The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, September 6, 1903, Page 4

THE SUNDAY CALL. ELL, T never!” Gladys sat down on the bank of the little stream and gazed despalringly at the rustic bridge above ber. “If that isn't just like ‘No thor- ocughfare,’ and the gate b. Now, what do. anyway?" wind and the lapping SMASHING AN IDOL By Cyrus DericKson. ISS HATTIE SAUD daughter of Saunders of i County, while her a in in the late attended the theater several times, end for a special reason she attended one particular play three different times. The special reason was because the hero captivated her art within fifteen min- utes after the curtain went up. In the four mcts of the play he rescued his love, killed three men, rode a bucking broncho, got the best of & land shark and found & million dollars in gold In & cave. He was & man to do and to dare, and when he shouted “Zounds!” and *“S'death!” whole tribes of hostile Indians had to flee before him. While the co with Colonel Bt fsm, she had to try maiden fell in love ngs and adored his hero- depart for home without having told bim anything about it. Other girls, who also loved and adored, may have sent him notes and bouquets, but Hattle would have been frightened at the ides. Bhe departed for home, hiding her Teelings from everybody, and her brother Bill and her father's hired man never looked so common to her before. The idea of onue of them pulling out a revolver and crying “Zounds!” seemed like the rankest burlesque to her. Providence brought things around in a queer way two months later. That is, it brought Colonel Bings, as he had been named on the programme, to the farm of Abel Baunders as a boarder. Farmer Seunders didn't hanker for boarders, and his wife agreed that it wouldn't be worth the bother: but Hattle settied it as soon as she got eyes on the stranger. Here was the hero of the play standing be- fore her, hat in hand, and she would have given five years of her life rather than that he should go elsewhere. He was out for & fortnight's vacation, and was willing to sieep on a straw bed and eat potatoes with the jackets on, and after & bit he was taken in. Hattle was a little disappointed that he didn’t throw her father over the well curb and her brother Bill over the fence in the first fifteen minutes, but she was a girl of patience end she gave him time. She also real- ized that it must be hard work on the voice and muscles for a man to be a hero all the time. He must have a day off now &nd then to recuperate. Supper was the first meal Colonel Bings Isat down to. He didn’t have any eagle feathers in his hair or buckskin fringe on his jacket or trousers, and he didn't mince his food, like a hero. On the con- trary, as brother Bill took occasion to re- mark, he “just shoveled it in” and put the hired man to the blush. It was a di appointment, but Hattie was not discou aged. She sat down with her hero that evening to draw him out. He was ready to be drawn. He said he got a salary of $30 per week for playing the part of Col- onel Bings, or would have had if the man- ager hadn’t cut sticks and left him in the lurch. The girl had made up her mind thet nothing less than 31000 per week could command such talent as that, and that hundred-doliar bills were as common as matches to him, and he took some- hing of a @rop in her estimation. In the play he had saved a sweet-faced heroine whose tears had captured Miss Hattle's sympathies at an early stage, eithough at the same time she had been made a little jealous by her belng carried around in the hero’s arms when sha waves gave her no reply, and, pulling a letter out of the front of her blouse, she read it for the third or fourth time that day. It seemed to restore her self-confi- dence. She laughed to herself wickedly. “Hum! Mrs. Graham s a dear, but I fancy I've fooled that conceited Jack of hers. No, thank you! No four-mile drive with him. I'm down here to be sure, but 1 won't speak two words to him all the time I stay if I can help it! So! Oh, dear! I wish I had a boat!” As if in answer to her desire, a red canoe shot out from beyond the bend and came noiselessly down the river. A man sat in the stern wielding the paddle with a swift grace. Gladys arose among the long grass and the dalsies. Her mind was made up. “I beg pardon,” she called as he came abreast of her. “Can you tell me if there is @ way of getting to Mr. Graham's es- tate except by this bridge? It seems to be closed.” The man in the canoe rested his paddie across his knees and gazed at her admir- ingly. “Why, L"” he began, “There is an approach by the road,” then stopped. he sald, “but it is quite two miles to the other side. “Oh,” she said, “I know! But I've walked so far already.” She glanced rue- !;Jlly down at her dusty patent leather ties. 2 ‘“Would you allow me?” he asked eager- ly. “I could take you across in my ca- noe.” She blushed charmingly. trouble you.” “I assure you it would give me the greatest pleasure,” he said, with another admiring glance. With a dexterous stroke or two he brought the graceful little craft up to the bank and landed. He was tall and brown and broad-shouldered, and as he stood looking down at her he saw a little slen- der girl with the longest eyelashes that ever drooped over.a palr of gray eyes, in a dark blue foulard, bareheaded in the golden sunlight, a big, black hat held in hate te one hand. On her forehead and around her ears danced little truant wisps of curly hair. He helped her into the canoe and piled the gay cushlons at her back, then stepped In after her. “Where are you going?”’ she asked, as he pointed the canoe up stream. *I un- derstood you to say you would take me across,” she added, with some stateliness. “That's such a nasty place to land,” he replied apologetically. “It's much better a little farther up.” His dark eyes sought hers and they both laughed. It was obvious to the most casual observer that the sloping shore on the other side was most admirably adapted for beaching the canoe. “You seem well acquainted with the river,” she said demurely. “Do you know the Grahams?" He did not answer immediately. ‘Yes, charming woman, Mrs. Graham,” he admitted at last. “Oh, yes, lovely. It's a pity her son doesn’t take after her,” Gladys replied with high scoen. Her companfon grinned. you know him,” he sald. ‘“Well, I haven't seen him in years, but when I saw him last he was absolutely the most disagreeable, most conceited and altogether most hateful boy I ever came across.” Gladys sat up straight among her cushions with a sudden energy. “Poor Jack!” murmured her compan- fon. “Still, if you haven't seen him for years, it isn’'t impossible that he has im- proved.” “Improved! Well, I'm sure I hope so. There certainly was room for improve- ment. But I don't believe he has. The idea of shutting people out by locking up that bridge the way he has. It's just like him. So afraid any one would get into his domains. Just as though any ome with sense would want to.” “It's evident could just as well have walked. She was now to learn that the heroine was a wom- an of forty, who had been married and divorced three or four times. There was no posing on his part as he walked under the apple trees. When he was bitten by a mosquito Hattie expected to hear him call out “Zounds!” or “S'death!” but he didn’t. He called out, “Thunder!” Instead. When the hour grew late and bedtime came he didn’t bend over her little brown hand and kick out one foot, as in the play, but bade her a brusque good-night, and said it looked as if there might be rain before morning. The next morning brought hope to her heart. JHe was heard shouting, “Egad!" and “TI varlet!” to himself in his room before breakfast, and his manners were courtly as he sat down to tackle the fried pork and hard-bolled eggs. After the breakfast things had been cleared away the girl invited him to walk across the field to the gooseberry bushes with her, and it did her soul good to see him assume his heroic stride as he walked beside her. In her mind's eye she was picturing the scene where he slew three villains and cried, “Ha! ha!” in triumph, when he suddenly sprang from her side and drew himself up into an apple tree. A" yvearling calf was coming across the field on a run, and the hero didn't mean to take any chances. It took five minutes to assure him that he was in no danger and to coax him down, but the gooseberries were not yet at hand when a mother goose showed a disposition to attack him and he climbed & fence and left poor Hattle to save her own life or perish by inches. The matter did not end there. He had almost recov- ered his equanimity and was seeking after & pose when a bumblebee bobbed up and aid business. Colonel Bings was lifted a foot high, but instead of coming down to conquer or dle he descended to utter half a dozen cuss words and reprove Hattle for the grin on her face. Most girls would have made up thelr minds then and there that Colonel Bings was no hero, but Hattie Saunders did not want to do him injustice. She gave him more rope. That evening, as she ewung in her hammock, she remarked that she had always thought she would make a great actress, and asked him for an honest opinion. “It's all bosh,” he replied, as he dodged a wandering horsefly seeking a night's lodgings. “You haven’'t got the face nor the form, and you'd make a dead fallure of it In a week. Better stick right here till you can marry some lusty fellow.” Miss Hattle closed her eyes for a mo- ment to blush, and when she opened them again her idol lay shattered on the grass. She had admired and worshiped and was ready to love, but the veneer had pealed off, and her mahogany hero was only plain pine. He remained ten or twelve days more, and there were days when he stretched out his arm and cried, “Back, you sons of Satan, or die!” but the girl could not recall her reverence and enthusiasm. When his fortnight was up he left, and Hattle queried of her father: A “Papa, do you think Colonel Bings is a hero?” “I guess he is,” replied the old man. “He went away owing me for the last week's board. By M. Louise Cummins. o along the cliff path, a moving mass of cloaks and cameras. His genlal face, hot- ly flushed, smileG as though he was right in the fun of the mer- The tall, graceful girl, ry party ahead. who seemed the center of it, stopped sud- denly, pushing her heavy hair back from her ferehead. “Who said this wasn't summer, and where is the lighthouse?” she demanded. *“'Tis but a step, my lady fair."” The man who spoke was usually to be found at Elise Crompton's side. He turn- ed as he answered her and flung a light coat back to Hoyt. “Here, Rad, you seem to be the gen- eral burden bearer,” he drawled easily. “Mr. Jerold! What a shame Elise laughed. But she glanced rather con- temptuously at Hoyt. The coat struck the young fellow's shoulder and slipped to the ground. The smile did not leave his face as he passed on, In the grateful shade of the light- house he dropved his load amid a mur- mur of thanks from the girls. “Where's my coat?’ Jerold examined the pile of wraps on the ground. “Where you threw It probably.” Hoyt picked up a stone and shied it with easy strength into the water. “I threw it to you!" Herold's face flushed with chagrin. “Did you? Well, I only fag for wom- Elise Crompton turned, and for the first time in their acquaintance looked direct- ly st Hoyt. “Why, he's & man,” she thought won- deringly. His eyes met and held hers steadily for a moment. She looked quickly away, annoyed to find herself blushing under his zaze. After that shd felt llke a ship swept from its destined course by a strong wind. Hitherto she had acquiesced In her mother’s wish that this outing might end in her engagement to Jerold, though well aware that wealth was his one recom- mendation. But that look of Hoyt's had been as a steady breeze on a foggy day. That afternoon she strolled down to the rocks alone. Hardly had she seated her- self when a man's voice reached her, coming In admonitory jerks from around the next promontory. Elise leaned forward and saw Hoyt sit- ting quite near her. Between his knees he held the shagglest and most forlorn of mongrels. His hand was firmly closed upon one of the dog’s forepaws. *“Here, Jerold the girl drew back quickly—*help me, will you? The poor beast has cut his paw almost in two on a broken bottle.” The girl quivered at the harshness of the volce that answered, “Oh, let the cur alone. every one disappeared to?” Hoyt's reply sounded as though his teeth were closed on something, and Elise Wheré has could hear the noise of tearing cambric. When Jerold passed out of sight she rose. Hoyt had finished his bandaging and, followed by the mongrel on threc legs, was ascending to the cliff path above. “Look here, Tatters, old fellow,” he ad- monished, “vou'd better go home—if you've got one to go to, which I very much doubt. I could never take you to the hotel, you know. He swerved at a sharp ery from Elsle. One foot had become wedged between the rocks. Her body swayed uncertainly, while her face grew white with the agony of a sprained ankle With a bound Hoyt was at her side. “You'd better =it down while I go for a carrlage,” he said quickly. Suddenly a v of humor shot into her eyes. Tatters stood before her, his ban- daged paw pathetically uplifted in a ludi- crous demand for sympathy. “‘Oh, poor fellow! 1 know how badly it hurts; there are two of us!" she exclaim- ed, ruefully. Then she turned her face up to Hoyt. “How good you are; how good!" Hoyt felt himself turning dizzy under her look. ‘“‘Leave the dog with me,” she said sud- denly. “I—I would hke to keep him al- ways, if 1 may.” “You!" Hoyt stared in amazement from the girl in her young beauty to the battered ani- mal at her feet. And yet, incongruous as it seemed, he could not deny to himself as he strode away that there had been something—something for him—in the eves of both, which it meant madness to :hlnk of in connection with Elise Cromp- on. That evening she sat on the piazza in 2 low steamer chalr with Hoyt beside er. Tatters, who had protestingly been in- itiated Into the ways of higher living through soap and water, lay curled up on the end of her soft gown. “‘Is Jerold to be congratulated—yet?" Hoyt turned to her suddenly. She was looking off near the moon-lit water and did not withdraw her gaze. “Mr. Jerold will never be congratulated as far as 1 am concerned,” she answered quietly. Hoyt's hand closed over the one which rested on the arm of her chair. Elise looked up and saw his face, white and streaked in the moonlight. She withdrew her fingers and lightly touched his coat- sleeve. “Why—don't you—say it?" Her were smiling naively into his. “Say it! I never have been mad enough to dream that it would be any use. I have loved you from the first moment I saw you—sweetheart!" . If ever Tatters needed four legs it was then. eyes “Exactly. But possibly he wants to keep out that class of people supposed to be braver than angels, you know.” “Fools?' she questioned. Then they both laughed again. “You're not very polite,” she sald. “How can you expect me to be sympa- thetic when the bridge being locked has given me this pleasure?” “Oh!” she exclaimed, with incredulous eyes. ‘‘Anyway, I forgive you. But {f I'd had my way I shouldn’'t have been here at all.” “Now, it's you who Is impolite,” he said. “Yes; and ungrateful,” she admitted frankly. *“It's simply lovely out herer It's the only pleasant thing about the whole trip. Goodness! If you omiy knew how I hated to come. I wept day and night for weeks. But mother was adamant.” He looked at her appreciatively, won- dering how any human being could be proof against eyes like those filled with tears. “‘Mothers are inconsistent at times,” he said. “Mine, for instance, has been sys- tematically indulging and spoiling me all my life, and now has taken it into her head that 1 must marry a girl she has picked out for me whether I want to or not.” “Why, that's just the question on which mother and 1 differed,” Gladys gasped. *“She and his mother arranged it all years ago, it seems, and he's unmanly enough to keep, her to her word, though he must know I hate him. You wouldn't find a girl doing a thing like that!” “Wouldn't you, though? This particular young lady of whom I speak is of so clinging a disposition that, according to my mother, she will never know happi- ness unless I brace up and woo. Why in thunder she should be in love with a man she hasn't seen since she was a child is more than I can concelv: He paddled angrily for a moment. Then once again his eyes met hers and they laughed. “We seem to be figuratively as well as literally in the same boat,” she remarked. “The thought makes me quite fond of you.” “Ah, If T could but believe you in ear- nest!” he sighed with exaggerated gal- lantry. She darted him another look from under her _lashes. “Weren't you smoking when I called to you?” she asked presently. ‘“Why, there's your pipe. Do let me fill it for you. I love to fuss with pipes.” “It's all I need to complete my happi- ness,” he assured her, as he handed her his pipe. “My pouch is in the left-hand pocket of my coat. Can you get it? It's right behind you there.” She leaned back and secured the thin serge coat, rummaged in his pocket, and brought forth a chamois pouch elaborat ly embroidered with the initlals “J. G.” in crimson. She looked at the inscription for a moment, then at its owner. He watched her as she pressed the to- bocco into the bowl with a delicate thumb. “There,” she sald as she handed it to him. “Lean over and I'll light it for you.” She shaded the sputtering match with her hand and ap- plied the flame to the tobacco. Her face was very near his, and it was a face to set a man longing. She settled herself once more among the cushions. “Isn’t this comfy?’ she sighed with satisfaction. ‘“When I remem- ber that walk from Digby in all the dust I can’t realize it's me!” “Great Scott! Did you walk from Digby?” “Yes. You see they wrote that a certain person would meet me at Grahamsford, so I got out at Digby and walked. Anything was better than a four-mile ride with—the person who was coming to meet me. That's why I am here.” “What a coincidence!” he ex- claimed as he knocked the ashes from his pipe. “At this moment I am supposed to be driving home from Gra- hamsford with a young lady whom I didn't want to meet. That's why I'm here!” She.was busy watching the ripples that followed the canoe. “It appears to me our mothers have been fibbing,” she sald musingly. “Bless their hearts:” he exclaimed fer- vently. *I forgive them, don’t you? Be- sides, I am just discovering that your mother, at least, spoke the truth. And I mean to be obedient In all things from this time forth forevermore,” he added boldlv. “Amen,” she said with mock solemnity. “But how self-sacrificing!” Then with a look that set his heart beating, “Well, I will not be outdone in fillal devotion.” Her lashes flickered against her redden- ing cheek. WIith one stroke he beached the canoe among the shadows of the trees. An hour later Mrs.Graham came to meet them down the Iong avenue bordered with oaks, “My dear chil- dren!” she cried Joyfully. “I see it is all right I knew that ride from the station would be just the thing.” —_— ELSIE’'S GRAY HAT By Maravene Hennedy. HE gray hats aren't a very pretty shade this year,” sald the sales- lady. “Brown would look well with your hair: here's a beauty.” “I'll take this gray one,” sald Elsle, un- heeding. In her own room she put the hat on and studied herself intently in the mir- ror. Brown would have been more be- coming, she decided. She was too pale for gray now. It had been six years since she had made that promise. It was just as she bid him good-by. ou look Itke a pink rose in that gray hat, dariing,” he had said. “I shall expect to see your dear face under just such a hat when I come home.” So for six years, summer and winter she had worn a gray hat; six years in which she had heard from him but twice, and that shortly after he left. But she believed in him, Joved, excused him. Aweary, sometimes, but never des- pairing, she remained steadfast. He had gone to Africa: that was so far away, and offered so many opportunities for her tender heart to find excuses. She feared always for his safety, but never his con- stancy. It was a pretty face the mirror held, a sweet, womanly face, with a happy, girlish smile. She turned away with a little sigh, and went lightly down the steps into the street. It was a holiday, and school-teaching was serious work with conscientious Elsie Wentworth. She was glad of the rest, the day outdoors, the sunshine arnd pure alr. “Where are you going, Elsie?" It was a man’'s volce and a man's eyes that gazed Into hers, both telling theig love for the slender creature in the gray bat. A rich glow came to her pale cheeks. So stalwart and determined, she felt afraid of him, afrald he would make her love him, make her faithless to poor, ab- sent Dave. “I'm going to see Mrs. Young,” she faltered. He laughed. “It's too bad, dear. Go on fo the woods, Elste. I won't insist on going. 1 was on my way to your place. I had hoped for this day with you." She laughed tremulously. “I wish you wouldn’t hope, Jack. I'd like to have you—for—for a friend, If only—" “I'd be content with that. Well, I won't. I want you for my wife, want to s have a home with you in it, want to have you to go home to, want to work, olan, save,"spend, for you. It's all you, Elsie. Are you really going to Mrs. Young's, dear?” “Jack,"” she said firmly, you; will never marry you. yours makes me unhaopy. please not repeat it.” “Not till T see you again,” he said good- humoredly. *“‘Another gray hat, by Jove!" his eye catching its freshness. “I believe those gray hats are my hoodoo. Some- thing is. You love me all right, darling. Get a white hat, Elsi white trimmed with blue corn flowers, just the coior of your eyes. I think you'd say ‘ves’ then.” “I should—then.” The strangeness of her volice held him. “Good-by,” she said lightly, and hurried away. Her eyes grew troubled, piteous. She did so want to see Dave. It came over her with a rush just how unhappy she was, how lonesome, Her heart ached al- most to bursting. The woods no longer attracted her. She turned toward Mrs. Young's listlessly. “You're all worn out,” said that lady with concern. “That gray hat takes the color out of your face, too. Gray's not becoming, Elsle; get a blue one rext time."” “Or a green one,” said Elsie, irritably. Brown, white, blue, had been recommend- ed; why not green, red, purple, she thought desperately. “Wait,” sald her friend, as she was leaving. “I got a picture vesterday of Frank and Annie and a friend of theirs and her husband.” She handed Elsle the picture. There, sure enough, were Frank and Annie Young, and—Elsle clutched wildly at the little cardboard—Dave Brady, with a woman sitting archly on his knee, his eyes gazing at her adoringly. “They had them taken that way just for fun.” explained Mrs. Young. ‘‘Annie and Emma were friends years ago, and they came across each other last month at Manila. They’ve both been married the same length of time—three years—and there's not a month's difference in the ages of the children. Emma’s is a girl, though.” - Bisle rushed blindly out of the house. Dazed, she made her way home, the pret- ty head sadly drooping under her falth- ful gray hat. She laid it off and sat down beside it and gave way to tears— tears tbat pride had held back till she ‘was away from prying eyes. Three years! And she walting, watch- ing, hoping, loving. Wife and baby, home, love, everything to fill his life! And shq? An orphan, 1ivi alone, no one to care “I don’t love This talk of Will you % TWO PAGES OF GREAT LOVE STORIETTES WRITTI—‘SN l!—‘;XPRESSLY FOR THE SUNDAY CALL. : ; — IS T L whether she came or went, was glad or sorrowful. She sobbed on pitifully. All night long she lay awake, going over, year by year, the time between. It was almost morning befors she could believe that Dave was actually out of her life and—and— She sat up in bed and laughed and cried all in a breath. It was most won- derful. She climbed out of bed, found the-little gray hat and, bit by bit, tore it into shreds. She laughed again, then cried again, and, all flushed and rosy, lay down and slept peacefully till long past sun up. John Stewart sat in his office listening gravely to his patient recount his ills He gave him a prescription, smiled, asked him about the children, bowed him out, smiled again, and sat down to walt the next patient. They came oftener now a few years before they had been few and far between. The next one came in slowly—a slender. graceful creature, with fair, flushed face peering out shyly from under a soft white hat covered h blue corn Sowers, the color of her eyes. “Jack!" He turned quickly, gave one swift and caught her In his arms. “Elsfe, my darling Dr. Stewart was witted. “When—how ™ questioned, kissing her all in a bre She put her arms around his nmeek and hugged him tightly “Ever since [ knew you, pered. “I've wanted you—you—you!' Jack, T can never love you enough make up for what I've missed.” He laughed. puzzled but blissful. “Then why™' he asked. She answered his kiss first, smiling and dimpled, then—a frightened look flashed over the happy face. What—oh, what if Dave had been true, had come back! She hugged the doctor again franticaily. *“It was the gray hat,” she cried. “It ‘was a hoodoo. I tore it up last night. I was never so happy as while pulling it to pleces.” ok, alnly not stow- he th she whis- Oh, to