ‘How fortunate to be able to give four sons to Japan.” In a tea house I saw an old woman with blackened teeth, a servant, who bore herself proudly, and who, too, was honored because she had sent. four sons to the Yalu. Hundreds and thou- sands of families are denying them- selves one meal a day that they may give more to their country. And one rich merchant, who has already given 100,000 yen, has himself cut off one meal, and declares that he will live on one the rest of his life for the sake of Japan.—Scribner’s Magazine. Old Soldier’s Story . Sonoma, Mich., June 13.—That even in actual warfare disease is more ter- rible than bullets is the experience of Delos Hutchins of this place. Mr. Hutchins as a Union soldier saw three years of service under Butler Barke in the Louisiana swamps, and as a result got crippled with rheumatism so that his hands and feet got all twisted out of shape, and how he suffered only a rheumatic will ever know. © For twenty-five years he was in misery, then one lucky day his drug- gist advised him to use Dodd's Kid- ney Pills. Of the result Mr. Hutchins says: “The first two boxes did not help me much, but I got two more, and before I got them used up I was a great deal better. I kept on taking them and now my pains are all gone and I feel better than I have in years. I know Dodd’s Kidney Pills will cure rheumatism.” No Divorce Likely. “Gracious! What’s the matter?” asked the Chicago bridegroom, finding his bride in tears. “Oh!” she sobbed. “I just tripped and fell coming up the stairs.” “But you didn’t hurt yourself, did you?” “Hurt myself? Don’t you know that’s a sign I won’t get married this year?” ‘There 1s more Catarrh tn this section of the count: than all other diseases put together, and until the last few years was supposed to be incurable. Fora great many years doctors pronounced it a local disease and Prescribed local remedies, and by constantly failing to cure with local treatment, pronounced {t incurable. Science has proven Catarrh to be a constitutional dis- aso and therefore requires constitutional treatment. Hall's Catarrh Cure, manufactured by F. J Cheney & Co., Toledo, Ohio, is the only constitutional cure on the market. ‘It {s taken internally in doses trom 10 drops toa teaspoonful. It acts directly on the blood stem. They offer one it fails to cure. and mucous surfaces of the a Send Her “Because.” Mrs. Rubberton—Why did you with- draw your application for divorce? Mrs, Gayboy—Because I found that I wouldn’t be able to get enough ali- mony to support another husband.— Columbus Dispatch. The woman who carries her age well shows the pride she has in it. Miss M. Cartledge gives some helpful advice to young girls. Her letter is but one of thou- sands which prove that nothing is so helpful to young girls who are just arriving at the period of womanhood as Lydia E. Pink- ham’s Vegetable Compound. ble Compound too highly, for it is the only medicine I ever tried which cured me. I suffered much from m first menstrual period, I felt so w and iy at times 1 could not pursue my studies with the usual interest. My thoughts became sluggish, I had headaches, backaches and sinking spells, also in the back and lower limbs. In I was sick all over. “ Pinally, rr many other remedies had been Oa ees ek advised to get Lydia E. Pinkham’s Vegetable Compound; and I am pleased to say that after taking it only two weeks, a wonderful change for better took place, and in a short time I was in Pe health.- I felt buoyant, full of fe, and found all work a pastime. I am indeed glad to tell my experience with Lydia E. Pinkham’s V: table Compound, for it made a dif- ferent girl of me. Yours very truly, rere we pr 583 Whi St, above lotic proving gonuinencoacannot beproaused,