Lakeland Evening Telegram Newspaper, April 3, 1915, Page 2

Belgian By PAULINE BRADFORD MACKIE (Copyright, The Frank A. Munsey Co.) ; Al night Maurioe Beaujon was pos- with the certainty that Jean lying, wounded, in the open fleld. {He knew the lad trusted him to come, @0 Beaujon tossed as a mother might and could scarcely wait for the dawn. He talked to Jean. The stars were paling. “There, so, Jean"—he reached for his boots—‘“so, Jean, keep up your ecourage.” ' He raised his flask and tasted of its contents: “So, Jean, a few drops, tpay put heart in a man.” He stuffed a loaf of bread into his Xknapsack. “Now, a crumb, Jean—so!” He gathered up gauze and dressing for a wound and thrust it into his knapsack “So,now, Jean, let us see. 'Ab-h-h-h, that is bad, but we'll get you ‘well. Let me tie on this bandage. [They'll do better for you at the hos- pital, but this will serve till we get there.” He flung his knapsack over his back. “So, Jean, put your arms around my neck. Gently, gently; I'll not jar you. That's better, eh?” He laughed “The uhlans didn’t get you, Jean.” It was gray when he went down the road. People had their houses open, but the shop windows were closed. At the city gate an officer talking with a sentry recognized Maurice. “Hello, Beaujon!” he called. “You have been promoted for bravery.” { Beaujon nodded as a matter of course. He had fought like a demon fo kill men; he must have yelled like maniac; his throat was raw inside; he had risen to a kneeling position in the trenches to snatch a flag which had been shot away from Jean, and he had waved it high above his head to cover the retreat of his companions. And then the uhlans were on him again, but he was up and running with the flag, and he had escaped; somehow Do had escaped. It was & miracle. He ever doubted Jean's safety until th could not be found, } “Where are you going, Beaujon?” , “For Jean” Beaujon snswered. “Valles, he is missing?” the officer fsked. “Have you been through the Rospitals? 18 not in them,” Beaujon an- This delay tortured him. He knew he could make his search better Dbefore the sun was up, for the gleam of the bayonets had dazzled him yes- terday, and from the fleld they would flash in his eyes again. Beaujon pointed. ‘“Valles can't be far,” he added. “We were right in those trenches, just back of those bushes.” “Well, go on, then,” said the offi- eer; “but be cautious. Remember the wounded have been taken off the fleld. ¥ou won't find him alive.” “Alive,” thought RBeaujon impa- tiently; “no, not if this talking keeps up much longer” He saluted and burst away. He stepped out into the fleld. He had known he should see therifies and the bayonets first, but they did not fash upon his eyes now. No, they were dull and gray like the sky. He gazed blankly into the senith; his first instinct was to look away from the ground. t There ~as still a star shining; n'v:: aJ very faint. He mef g It looked at him steadily, ' He pressed his hand to his forehead, struggling for that word. Ah, he had §t! Sure. He must be sane. © He strode firmly forward, looking meither to the right nor to the left, his gaze on those bushes just beyond the farther trench. He heard low moans and cries, but ¢ 14 not heed them. | Something moved in & heap of bodies. How dead men struggled! He passed on. There, out on a free 'lpneo of ground, a dead Belgian was lying forward on his face. Beaujon paused. Clutched in the man's hand was an arm. He stared. Then he saw that the man's other arm had been shot off. His heart jumped. Could that slender fellow be Jean? He went forward and turned him over. ‘When he saw the face of a stranger he began to laugh. Now that the fellow did not prove to be Jean, he saw how comical it was What did he expect to do with his arm. Run to the hospital with it to have it sewed on? Beaujon pursued his search, chuck- ling. The east grew rosy and a sweet, cool” breeze blew against him. The day promised to be fine and clear. He was glad of that Jean always liked to lie flat on hie ‘back in an open field, staring up at the sky with eyes that were as blue. Mme. Valles was a German, and her eyes were like her sons. She wept because her sister had boys in the German army. Her own husband was a Belgian, and her sym- pathy must go with him; and Jean, her son—was he not fighting the uh- lans as well as his father? But women took life hard. He was sorry for women. He thought again of that fellow running off with his own arm before he col- lapsed. There was a saying in the Bible, “As one whom his mother com- forteth.” The fellow had probably started to run home to his mother. She must be proud of her big booby. He chuckled again. He had forgotten that word which had impressed him so strongly—that word which would help him. He knew it was important, but he had forgotten it again. 3 He hummed a tune—a little, old, Alsatian tune—as he continued his search; the men whose faces he looked at made no impression on him; he only knew they were not Jean. The sun flashed on the bayonets and sabers lying about; it was pretty as & sparkling sea. He bent over a body. Some instinct made him rise and whirl about on his heel. He was face to face with one of the uhlans. The German was on foot. Each man was but a mirror of the other, so identical were their expres- sions; each had believed himself alone searching for a friend. They stared at each other; they turned; they ran in opposite directions as if pursued by demons, The fight was out of both of them. Beaujon dropped his rifle as he ran. Horror was on his heels. He stumbled and fell and lay as if dead, then reached slyly for his rifle. As his hand gripped it he realized that it must be apother man’s, for he dropped his own He sat up and looked over the fleld. The enemy had disappeared. He turned his head, and there beside him lay Jean. It was Jean's rifie he held. He knew by the smile on Jean's face that the lad was dead. Only dead men were happy like that; that is, the right sort of dead It was a message that he must fight for them both. He was grim but ex- ultant as he strode on. Where he had killed one man before, now he would kill two; it would be double the num- ber always, double for Jean. The ground was uncertain and he stumbled; then he realized he was trampling over the dead with his boots on. He laid Jean down and took off his boots, then lifted his triend again and went on in his stocking- feet. When he came into the city again no one offered to help him, for Beau- jon was a giant in strength and he bore Jean as though he had been a girl. He climbed the road and turned into a small hotel. Mme, Valles sat at the table with the one guest left in the hotel; she was having an extra cup of coffee with her and they were talking about the War. i Eeanjon's fizvre filied the doorway Popular Russian Beverage. A popular drink among the peas ants of Russia is called quass..:it i made by pouring warm rye or barley meal. It is liquor and is very sour, dbut has Jsen used for years by these poverty- stricken people. and his shadow fell across the two ‘women. Mme. Valles raised her hands. She was going to cry out, but somehow she did not. Instead she managed to | get to & door; it opened into her | bedroom. | “Put him here, Maurice. Can you get a doctor?” Beaujon laid Jean down on his mother's bed. He patted Mme. | Valles’ cheek 80 softly in his pity. | ~“No. Jean does not need a doctor, Mama Valles.” He went out, closing the door on the two. There was a stranger in ‘When she saw Beaujon’s pallor she ran to the kitchen and called Marie, the young girl who assisted Mme. Valles as a kind of underhousekeep- er, to bring hot coffee at once. “They have brought home Mme. Valles’ son dead,” she exclaimed, “and I think the man who brought him is fll. He looks so white.” “Yes, mademoiselle,” answered Marfe. Her hand shook so she kept pouring the coffee into the saucer in- stead of the cup. “Here,” sald Miss Dewey, “I will attend to that.” She seized the coffee pot and poured the coffee with a steady hand. “Now you bring a basin of warm water to wash his feet. They are bleeding and his stockings are cut in shreds.” “Yes, mademoiselle,” answered Ma- rie. “Please tell me—where is Jean?” “His mother has him in her room. She has shut the door. Hurry with that basin, Marie.” Miss Dewey went back to Beaujon. “Try to take a little of this coffee. It will do you good.” Beaujon lifted his heavy eyes to her face. “Thank you.” Marie came hurrying in with towels and a basin of water and, kneeling down, peeled off the ragged stockings | with tender fingers. She was young ' and dark and richly colored. Suddenly she pressed Beaujon’s bare feet to her bosom, sobbing, while she murmured: “My Jean, my Jean!" She was to have married Jean Valles in the autumn. Beaujon's brows contracted with ilty. “Poor Marie!” he sald. “Poor ariel” His mind seemed entirely clear again. The coffee helped him. He watched her as she sat back on her heels, let- ting his feet drop into her lap and looking up pititully at him. “Now, 1 shall have no husband.” He saw her poor, little, drooping mouth, the woe in her eyes. It was more than grief for Jean. It was desolation come upon her. The issues of life were cut off. She would have no husband, no children. Why ‘was ghe left a woman? This was what war did for women'! Beaujon spoke with difficulty, for his throat was tired. “Marle, if I live I will return and be your husband.” When she saw the kindness on his face she bent forward and laid her face against his breast, sobbing. He patted her shoulder until she grew quiet. Then he sald: “Now, I must be going.” Miss Dewey was crying, too. She ran out to get him another cup of coffee. “What & good man,” she thought. Marie knelt and dried his feet and put a pair of clean stockings on him. They were Papa Valles', as were also the boots, she brought. Papa Valles had gone to the war, too; and he was & big man like Beaujon, not slight like Jean. Jean was so pretty—like a girl. Her tears fell more gently. Beaujon pulled on the boots. He rose and shook hands with Miss Dewey. ‘“Good-by,” he sald. ‘“When you return to your own country re- member us.” She stood on the steps of the hotel, while Marie followed him to the road. “Wait,” he sald; “I was forgetting something.” J He thrust his hand into his pocket and drew forth a big key and gave it to Marie. “It is the key to my shop. It 1 do not come back all is yours.” She took it as a child might “Yes.” She kept her eyes fixed wist- fully on Beaujon's face. “Good-by,” he said, and bent to kiss her cheek; then suddealy drew her into his arms and kissed her ith, “Good-by, my wite!" The blood coursed freely his veins once more. That fresh, so sweet—bad revived him. It was as though Marie had become a stranger with whom he had fallen in love at first sight. Their love sprang new born from this moment; it had no past. He went oft down the road with a swinging step, his shoulders squared. The good God meant well by man. His hand must be over this somehow—yes— over it all. “Where is his shop, Marie?" asked Miss Dewey. “The fourth one down on that side, mademoiselle,” answered Marie. “Oh, that beautiful lace shop!” Miss Dewey exclaimed. “There are some wonderful rosepieces in the window. I noticed them the first day I was in town. So he is a lace maker?” “Yes, mademoiselle.” Beaujon reached the top of the road. He turned and waved his cap. Then he disappeared down the hill. “He is gone,” sald Marie. She clasped her hands on her breast. “Think, mademoiselle, how one hour can bring me two sorrows. It is war!” Adversity. ! A high character might be produced, 1 suppose, by continued prosperity, but it has very seldom been the case. Ad- ' versity; Wowever it may appear to be Water over ; our foe, is our true friend; and, after a fermented | a little acquaintance with it, we Te- | celve it as 2 precious thing—the proph- ecy of a coming joy. It should be no ambition of ours to traverse a path without a thorn or a stone.—Charles il Eésil J g pily about her neat kitchen, her pleas- Int face even more beaming than 1" “Amos is sixty years old today,” she explained to the milkman from whom she bought a half-pint of cream besides the customary pint of milk, “an’ I'm goin’ to get an extrs nice §if gf= 08 seEF3ELE “Well, 1 won't you don't waat I should, little woman promised, brushing th angry tears from her eyes. “I ain’t afrald but we'll get along some way. It just made me mad to think how was ready to pour into the tureem, little the company seemed to appre- and as every housewife knows, toma- ciate how honest and faithful you've to bisque will curdle if allowed to been. Now you come and wash up stand. |and eat your birthday dinner before | “I do wish Amos would come,” the it's all spoiled.” little woman fluttered. “That cream o' | But though Amos Rood valiantly tomato won't be fit to eat.” 'attempted to do justice to the little | Glancing uneasily out of the window feast, it was evident to the anxious she started at sight of a curiously | wife who watched him that the dainty tamiliar, yet unfamiliar, figure coming | viands that she had prepared with slowly up the street. Sure that bowed, 'luch care were as dust and ashes to . bent old man could not be Amos! He ' his palate. He looked stunned and had never looked like that, even when 'pewildered by the unexpected blow his rheumatism was at its worst. But | which had been dealt him, and as he the next instant she had flung open 'pushed back his chair from the table, the door and was running down the he sald slowly: n walk. “I'd calculated to finish up that job | “Oh, what s it—wl alls you, of Brown’s this afternoom, but when Amos?” she cried, put her arms | got that letter I sent 'em word not ‘about him to help him up the steps. |to expect me—I didn’t feel equal to ' “Don’t be scared, Lucy—I ain't tacklin’ figures today. But I'll paint sick,” the man sald, with a brave at- | them storm-doors you wanted done, tempt at a reassuring smile, iLucy. ItIl be quiet out there in the | But once under the shelter of his barn, and I—I want to think things own roof, safe from prying or pitying over.” nelghborly eyes, Amos Rood broke K Mrs. Rood looked after him wist- down altogether. Sinking into a chair fully. “I guess maybe he would be bet- he dropped his head upon the little jter by himself,” she thought lmmhl.y: 'table, so gayly decked in honor of the ,“I wouldn't wonder if my everlastin' day with tearoses and hellotrope from 'gabble bothered him some when he's the garden beds, and Mrs. Rood’s got things he wants to think over. Well, I'1l fly around and straighten up igo't will look pleasant to him when g f '~ Found the Solitude He Craved. cherished “wedding” china, and his big, shrunken frame shook with a man's painful, tearless sobs. His wife silently unclasped his clenched fingers from a letter which bore the seal of a great corporation, and as she swiftly scanned the few curt lines it contalned she wailed aghast: “0 Amos, it must be a mistake! The company wouldn't take your pen- sion from you just because you are able to earn a little something extra, now and then?” “It's the new manager, Lucy,” Amos Rood responded dully. “He's trying to cut expenses, and he says it's no part of the company's policy to pension able-bodied men.” | “Able-bodied!” the little woman ochoed, with a hysterical laugh. guess I know what you suffer, Amos, even on your best days. But doa't 1 worry, dear—we'll get to write that ! that will make self” | i H i fries s38% 2 1= 1 was foolish to snap v chances to add a lMttle to our in- sigh, “that pension wasn't a very big one for two people to live on.” | “I should say It wasn't!” agreed | Mrs. Rood vehemently. “I call it pret- ty doin’s!" she went on flercely. “Here's you all broken down, and all those years your salary was so small | that though I've been as saving as I | knew how, we've just managed to pay for this place and put a few hun- dred dol!ars in the bank.” “We'd never have done that much it 1t hadn't been for you, Lucy,” her husband said gratefully. “You're a master hand at conmtriving. But it (gln't the company’s fault that I got ) all crippled up with rheumatism, so's 1 couldn't do my work.” “I'd like to know if it aln't, Amos Rood!™ she flashed. “T'd MNke to know it you wa'n't kept all those years in ! » damp, underground office and not al- lowed half the Yelp you'd ought to have hed?™ e Chief Uses Yor Platinum. One-third of the world's supply of plativum is required in dentistry and another (hird for slactrical purposes ———— Life and Work. I must do my own work and live my own life in my own way, because he comes in, an’ maybe if I was to fix that chicken into a scallop he'd relish it for supper. He didn't eat scarcely s mite o' dinner.” But although Amos Rood had found the solitude he craved, there was something terrifying to him in the emptiness of the great barn, and as he resolutely set himself to the task of painting the “storm doors” he had mentioned, he began to wish vaguely that old Dolly were still alive to stamp her iron shod feet and to micker to him socially from her stall Then, with a sudden pang, he real- fzed that he was glad that the old horse who had been his and Lucy’s frlend and companion for ‘so many years, had dled last month, for how could he have brought himself to sell her when their little home was broken up? The brush dropped from his nerveless hand as he muttered, yes, it would come to that! Lucy sald that they would man- age some’ way, but Lucy, with all her cheery common sense and thrift, had & woman’s ignorance of the grim fact that two and two always make four, and never by any chance five or six. Perhaps, by selling their little place and living on the proceeds they might manage to keep together for a few years more, but the end was inev- ftable. Sooner or later Lucy would be obliged to go to the well-to-do sis- ter who had never attempted to con- ceal her conviction that the pretty, energetic girl might have done better than to marry Amos Rood. As for him, there would be nothing | left but the shelter of the county poor house. Something seemed to snap in the man's brain, Why shouldn’t he quiet- ly get out of it all, while there was still something to keep Lucy from en- tire dependence on a woman like pros- perous, self-satisfied Jane Thorn? She would mourn for him he kmew, but death is easier to bear than some oth- er things. The man stumbled blindly to the door. The next instant he was stand- ing in the warm sunlight he had never thought to feel again, with Lucy's arms about his neck; her happy tears upon his cheek. “Oh, Amos,” she was bubbling joy- ously, “the general superinteadent himself is in the house! It's perfect'y lovely to hearthim swear. He says the new manager has exceeded his'au- thority altogether, and that the com- pany does know how to appreciate faithful service such as yours has been! And only think, instead of tak- ing away your pension, he intends to increase it! Why, Amos, we'll be rich!” Acme of Enjoyment. “Jimmy, what would you do if you was rich?” “T'd have pie fer dinner every day.” “Anything else?™ “Yes; I'd have & scoreboard In de dining room, wit' de butler marking | up de scores from all parts of de coun- | try whi'e I eat” Optimistic Thought. We may despise “he world. but we cannot do withont it, Trapping Sparrows. | In England sparrows are trapped with a sieve, one end held up by a short stake to wifich a long string is tied. The trap is balted with bread To The Public:— Every man of integrity and thrift in this 'Decisive Influence community i tisfactory banking connections. uqul?:io:: not m?l':e S0 n‘nfch difference to the officers this bank HOW MUCH money a man has in our bank-] we want his NAME on our books. His influence and frieng, ship are often worth even more to the bank than p money. The strength of our institution and the standing of iy offiecrs are such that we have no hestancy in presenting our advantages to the largest or smallest depositor. Our ways of satisfactorily serving you are many ap we invite your account. Yours very Mly'a.,‘%>w e -~ | FIRST NATIONALBAN THIS BANK IS A MEMBER OF THE FEDERAL RESERVE SYSTEM. S S SRS S S O S i N S Sy ey e O R Sy UL T N 777 The Financial Crisis Over We are now in shape togive you the benefit of our Low Expenses. House and save you money, Let us wire your Lower Insur- ance, Cleanliness and Convenience are the results. T. L. CARDWELL Phone 39] With Lakeland Sheet Metal Works Armour Star Hams Uncanbas;ed at 18 Cents é PSSO 000008000000000000 0002222222000 0 S sest E. 6. TWLEDELL PHONE 59 .We Are Always Ready to Talk a8 with you about building plans, furnish estimates on your lum- ber and material bills, and to im- part any information we may be able to give. We don’t expect an order every time you hove in sight, and will iust naturally be glad to see you at any time. Lakelerd Manufacturing Company LAKELAND, FLA. il‘m responsihle for both.—Kipling. crumbs, oats or wheat. The’birds are permitted to eat the baitwuntfl a num- ber have gathered under the sieve, when the cord is pulled, removing the stake and allowing the trap to fall over the birds gathered under the sleve. H. Spurgeon. We Conquered Nature. “Yes, gentlemen,” said the gist, “the ground we walk on once under water.” “Well” the patriotic young man of Greatest Water Power. The Bt Lawrence river system isthe | that th ':nm udv::!::h from 1t I ooy : o power a | That nation 1s worthless whith does greater than that of any other river o joyfully stake everything on her wnor.--Schiller. “two kinds of P Was those who work for somebod who have others You can be eith l Reputation and Character. } Reputation is what men and wom- ™ en think of us; character is what God he sees to be best.— the angels know of us.—Thomas and Paine.