The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, August 9, 1903, Page 2

by a copper moon ny figures of mias- stretched away southward from s cabin came the sound of the pile drivers sink- ing timber on top of timber into the night shift at work; the construction of the rallroad was being pushed as rapidly as the situation weuld allow and men the meon, while from beyond in the deep- pain. At the roots of the palm she sat did not raise her head until her name haruy right to do it body help it, Gus, when he does h “Can't, Mag, an’ I'm proud ye can't arm and began to cry. Gus sat on the ground a few feet away, gazing upon the woman, with all love and yearning of his soul 'n his ey and allowed her to cry in silence. at last he spoke again. long enough,” fingering a gold piece taken from his pocket. Mag looked HE hot, spiritless may not be right for me to be steppin’ night was lighted in between a man an’ his love the way warn't mated right, Mag, whose rays were it as well as you do. filled. with uncan- I'm thinkin' about is, where's the heip?” wife an’ show- in* an’ Jim knows But, little 'un, what I took Jim for better or for worse, an' it ma arising over it's worse, I reckon it ain't for me to the swamp that complain—that is, to anybody but you, “Since yes- & b4 toward him. s terday morning, Gus, an' I reckoned I'd An’, though you'd hardly I was kind o' hopin’ notice ve're limpin’, on & knell. From the mufed distance Jim's meanness, I reckon?" “Nothin’ much, Gus. “I reckon ye'd as well tell it, Mag—to marshy soil of the swamp. It was the ME. Mag. More o' die this time. like to hear it, Gus was on his knees and Jim didn't know what he was doin’ hardly—an’ the table was rickety, a “Jest about made ye run over the table, I been wonderin’ I know Jim ain’t afraid it was comin’ to this again, an’ 1 triéd to get back sooner—an’ I know now I should have sent Tom Bolus in my place.” No, you shouldn't, Gus. had ye to be sendin’ place to earn could be here on times I 'most forget, Gu ded toward the house and slowly with- drew her hands from the man's grasp. But Gus caught one of them agaln ite slenaer fingers down upon a piece of money he had drawn from his pocket. there were ylelding up their lives every 1 guess day to the insinuating grasp of malaria. ye had any On the steps of the cabin sat a young Struck a lick since—I mean, In the last woman, gasing with hollow eyes toward two weeks."” “I know what ye mean, Gus. er darkness of the cabin's interior came since ye give me the last money.. An'— sonorous sounds from the nostrils of a &n’ man in drunken siesp. know how, but somehow he found out I At last the young woman arose and had the money an’ he wanted to borrow walked acro the yard to the dense it. an’' I didn't see any way to refuse shadow of & palm, and she limped with him.” What right one in your your money, jest so ye my account. I'm obliged tp say it's so. and pressed s gets enough what I want *“I reckon not. down and rested her chin In her small to get bands. The sound of a light footstep know is how long ye've been without any- reached her ear & moment later, but she thing to eat Mag gazed for a moment the heavens, of her gaunt “it don’t look it would be wrong for me to take ve in my arms an’ kiss ye jest once. reckon it would Jim's by the law an' th was called close to her ear. copper moon Gus,” phe murmured, “I've been hopin’ silent, 'd come, though I don’t reckon Iit's twitching slightly at a suggestion of the But how ¢ hunger she felt. Mag, I reckon ye'd jest as well the muscles There was silence for a few ments after this speech. he does?” me. ! know—but—"" Gus's arm I reckoen it's selfishness in me, an' it dropped her face Into the crook I'm dead, “won’t ye come an’ kiss me, W body's looRin'? There'll be no N then.” “Mag, Mag!” Gus had seized her by the shoulde: fn a frenzied grasp. “Don't ye talk about dyin', or I'll kiss ye to death right here now in spite o Jim an’ the law and the gospel.” : Mag drew quickly gway from him, and he. too, shrank back and arose. Both realized how unsurmountable was the barrier between them. And Mag retreated slowly toward the cabin, just as 4 man staggered to the doorway from the dark interior and called her name grufy. The next day Gus exchanged places with Tom Bolus. Tom had been set- ting poles for one of the pile drivers, and Gus had been captain of the team sangs hauling supplies from the coast. Among the supplies of the commissary an abundance of red liquor, and it was this which kept Jim from working, as long as he could obtain a cent other- wise with which to buy whisky. And Gus ‘was surprised, on entering the commis- sarv at noon, to see Jim in the act of throwing upon the counter the gold coin which he had pressed into Mag’'s hand the night before. Gus turned on his heel, and, taking up his unopened dinner pail, carried it to Jim’'s cabin and thrust it inside the door to Mag. Returning, Gus met Jim, and the latter flourished a long, black bottle be- fore his face. It was three days before Jim showed himself about the works again. Then he came to him. came lounging about the machine where There was a moment of luclnl:l: Gus was working. There was a leer in And, as the block started on 1% re uur_ Jim's eye which made Gus a its swift and powerful descent, h:; ptbr_ nervous. He did not feel altoge posely tripped himself and pite - nocent, and once or twice he ward between the grooves directly in e telling Jim plainly that he loved path of the block. But at the same K ant there was a sudden movement on the part of Jim. His lank body shot for- ward, with outstretched arms and hands catching against the breast of Gus and shoving him far back from the path of the descending block. die. But as each arose Gus inwardly clinched his teeth w But Jim remained, app SNy wall of e p0n. el There was & muffled thud when the Saswne opexating follow block struck and the trunk of The afternoon was growing gray in the 0y g It mass of crushed flesh swamp, and the time of the day shift gng pone. Gus regained his feet snd was drawing to a close. Still, Jim 8t00od sprang forward in time to ecatch Jim's on one side of the great pile driver and drooping head in his hands. Gus on the other. oughts took a Gus, ye're all right’ murmured the new turn as the end drew nearer. lips of the dying man. “Ye're fittin’ for Mag was irrevocably tied to that clod of Mag, I ain't. Tell her I sald for ye earth befcre him, and she could never be to ma morrow. No use o' walt near to him than now unless—Jim dled. for—for I reckor Mag’s hungry now. zed and his jaws became Gus throttled the thought of possible n's eyes gl murder that, unbidden, med to arise And Gus held his head In silence for a moment in" his heart. He glanced ile the crowd gathered around. quickly up the rising follow block, But Jim had lain in his grave on the s delivered e a full year before ( sage to Mag. mp of steel welgh- that great, square 1 i 1 a new thought his n ing two tons or more an P DON’S H APPY NESS NYE. By Otho B. Senga. - = | |' By A VILLAGE PINCUSHION. Sarah Lindsay Coleman. - SRR error; he didn’t know what he was talking The young man's resenting an affront. His mother “Was that when he sald: ‘What's in a8 jname > “Of course,” with aggrieved emphasis don’t want to find fault with you, mother; you're the best mother ever a fel- low had; but I'd give my next year's sal- ven with the expected increase you had named me something else—J Tom, or any other name that is j nounceabfe.” he “I don’t like the name of Nebuzaradon myself, but you know, Don, you were named for your father's y years old then, and immense- “Yes, and he is ninet now, and still immens. am forced to sign myself ‘N. Nye,' and am the butt of all sorts of ridic jokes on account of my name. 1 will not fwrite out that name, ‘Nebuzaradon,” and of course I don’t want business men to call me ‘Don,’ as you do. Ore thing I am resoived upon—I sha!l marry a girl with &n ordinary name, Mary or Elizabeth or Ann. His mother laughed, te “It will be just your fate with a girl named Clytemne Don groaned dismally “l wouldn't go within ten miles of her, and if I'm a lonely bach r all my life, lyou will know it is because no woman will marry me on account of my le pame. Let's change the subject—the peo- ple who h fixing up the grounds beautifully; I no- ticed as 1 came by.” “Yes, 1 called four years old wealthy, And 1 ingly fall in here to-day. Mrs. Holmes toid me that her ter had charge of 2il that. She is just home from college, and is a very charming girl. I'd like you to go with me to call on them. They are likely to prove a very desirable acquisi- tion to the neighborhood.” “I hope the girl's name lsn’t Clytemnes- tra,” growled Don. “Really, Don, dear, I didn’t question her very pretty name. Happy Holmes. That is a particularly pleasing combination. I have no objection to calling on a girl with attractive a name. and his new neighbor were together al- most constently. Happy's name was ad- miradly appropriate—the sunsnine in Ler pleasure in Don’'s society. The hitherto Happy One day he cautiously sounded Happy T HAT'S one time when on “Have you matter to like you Shakespeare was in Dame other than Happy My middie name s Nese,” was named is very wealthy and pro about.” her heir she replied. name isn't really Don, that we are married rised to make me o Nebuzaradon id be thankful your aunt had Happy was silent. “Does it seem so very dread cannot help 1 have suf- all my life with that abominable tone was that of one SO DPrett viously Don's eyes were fixed on a brown lock emiled understandingly. ¢pga¢ n And yau don asked preser hysterically have surely name is Kerenhappuct That evening Don questioned his moth- shortly, and ab- ed the subject. for a girl so undesirable counts assailed him whenever “Nebuzaradon,” PPy over the result. the tim ber so well ncle. and he after the ow what first attracted are both Scripture nam look great en the wedding “Kerenhappuch Holmes and Nebuzaradon Nye. But 8 in & name-7" confidently. Kespeare was right— . t He didn’t know—he ch a pleasa er and over again 1 liked your name decidedly, as not at all a difficult ? couldn’t know, and from that »NE can't be comforted <%||land decelved by any ¥ such plea epithet as Bachelor Maid when one | lives in Arcady. Spin- sterhood is a grim fact Betty dweit in Arca- dy. She lived threre with her aunt In a tiny two-room house and sewed from morning until night, sometimes far to the night. Betty didn’'t mind work; there was something she did mind, th It never oceurred to the Arcadians, for their hearts are kind, that they made a pincushion of Betty, and that the pins they eternaily stuck into her, really meant for pleasantries, were, to a soft- eyed. tender, sensitive, brown little thing like Betty, actual stabs Belty trled so hard not to mind. On her twenty-elghth birthnight she did a courageous thing. At mudnight she from the house to bury somecthing very out her the wind shouted and jeered, the ruin dashed in her face. Half-laughing, hall- =abbing. she put the beautiful thing Jeep in a heaped up mound of wet, dead leaves. Groping, her hand touched some- thing at she knew to be a late white rase. and with shaking fingers she lald it on the funeral pile. gh. precious to her. In the blackness m Arcady, In a She was never going to mind again, g igh the churet couldn’t mind after one’s youtt She was going to be a cheerful and a good look: days. Jeering at spinst i fashion in Arcady 1d bade fair to re time after her dea When she had s g into the bedroom funeral ¢ . hands might; f if s rs might but ey 0. Dt -8 Soes I don't k M i K t w hroug crowd a lad about her own ag Mr. Kimber! Betty years before: knew that S they went aisle next day J ooking neither of Arca to the rig here was a mur but it attac r ghter tha w as Kimberly The wi strod r earth sweetened wit w speak t said and quivered with ex fresh little folded Betty brought her m tiny poreh. She Betty went to church on § ing in harmony with the last pin jabbe “Not married ye THE RACE WAS By Crittenden Marriott. WON. e bought the Parker place are #~ began at the risk it, I can assure you of victory as cer- man event stiil in the fu- But it will tainly as any 903 and ended two g t. | have the nerve, I believe, and I have the money ything within reason.’ But perhaps you'll think that this Will-and can—you the race with unless some- unforeseen should oc- To be exact, It began at the very moment swelling white from deck to towering truck, swept across the' the certainty thing altogether of winning. as to her name, but her mother called her line in & mist of flying spray and @ thou- appy.’ sand Happy, Happy,” he repeated, “that is applause, announcing to a walting world that the cup would stay on this side for at least another year. this instant that Miss Virginia fiashing, her eyes her cheeks flaming, turned to cried with 51 glorious. Oh! I man who could carry off a prize whistles burst into gigantic g “Seven millions! you possibly spend seven miillons?"” sk, not spend. y Good God! And the risk Nearly all will be restored less the cost forth, say half a milijon. safe and sound During the long, bright summer Don Wentwor But the seven coin, or, better Will you risk glisten Fran still, In bars of solid gold. seemed to shed its brightness on all ¢mot around her. She had & sweet, frank na- 1oV ture and made no concealment of her like th Drops of sw forehead. but at stood on answered gamel “How g0on do you want the money? “Eight or nine months from now will Stanhope's unless Miss fnvite what no one had ever remark was unimpressionable Don was soon deeply in Wentworth love. loweéd “I'm thankful her name isn't Clytem- Stanhope of belng backward where wom- nestra—how mother wouid enjoy teasing en were concerned. me. There couldn't be - nicer name than myuch and & more lovely girl doesn't pe jnstar exist. 80 that “Very well, you shall have it. plain your plans to me."” breath Stanhc whether thi enough to suit her?" And under his “1 wonder of thing is romantic Besides, he was very Miss Wentworth. turned, bent over the giri, 0 one eise might hear, and whis- pered: “Will you love me if I carry it off, ‘Whereupon Miss Wentworth, heightening color, turned aside and made a remark to a companion. But the question, ofice asked, had to be answered sooner An hour Jater he was closeted with Neil Burke, the famous yacht designer, when he had finally poured forth his am- bition the designer’'s face grew serfous. He drew a sheet of paper toward him and Be- At last he threw down the “Stanhope,” mean exactly what you say, and if you are rich enough and have the nerve to murmured: Virginia 7’ Two years passed away and the date of with quickly girl ternat fonal races was fast a p p roaching. Marvelous tales had cume p e rformances had gone fair- )y wild over her, and their gan to figure. pencil, fidence had had a depressing effect on this side of the water, where the new de- fender, the Virginia, had done nothing to show that she was greatly superior to the Columbia. Stanhope had been readily admitted to the Yacht Club, and his boat, constructed by the famaus old designer, had been ac- cepted as the defender of the cup. Extra- ordinary pains had been taken to keep her lines sceret. The shipyard where she was built had been guarded day and night by armed men, and she had been launched “in petticoats,” which concealed her hull. With a boat that drew only fifteen feet of water, which everybody had declared would capsize in the first puff of wind. Stanhope wan the first two races in a walk-over. The result of the third face seemed %o absolutely certain that Stanhope invited Miss Wentworth and her chaperon to be on board during it. It was not in ac- cordance with racing custom$ te have any one besides the officers and crew aboard at such a time, but the super ity of the Virginia was so evident that it seemed impossible for harm to result. And none dld result until after the race was won. As the Virginia glided smooth- ly acrdss the line, four miles ahead of her oufclassed rival, Stanhope turned to Miss Wentworth. ‘““Are you carried away, Virginia?'' he askad. The girl turned to him, joy in his triumph flushing her face, but before she could answer a crygof terror arose. The excursion fleet. wild with excitement over the unprecedented triumph of the American, had broken through the guard lines. .he next in- stant came a grinding crash and the pad- dle wheel of a gigantic ferryboat went tearing across the vacht, ripping her stern to pleces and pushing her beneath the water. 2 The suddenness of the calamity added to its awfulness, One moment the beauti- ful vessel with towering masts and bel- lylng canvas was there, the next only a confusion of broken timbe gling men t. Do you think It was a nice thing As th yat went down ik A e, f 1 xhhopd ¥ frainia Do ce to give them sprang overboard . o hopk Bty ments they were picked up without sen- o i’ sible injury to either % Didn't you mean 1T shb silel Putting Miss We rth ur grad o - Betty; 1 her frie tanho the United States g ! guickly d.eversed wer tell you, Bet- _EES i i 1 w e exclaimed hoa 1 g y :" P '\” T * Betty laughed shrilly. “Oh, e B AN taine 1 hate crab-apple blossoms, and I hate hdreaiie . = the month that brings them, and I hate man that gave them— b-apple blos- story in the et the ot > Tl e Virginia drew only fifteen feet of if you didn’t know, :\r:’xlr:h \\!': Nt 1 1 1 “What?" more sternly. nearly twice ’ “Don't you know,” sobbed Betty, “that ie, crab-apple biossoms mean, ‘I wouldn't— scornfully. s only :m]i‘[\ resista < far less. Wwouldn't—have you if I could'?” reeksathires na Keel 1= Doubt went gut of Betty's soul at sight S ordinary of Kimberly's face and a red rush of joy lead keel. | L e B old an o erly open s arms. Betty was er to be a hion again. A little gold to make vou stay he ‘ Ul we can get th ot 3 1 will Three hours later the work on the yacht to make certain the saf- ety of the gold, and Stan- hope set off to the home of Mis Wentworth wher found her non the worse for her cold bath. “I asked my question the proper ti fa,” he said, blundering of that robbed me of my answer. Did the moment carry vay?’ y the girl looked up at him. “No,” she sald. *“The moment didn't, but —I think you did.” rown bird e pressed by the chasing wk, she swept Into shelter, with a glad 1903, by T. C. MecClure.)