The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, September 27, 1903, Page 4

THE SUNDAY CALL. 1802, by T. C. McClure)) ., REN'T you going tc swer my Qquestion! Won't you take me 7’ with you?” Ciifford Vane turned @ - surprise as he A beard the voice. A girl . deep brown eyes re was a glint of eside the boat, her gainst her slender fig- bhad made so e had not heard the ¥. There's a you'll get wet ! And if it's so ure out?"” Banquse it suits ude, bue Marjorie 1 the intent expres- 8s he gazed out on more to him- Vane said u know of such a or read your d believe in ’ he added TR T/ TERY BY F.B. WKIGEFT with ce with him the life, 2 woman tender and true, “For an agonized roment Vane could ses no sight of her and then he spled her coming to the surface.” , 1908, by T. C. McClure.) ESIDES owning a farm of one hundred acres, the widow Jenkins was the possessor of a one- horned cow, a three- legged sheep and a tame bear. All were curiosities in their way, but the cow and the sheep have nothing to do with this story. As the say, they are thrown In without extra cost, and it is up to the bear to entertain the audience. ing & farm of nearly two situated ebout half a mile below the widow Jenkins’, Squire Davis weas the proprietor of the only windmill for ten miles around and the father of & son 12 years old named Hearry. The wind- mill was a good thing in its way, but it will be blown out of this story at once end meke no reappearance. The squire was & pompous, aggressive sort of & man, who wanted to do all the bossing and have other people do all the minding, while the widow was a woman with & mind of her own and didn’t proposs to be walked on by anybody. It thus came ebout that soon after she was left & widow ghe and the squire clashed. No Jawsuit followed, but it was & bad thing for the cattle and pigs that strayed over the boundary lines, and there was always £ doing to furnish the neighbors The relations between the squire and the widow had been strained for three or four years when two new characters came into the cast. A smart, good-looking girl named Betty Lee came to live with the widow, and she hadn’t been there two weeks when Harry Davis saw and fell in love with her. The son had tried to stand in the quarrel, though naturally leaning toward his father's side. Perhaps =on why he couldn’t be brought to her {il of the widow was on her bear. She had bought the animal of a stroller who had been taken sick and shipped to a distant town. It was & big black bear, full of tricks and good nature, and it had taken a great lking to Harry. When the quarrel reached a certain stage of bitterness he had to part with the bear as well as the widow. The separation had lasted two years or more when Betty Lee arrived. A month later the young man was visiting the widow, the girl and the bear, and enjoying each and every occasion. These visits were unknown to the father, of course, and he did not discover them un- tll rumor said that his son was going to marry Betty, and that the widow Jen- :—. had brought things about to spite Am. “Young man, is it so or is it not?” he A WIDOW, A GIRL x By C. B. Lewis. o AND demanded of Harry after inviting him out to the barn for a talk. “1 love Betty and am going to marry her,”” was the reply. ou will never do it with my consent!” ‘But I am of age, father.” “Then I'll cast you off. If you marry that girl you cease to be a son of mine, and shall never get a cent of this prop- Harry didn't indulge in any heroics. On the contrary he took the matter so quiet- ly that his father chuckied to himself and belleved he had gained a victory in the first round. He-let it be known that he expected Harry to cease his visits to the farmhouse, but at the same time he was prepared to close his eyes for a time and give the boy a chance to retire witn dignity. Things went on for three months without anything further being said. That is, while it was said on all sides that Harry and Betty wouid be married on Thanksgiving day, the talk did not reach the squire’s ears until one evening in Octcber. He was a man who acted on impuise. He determined to go stralght over to the widow’s and settle things his way within fifteen minutes of arriving. The widow's bea® had no particular grudge against the squire, but he was a watch dog as well as a bear. He had been turned out that evening to roam eround end see that all was well and when he suddenly discovered Squire Da- vis coming cross lots through the barn- yard it was only natural that he should fasten his teeth in the farmer's trousers leg and conduct him to the door of the house. The squire didn't scare at bulls or tramps or mad dogs, but he drew the line »t bears. He was in a cold fright when he reached the houss, and the widow added to It by allowing the bear to follow him in and sit up before him and grow] and show his teeth. Harry had come courting as usual, and of course the position was embarrassing for a couple of minutes. It might have lasted longer but for the presence of mind of the wid- ow. Bhe realized that the bear had dealt her a winning hand and she proceeded to play it for all it was worth. am very gald to see you,” she said as she placed a chair for the caller. *“I am the Widow Jenkins, as perhaps you know. This young lady is my friend, Miss Lee, and the young gentleman there is your son Harry. The has intro- duced himself, but I wish to say on his behalf that he is aching to make mince- meat of you.” “Herry, what are you doing here?” hoarsely demanded the father, “Courting Betty, sir,” was the reply. ‘““We are soon to be married-and I was #oing to tell you of it in a day or two.” “Married to that girl—never! You will remember that I told you—"" The bear reared up and growled om- ‘merely drift anywhere, o8 inously and the squire turned pale and shook In Mr chair. “You must not talk so loud,” cautioned the widow. “Bumbo has got one of his savage fits I can't kold him. What's the matter with Miss Lee that you don’t want Harry to marry her?” b t want him to marry any one just now “Don’'t you? Down, Bumbo! Well, as the two are in love and engagcd, I think they wiil marry, and you will be very silly to interfe Don’t move your legs or Bumbo will have them!” “Why don’t you call off your blamed old bear when you see that he Is ready to eat me?” shakingly exclalmed the A BEAR squire as the sweat broke out on his face. “I can't. He gets these savage fits on once in a while and there's no doing any- thing with him. If he gets his teeth into you I don't think we can save you. Have y thing against Miss Lee?” “Don’t you think she would muke Harry a good wife?"” “I told you I didn't want— By thun- der, are you going to see me eaten alive!" “Bumbo, spare him a little longer!" appealed the widow. “Now then, Miss Lee comes of a nice family and is worth $8000, and she and Harry are to be mar- rlied Thanksgiving day. That is, they were to be, but I have concluded to have the ceremony performed this evening. —_—— Bquire Davis, you are & justice of the peace.” ‘“What, me marry 'em!” he shouted; but the bear started in to hug him and he almost fainted away in his terror. “Yes, you will marry them,” quietly re- plied the widow after a bit. “It will be a neat, nice thing to do, and it will be a good joke on the people who expect you to make a fool of yourself. Tnat's one side of it. The other side is that the bear is getting over anxious.” The squire fought against it for a quarter of an hour, but the widow, the bear and the girl, aided by occasional appeals from Harry, carried the day, and he stood up with the bear beside him and welded two souls according to law. Then the bride was kissed, the bear chained up, and as the squire nibbled his doughnut and sipped his glass of cider he was man enough to admit that he guessed it was all for the best—"gaul durn that bear.” HUGH HEN it is no again?’ MacDowell's voice was reflective and re- gretful. He did not look at the small, erect figure In brown linen sitting in solitary state on the old fallen log among the pine needles. The serious hazel eyes regarded him with a calm, disinter- ested Independence that was exasperating. “It is always no. This is the fourth time.” “Three and a half.” There was a flash of mischlef in her quick smile. ‘“You only got as far as a lifetime of devotion last time and Mr. Tisdale came for his waltz. ‘When will you try again?” “Never.” His voice was quiet. Bhe could not see his face. “I give up the fight. I%think that even you. will grant I have made a hard one for the cause, and since it is hopeless I shall leave Ar- leigh.” “For the summer?’ BShe dug the point of her parasol a trifle viciously in among the innocent pine needles. “No. Indefinite 1 expect to go to Japan on business, and from there will It does not mat- ter so long as 1 do not drift into Arleigh Harbor and try again—for the fourth time." She did not answer. There was & new tone In his voice that troubled her, a tone of cynicism and finality. She looked off at tha broad half moon of the bay and shivered at the sudden chill in the air since the sun had gone down. The sea looked gray, with long wreaths of swirl- ing white foam where the tide was com- ing in full. There was a dull, low roar to the breaking waves in the beach below, t3 fight for and dare for. T would have tried to give her everything she wanted. No man can love her as I do—and now—" Vane laughed bitterly as an end- to his sentence. “Why did you come out to-day In this gale?” sald Marjorie. “Is your life so worthless to you that you would risk it because a thoughtless woman has wound- ed you?" “My life! don’t care.” “I thought you didn't,” returned the girl, gravely. “I knew you didn’t. Tha why I came. I couldn't let you come aone.” “And you came because you thought—" ‘You would be reckless? Yes." ‘And you were not afrald?” “No—why should I be? I knew you would take care of me—if not of your- welf.”” The girl smiled at him confidently. “I am perfectly safe with you,” she added. So Marjorie had risked her life for him, so that in his desperate humor he should not go alone. But how came she, a mere child, to understand. She, at least, had a heart to make some man happy. And here he was putting her life at the mercy of the sea to gratify his selfish mood of bitterness. Well, he must get her home at once—then— Vane thought he did not much care what happened afterward. It was blowing harder as Vane came about and slacked the sheet for the run to the far distant boathouse and the hotel on the hill. They were going before the wind now, the boat rolling dangerously in the clutch of the sea, the waves behind following the hungry jaws and threaten- ing every moment to engulf them. ‘With braced body and stralhed muscles, every sense alert, Vane gripped the tiller, striving to hold the boat against the swirling buffets of the waves, his one thought to get her safe to land. Every moment the wind increased, every mo- ment the bay became more tumultuous. ‘Would they make it? he wondered. They were nearly opposite the boathouse o+ ‘What does it matter? I e ———— when there came & sudden whirl of wind from between the hills ahead. Vane had but time to cry a warning when the sail jibed, the boom came swinging over with an angry snarl, the boat was flung upon her beam ends and the next moment he found himself entangled in cordage and battling for his life beneath the waves. With desperate fingers he cleared himseif and came to the surface. And Marjorie— where was she? Good God: had she been struck by the boom and made unconsclous or killed, or had she, too, been carried down by the sinking boat. For an agonized moment Vane could gee no sign of her, and then he spled her just coming to the surface. She was go- ing down again when he caught her and started for the shore. It was a long swim, against s tide that seemed to drag him down, as if with clutching hands, Vane swore he would save this girl w! had risked her life for him or lose his own. He could see people running to the boathouse now and getting out the boat How slow they were! Would they nev come? His muscles were giving out, his breath came heavily, his limbs falt liks lead. Could he hold out? They w wearing fast now. He tried to re falling strength, to overmaster his weak ness the world grew black about and then a strong arm gripped hi; der and he and Marjorie wers lif! the boat and rowed toward shor e e . In those days afterward, while Marj, ar'a hovered between life and death, Cl Vane learned how much he could do this girl, this gir! he thought was a child, and now knew to be the woman in all the world for him. Gone was his love for Edith Winthrop. He knew now that he had in her sister all that Edith had seemed and more. And there came a day when he was permitted to see her. He found her on an upper plazza of hotel clad in a soft blue wrapper, her s hair loose on her shoulders, and the smile her pale face held for him gave him hope that in saving her he had found happi- ness. — HER CHOICE By Louise Hubert Guyol. —_ i (Copyright, 1903, by T. C. McClure.) ___— OW that It is all over I don't mind telling you that is the girl that I had chosen for you to marry.” She looked up at him over the great bunch of pink roses that she hal& in her arms, and from under the soft chiffon of her white hat, and he looked down at her out of deep-set eyes under shaggy brows. Then his glance followed hers down the long distance of the room, resting on the girl who stood there, be- neath & bower of palms. The cloudy masses of her white vell were thrown back from a face of smiles and blushes as she received congratulations and won. Qered vaguely at the strange sweetness of it all. “You—don’t—mean—it?’ There were great pauses of incredulity between Wil- ton’s words, and the slow smile that came into his eyes was not one of vanity, rath- er of great pleasure in an unexpected compliment. “Is she not the girl I have always de- scribed? Tall and slender, big brown eyes and soft, curling, light-brown hair? You have been blind all this time not to have seen whom I meant. I had set my heart on 1t somehow,” she added sadly. “You both seem so well suited to each other.” “Why did you not tell me sooner? I might have set to work—it would have been hard work, though.” He was still looking at the bride. “Play the part of matchmaker? And where my little sister was concerned? Ah, no! I could not tell you, but I did so want it.” “That is the greatest compliment you could have paid me. I really—" He had turned and was looking down into her eyes. Suddenly he stopped, as if a thought had stifled his words, and the color left his face for one short second. “Come,” she sald, as though divining his thought and wishing to interrupt it, “you are to make the first toast, I be- lleve; you must continue your duties as best man.” She led the way down the long hall, and together they paused on the threshold of the dining-room. “Did you do this?”’ he asked. “Yes; do you like 1t?"* ‘He stood silently drinking in the beauty of the room, with its fiimy draperies of asparagys fern, amidst the delicate green of which stood forth tall silver and crys- tal vases, fllled with long-stemmed Bride roses. Here and there low bowls of green and gold Bohemian glass wers half buried beneath the dainty color of the Duchesse rose, velled in leaves of maidenhalr. The conventional cake with its streamers of narrow satin ribbon shimmered white amidst the colors, and the pink shaded candles threw soft reflec- tions over everything. It was very beautiful, and he sald so to her. She was very beautiful, as she moved about in her clinging gown of pal- est green chiffon, straightening a leaf here or bending a flower there, and his eyes sald so, although she did not see it. Then, the next thing he knew, the rcom was filled with people, the young bride was beside him, and some one was hold- ing & glass toward him, saying, “Will you not toast them?” He looked at the bride, bowed and be- gan. “Hall to stopped, laughing. are not a skylark.” “She’s a bird, though,” vehemently in- terrupted & boy who had adored the girl for years, thee, blithe spirit!” then “That won't do. You M’'DOWELL’'S STORMY WOOING and the anchored yachts out in the bay tugging and straining llke restive s as the swell plunged them to and MacDowell “There 18 “We had better go back.’” said presently, mming to her. a storm coming u “I like a storm.” She took off her hat rebelliously and fastened it with the pins to the log. The wind caught her halr and blew it in a brown veil acrosa her eyes and sha held it back, laughing as she looked up at him., *You may go if you wish. He frowned and threw himself down on the ground near the edge of the bluff. “I suppose that is one reason why I love you,” he said bitterly. *You are so charmingly tractable. You always do as I say.” “There is no necessity for sarcasm.” The little squara chin tilted higher. Mis: Dunderdale felt Indignant. “You alway: wish me to do something that I don't want to. And you are—are masterful. She brought out the hateful word sol- emnly, and he shrugged his shoulders. There is something most annoying in a person shrugging their shoulders at you when you want to argue. It implies men- tal superiority and an impregnable stand. She closed her lips tightly. She would not say another word. He could go to Japan or the moon. It was a matter of the utmost indifference to her. She turned away from the stalwart figure on the ground and looked off at the storm clouds racing up from the breast of the sea on the horizon, her chin on her palm, one small foot swinging to and fro ex- pressively as she reviewed the case of Hugh MacDowell. There were just thirty-seven good and excellent reasons why should marry ¥ By Izola L. Forrester. l him. Cecil knew all thirty-seven by heart. They were rehearsed to her with faithful exactitude by an anxious bevy of sisters and cousins and aunts. And there was but one reason why she should not. She did not choose to. To Cecil the one reason was sufficlent and outwelghed all the good and excel- lent thirty-seven. To the anxious bevy it was a wiliful and foolish obstacle set up before one of the happlest chances fate ever offered a girl. MacDowell was twenty-nine. A traveled man of the world, with a generous for- tune back of him, who had come from his globe. trotting cultured, broad-minded and cosmopolitan, with his native Amer- ican point of view still fresh and optim- istic. Cecil's elderly relatives dwelt lovingly on these points. Her younger ones veered to the outward and visible signs of grace and sald the tall, six foot wooer was handsome and altogether desirable. That was just it. He was too desirable. He was faultless. Ever since he had come down to Arleigh Cecil had felt her- self lifted bodily by fate, assisted slightly by the anxious bevy, and thrown at his head and heart. muunnmnumummm have courteously and dlplom-uu.uy avolded the snare. He had walked into it, eyes open, lips smiling and arms ex- tended to receive fate's gift. Wherefore the gift, with faithful feminine contrari- ness, declined being received. There was a sudden vivid «lare that ripped the heavy mass of clouds from end to end, and a long crashing peal of thunder like cannon. The sea seemed to swell and leap to meet the sky. The boughs of the pines lashed up and down like fragile breeze-blown ferns as the wind swept over them. At the second crash Cecil rose and turned instinctively to the trees for shel- ter, but the gale caught her, and she would have fallen only for MacDowell's firm clasp of her arm. Almost instantly the whole world of land and sea and sky seemed on fire, and she shrank back Into his arms with a cry of fear as a bolt struck a kingly pine that towered above its brothers a few yards away and left it a blasted, smoking ruin. Before she could recover herself he had lifted her in his arms and galned the path that led down over the face of the bluff. “We can't get to the shore,” she ex- claimed. ‘“The tide is in.” “Put your arms around my neck and keep still,” he answered curtly. “We can't stav up here.” Bhe obeyed in silence and he made his way down the path. What had been a smooth stretch of sand was now a swirl- ing mass of low breakers. MacDowell paused an instant for breath as he reached it and looked down at the face on his shoulder. Her eves were closed. A wild impulse seized him and he bent and kissed her. The next instant he was knee deep in the waves, struggiing in the teeth of the gale to where the shore curved and safety lay, and he fancied that the arms around his neck were clasped cloger than before, although the eyes wer closed and the face was white and s The waves leaped and snarled with a hissing roar at his feet like a palr of hungry wolves, and he was forced to stop again and again and lean back against the bluff as the wind beat down on him. The burden in his arms grew heavier with every dragging step, but at length the beach shelved and broadened uul he lumnd up the hlgher mund “Then I cannot comtinue at all, for ‘bird thou never wert’ won't apply. What shall I say?” He locked at the tall man standing near, then into the eyes of the girl bride. With thy clear, keen joyance Languor cannot be, he quoted, then, improvising, continued: May shadow of annoyance Never come near thes. He raised his glass and turned toward the grocm: Thou wilt love, and ne'er satiety. And am!id a murmur of applause and clinking of glasses the toast was drunk. Then some one, taking up the thread of Wilton’s thought, began: What thou art we know mot. What Is most like thee? And the boy who had used the slang surprised them all by continuing the quo- tation: “She is ‘like a glowworm golden.’ Oh. no, no! But, ‘] star of heaven In the broad daylight,’ or ‘a rose embowered in its own green leaves.’ ‘All that ever was Joyous and clear and fresh,” or—'" “Please,” sald the bride, appe “no more, it is very beautiful, but = barrassing. I don’t deserve it. I am go- ing to drink to Shelley, who taught you to say such beautiful thing: “With such a subject,” some one be- gan, but Margaret and her sister had disappeared. ‘Wiiton slipped from the crowded room out into the quiet halls, where he w dered up and down, thinking, wonde how he had not thought the same thi before. All thess months past how st pid he had been! Yes, he thought would do no harm to try his luck. Ah, no, she never would—she could not love him—it was too much to expect; she would look higher and find—but she N chosen him for the little sister, wh he knew she loved better than life; if s thought him good enough for her, would she not be willlng to— The idea had taken so strong a hold ugon him from the moment he had looked down into her eyes to thank her for her compliment that now he wondered how he could have been blind to it for so long & time. It seemed to him as if he had never had any other thought than this, as if he could never have any other thought but Margaret. He wondered if— The carriage was at the door, the bride had her arms about her mother's neck, the groom, already half way down the steps, was Impatiently waiting. A shower of rice filled the air, a white satin slip- know love's sad man Wilton?™ That man Wilton was already “That's see why he and The color rushed over w' face as she glanced up to see if he had heard. The smile in his eyes made n- look down again quickly. She walked to the far ufl of the room, beneath the palms where her sister had stood, and, stooping, picked up some rose petals that lay scattered at her feet. She did it all unconsciously. When she rose Wilton was standing over her. He took her hands in his, rose petals and all, and looked down into her eyes. “I don't see why we don't, either. Do you, Margaret?” Some one had gone to a piano and the strains of the march from “Le Prophete came to them through the open doors, a breeze softly stirred In the palm leaves above their heads, the pink rose petals slipped from her fingers in a shower down over her gown as she put her hands up on Wilton's shoulders and met his eager, Questioning look. “No—I don't,” she sald very softly. —_——— Singularly Preserved Coins. Some fifteen years ago a Virginia gen- tleman purchased in Alexandria, Egypt. from & native who found it in the wall of & bullding broken during a conflagra- tlon, what appeared to be a mass of cor- roded copper weighing twenty pounds. It was kept as a hearth ornament, until re- cently ft was found to consist of about 500 Roman coins, struck In the days of the early Caesars. Professor Dunnington of the University of Virginia finds that the colns contain one part of silver to four of copper, but when dipped in acid a part of the copper disappea: leaving a silvery surface, which “wears” as a white metal. He belleves the coins passed for silver. The mass had become encrusted with a double skin of malachite and of red oxide of copper and remarkable changes had gone on within, although the letter- ing and the dates remained legible. @il @ in safety and lald her down under the shelter of the overhanging rocks. The first wild fury of the storm had paseed and only a faint rumbdle of distant thunder broke the stiliness. She opened her eyes and looked up at him as he knelt beside her. Something new in their hazel depths seemed to answer the cry of his heart, and he raised two small, cold hands to his lips. “Cecll,” he asked, “must I go?” The first soft gleam of midsummer moonlight was casting a path of silver scales on the water when they reached the hotel veranda. The soft, delicious music of a mandolin orchestra came through the bright lighted windows, and they paused a moment in the shadow of the clinging vines to look back at the sea. “I knew you would try the fourth time,” she sald laughingly, as she raised her face to himx “Japan is so far away.”