The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, January 10, 1904, Page 5

THE SAN those mountains peaks rose cold to- above the blue was Across the valley little snow—only little patches i had brought down from ie and scattered against f the sage brush. Rab- cross the plain in search od might be found. As y showed white talls—ilke ere were TOM MATTHEVVS’ (CW 1903, by K. M. Whitehead.) Matthews, but every- body eround thestore called him Tom. He had come to the busi- ness of Haines & Co. when & boy ten years oid, and In fourteen years he had gained the position of “bockkeeper and cashier. At every stage he had been complimented on his hon- esty and fidelity, and the day he took charge of the books and the cash Har- ris, the active partner, said to one of the “Co.”": ““Well, Johnson, I feel & load off my mind. Tom is as straight as & string, and we need not worry about him. I dox't belleve that he could be tempted to do a crooked thing.” The firm had made ent In cash, and up to the hour of temptation had his been amined and his cash counted would have been found correct ot To oblige & friend he took $50 fyom the cash sccount for three or four days. The friend repaid the loan and o5 pafEd put Tom on tp & “sure thing” in the Tom invested his week's stock market. nat he gave it & whirl & month later h'd came out several hundred . rs to the good. n ho wants to speculate can trusted positions going wrong jon, but his name r be added to the list. He e or lose with his own T nd not a penny belonging to H should be put in peril. the policy he pursued for metimes gaining and 01 sing, but, of course, there hen the market was up- ind himself on the wrong had to “borrow” from ke good his margins. always called “borrow- man who takes it always thoroughly honest. The d to drop and in four m was closed out and $500 besides. He could that through friends and up, but he had lost by t and he meant to make good be cashiers who borrow and are lucky enough k no one ever hears of of those who would return d, but find it impossible, up to public gaze and Y cashier who goes wrong great chrysanthemums drifting across d got into his corduroy on his heavy hunting boots. a little 22- “To-morrow he said, “I propose to for dinner like and I guess I before break- he continued, m a chance for hate it pie nd ther is ce for the beasties. You don't mind do you?” hour down toward > fed his pon: e, which, till and, had been for ve her, ‘Bett you her too, from the n extra it all ve got 2 THEN HE TURNED AND [9OKED OUT OVER THE EAST T® THE 190N WHICH \WAS BIG AND ROUND AND DEAUTIFUL d without sugar or milk. acked a can of food in a saddlebag and carefully tied it to the FRANCISCO SUNDAY He filled his revolver and his belt with cartridges and put his rifle alongside the saddle. From under his bunk he drew a small tin box, unlocked it and took out a package of letters. He did not open the package, but threw it, still tied with a bit of leather thong, into the fire. For two or three min- CALL. barning. Then he sat down at the table and wrote rapidly: “Dear Old Mac—You will find the ba- con cut and the eggs ready for scram- bling. The coffee is all made, and is pretty go6d this morning. I have taken some of your cartridges. I found I didn’t have quite enough of my own, and I may not have a chance to get any more. I am going away now. I ghall not be back. I hope the rabbit ple will turn out to be a good one. Yours, HENDERSON.” He folded the letter and placed it under Macdonald's cup. Then he took the saddle to the stable, cinched it tightly on the pony, took his rifle, mounted, and rode away up the trail which led directly into the mountains. An hour later Macdonald returned with five rabbits swinging at his side. He was whistling. In one hand was his game and in the other he carried his rifle. When he reached the door of the cabin he kicked it to attract Henderson's attention. “Open the door, will you, old man?” he called. There was no answer. Macdonald put down his rifle and entered. “Prob- ably he’s out at the stable,” he thought. Then he saw the letter. Macdonald sat down and stared blankly before him. ‘Won't be back!™ he exclaimed. ‘“Won’t be back. What in —— does all this mean?” He went to the door and looked up and down the trail from the stable. There was no marks of a horse’s feet showing on the frozen earth. Return- ing to the cabin he cooked his eggs and bacon, ate hurriedly, and again slinging his rifle over his arm he walked rapidly in the direction of Alamosa. Henderson rode all day. At night he had come to the very crest of the wmountaln where the trail descended to the camp on the other side. It near 6 o'clock. A moon was somewhere In the and F son watched it eagerly. He took his saddlebag a can of meat an it, eating ravemously. The pony watched him. She whinnied, and called his attention to the fact that she had had nothing to eat since morning. Henderson rose from the snov put her bridle rein back over t dle and led her to the trall whi east, back toward his cabin. “Go he girl,” he sald, “but don't tell where you left me. This is as g a place as any In which to home."” The pony started down the Henderson took a cartridge from his belt and fitted It Into his ri trail wonder,” he sald," “if the quickly 7 H& placed the butt an against a jagged rock—the m his heart. Then he turned and out over the east to the moon, was big and round and beautif While he stood watching a sc rubber-like nose was pushed shoulder, and the uglest pony the San Luis sald as plainly as a can say things that she was hu and wanted to go ho dropped the rifle into give them one more char he sald. Then he climbed wearily into the sad- dle and rode down toward the valley. When he reached Alamosa he the pony to the stable and fed royally. Afterward he went to the postoffice. There was a letter there for him. This is what it sald: “My Dear—I am so sorry, so dread- fully sorry, about it all. Mr. Macdonald has written Frances how you would not tell me about your failures and all that sort of thing. Why didn't you? Why couldn’t you have told me, that you wanted me to help you fight out? I would, dear—oh, I would. And why didn’t you ask me whether I cared— cared more than anything in the whole world? Why didn’t you, dear? Surely, to ask me to love you wouldn't be ask- ing so very much. I am walting, dear. ‘W{il you come. KATHERINE.” Henderson came out of the postoffice and found in front of the hotel a group of men. They were mounted and evi- dently ready to ride away. Macdonald was with them. “We'll go first up the trall toward Sunnyside,” he sald. Henderson walked over to the group. ““Were you looking for me, old man?™" he asked. “If you were you'rs just in time to go with me to the station. The train leaves at midnight.” Then he handed the letter to Macdon- ald. ‘When the little narrow gauge train pulled out that night Henderson occu- pled one of the berths of the Denver sleeper. Three days later he was In New York. Katherine was waiting. The next spring Macdonald found the rifle at the foot of the jagged rock om the.crest of the mountain. ok her SEVENTEEN AND TWENTY drank three cups saddle which hung beside the door. utes he stood and watched the letters s 4 | =2dd to your troubles. If I were you N | T'd go home and manage to keep this | thing to myself for a day or two longer. .‘. 4. Come—let's walk out together. dYour . * way is up the street and mine is down. *———(— By C. DericKkson “And if you were given a chance?” So long to you.” ARIB, I've some news ‘,_ - - ~5 has = cholce to the music a nent, or he can flee t ¥y or commit suicide. Ih— ¥ his decision to the very last ing he knows not what, comes at last when he That hour came to T« and he re- to decide He fally between 1 mained behind i what step he should ml' realized that he must choose the three t u hands and th only dimly ill ted by a single jet, something touched him on the arm and he lifted his hes to find a stranger standing beside “You must excuse me for calling so late,”” observed the man, “but the fact is T bhad some difficulty In getting into the store.” “Who are you and what do you want?” asked Tom, more puzzled than startled. “Ob, as to my name you can pick out any old thing, but as to what I want I dropped i{n to do a little busi- ness with you.” “But the store is closed.” “Yes, 1 know, and that’s my best time for doing business. Don't you savey 7" “You dow't mean that you are & bur- glar—a robber?” queried Tom, after looking the man over for a moment and wondering if it was a real live man who stood before him. “That's pretty close to it,”” laughed the man as he sat down on the nearest chalr and brought out & cigar and lighted it. When he had taken a few puffs he resumed: “I've had my eye on this plant for some time, and when I got in to-night I dldn’t expect to have your company. How does it come that you are here, and what's the matter that you look so seedy? I'd been spying on you for half an hour before I entered the office, and I think you've got a peck of trouble on your mind. Let’s hear what it is.” It was a strange #ituation, but the cashler was in a strange mood. The caller had sald that he was a burglar and had come with designs, but yet there was a touch of sympathy in his tones. Tom hesitated for a moment and then told him all. The man listened, nodding or shaking his head now and then, and when hg had heard all he said: “Look here, my boy, there's only one way In this thing. You've got to be either all good or all bad. You can’t be half and half and make a go of Jt. I'm all bad and I get along very well. What are you going to do?” “For God's sake, what am I to do?” wailed Tom. “Want to turn had?” “No.” “Is there money enough in the safe to take you out of the country?” “There’s about $800 in there, but I wouldn’t touch a penny of it. I've yield- ed to temptation, but I'm no thiet.” r after awhile. Why, man, I'd live on I'd put myself in this Think of my fourteen years' rec rxrd, Think of my wife and r(lzu\ 8! —s, The game wasn't worth the candle. Suppose you give me your home addres: " as he wrote it down. “Just to know where you live. Sup- pose that we also go out now.” es, but—but—" “Just to get out, you know. I'd like that $809 in the safe, but to get it I'd Before Tom left his house next morn- ing a messenger brought package containing $1500 addressed to him. An hour after the package had been deliv- ered the senior partner of the firm was saying to the burglar of the night be- fore: “Well, I'm glad he took it that way, and he shall have his chance. Tom's honest, and we have got to have honest men about us. I don’t think he’ll med- dle with stocks again, and on Thursday when his books are overhauled they will be found all O. K. Al right, Simp- son—all right. You worked it beauti- for you. Run up and ¥ put on your best bib and tucker, quick.” Marie dropped her novel and sat up In ]l the hammock, blink- gl ing her eyes at the sunlight and the tall figure which ob- structed it. “What on earth? You don’t mean the advent of an eligible man in this out- of-the-way hole?"” “That's just it!” Elizabeth, slender, have to crack you on the head and fully.” + 4 | THEIR WATCH MEETING — Eooniad s o 4 HE clock on the By J. B. Oxford ; :;‘CEl;i!re'he letters from his knee into mantel chimed the - 2 They all go out!™ half hour before mid- night as they came into the room. Pot- ter threw woed on the fire, and by dint of much exertion with the bellows succeeded in raising quite a respectable blaze. From a chair near the hearth Filomena watched him indolently, and when he had hung the bellows on the little brass hook she motioned him to the chair beside her’ own. “The latest bulletin from the old year shows him to be very feeble,” he sald. “Pulse weak; respiration scarce- ly perceptible. The poor old chap ls #0 worn out he won't last but twenty- five minutes longer. Sert of melan- choly, isn't 1t?” The girl was silent. “Say, Fil,” he said, with sudden im- pulsiveness, “I shall miss these heart to heart talks before this old fireplace awfully.” “Indeed,” she said rather frigidly. “Awfully,” he repeated. ‘A fellow gives up a lot when he marries, doesn’t he?” Her chin reised from her palm and she looked at him with steady disap- proval. “Don’t look at me like that, Fil,” he said. “Between such old friends as you and me a bit of confession won't be misunderstood.” “Did you bring the letters?” asked quietly. “Yes,” he said. He delved into a bulging pocket and brought forth a packet of old letters that gave evidence of much handling. He laid them on his knee. “Here they are,” he said. “Put them in the fire,” she said shortly. He looked at them tenderly. “I shall keep them until mext year, she “It's only if you don’t mind,” he said. he added. twenty minutes, you know,” “As you like,” she sald. “They were ripping old letters,” he asserted. "No one could ever write a letter like you, FiL” He untied the string that bound thermn and ran hastily through the en- velopes. “Here’s the one you wrote me from Venice,” he said. “Listen!” Despite her look of anger he pulled the letter from the envelope and read: “Dear Old Dave: Your last cutburst reached me at Genoa. ‘Never!' (as the persecuted herofne in the melodrama shrieks) ‘Never!" You’'ll thank me for all this some day when you meet the one and only Her for wasting all this ink and paper in writing you a re- fusal from every stopping place. Why will you propose in every letter, Davy? I have filled twenty-five sheets with ‘No’s, and hereafter, when you ask me again, shall simply mall you one of these sheets.” He paused and looked at her. “Well, you may thank me now,"” she said with a sorry attempt at lvity. “I'm not so sure I want to,” he satd. “Dave!"” There was sharp reproof ln her voice. ‘Don't misunderstand me. I'm not ai onll to—to her. T wouldn't exp! coldly. He put the letter back in the en- velope and drew out another. “Here is one from Rome,” he said. “Ah, yes. This. is the one simply filled with ‘no’s.” Fil, you have given more misery than any other woman ever has or ever can give me.” “You'll forget it in your new hap- piness,” she said. “Heaven send I do,” he said fer- vently. She eyed him curiously. Then with @ sudden movement of her hand she ‘she said “Exeunt omnes! “she said, but there was a suspicion of artifice in her mocking laugh. Potter sprang from his chair and stood moodily contemplating the burn- ing paper. “It's nearly 12,” she sald. “Let's have a toast or two before we drink to the new year.” She went to the little table in the corner and filled two cups. from the punch bowl. “T'll give you one,” she said gayly. “Here's to the Mrs. David Potter that is to be! May she belleve she has al- ways been supreme in the heart of David! “Amen!” said -he, and drained his glass. Then he refilled the :la-u at the punch bowl. “My turn now,” he said. “To Mrs. David Potter that is to be! She has always reigned supreme in the heart of Davia!" Filomena's hand trembled as she raised her glass. Potter noted this from the corner of his ‘eye. He came clase beside her. “Filomena,” he said solemnly, ‘“be- fore another year is finished I shall be married. I shall be very happy and you—=" Her eyes suddenly filled with teard. “Don't!"” she sald weakly. Potter looked at her searchingly, then drew back his head and laughed. The girl's face grew bitter as she lis- tened. “I think you'd be happler if you knew who the lady was,” he sald. “You might at least ask her name.”\ “Who—who is she?” sald Filomena. “You, my Lady Disdain,” Potter chuckled as he caught her in his arms. “Really, Dave, I haven't sald yet I'd marry you,” she said. Potter grinned. “There are times when words are quite superfluous,” he observed. By K. M. Yates l e willowy and thirty, balanced herself on the arm of a veranda chair. “I just saw the register and Captain Bleazby has arrived!” There was a note of such genuine pleasure in her tone that Marie dropped back into a reclining posture with her hands behind her head. ‘“Wel she sald slowly and disgustedly, “if you are so wonderfully glad, what is the use of my putting on the bib and tucker. W] hn is he, anyway?” “Marie! Goosie! Don't be foolish. Haven't I always taken a grandmother- 1y interest in you, and tried my best to find a satisfact husband for you? Now here is Captain Bleazby, the very epitome of perfection, falling right into your hand. Of course I'm glad!™ “But if you like him so much—" per- sisted Marie. “Fudge!” Elizabeth's lip curled. “He’s younger than I am. I thought I told you that. He was my sweetheart ten years ago. He was only 17 and I was 20. Think of the difference between 17 and 20! Of course, I didn't care any- thing about him; but he was an awful- 1y nice boy and splendid company, and he thought that he was so terribly in love.” ' Elizabeth leaned against the back of the chair and smiled reminis- cently. Marie sat up again, her face showing renewed interest. “What are you smil- ing at? It's an incident. I know by your eyes. Tell me about it and then I'll know his character better and how to cantivate him.” Elizabeth's face flushed and she laughed gulltily. “Oh, it waa nothing. I was just thinking of the last time I saw him. He was going to New York and he came to make his adieus. I walked down to the gate with him in the moonlight and—and he kissed me good-by."” Again the flusn crept over her face and the fascinating corners of her mouth curled upward in spite of herself, wijle the gray eyes, shining with merrigent, kept themseives fixed persistently Gpon the toe of her patent leather slipper. Marie gazed at her curiously. “Well, what was there so amusing about that?" she inquired tentatively. “‘Oh, the kiss itself, it was so funny. Positively the funniest one that I ever had in all my life. It was the first time that he had ever kissed me and— and—well, it was exactly the kind of a kiss that he would have given to his grandmother.” Both of the girls laughed. “Really, Marie, you've no idea how funny it was. Such a gentle, pretty little kiss. If it had not been for the shadow of the llac bush he certainly would have seen me laugh. But there, he was a dear boy.” zabeth’s tone took on a Httle self-reproach. “And it's a shame to laugh at him; but truly, I mu remember that kln as long as I A “And ll “How do I know? TI've mever seen him from that day to this. Hes quite distinguished himself in the war; went e as & volunteer, & rough rider or some- thing. He was awfully fond of the mil- itary and cavalry, even as a boy. Now do run along and fix up, Marle, and I'll watch for an opportunity to renew old acquaintance and say a good word for you. And, Marie, don’t disappoint me this time, for he is just exactly the man for you." Marie rose lazily. ‘“Weil, then, see that you keep In the background, my lady, or perhaps the old love—" ‘“Marie, don’t be silly! Think of the difference between 17 and 20. I dom’t want to take a boy to raise.” Captain Bleazby proved to be an ex- ceedingly tall and well set-up “boy,” and seemed to fall In with the plans laid for him with remarkable facility- Thae end of the captain’s stay was at hand. | After the first week the giria had not discussed him as they did In the beginning; in fact, they had rather avoided the mention of his name when they were alone, and sometimes awk- ward silence fell between them. The morning before the day set for his d»- parture Marie was swinging drowsily in the hammock, and Elizabeth sat be- side her with a book. Marle looked out lazily beneath her lids. “Captaln Bleazby goes to-morrow, doesn’t he?” she asked suddenly. Elizabeth read on to the end of the paragraph and then lald down her book. “Yes, I belleve so,” she said, looking off over the lake. Marie’s lashes shaded her yes. ‘“Well,” she said, meditatively, dently the campaign has been a fail- ure. He hasn't kissed me.” The pink color stole up around Elizabeth’s temple, and Marie went on. “It's an awful disappointment I didn’t care so much about marrying him; but I would like to know whektfir. n]x)m years, he has learned to . 0 you suppose he Elizabeth?” oy Elizabeth’s lips were pressed quite tightly together. “Probably,” she an- swered briefly. “And Elizabeth,” continued the in- corrigible Marie, speculatively, “if he has, who do you upyen taught him? Did you ever think of that?” Two tiny wrinkles appeared between Elizabeth’s soft eyebrows, but she made no reply. Marie yawned and placed a hand over her mouth. “I wouldn't in the least have minded teaching him. ‘Would you, Elizabeth?” No answer, “Have you noticed, Elizabeth,” she went on, “that there is not much difference between 27 l. as there is between 17 and 20? ! call that a very curious mathematical ver- ity. Don't you really think so?” Recelving no reply she returned to the original proposition. “But he doesn’t really look as if he needed In- struction. Do you think he does, Elizabeth " But Elizabeth had fled. The next evening Marie came softly behind her friend as she sat alone on the veranda. placing a soft uzu. hand upon either chnk. “Blizabet she w. he learned how. neath her palms, 4nd Biisapetn saaea ca the soft hands lovingly in hers. “Yes."” she whispered.