The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, April 5, 1903, Page 5

THE SUNDAY CALL. 1sed himself with a and the retu Washingtos President was places and ctims of a excellent pub- Larkin from » had spoken bullt her hopes above—her t. Both of iae ligh rward with re of the sick- She rushed to ] with professional re- her eyes and moistened unwound. She tore her hat on her palms briskly Tears came man said. “a gen- out Wednesday, t rained and he caught cold. Thurs- d & bad attack of the i= weak, you wouwld not give up. said Emily, always say of their loved ones in the effort to recognize r strong qualities ere it be too late. not give up untll Friday, but feared his lungs were involved—he 5 me 1o send for you.” ng back her tears. and if we can turned, and hastily gathering up the stairs. She hesitated of his room, tiny star of of the form under sank softly beside d on his hot, dry Father—I've come The old mhn stirred and tried to turn was a long “1'm going to n ' she said wi e you and make you n her voice, as though the mere powers and his side and taking his temperature hourly @nd keeping a clinfcal chart like these she had scen in the hospitals in the s of her charities, determined that ihe lack of & trained nurse should not be And then the congestion in his lun; 3. hie breathed easily pnte more. h nd he lay weak and faint, jever. broke. but smiling at her. gained steadily for a week and then he began to grow restless and His whims and exactions ex- hausted Emily's strength and when he nothing else for her to that she read 1o him. and she had to settle 1o this labor, lacked that gense of leisure and repose %0 NCCESSALY the enjoyment of such a task in the midst of the reading. He heard Emily’s low, placid voice as he noiselessky approached ‘the room upstairs where his patient lay At length the Norman received a blow whick, though it force was partly parried by his shield. for otherwise never- more would be Bracy have again moved limb. descended vet with such violence on his crest that he measured his length on the paved foor Emily closed the book upon her finger he eniered and stood just.inside the with 11 of 1he cold air and ) him, but her father his elbow. and, shak- reared himsel ing_his tousled head, sa “We're just storming a castle, Doc. You =it down and walt and then I'll attend to on gray ctor smiled. i you're geiting along all right hout mc any mor he said. And mily took up her tale “Yield th De Brac said the Biack Champion tooping over him and Lowing agaiust the wars of his helmet the fatal poniard He wa cicd up in a big chair by the time Chbristmas drew on and Emily was bustling happily about the ho hanging wreaths of holly in the windows and striving to draw out of all the uncer- taintles of the time a spirit of holiday warmth and cheer. She wrote Jerome ail the details of (he little celebration she was planning and warned him to be home in time to hang up the baby's stocking for Christmaz. oy way of (archer induce v =he said she had many things to tell Lim, though they could hardly have piqued his curiosity. tor she straightway proceeded to relate them. She had had, for instance, a long letter from Dade an- nouncing dramatically that she and her mother were coming home. They were tired of Burope and her engagement with the German iaron was broken. She feli after all wrote, that she wouid rather marry an American—as it marrnage were the whole duty of woman. The ugly ies about Pusey’s appoint- postmaster and of the qi r to follow had reached Emily, pen: trating even to that shaded sick room. but of these she did not ‘write. She had too many perplexities already, and with a power she coula command i1 certain men- <he put this subject aside ming and his expla »n, and resolutely setuing her heart t d'the happier aspect of things she was ways seeing in the future. Congress adjourned for the holid: m su v on Wednesday, but it was not until the fol- fowing Monday that Garwood reacheld Grand Prairie. Emily had expected him Friday: the Ch Congressmen, as she read in the newspapers of that cit reachied home on that day, been duiy interviewed, and allowed to lapse into their customary obscurity, but Jerome de- layed and no word came. When he did arive up to the house Monday evenin tired and worn with traveling, he ex- lained that a conference had detained him. Emily did not display her usual in- terest in politics by pressing for details of the conference. “There were things, she was slowly learning, that it was bet- ter to let pass, She had kept supper warm for him on as he had cleansed himself of stains of travel. and had a look at the b sleep rosily in his it laid in the dining-room. & the table from him with the coffec fore her How's He's better t this winter. ib, she h e Sat acros urn be- father?” he asked but weak. He must not go His heart’s affected,” she red. turning about with the soft- my’s of a secret. *He mustn't know it He's in low spirits, and the doc- t says 1'll_ have to stay more closely n and watch him Her voice ©ll as she repeated this judgment. “Hm-m-m.” Garwood mused. He stirrea ar into his coffee. and then, as if g livelier topics, he said: » Dade’s coming home, is she? isn’t it too bad about her engaze- . 1 think not—those foreigners ave ly bad lot she'll have to marry an an.” ‘Does. she have to get married?” Emily smiled faintly. Ameri “‘She seems to think so. “Mother well?” Garwood asked. Yes—you must go right over and see o m pretty tired to-night.” “Yes, 1 know, Jerome, but it wouldn't do. u must go right away when you have done your supper.” Having thus disposed of all the ncc: sary topics, Garwood rather hesitatinfly approached the subject that lay on he hearts of both : “How does the postoffice appointment seem to strike them? downward on the He kept his ey cigarette he was pinching. 1 don't hear much about it.” Emily answered. And she colored. “You reua the papers, of course.” “Of course,” he answered, “but you can't tell anything from them. What did you think of it?” ‘1 was surprised Surprised” Yors What at?” At you “Me? “Yes.” A heavy silence fell, and Emily sat there, her eyes on the silver sugar bowl she slowly fitted to a design in the tablc- cloth. Her lips, though, were set, and Garwood, stealing a giance at _them. moved uneasily. Here was the first of his constituents he must reckon with, Well, Pusey’ll make a good postmas- ter,” he ventured at last, sceing that sh2 was not likely to speak. “Doubtless.” she replied. “I hardly thought, though, that political appoiat- ments_were a question of fitness now- aday: — hought you were a civil service re- former,” Garwood answered, trying to Jaugh. But her lips remained obduratoiy tight, and he saw what her conscien: would hold him to. “I had supposed Mr. Rankin was to be appointed postmaster.’ Garwood did not reply at ence. “Rankin seems to have become quitc a protege of yours,” he ventured at last. 1 used to feel,” she promptly replicd, hat we were in some sort proteges of hi Garwood could mnot contain himsclf longer. “Weil ple talk as if Jim Rankin owned me! show ‘'em!” he ended stubhornly. “But. Jerome,” she sald, raising her eyes at last, and fixing them on his, “you promised him—didn’t you? He wadded his napkin and flung it petulantly on the table. ““There it _goes!” he said, as he scraped back his chair. J supposed some such story would get out.” “But, didn’t you?’ she persisted. Under her insistence he arose from the table irascibly. He stood looking at her while 2 hard smile rose to his lips. : You're deeply concerned for Rankin, n’t you?” "’ she sald ?uietly. looking at him with wide, unwinking eyes, “it is not Mr. Rankin 1 am concerned for—not for him half so much as for you.” He was led into sarcasm for a moment. “You are quite solicitous—"" he began, and then evidently thinking better o he tried to laugh her out of her seriou t's no use. Em.'"” he said patronizingly. as he lighted his cigarette. * can never understand politics.’ “We understand honor, though,™ said. “although men, in their personal way of allotting the attributes to the sexes, say we don't. He gave her a reproachful look, and left. When he had gone, she went to her own room. Her heart was beating wildly. *“I never spoke 80 to him before.” she wailed in her gl(:ll'!. “1 never spoke so to him before And then she flung herself full iength across her bed, and burst into the tears that had long been flooding heart to the very brim. I'm getting tired of having pea. XXI1V. Garwood came out the little door in the oaken partition that walled the private office of the postmaster at Grand irie, buttoned his long overcoat carefully about him, and drew on his gloves. He had been basking for half an hour in the loyal gratitude of the mewly successful office-secker, for he had just left Pusey =itting rather uncomfortably at the weli- ordered desk to which he had succeeded whereon there were as yet no Jirty paste- pot, no enormous scissors, and no cock- roaches flecing from the wrath to come. What qualms Emfly had ralsed {n Gar- wood's breast the night before had been wholly soothed by the adroit little edi- tor who now was become the artful lit- e postmaster, and in the outlining of Pu- sey’'s convincing plans for a strong and resistless machine, not only in Polk County, but in the entire district. Gar- The big rellow was coming on breathing heavily, with his overcoat flapping w.de and his hands thrust deep i its outer pockets. His slouch hat was back on his brow, which was bcaded with perspira- tion. and the drizzle of the holiday rain clurg to his ruddy mustache. Garwood's heart leaped into his throat when he saw him and he felt his lips draw tense witn nervousness, but he made éne mighty ef- fort, and d himsclf under control be- fore Rankin raised his eyes to recognize him. In an instant they wers face Lo face. Garwood smiled and held out his hand. “Jim, my boy,” he cricd cheerily, “how are you? I'm glad to—" Rankin haited, his hands still plung-d deep in the pockets of his overcoat. His face grew redder, if possible, whiie Gar wood’'s became very white. Rankin i od Garwocd 21l over, from bis carefuly derted hat 1o his bocts, still showing the shine he had put on them at the (% sell House, though their soles’ were caked with the rich mers had dragged into town on th wagon whee He Jooked him all over carefuliy, and then, with a contempinous little laugh: “Weii—1'll-be--damned!" he said slowly. Garwood withdrew the hand he baa oui- strétched and held there so awkwardly, but he fanc'ed there might be hope for him in Rankin’s words, which wouid have served him as well to express his abundant goud nature In other exigencies, as they did to show his anger and sur- prige in this. “Well, 1'li be damned! < YW tlinois mud the far he repeated didn’'t s'pose you'd have the nerve Garwood flushed. ‘The shuffle of feet on the tiled floor had died into an at- tentive stiflness. He wnew that the throng was iooking on absorbed in this most Interesting meeting that _all the possibilities of cna »uld have brought about in Grané Pralr that day. Gar: d flushed and longed to escape. ‘Come on,” he began. in a confidentia® tone, “over to my ofice. | was just ze- ing to hunt you up. 1 wanted to have a talk with you.” ““No. you wasn't. either.”” Rankin ex- ed, *you damned liar you, you wusn't goin’ fo hunt me you know it, an' | Know it. You 'as afraid to see me Ul big stiff, an’ you haven't got an'thin’ to ay Lo me either. 1've had enough o' your now. an’ 1 don't want no more of it. What taikin’ 's done hereafter. I'il do myself. an’ I'll hegin it right now. an’ right” here—this place’s good as any.” Garwood had drawn himself crect. and was struggling with ms congressional dignit ‘ “Lef me pasz, sir!” he said. as sternly as he could Rankin drew a hand from his t pocket, and stretched it toward Garwood. The Congressman threw up his forcaim as if to ward a blow, but Rankin caught him by the coliar of his coat He smiled pit he sa don't git skeered id, VS haint ‘goin’ to hurt you “Remove vour hand from me instant ir!” sald Garwood, white with rage. But Rankin held him fast in his big grip. and slowly backed him to the wall, and beld him there, his head against the colored lithograph of soldiers decked in gala dress uniforms, hung there to lure honest country lads to the recrujting of- fice over at Springfield and so into the regular army o “Now, y¢ listen at me!” said Rank u're a llar an’ you're o coward: you'r a low-down. contemptibic houn’, you're a damned sight worsern Pusey sittin’ in there; T just tell you this to let you know what 1 think o’ you. An’ now I want to serve notice on yvou. here'n now, publicly, that Jim Rankin's goin’ to go right on livin' in this man’s town. that he’s gomn to figur’ some in politics. that he's agin You, an’ that you d best get all you ¢an out o' this term in Congress. fer I give you fair warnin’ that you're servin’ yo-r last term. I'm ag'in you. an’ I'm agoin’ to camp down on vour trail from this on, an’ if you have the gail to show your face fer renomination ag'in. I'll make it my business to git you—an' I'll git you! Rankin was breathing hard “Now. you can go, damn you,” he said, and he released his hold on Garwooa ~The Congressman stood, his eves glar- ing impotent rage out of a blank white face. They stood thug for full a minute, and then Garwood ladjusting his over- coat with a shrug of Wis <shoulders, turned to walk away. The throng that had press- ed closely about them silently parted to make a way for him. and he passed out of their midst. Rankin stood and gazed after him. He stood and gazed, and the people standing by i painful silence watcned with the figure of rwood rapidl making for the door. held as erectl as dignifiedly as he could, for the man had need of all his dignity then. Rankin watched him out of sight. Then he turned. The crowd had found tongue, and a hur of voices aros Several tried to speak to him. “Served nim § gan. sympathetic “You go to nell,” the startied man aside away, forgetting to letter’ his wife had intrusted to him. Out in the drizzling holiday streets, Garwood hurried along. sick with the hu- miliation of the scene. but as he thought of it, his old habit of self-pity reasserted itself. and with this ruse he tried to lure back some of his old self-respect. So well did he succeed that when he reached home he was red with wrath and muttering. Emily, from her window, saw him com- ing, and hastened to meet him at the doo “Why, Jerome, what is the matter?” she cried, when she saw his face. He flung off his overcoat and flung his hat at the rack. I('“‘"\‘-NL I've seen your friend, Jim Ran- in. “Jim Rankin!' she exclaimed. ‘What in the world has nappened?” “I never was so mortified in my life! 1 never endured such insolence, such ig- nominy, such abuse!" “Why—tell me—dear, where was it?” “In the postoffice, in the most public place in town, before a crowd of people— Ach!” He shook his head in disgust and wrath. “Why. what did he say—tell me!” Emily almost screamed. “1 met him accidentally, T greeted him, 1 told him § wished to sce him, to talk to him. T was going to take care of him —I had it all arrauged to fix the whole damned business—— “Jerome!” He had never sworn in her presence be- fore. “But he wouldn't listen,” he rushed on. “He poured out upon me a perfect torrent of profanity and obscenity: it was disgusts ing. humiliating; 1 should have struck hi down!" “But you didn't?” she asked, and her tone made her question haif a plea. She bent toward him and laid her hands on his_shoulders. “No—1 walked away. ““That was right."” she smiled. “that was the dignified way.” She looked at him in her sympathy. She had all the morning regretted her words of the evening before. though they had not recurred to them at all in the time in- tervening. And she was glad of some ex- cuse for ridding her breast of the convic- tion out of which those words had been spoken. “I haven't any sympathy for him at all!” she exclaimed. *“1 did think—but this shows me how wrong | was, how | mis- Judged vou.. Can you forgive me, dear?" 8he held her face close to his, and he stooped and kissed her. L Again the spring had come to lilinois, spilling the prairie flowers over the pas- turcs, and warming the pleasant smelling earth which the moldboards of the plows rolled back in rich loamy waves to make ready for the corn. In the town the trees rustied with their new leaves in the wind that blows forever across the miles of praitie land, and the lawns along Sanga- mon avenue were of a tender een, as their hlue grass sprouted again under rake and roller. The birds were as busy as men, and everywhere, under the high blue sky, were the sounds that come with the awakening world, the glad sounds of pn::nuon for every new endeavor. f - windows of the Harkness home were open, their lace curtains blowing white and cool in the young winds. Yet there, all was still. Upstairs, on his bed, with his hands folded whitely under the sheet that was smoothed across his breast, Ethan Harkness lay dead. They buried him Oakwood, just out- side the town, beside the wife who had ne there so many springs before: bu im by the bulky monument he t right.”” some one be- id Rankin. brushing And then he went post the Christmas raised, In his methodical business way, long ago. Tts broad base mered be- tween the trees, and from . the rajsed letters of his name could read. The dirctors of the bank where he had spent his Iltc',‘:lm bank hchh‘d {u{v‘l-he‘.r hstll\:s a belated appreciation o tuos adopting a long series of resolutions in which they submissively ascribed to an for his own satisfaction tne insignificant happenings of each day, chiefly the tem- peiature and the times and local effect of frost, reminded the city council that Harkness had once, long years before, sat as a member of that body, and it likewise adopted resolutions. The local lodge of Masons took charge of his funeral, after Dr. Abercombie of St. James had read the service in his beautiful voice, and recited one of his little compositions. And when Pusey had pubtshed an obit- uary in his best elegiac style, all the conventions were considered as having been duly observed, and the town turned m its tribute to the dead, to judge Haurkness for his deeds to the living who romained behind. His will was proffered for probate in the County Court sume days after his funeral. it had been drawn ten years before, and as drawn originally, left all his property to Emily, save a small bequest to a sis- ter who lived somewhere In far-off New tiampshire. But a codicll, drawn two vears before his death, a.tered this orly nal provision. To Garwood, he directed that one thousand dollars in cash be pald by his executors, and the rest and residue of his property of every kind, nature and description, real, personal and mixcd, he left in trust for his heloved daugnter Emily during her iifctime, and at her aeath, to her children, ncirs of her bedy, in equul shares. Garwood was nol named 2s one of the trustees. The will, of course, was not satlsfactory to any one in Grand Prairie. There were many there who bhaa pictured themseives their young Congiessman in the role of a lawyer withoui a pracilee, but with a predilection for polities, and a young wife of independent means. They knew how well he could cut ihis em.- nently respectable figure, and they had some dim_conception of the service he could render in theoretical reform, if he only had money enough to place him above the vulgar necessities of the com- mon politician. Garwod himself suffered keenly, though his pride was haraly touched as much_as Emily's. He had had dreams himselt, but now—he closed i.is memory to them He even told Emily that he would not touch the thousand duilars, but finally consented to do so in order to vlease her. And then he suddenly remembered that the inortgage he had slaced on his mother’s house was due cnce more that fall and he could (bink of no more pious use than that to which to put the money. He was consoled. however, when the inveatory of the es- tate revealed the fact that Harkness property had either been vastly overesti- mated, or had lately shrunk in values, and he learned in the courthouse gossip f the lawyers, thal certain unprofitabie 1vestments Harkness made during the last years of his lLfe had excited the fears of the bank directors, and led them to remove him from his wonted sphere of activity. Emily, refined glad when in the delicacy that embarrasses natures In money maftters, was the business of settling the estate was so far under way as to Te- quire her own attention no ionger. She thought it indeed concluded, though the executors, being cld, and rich already, rel- shed the two per cent commissions al- lowed them by law and scented a p ble extra allowance by tae county Juage’ as a reward for faithful services. So they agged the sottiements along, picked gut the chojcest sotes from Hurs- ness’ tin box for themseives and dreaded the tithe when they wouid have to turn over so meaty a carcass to the trustees, who ‘were itching to take hoid. nily's-grief at her father's death was but placid, as _griet- for tie must always be. She and Jerom:: the old house, though he often ned the expense of keeping up so large an establishment, and discussed taking a smaller place. But they stayed on there, and the summer passed, quickiy, as summers do the intemperate zone. where winter one form or anoiher rages nine months in the vear. And Emiy tried to think of her hus- because she on to become a mother again. B in band in her old ideal of Lim was o was late October and old Mrs. Gar- i, who spent much ¢t her time now mily. sat in the library with her. They had a fire in the grate, the first of the season, and it c¢heered the somber room. Outside the rain fell, and the wet leaves fluttering down from the trees in the vard, brushed the window panes before settling into the damp masses that choked They had sat a long ti of silent compan- fonship, these two whao, though of such different and tradition. understood cach other viry weil. They lad been talking of housekeeping and the increased expense of living. Oid Mrs. Garwood had sighed. I wouldn't mind noihing,’ she said, “if my morigage was only “If your mortgage—? Emily let the garment in her finge fall with her hands into hgr lap. and looked up with the question written large in her wide eves. Yes, it's due, an’ Mr. Dawson’s pressin’ me. Tschk, tschk, tschk! 1 don't know, unless Jerome—but I don’t like to bother him. noor boy “T thought—" but Emily checked her- self. She took up the little dress she had been working on. John Ethan, who had been writhing restlessly at her feet, look- ed suddenly into his mother's face. and something there silenced him, so that he was very quiet. The next morning, after breakfast, she and Jerome were alone. “Jerome,” Emily said in the voice that made him' lay down his paper, and look up with serious eyes, “Jerome. I thought you were going to pay off mother's mortgage for her.” “You did?” 507" vou said so, at the time, you remember.”’ At what time?”’ “Well, when you got your thousand dol- lars from—"" “Oh, am I never to hear the last of that thousand dollars!” Garwood exclaimed, dashing his paper to the floor. ‘*Must | alwaye have that thrown up to me! [ wish 1'd_never seen it!" “It fsn’t that, Jerome, you told me you had paid mother’'s mortgage with it, that's all.” Garwod looked at her angrily ment. “You're ‘mistaken there, T reckon, you must be mistaken. 1 said, perhaps, that I would pay it off with tlat, but not that a mo- 1 had. did intend to. btut I had to use the money in another place. I—" but he could proceed no further then. He was thinking of the big poker game in the Leland the night the State Central Com- mittee met at Springfield Emily dropped the subject from her conversation, but she did not drop it from her thoughts. It was with her all that day, and it was the first thing in her mind the next morning. So incessant’y did it recur to her. that, in search of re- lief, she went finally to the bank. She nhe asked for old Morton, and when <huffied up to the window, she made go back with her to the directors’ room. haunted as it was with memories of her father. ““They seil mortgages sometimes, don't they?" she asked as soon as they were alone. “Yes, yes,”” her father's old clerk re- plied, delighted at beln’ consulted con- fidentially in matters of finance. “And could you get one for me, if I zave you the money, and told you the one? Hub smiled, as he had seen his superiors smile. It would be a treat for him to bu; some one's mortgage. She told him, an he scratched his head a moment. “I think,” he said, “‘that’s over't the Polk rqtlorml: 1 ain’t sure now, but it seems 0o me—"" “Well, find out,” said Emily, and the old_man -started. “You spoke just like your father then,” he sald, in a mild, reminiscent way that R ths: alber fov et tni i e mai e m r for her in e end, and she bought the mort; by bor- rowing the money of one of her trustees, who said he was glad to advance it to her, though he was careful to take out the interest for himself in advance. Emily had the mortgage canceled, and tT)gtn herself to her mother-in-law that ni . "Here it is, mother,” she said, erome had T'uun it. You know h e ‘fII:I‘ f‘oer ." 'A:d jhe‘ l':?‘:led.n':l 1 klch‘. nam virture in th: man. “Lawa yes!" sald Mrs.. Gar fold- ing ¢ her trembli . mother In the end!” 3 The Eme 4 arfived tn Tashing ton at tl “be n%: of February. Thel trunks, scuffed with constant travel but (fure, and. voyage, had cenapsed upon arrival, and had taken her meais in her room, vowis that 1f_she could reach Grand Prairie alive she would never leave tinere agel Ste was anxious now to have Dr. kin ungertake her cure. No one, she as- sured Dade, had ever understood her case as well as he, and no ene had ever hLelp- ed her as he had helped her. She longed to start for home immeciately, but she did not feel équal to the trip just then; it would be necessary for her to remain in Washington awhile and gather strength for the journey. Meanwhile, as she lingered, Dade glo- ried in the Washington spring. She had become enthusiastically American. She visited ali the guide-book places about ‘Washington; she said she was making a study of American history. In a week during which she had met several unre- constructed rebels, though the bloody shirt was then happily passing as an issue in politics, she had become intensely Southern in Ler sympathies. She be- moaned the lost cause as bitterly as a widow of a Confederate brigadier; she longed for a return of the golden days of Southern chivairy, and she yearned inef- fably as she pictured herself on some old Virginia plantation attended by a retinue of black slaves whom she would have patronized so graciously and kept so busy. Jach morning she bought a huge bunch of violets from an old wnite-headed negro, in order Lo hear his “lLawd biess you Miss: It scemed to put her in touch witu the days she never had known, and never coula Know. She importuned her mother, too, for de- tails of her anccstry, a subject in which she had never dispiayed an Interest be- though her mother pleaded headache, she was at last enabled to re- call and body forth, though vaguely, a long dead grandmother waom tradition pictured as a Virgima lady, an F. ¥. V., m fact. And then Dade’s English accent became a Southern dialect, and it was with a - light that had its own regret lidc st heard some one in the hotel parlor ask her one evening what part of the Soulh sie came from. An experienced ear would have detected Dade’s little deception through its inability to localize her dia- lect, tor it she had heard a Virginian speak, she stiaightway spoke like a Vi ginian, it a, Kentuckian, iike a Kcntuck- 1an, if a Georgian, then like a Georgia and the result was that she mimicked a and mastered the tongue of none. Yet her hone compelled her to dis- claim Southern Dbirth, though she quali- fied her denial and regained the place she had momentarily i0st in tie esiimation of her interlocutor by teiling him that her family, or part of them, had' come from Virginia. Those evenings in the hotel par- lor were unsatisfying, however, and she tired of the limits tts walls set to her sociul evolutions. It was, thercfore, with a joy that lent a heightened color to her face, and showed her white teeth in a genuine smile of welcome, that sae saw approacn- ing her one evening across the dining- roum a young man whose stride and car- riage marked him for an officer in the regular army. His waist was as siender and his body as correctly -bent as when he had been a shavetail just out of Wesl Point, though he had seen some sort of service was shown by his face, burned to an Apache bronze by the sun of New Mexico. He wore Lis civilian clothes, somewhat old in style, with the accusiomed air that sits on the arm* officer when he is out of uniform. Dade did not restrain the look of pleasure that comes to any girl's eyes at the sight of a soldier. especfaily a soi- dier with whom she may ¢aim acquain- tance, and as his friendly face broks into smiles, she said “Why, Mistuh Beck, who would have thought of meeting vo' all heah! Ah thought vo' weh aout fighting Indians somewheah." I'm stationed here now.” the young lieutenant explained; and then: ~‘““The worla is very small he marveled, mak- ing that trite remark with the self-evident considered 1t pieasure that showed he original. “May 1?" He laid a hand ten- tatively on the back of a chair at her table, and bowed low in his pantomime of asking if he might sit with her. “e'tainly,” she said. And Mrs. Emerson is well? “She takes heh meals in heh room.-We ah only waiting heah fo’ heh to recovah sufficicntly to unde’take the journey aout to Illinois.” They were so much together after that that the ladies of the hotel. who could not have known that the young people had become acquainted long ago in St. Louis, reveled in a new subject for gossip and pitied the poor woman lying ill in her room and negiected by a daughter who epent her time flirting with an army offi- cer. Dade, by some spirituai divination, apprehended all they were saying, and took a delight of her own in shocking them. So the flirtation raged furfously, and Dade, by delicate pathological su gestions. developed her mother’s pres indisposition into the disease that was her Washington doctor's specially. Beck and Dade had gone to the Capitol one day, and when Dade expressed a wish to see how the laws were made, had gone into the gallery of the House. Below them the members were lolling in their seats their feet on their desks, reading newspa pers. yawning ar chatting, while the busi- ness of the nation, or of the party then in power in the nation, was being list- lessly transacted. The Speaker, sitting in his solemn chair, looked small in the distance, the clerks below him bowed over their work. Now and then the Speaker’s *voice could be heard, now and then the sharp fall of the gavel startled the common drone of voic Some member far across the l-%us . beyond the littered sea of desks. was speaking. His voice came to them scarcely at all. He held a bundle of notes in one trembling hand, with the other he now and_then pushed his spectacles up n his sweating nose. OA cup of Wnlegr stood on his desk. and he drank from it frequently in the agony of getting through the ordeal that was necessary to supply the voters in his far- off Ohio district with copies of that speech. By the time it got into the Con- gressional Record, it would be well par- enthesized with applause. and thus paint for his constituents a scene of a de- coroys, black-coated House, hanging rapt upon' his words, and breaking occasional- Iy into cheers that could not be con- trolled. The members iolled and read, and all about this speaker seats were empty, standing there in wooden patience as if waiting for him to end. At last the Spraker of the House turned from the wnan whom he had bgen whispering, and his gavel fell. “The gentleman’s time has expired,” he sald. I'lie Ohioan stopped, and when he asked leave to extend his remirks in the Rec- ord. it was granted with the only en- thusiasm his effort had produced. “It's stupid,” said Dade, turning to her lieutenant. “Let's g0 ovah to the Senate.” “It’s worse there,” Beck answered. “I'his seems to be an unexciting day.” “What ah they talking abaout?” "Gnod’r:ens knows, 1 don’t. Do the: CHardls: But-wait a_minute!” The soldier leaned over the railing. A laugh had rung below him. Sharp words had heen spoken. A question had been flung across the House. On both sides, Repub- lican and Democratic. members sprung to their feet. The Speaker h arisen, and stood with his gavel alertly poised. There were several nervous ries of: “i3ir. Speaker! Mr. szaker!" Beck saw one member who had risen with the rest, and ‘who now stoed with one hand raised, his finger leveled at the Speaker. lz"l‘(r. Speaker,” said the member con- fidently. The Speaker nodded in his direction. “The gentleman from lllinois,” he said. The member began to speak, talking in a low tone for several moments. Some- thing he said provoked a laugh around him. Then the House was still. He was a tall man, and his long black coat hung from heavy shoulders. As he warmed to his su t, and his coat talls ewung away from his loins, they revealed a protuberant abdomen; as he warmed still more, the perspiration rolled down his cheeks and on to the neck that lay in folds of fat over his urldly softening collar. His voice ine in volume. He became excited, he turned around in a vehement break, to address directl, who, with he: bent “th‘ym: duu fictions of nrlimnu&z H near the pghr. there he sat, a palm nu his deaf ear. , ‘yet more directly about, llll—r. and leaned her el rail to hear the better. ‘Do yo' know him? “1? Ne, not exactly. Garwood's voice was ringing loud and clear. Members came in from the lobby, from the cloakrooms, from the committee- rooms. Men gathered in the seats near Garwood to hear him the better. Now and then there was the sharp rattle of clapping hands. Dade’s eyes were glowing. “Isn’t he fahn?" she said. ‘*‘He's hand- some, too. Ah heahd him make his great speech the night befo’ he was elected— ¥o' heahd of it, didn't yo'?" Beck only smiled. She Lurned again to she asked. listen, but her attentiun was not stead- fast. Beck had hardly been listening at all. “Don’t yo' think him fahn?' she in- quired. “‘He is really a good speaker,” the lieu tenant admitted. Dade looked at him fixing her brown eyes steadily in his biue ones. “What do yo' all know abaout him?” she asked suddenl. g y do you asl he parried. “Yo' speak so strangely—yo’ ah so queah abaout him.”" “Am 1? I know nothing. T have been or thre pects— or fulfilled told that he came here two ago with extraordinary pre “And he has not—justified them?” ““Phat’'s about it.’ . if that's all” Dade said loyally. ing her head, and then she turned ce more to watch Garwood His speech was brief. He finished in a fine burst of eluquence, with a hand up- lifted, and his black locks shaking. and then sat down. amid a vo.ley of applanse, taking the hands of those who pressed about him, and smiling at cach congrat- ulatory word, though disparagingly, as if his achievement had been a small thing for him. “Ah must meet him!’ cars Dade announced, sudaenly arising. ‘““We'll_go Yo' must send i yo' cahd. Can'yo'? Will they let yo'?” “Yes,” the lieutenant hesitated, “but—" “But what?’ Lade stood at her full height. “iL think you'd rather not see him— here.” nsense!” She stamped her foot pet- utantly. and her eyes flashed dangerously. ““Ah mean to take him to task fo' not calling on mamma and me. An've known him all my life! The officer shrugged his shoulders. He felt that he had aiready said too much, more, certainly, than was prudent for an officer in the army. where feudal notions propriety stul «xist. rwood came out of the sponse to the lieuten: of serious and offic which he prepared to ties about some of the army’s constant appropriation bills =r reorganization bills relaxed into one of surprise and friend- liness when he saw Dade standing by the side of the voung officer, and it expanded G Housd in re- nt's card. The air 1 demeanor with ten to_importuni- into a swile of much insinuation as he bowed low and took the girl's hand. “I'm delighted, ['m sure,” he sald. She presented the lieutenant, and the men bowed “I've met Lieutenant Beck before.” Garwood said. lad to meet him again always glad to meet the officers of our little army, aren’t we, Miss Dade?” He was red and perspiring, and stretch- ed his neck now and then. that he might press his handkerchief below his collar. “We have been listening to yo' speech, Mistuh Gahwe. .1, Dade said. “Ah hadn't heahd yo' speak since that night befo' the election. Do_vo' remembuh?” “‘Oh, yes,” the Congressman replied, and he laughed. inat scems years ago, doesn’t iL* “Not to me,” she corrected him. Garwood bowed intensely. “‘Pardon e, Miss Dade, you are the v one who hasn't aged since then.” rwood had drawn a cigarette from pocket. and as they strolled out into the rotunda. he offered the case to Beck. “No, thanks,’ said B-ck - Garwood continued pinching the cig- arette. “Emil—Mrs. Gahwood is not with yo', is she “No, poor g said Garwood. “She stayed at home this winter. It has been nely for me, too, without her. I had hoped to have her with me, but she is not well-—and then her father's death you know— Garwood ailowed the sentence to com- plete in the giri’s mind its own impres- sion of the lonely wife left at home. “She must be lonesome,” Dade said. ““Yes—think of having to spend a winter in that beastly little place!” Garwood said. and then he hastened to add with an apologetic smile: “We wouldn’t talk that way in Grand Prairie, leutenant; would we, Miss Dade?” The two men walked with her between them, and Garwood walked close to the girl. ' His eves took in her fresh face, glowing under the dotted veil, and her athletic figure, which she carried as erectly as the soldier by her side did his. “We were going over into the Senate. “Ah?" Garwcod responded. “I'm headed in that general direction. not to hear the old men certainly. but down to the res- taurant. This business of saving the na- lifln_dle(e a day is exhausting. Perhaps you'd— “No, thank yo', ing herself subtly. I shall do myself the honor of calling upon you, Miss Dade,” Garwood said. She looked at him. Her eyes were cold. said Dade, withdraw- “Mothuh will be glad to see yo’, no doubt,” she answered, and then she bowed. Garwood stood looking after.her, watch- ing the delicate play of the muscles of her back as she walked. Then he placed the clgarette hetween his lips, and started for the elvators. ““He's grown fa the army officer. Emily!” Dade was sayirg to ie’s hoh'id! Po’ little rowed bigger an’ hours e ternoos until the cariy twi- wood felt the sweeinese of a new se- all-wise and inscrutable Providence the given a cosmopolitan air of distinction Beck asked. (N ' them heavy light gathercd in the room she read to curity cal over him. He passed dispensation which they had done their Ly the stiqueites with which they were “Why, he's ouah Congressman! He It had been a long and lonesome win- him from novels he had loved so long. 1t down by the long rows of lock- part to hasten. They ordered, too, tnat piastered, were ranged around the room mah'ied Emily Ha'kness—dcn't yo' re- ter for Em shut up in the i house knowed he was a test of her devotion., for she had boxes, their. liitle red numbers the curtains ot the bank be pulled down n which the Emersons had quartered membuh? The gyrl who was ‘with me emptied of ali save its memories. she was long since outgrown Scott, as she had Showing smartly on ftheir little brass on the day of his funeral, and the door themselves at the Arlington, and stood that wintuh at the Van Stohn's in St . stlis in meurnieg for her father, and the been fond of declaring, but he would not 40ors, and turred toward the wall to placarded “Closed,” though old Morton with yawning lias, ready for Daae to dive Louls?” conventionalitics of a society that de- hear to Howelle. mor sercdith, nor Hardy @void the crowd tnai pressed up to ti: was kept there io collect the notes and into- them after some new toilet with “Oh!" said Beck. mand stcautast grief in others prevented Bor anv of the moderns. © stamp wlndu(wh 5 lmdve u]\lal: cgr‘i:lmu‘-s m_:_el:'enl falling duel ttzzl ?tue'n R whicl: ‘u: -l.h!o':l,;d[ the (::!(! when she Shel :urned inhme more immediate per- her from secking any diversion, even if 2 e Kiadtor > packages weighed and mailed. Suddeniy en some ancient citizen, as swept into the dining-room. sonal interest his tone had awakened in she had had the stiength or the fncima One evening the doctor entered the room (LE 0 EF Rankin, spending his declining vears in chronicling Her mother, spent by the long winter her. i & tien to du..su.l Her nnfi_» companion, be- s the servants, was her child, now n third year and developing a curiosity isted the little vitality that her nousewifely dutics had not already de- manded Mrs. Garwood found time, of course, to “run in," as she put it, every day, though her run had to prolong itseif for many blocks, and she watched Emily with a metherly solicitude. But it was Emily's heart that was lonely; she brooded con- stantly over her lengthened separations m Jerome. She had borne them brave- v as loug as they seemed but necessary postponements of the life she had wished 10 lead. but now it was beginning to dawn upon her that there was a spiritual sepa- ration between them, growing ever wider and wider, and the thought of this wore away gay by day faith and thought, and left her sick with despair. For this her mother-in-law could sive her little congolation. Not that she lacked sympathy at heart., but the tenderness of her nature could only express ltself in material ways. The finer qualities of the spirit's yearnings which, in the case of & nature iike Emily’s, became real necess ties. she could not appreciate. if at times she was haunted by a erude intuition of Emily’'s subjective difficulties, she had not the power to analyze them, and If she had, she would have found little patience with them The hie they meet the stand. had led did not of course rds of her own conscience. but she was disposed to blame Emily as much as, if not more than, she did Jerome, and being a rigid old woman: who would have burned at the stake for one of her little elementary prinei- * wouid now, as she had done so times before, consistently wag her head with the wise disapproval her years and experience of common life warranted her in expressing, and say: “It ain’t for the best, it ain't for the best. You're too young to be apart; it ain’t good for you, an’ it ain't good for Jerome. Young husbands should be kept at home, should be kept at home.” “‘But, you know, mother,” Emily wouid argue. “I can't keep him at _home, and I V't be with him there in Washington— now. And her head drooped over the white garment she was fashloning. But old Mrs. Garwood inexorably shook her head. “It won’t do,” she insis place is by her husband, an’ | s'pose wo- men become mothers in Washington same’s anywhere else.” Emily had no strength for then. It was all at ane, anyway monotony of her life. It became. too, but a part of her routine to follow political developments through the newspapers, trying to supply the omissions in Jerome's Infrequent letters from the broad columns of the Congres- sional Record, where. for the benefit of posterity, the national politicians keep a carefully revised record of the things they wish they had said. If she found Jerome's name, she read eagerly, and" then, dropping the paper in her lap, began once more as in the past. to body forth in imagination the whole scene—Jerome in the full flush of his ora- torical excitement, his face red, his eyes blazing, his brow damp with perspira- tion, his black hair tumbled in the pic- turesque way she knew, his arm uplifted perhaps one white cuff a little disar- ranged. And then. the other Congressmen crowd ing into the seats about him, 2t last the “lpng-continued applause,” which is the <mly thing never expurgated from that daily magazine of fiction. In this poor way she tried to bear herself nearer to him, to remain by him. but it was not satisfyins. and many times after such hopeless fancy, she wept in despair, 2nd hugged her boy to her hungry heart, finding in his warm little body the only actual and sub- stantial comfort her life now knew. Emily had allowed herself to believe that serious opposition to Jerome's renom- ination had disappeared after his victory in_his second campaign, but when with other harbingers of spring Sprague came forth in his perennial candidacy, and an- nouncement was made ‘hat with the solid delegation of Moultrie at his disposal he would contest with Garwood for the nom- ination, she realized with a certain sick- ening at her heart that the same old trial was upon_ them once more. A few days later she read that Ju Bailey of Mason—now Speaker of the House at Springfield—was also an avowed candidate for Congress, and she tried to convince herself that Jerome's chances were thereby favored because of the con- sequent division of the forces against him, though there were disquieting articles in the Advertiser that would not let her con- vietion rest. The Advertiser., as is customary with the oppesition organ in a man's own town, exhibited a meanness in its treatment of Garwood to which it would not have de- scended in any cause less sacred than that cussion with the of partylsm, and it now began to speak of Bailey in fulsome praise as if he were the savior of his_ times, though all its readers knew, and especially did Emily know, for she, doubtless, alone of all those readers, looked so far ahead, that if Baii- ey were successful before the convention, he woulé. when the campaign came on get all the abuse her husband had been re- ceiving. But Em had learned that editors, though they appeared at least ordinarily honorable in other ways, could become mendacious when they took up political questions; she had often wondered why it was that, simply because they happened t0 own newspapers to print them in. they could deliberately write and publish Hes they would have scorned to use in dis- cussing men in any of their relations other than political, and. while she could find no explanation except that partisan- ship inculeates hypocrisy, she tried to be practical and not credit anything she read in the newspapers, especially if it were disagreeable. (Concluded Next Sunday.) . the féatures .......... 816 COMPLEXION VEILS, to hide wrinkles ...... 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