The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, September 27, 1903, Page 3

fast-changing emotions, “but I am on my way to my sister's.” Bannister took Howard’'s arm agaln and rushed him Into a flower shop. There he purchased & bunch of expensive roses, and turned to Howard with an entirely new manner, the suavity and gentleness of & well-bred man, and sald, “Pray, Mr. Paxton, send these to your sister, with an apology, and dine with me. Tell your sister that you are doing an act of mercy, charity, and that I am her grateful slave from now through eternity.” Howard assented to the proposal, for his interest was keenly aroused in his companion. The roses and a note of ex- planation sent to Grace, the men started from the florist's when Bannister stopped, struck his forehead violently end exclaimed, “No, we will not dine as princes dine, but as the gods! How I love her! Love! do I say. Adoration, worehip are but futile—oh, heavens, we have quarreled! Where is your tele- phone?” he demanded of a clerk. The clerk pointed to a little booth where patrons might telephone with the discretion the sending of flowers some- times demands, and Baunister led the way there. As he was about to enter the booth he stopped and sald, “No! Not my voice! Not my voice too suddenly. You call her and speak for me.” Howard called for and obtained the tel- ephone whose number Bannister gave him end a trembling volce asked, “Is that you, George?” *“I am speaking for Mr. George Bannister,” Howard sald. ‘“Ask her,” whispered Banister hoarsely, “if I am forgiven.” Howard forwarded the in- quiry and the voice assured him that there was nothing to forgive and asked tearfully if George was not coming to dinner. The lady's state of mind being explained by Howard, over his shoulder, he was instructed to inform the voice that George was its devoted and humble slave, which being done, the volce asked if George would not take the telephone in person. He did so and swore that some- thing had been entirely his fault; thal he was & miserable wretch who had been no better than a murderer to say that it was her fault and could he bring Mr. Howard Paxton to dinner? Yes, it was the Mr. Paxton he had talked to her about, and she needn’'t dress with too much formality, as they were coming up dressed as they were. Howard was greatly amused by these performances, for he had heard some- thing of Bannister that had led him to ex- pect a very different sort of person. Turnbull bad told him that the young man, after two or three years' tumultu- ous career in Paris, where he seemed to have done a number of other things be- sides improving himself in art, returned to New York with a boisterous convic- tion that literature held all the prizes hat were worth striving for and that he was peculiarly qualified to win them. He t have humbly advanced to- ward literature, as others are sald to have done, by way of journalism, except for & tem mental tendency to fight every editor who dared to lay & disparag- ing pencil across so much as & line—a word—of his writing. Having, in white rage, informed most of the editors that they were oafs, wallowing in a mire of tellectual incapacity, he was con- ained to abandon journalism: and, by took up the work of writing and trating advertisements. This work paid well, and while not entirely satisfy- ing his literary ambitions, it did satisfy a stronger one—to be financlally independ- ent of his father; an eccentric, but fabu- lously prosperous corporation lawyer, who scoffed at his £un’s lowly vocation. When he first met him at the club How- ard had no idea that Bannister was the commercial author and poet of whom Turnbull had told, and the revealed iden- tity had strengthened the first lively in- terest he felt in the man. What could the lady be like who had won his ardent effections? he wondered, as they drove up town to the west of the park. That touch about her not being strong enough to suddenly hear his telephonic volce gave & hint A tender, pining young thing, surely, Howard concluded. They alighted from their cab in front of & smart little four-story brick cottage, one of & row of such in a street near the southern end of the Riverside Drive, and Bannister, after liberally tipping the driver (whom., however, he called a cal- 1117, and told that his horse had died long 8go), sprang up the steps, rushed past the maid at the door, crying, “Gertrude! Lovel My heart's jewell Forgive!” Thus calling, he disappeared, and How- ard wondered how, if at all, he was to be ushered into Gertrude’s presence, when the maid, es If not at all surprised at what had occurred, sald very calmly, “Will you step into the parlor, sir? They'll be there soon.” Howard entered a little, brilllantly lighted room that bad a cozy, homellke feeling of being much itved in by com- fortable, cory people. An old lady, white- haired, but pink-cheeked, was seated In an easy chalr, reading an evening paper. Bhe rose as Howard entered, and said in & piacid tons, “I am glad to see you, Mr. Paxton. Will you take an evening paper and read?” She pointed to & dozen on a teble. “My daughter, Mrs. Carr, will be here soon.” Bhe sank back in her chair and resumed her reading, but looked over the top of the paper to say, “Their rec- onciliations are speedily effected, and”— Bhe did not finish the sentence, being fescinated, it seemed, by the headlines of the paper. Howard had little time to wonder if Mrs. Carr was the one whom he had telephoned to, for, in a minute, Bannister entered the room, his arm around the walist of & very plump, & wvery smiling, & very blonde, & very cozy and comfortable looking young woman, who did not appear to be more than 20 years old, and who, Howard ncluded, could not be Mrs, Carr. But Bannister, beaming brightly, advanced, saying, “Ger- trude, Mrs, Carr, heart of my soul, dream of my heart, soul of my dreams, this is Mr. Paxton.” Mrs. Carr put out a pretty little hand, bearing & great many diamonds, and said, “It was so good of George to insist upon celved them eagerly, and until dinner was snnounced & half hour later neither moved nor spoke, If the gods dine as they , and do not dine as the four at the table of Mrs. Marble—Howard chanced to learn that mamma’s name was Marble—dined that night, then the gods fail to take advan- tage of their highest privilege. But Howard’s interest was more in the people then in the dinner. To be sure, Mrs. Marble did not give him all the op- portunity to observe the young lovers that he would have liked, When she Jearned that he was from White River and knew Isaac Bunton, she cross-exam- ined him searchingly as to his knowledge of Bunton's actions in delaying the forma- tion of the big Iron Combine. When it aeppeared that Howard did not know of Mr. Bunton's contumacy in that respect, and was hardly aware /, N \ of the publicly known, plans of the Iron Crowd, as she called the pro- moters of the combine, she regarded him with distinct loss of favor. ‘‘Here is George, whose father is the chief attor- ney for the Worthington interest, and George knows no more about the fron deal—though every one knows that the ‘Worthington interest is heavily engaged— than if his father was a candlestick maker. Though, as far as that goes, his father, Caleb Bann ster, is & hard hearted, soulless—"" “Mother!"” cried Mrs. Carr, but Mrs. Marble quite undisturbed, sald, “If you know Mr. Caleb Bannister better than I do, Gertrude, perhaps you will tell Mr. Paxton what he is.” “He is George’s father,” Gertrude sald reproachtully. “Pish!” Mrs. Marble exclaimed, and then to Howard: *There will be some money on the first of July that must be reinvested. If vour Bunton stands like a dog In a manger, holding up this plan, the stock will not be ready to be issued by that time, and I want some at that time."” “Madam!"” suddenly exclaimed Bannis- ter, “my father shall acknowledge that he was wrong. He shall call upon you. I swear it1” ““Well, you know what will never hap- " replied Mrs. Marble rd's surprise and dis- tress Gertrude burst into tears and Ban- nister into a passion of protests that he was the most miserable, the most help- less of mortals. “I am a futlle dupe!™ he cried in a frenzy. ““My father sees me with heaven almost within my grasp, and mercilessly stays my eager hands!” “If you g-g-gave up your wr-wr-writing, and went into h-h-his law office,” sobbed Gertrude, “he would be more d-d-disposed to-to—' Bannister interrupted her by jumping to his feet and hissing, *You hate me!” “‘George! George, dear!" ghe cried. “You taunt me with not doing all In my power to end this wicked strife that is keeping us apart! Very well! let the river close coldly over this undeserving, but loving heart!” Thereupon he rushed from the room, and Gertrude rushed after him sobbing, and calling to him not to destroy himself. Howard was seriously concerned for his friend, and would have followed to lend a man's strong arm to Gertrude in her struggle to keep the unhappy lover from doing himself harm. But Mrs, Marble's action held him from his purpose. That lady called a servant and sald, “We will not have dessert served until Mrs. Carr and Mr. Bannister return.” The absent ones’ voices could be heard from the next room, gradually subsiding from ms!r:i:lormy pitch, and thus reas- sured, tho much bewildered, Howard was glad have Mrs. Marble explain a little. “This has been going on with but one brief interval since Gertrude was six and George nine years old. They were en- gaged when they were yet mere chil- dren—seventeen and twenty, or some such ages—but the Bannisters and I quar- reled; the children had a more than us- ually violent quarrel also. George went to Paris, where the reports of him were— well he did not seem to be improving his morals there—and Gertrude married. I admit that I approved the marriage— Caleb Bannister can console himself with that, 1f it will do him any good— and Gertrude would have dled within a year, I now admit that; but heaven was just and merciful. Mr. Carr was called hence six months after the marriage. His investments had been well made, and he had been unable to waste more than the income. There wers no—no encum- brances. It was a nightmare, but it is all over.” The lovers returned, as calmly smiling as if no more than a caressing June-day zephyr had ever rippled the placid cur- rent of their true love. Gertrude was hungry for dessert, and ate it with a sturdy appetite that much comforted Howard to observe; so eloquent of a rest- ful heart it was to see her consume a plateful of bonbons, and then put as much sugar in her black coffee as it would dis- solve. After dinner, while the lovers loved and quarreled, and loved agaln, somewhat epart, Mrs. Marble returned to the sub- Ject of Isaac Bunton. Howard was sur- prised not only by the eagerness, but the keenness of her questioning, and incl- dentally the deep knowledge she seemed to possess of all matters relating to the world of investments. XI-MISTRESS MADGE AND A MYS- TERY. That evening began a close friendship between Howard and Bannister. ‘*Pax- ton, .1 want you to know my people,” Bannister said one time. “I have told them about you at home, and they want me to bring you out there over Sunday. My father, particularly, is eager to meet you. WIill you say Baturday next, until Monday?” Howard did say so. “It's only right to tell you,” Bannister continued, “that we are a family of ec- centrics. That is, all but me. I'm the only normal member of the family. Father—well, you ses the stories about him in the papers. They call him a mis- anthrope, a recluse, a charger of mon- strous fees, & defender of trusts—nearly everything but a poor lawyer. But he is the gentlest, the kindest, the sweetest- hearted man In seven worlds—except”— And the exception had to do, of course, with the cruelty of his father in not ad- justing a certain feud between the houses of Bannister and Marble, so that two loving hearts might cease to be torn apart, but dwell together in oneness and affection. “Mother,” continued Bannister, “is the loveliest woman beneath the can- opy of heaven, but to strangers she may appear to be somewhat frivolous. Sister Madge, so far as a mere child’s charac- ter can be judged, combines the eccen- tricitles of our parents, but has gleams- :‘f"::z singularly same and reposeful na- With this key to the family character- istics well in mind, Howard accompanied his friend on a suburban train, prepared to encounter almost any variety of hu- men nature—except the varieties he did encounter. At a station where many other passengers alighted, and where & score of fashionably appointed vehicles, varying from carts to four-in-hands, were in waliting, Bannister gave his own and his guest’s hand baggage to a liveried footman, with the Inquiry: “How is father, James?” “It's Brussels sprouts, Mr. George,” re- plied the man solemnly. o They drove something more than a mile through a country of beautiful homes surrounded by extensive and ex- quisitely kept grounds; and on all sides were lively evidences of the outdoor coun- try life of wealthy New Yorkers; tennis courts alive with players, the rolling ex- panse of emerald golf links, dotted with brightly dressed followers of the game; coaching parties rolled along the well kept roads, or bareheaded riders ambling gayly on the soft earth by the side of the paved highway. Howard had never be- fore seen one of the playgrounds for which fashionable New York deserts its streets and parks at week-end, and the sights charmed him so that he forgot his companion, until, the carriage slowing, THE SUNDAY CALL. Bannister sald, “We’ll get out hers and walk through the grounds.” They were at an opening in & hedge, from which a graveled path led first through an orchard, then into a meadow and garden. ““This i3 where father works and Madge plays,” Bannister sald, as they strode up the path, now and then catching glimpses of a large, rambling bullding, beyond meadow and garden. “From the first vio- let in the spring to the last earthing up of celery in the fall, my distinguished papa fusses with plant life, interfering with the gardeners and lawn keepers, making our vegetables cost us fabulous sums, but preserving his health and con vincing himself that he's & nclentifio farmer.” Howard was not attending to the prat- tle of his friend; he heard something that much more engaged his attention; a sweet, joyous laugh, unaffected, hearty, gayly unconsclous—the dearest sound on earth; the laugh of pure physical happi- ness, springing from the light heart of a girl. Something in the sound moved Howard as 1f he had suddenly heard the mocking bird’s gallant outpouring of brave music. He stopped, his face flushed and his eyes sparkled. Bannister, notng, sald carelessly, “Oh, it's only Madgel come along."” “Madge—your little sister?’ “It's Madge,” Bannister replied, looking at his friend, then smiling. “But she isn’t little. There &he is—what the devil —look, Paxton. Oh, this is a fine joke to have on Madge! What Howard first saw in the meadow through the orchard trees was a youth of fourteen or so, falling on a football— either in a holdover enthusiasm from the season past or an early outcropping of enthusiasm for the season to come. The youth having recovered the ball passed it, and, following its filght with his eyes, Howard saw it neatly caught by a young woman. She stopped laughing as she poised the ball and estimated . with critical eye the dl- rection and distance of the young man. Then there was a swish ;:t skirts, a second's glimpse of a stoutly shod, shapely foot, and the ball went hurtling far and trus. She watched its fortunes, lips parted, eyes gleaming, and as the boy fumbled she cried, “Fall on it, Jones; fall on it!” Jones did so, and having picked it and himself up passed the ball back again. The girl agaln poised for a kick, but Bannister, Wwho with Howard had now reached the edge of the open, laughed. At the sound she turned, startled; her eyes flashed scorn at her brother, her lips trembled, as If she would speak if indignation had not stricken her dumb. Suddenly she hurled the ball at her brother, gathered her skirts around her, turned and ran. Bannister dodged the ball, which Howard caught; and handling it like an expert, he kicked it to master Jones, with such force and precision that that unseasonable enthusiast was bowled over. “Oh, Mr. 1 he cried when he had righted himself, “I wish your friend would kick for me’a little.” “Madge seemed to be doing pretty well for you,” Bannister sald. “Well enough for a girl,” the youth ad- mitted indulgently. “But you know that a man can’t get good practice unless a man is playing with him. After the rain the other day Madge kicked her overshoe off and It flew—myl—clean over the trees!” Howard saw no more of Madge that afternoon, though he was conscious of a singularly strong hope that he might. Nor did he meet any other member of the family. Mrs. Bannister, it appeared, was giving & tea at the neighborhood Country Club, and Mr. Bannister was at a farm he owned In the vicinity, struggling with the problem of making some of the cab- bage of Brussels turn into sprouts and not all iInto stalk. George and Howard drove far about the country until it was time to dress for dinner. “Sorry to put you to the trouble of dressing, out here in the country,” George said, “but my mother holds to the bellet that the oftener @ man changes his clothes the less fre- quently he commits murder.” George had so far completed his own dressing that he was struggling, In a stcrm of extravagant invective, with the problem of tying a strip of lawn about his collar without wrinkling the lawn or bringing on apoplexy, when Madge knocked, and being asked to enter, did so only as far as one stride, and then hissed, “Animal!” Her brother let her see his smiling re- flection in the mirror, but made no re- ply. “Unnatural brother! Hideous, base, boorish—" “Bubbling bouncer,” George suggested, as she hesitated for a word. She was dressed for dinmer, all in white and dainty blue, and looked charmingly feminine, in spite of her tragically folded arms, lowering brows and angry eyes. “Don’t think you can make a jest of this, George Bannister!” she sald, stamp- ing her foot, and shaking her head at his grinning reflection. ‘“What right had you to come in_through the orchard with a stranger? Why did you not drive to the front of the house like a Christian, and not subfect me, your own sister, to the gross humiliation, the unthinkable shame of being discovered in an attitude of—of— George Bannister, what are you grinning at? you appalling ape!” ““He's going to look for the rubber you kicked off the other da; and write a poem on it,” her brother sald, snatching off another lawn tle and throwing it on the floor where a half dozen lay. “I'll box that Jones boy's ears,” she exclaimed, a new variety of rage, or some other emotion, perhaps, coloring her face. “It wouldn't have been so miserable of you,” she continued, “if he had not been a stranger, or I had not been shod like & policeman.” *“Ah, but your skirts, Madge! They were beautifull And your stockings! Blue, weren't they?” “I hate you!” she cried. “You are a person of low mind; one it were flattery to call a coward; and I shall never speak to you as long as I livel Blue, indeed!” Bhe turned to leave the room, but he called after her coaxingly, ‘Please, Madge, won't you tie this tie for a fel- low, before you leave me forever? I'll tell you something awfully nice if you will.” ‘With a swiftness and neatness that made his masculine mind marvel she tied & fresh bow for him and then sald, “Now, ‘what is it, Georgle?” “That I worship you, dear,” he said, kissing her. “Isn’t that something nice?” “Y-es,” she replied doubtfully. ‘“But I thought you'd tell me something about —that {s—why—about him.” ‘Well, he worships you, “George Bannister,” she sald as she strode from the room, “you are an odious ox!” At dinner that evening Mrs. Bannister, a fine, blg woman, from whom Madge in- herited her blonde coloring and large gray eyes, sald to Howard, “Since my husband gave up general practice he chooses to devote his leisure to the com- panionship of earthworms. Together they make a mess of the soll, with equal profit and pleasure, I judge. To me it seems a strange cholce of occupation for a man who might become a Senator, an Embassador, and live in civilized com- munities where social life amounts to something. I hold that it is a man's chief privilege, pleasure, duty, to mix as much as possible with his tellows; to cultivate the graces of mind and person which ex- pand and shine only when animated by fxex"momo“ assoclation—in short, social o The lady sald this with a good deal of conviction and emphasis, but none of her family seemed to notice her remarks, and she did not seem to expect them to do so. “Holding to this bellef as I do it seems too bad that my husband, for many years one of the acknowledged leaders of the American bar, should choose the compan- fonship of earthworms. Stiil, I find some attractive society In this community and though I am without my daughter’s ald in cultivating it, as well as lacking any help from my husband or son, it af- fords me entertainment. That is as much as a wife can expect, I suppose, when ambition Is absent from every member of her famiiy., The truth is, Mr. Paxton, we muy be described as a family of ec- centrics, for I am the only one of us who is simply normal in my tastes and con- duct.” 3 It seemed to Howard that the lady made this declaration of prin- cipies without the spirit of complaint which the words might imply; rather as i one should say: ‘‘Let others do and think as they may; I at least, Lave set myselt right befors this young man, and am tlierefcre in no danger of being mis- Judged the idiosyncracies of others.” After’ a pleasant evening, during which Howard discovered with admiration that the members of the family severally avolded jarring each other’s peculiarities, Mr. Bannister sald, when thers was a movement of separation, ‘“Mr. Paxton, if you are not tired or sleepy, I should like & little gogsip with you alone.” The others, upon this cue, departed promptly. “Woud it distress you at all to speak a little about your father?’ Mr. Bannis- ter asked abruptly when they sat alone on a deep veranda overlooking a lawn glnckad by the flashes of a thousand fire- es. “Not in the least, sir,” sald Howard, greatly surprised at the question. “Did you know him?" “I never met him—I have not trav- eled much farther than this from New York—but I have come to know your father pretty well, I think. Dr. Paxton was a man of hearty, sunny temperament; breezy, open manner; optimistic, singu- larly frusting, siving his services freely to the poor, proud and fond of his son and daughter, rather indifferent to his worldly affairs, until shortly before his death he sought and obtained the post- mastership of White River to increase his income, for his daughter's sake, it seems, and—"" “Stop, sirl” exclatmed Howard, ex- cited and amazed by this calm recital of his father's habits, characteristics, cir- cumstances, by & man who had never met him. “I have said that it would not distress me to talk of my father. There was a long time after his death when I could not talk of him without great ais- tress, but now I can speak of him as of a r friend that only distance, not death, separates from me. But first I must know how you—who never met him—come to know him 8o intimately, and for what purpose.’” ‘“Your question and the spirit in which you ask it do credit to your heart,” the lawyer sald slowly; and then paused long that Howard became impatient. “It's a good quality in a son to be as jealously affectionate of his father as of his mother. I think you dined at Mrs. Marble's with my boy.” “1d1d,"” answered Howard, wondering at this abrupt change in the subject, and in the lawyer’s manner, for he now laughed gently as he said, *‘Mrs. Marble is an old and respected client, one of the few whose affairs I continue to manage.” “Your cllent!” Howard could not help exclaimed, remembering Mrs. Marble's expressed opinion of him. Mr. Bannister laughed again softly. ““Oh, she has been talking to you about Caleb Bannister!” he sald. “Yes, we quarreled, but she is too wise an old lady to take her business out of my hands. We do not meet, but carry on a sober correspondence when her affairs require attention. My boy thinks he is having some heartaches because Mrs. Mar! Wwill not let Gertrude marry him until I've been proved wrong in a matter in which I'm right; and George's emo- tlons, therefore, are somewhat turbulent. But they do not disturb me, as I am ac- customed to family eccentricities; being the only normal minded person in my own family. My wife, although a woman of more than ordinary intelligence, 1s de- voted to the tasteless, unprofitable life we call soclety. My son, who might —it he would—fall hetr to a legal practice of respectable proportions, or live here learning the fascinat- ing mysterles of the noblest voca- tion on earth, farming, prefers to draw picures on the sidewalk, or some such thing. My daughter elects to find all hu- man companionship unendurable—so there we are. Did you say that your father consulted you about his business affairs?” “I did not, sir. I asked why you had taken what must have been a great deal of pains to learn so much about him.” Mr. Bannister, who had made the di- gression only that Howard might collect himself, noted that his volce was now Wwithout any signs of excitement, and said: “That s quite right. I shall talk to you very frankly. A matter of busi- ness—of very great importance—led an interest for which I have long Leen the chief counsel to make some rather secret investigations in White River.” He paused, while Howard leaned eagerly forward, trylng to peer Into his face. “No,” he continued, “that is not the way to begin. I must be wholly frank with you. You may have seen in the papers something about a proposed community of interest of a number of large iron in- dustries. We, the interest for which I am counsel, require for our protection as much as for our use a certain plece of mining land—undeveloped, put whose ex- tent of ore deposits has been pretty accu- rately determined. That land is owned"'— he paused and lighted a cigar before he added with pecullar emphasis—‘“or seems to be owned, by one Isaac Buntor. When our offers to buy that land reached a fig- ure” which fully represented its strategic value, so to speak—a value far beyond its possible intrinsic value—and Isaac Bun- ton still refused to sell, giving no reason therefor, we began in Investigation to see if a side light could not be thrown on the situation. In a lttle town like White River, with our facllities for making secret inquiries, we soon learned all that we wanted to know, except on one point. Your father's name came into the reports I received, and inquirles concerning him showed me that no man m the commu- nity stood so deservedly high in the es- teem of all good citizens as did Dr. Pax- ton. Now, may I ask you a few ques- tions?” “You may,” Howard sald, scarcely above his breath, for he was much af- fected by what the lawyer sald, and the manner in which he had been speaking. “Do you chance to know for what pur- pose your father borrowed flve thousand dollars on the day of his death?” Howard, as he answered earnestly, could not see the eagerness with which the law- yer walted for his words. “I do not know. They made inquiries of me at the time, but I could give no infor- mation—not even a hint, then or now.” “He did not speak to you of a purpose™ “No." “Yet he was accustomed to tell you of his plans in advance?” “Very freely.” “Then it was & suddenly formed plan. At the savings bank whers he transacted the loan with an officlal who was his friend he only laughed when he was asked what he wanted so much money for. Therefore it was for some purpose he did not wish to disclose. We may in- fer, from what we know of Dr. Paxton's nature and character, that the probable cause for not wanting to let the bank peo- ple know what he was going to do with the money was that he was going to do a favor to some one—make an emergency accommodation—to & person who did not want it known that he was borrowing. Can you suggest any one to whom your father would have made such a loan?” “No, I cannot,” Howard replied, breath- lessly following the other’s reasoning. “The sum was a large one, for trans- actions in White River at that time—a very large one. Have you no idea to whom your father gave that sum on that day 1 “Your information is atfault, sir,” sald Howard. “Whatever my father's inten tions were, they were not carried out the money was stolen from his body.” “The hasty and unwarranted conclu- sion of incapable officials. That money not upon your father's person when ldu met with that most unhappy acci- e “What makes you think that?” cried Howard, astonished. “I speak from positive information. The interest I represent has a carefully or- ganized detective service, one branch of which protects its freight cars from tramp depredations. Members of that branch of the service go about the coun- try with tramps and are supposed to be tramps by their companions. Through that branch I have learned that your father carried no large sum of money that night. His body was robbed, as you know. The two robbers were tramps, one of whom took his watch, and the other took everything else that a thorough search of the doctor's clothes revealed. The man with the watch was arrested, as you know, and sent to prison. The other man got a pocketbook containing a few dollars, and a memorandum book in which your father noted the places where he was to call on his rounds. I have that book. Every one of the entries under the date of his death we found to be pa- tlents, except one. That one is Isaac Bunton. Does that suggest anything to you?” “No “The entry we have not inquired into— for we dare not yet—reads, ‘Isaac Bun- ton, 2 p. m." That was after the hour your father drew the five thousand dollars. Think, young man! Does this suggest nothing to you?” “Nothing,” Howard sald, startled at the sudden vehemence of the speaker. The lawyer sighed as in disappointment and was silent for some time before he resumed, now speaking calmly: “Isaac Bunton made & considerable purchase of pig iron on that day, but we are balked in our effort to learn the particulars of the banking transaction Involved, because his father has become a director of the bank, and that avenue of information is closed to us.” “You have amaz:d me by what you say,” Howard sald, as the lawyer ceased speaking. “If Isaac Bunton did borrow that money from my father, why has he not returned it? The fact that he has not returned it shows your suspicion to be unfounded. It is a small sum for him.” The lawyer, paying no attention to this gulleless remark, suddenly asked, “Did you know a clerk in Bunton's office named Lawton?” Howard laughed; relleved to have the strain he had been under removed by this unexpected summoning of poor Harry's harmless spirit. “I knew him always. He was a schoolfellow of mine until I went into the high school. When poor Harry struggled somehow through the grammar school he went as a clerk into Mr. Bunton’s office.” “Why Bunton’s office.” “He was a favorite of Mrs. Bunton’s. She was always a kind hearted woman, and had Harry's homelessness on hér mind.” “What sort was he?” “A simple fellow. Perhaps if he had lived in New York, under congenial cir- cumstances, he would have developed ccessfully as a soclety clown.” “Not a young man Bunton would have sent on a business trip into the valley?” “I should think not. In the office he was something like a tally clerk and mes- senger.” ‘‘Messenger? Um-m! Did you ever hear what he was doing down in the valley when he was killed and Isaac Bunton alone identified his body?"” Howard -said that his father's death made him unmindtul of all other events at that time. There was something uncanny in the™ way the lawyer rattled off detall after detail of seemingly unimportant and un- related events, all showing an astonishing familiarity with Isaac Bunton's move- ments. ““When Bunton moved from the part of your town called the Flats to the Heights you and your sister ceased to visit the Buntons, after a time—you must not think me impertinent in this or any other question 1 ask—was there any speclal cause for that?” “Only that we were no longer invited there,” Howard answered. é *“Mr. Paxton,” the lawyer said, rising,’ “I need not say to you how deeply I am concerned to learn the motive behind Bunton’s action in this matter of the mining land. The questions I have asked you show that to you. You have helped me—yes, I think you have helped me— to come to the conclusion that there is something not wholly honest operating in his mind.” The great lawyer after more than a year’s study, with all the detalls of infor- mation the detectives furnished him, with a trained mind directed by a pecullar de- termination to succeed in the case, had arrived at the identical conclusion that Mrs. Worthington reached intuitively after oneéwhalf second’s consideration. His Interview with Mr. Bannister left no rflmea impression In Howard's mind. His impressions of men and women, and of thelr intentions, were commonly formed more from what he saw in their than from what they said; and he not been able to see the face of lawyer in the pale starlight of veranda where they sat. As to subject of their talk, Howard the the the as- { 7 % sumed that Mr. Bannister would have made equally searching Inquiry of any one he chanced to meet, who had knowr Mr. Bunton well in White River. He was, to be sure, absorbingly interested at the time in all the lawyer had to say about his father, but he did not connect that interest with anything Dr. Paxton's affairs might have had to do with Isaac Bunton's ownership of mining lands. But even had his mind been steeped in spec- ulation as to the possible purport of the interview, the events of the next day would have altered the complexion of his thoughts. Yet the day passed with only such incidents as are common to the lives of those who have “‘gone back to nature.” , Mr. Bannister made no allusion to thelr talk of the night before, but saild to How- ard after breakfast, “I've had so much to do with men that I find great satisfac- tion In studying the habits of vegetables. You do got chance to know why the plant of the Brussels sprout, with-a freedom of cholice in the ter, prefers to run all to stalk and not at all to sprouts? No? It is a quality of matter nearly akin to mind and I thought you might have observed w* With these words he was off to the farm, accompanied by a godless gard- ener. Young Mr. George Bannister, eyes dis- traught, hair disordered and manner mad, sald to Howard, “I've a soap plcture to draw and some verses on a baby food to write—curse all soap; hail infant damna- tion: I must leave you to your own resources for a few hours. If this wasn't a family of eccentrics some one would be about to entertain a guest. But not a soul—only Madge. Hey, Madge!” he ex- claimed as she threw down a book and started to dash from the room, “can’t you dig up some amusement to keep Pax- ton from dying of boredom until some- body comes to entertain him? What's the matter with you? Woman! Cat! What have I done?” The wrath in her eyes was wonderful to behold, but it was no such matter as the scorn of her silent lips—though it was plain that there was much she would have liked to say to her brother. “If I've offended you, Madge,” cried George, “I'm the basest beast that drags an undeserved existence through this world of worry and woe.” It was evident that had to say something or perish, so she hissed, “You are an unapproachable bat!” Then she fled from the room. “Funny about little girls, fsn't 17" George sald, mussing bis hair with his pencil. “Well, you just get a book from the shelves and fuss around the grounds until I finish. Then we’ll do something.™ Howard found a promising book and walked out to the orchard, where he sat down on an inviting bench, opened the book—but did not read. His thoughts were agreeable—for they were all of Madge— and must have been engrossing, for the shadows of the overhanging boughs shift- ed far before he was startled Into a con- sclousness of his surroundings by a voice directly over his head saying, “Please to g0 away until I come down.” He looked up and on a high branch of the tree saw Madge. “I'll help you down,” he exclaimed, laughing. “Go away!” she commanded. “I hate you, because after I left the room you and George laughed at me, and you said that I was a spiteful creaturs and should be taught to keep my tempe: “I never!” pald Howard. “Cross my heart!” “Go away!” Howard rose from the bench, tied his handkerchief over his eyes, covered his face with his book and the book with his hat, and called out, “How many must I count?” Instantly there was a light jump, he uncovered his eyes and Madge stood be- fore him, blushing and looking repentant. \“It's George's fault,” she sald. “He teases me to distraction, and then I do or say something that makes a stranger think that I am as eccentrio as the rest of the Bannisters. I'm the only normally behaved member of the family, but just because I'm not like the others I appear insane, I suppose. WIill you forgive me for being rude to George in your pres- ence?” Howard assured her of his forgiveness on condition that she would help him “fuss around” until George came to his rescue. “What shall we do?" she asked. “T hats golf; and, besides, people don't play on Sunday—until after church. Tennis, same.” “How about football? asked Howard, gravely. “If you're going to be bad I'll run away,” she replied indignantly. “T'll be good,” Howard meekly promised. “Couldn’t we sit down here and talk over what we'll do?" “Oh, I love to sit In the orchard!” she cried; “but I didn’t suggest it because mostly it bores people to extinction. Don't you hate people? I hate men because the slily creatures think they're superior to women! And I hate women because the silly creatures are so Inferfor to men! I like horses, though. Have you a sister? ‘What s she like?” Perhaps it was the number of toples thus impulsively launched that accounted for the absorption of the young people sitting in the orchard. Anyway, when George found his friend a couple of hours later he sneered at the discovery that Howard was too pleasantly engaged to welcome disturbance. “I'd thought better of Paxton,” he sald to himself, “than to be amused by & wild Indlan of a girl like Madge,” and he returned to his room and wrote a long and passionate outpouring of love to Gertrude. On his next visit to the Bannisters Grace went with Howard, and was In- stantly approved by Mrs. Bannister. As beautiful a girl as Grace was In herself a decided attraction to the Bannister Sun- day teas and dinners. ‘‘Besides, sald Mrs. Bannistes, “Miss Paxton is a clever girl, and wiN have an influence on Madge. Miss Paxton llkes men, she llkes women, she likes her kind, as sane people should; and a girl like Madge is more inclined to follow the example of a girl of her own age than to follow the precepts of her. own mother. And Mjss Paxton taking up this study—what do you call it? house- painting—makes her so interesting.” One of the members of the neighbor- hood Country Club who seemed to ap- prove of Mrs. Bannister's enthusiasm over Grace was Mr. Jack Worthington. He was not a new visitor at the house; he had been an intimate there since boy- hood, and he rejoiced, now, that his part in the conduct of the Worthington inter- ests required him to consult the chief counsel frequently. It chanced that it was convenient for Jack to hold these consultations on those very week-ends when Grace went with Howard to the Bannister place. They wers happy week- ends; though it was not observed by the godless gardener that Caleb Bannister was obliged, by the consultations, to in- termit his study of the habits of plants. In fact the gardener turned out to be the one most concerned; he had to build an- other bench In the orchard, under an- other apple-tree. (Continued Next Week.) N\ ... .o LD