The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, March 27, 1904, Page 4

THE SAN Jetter and read it again. Then crump- ng it in her hand, she rocked into the with eyes of somber perplexity. What was the matter with the girl? Mre. Willers stated positively that, as far as she could ascertain, there was no man that had the slightest influence over Mariposa Moreau's affections. She was acting entirely on her own volition. But what had made her change her mind, Mre. Willers did not Kknow. Somethigs had undoubtedly occurred, ghe thought, that had influenced Mari- posa io a total reversal of opinion. Mrs. Willers said she could not imagine what this wae, but it had changed the girl, not only in ambition and point of view, but in character. The letter frightened Bessie. It had made her silent all through dinner, and now brooding over the fire, she thought of what it might mean and felt a cold apprehension seize her. Could Mari- posa know? Her behavior and conduct f since Shackleton's death suggested such a possibility. It was incredible to think of, but Lucy might have told. And also, might not the girl, in ar- ranging her mother's effects after her death, have come on something, letters or papers, which had révealed the past? A memory rose up in Bessie's mind of | the girl wife she had supplanted, clinging to the mariage certificate, which was all that remained to remind her of the days when she had been the one lawful wife. Bessie knew that this paper had been carefully tied In the bundle which held Lucy's few posses- sions when they left Salt Lake. She knew it was still in the bundle when , herself, had handed it to the de- serted girl in front of Moreau's cabin. Might not Mariposa have found it? She rose and walked about the room, feeling sick at the thought. She was no longer young, and her iron nerve had been permanently shaken by the sud- denness of her husband's death. Mari- posa, with her mother's marriage cer- tificate, might be plotting some desper- ate coup. No wonder she refused to g0 to Paris! If she could establish her claim as Shackleton's eldest and only legitimate child, she would not only sweep from Win and Maud the lion's share of their inheritance, but, equally unbearable, she would drag to the light the ugly story—the terrible story that Jake Shackleton and his second wife had so successfully hidden. Her thoughts were suddenly broken in on by the bang of the front door. She looked at the clock and saw it was only nine. If it was the Count who was going he had stayed less than an hour. What had happened? She moved to the door and listened. She heard a light step, slowly and furtively mounting the stairs. It was Maud, for, though she could attempt to deaden her footfall, she could not hush the rustling of her silken skirts. As the sweeping sound reached the stair-head, Besgie opened her door. Maud stopped short, her black dress fading into the darkness about her, so that her white face peemed to be floating unattached through the air like an optical delusion. “Why, mommer,” she said, faltering- ly. “I thought you were in bed.” Has the Count gone?” queried her mother, with an unusual sternness of tone “Yes,” said the girl, “he’s gone. He— he—went early to-night.” “Why did he go so early?” “He didn't want to stay any longer.” Maud was terrified. Her hand clutch- ng the balustrade was trembling and icy. In her father’s lifetime she had known that she would never dsre to tell of her engagement to Latimer. She would have ended by eloping. Now, the fear of her mother, who had always been the gentler parent, froze her timid soul, and even the joy of her love seemed swamped in this dreadful mo- ment of confession. “Did the Cofint ask you to marry him?” gaid Bessie. “Yes! and—" with tremulous desper- ation, “T said no, I couldn't.” “You said no! that’'s not possible. You couldn’t be such a fool.” “Well, I was, and I said it.” “Come in here,” Maud,” sald her mother, standing back from the door- way; “we can't talk sensibly this way.” But Maud did not move. she said, like a naughty child; “there’s nothing to talk about. I don’t want to marry him and I told him so and he's gone, and that's the end of it."” “The end of it! That's nonsense. I want you to marry Count de Lamolle. I don’t want to hear silly talk like this. I'll write to him to-morrow.” “Well, it won't do you or him any goed,” said Maud, to whom fear was giving courage, “for I won't marry him, and neither you nor he can drag me to the altar if I won't go. It's not the time of the Crusades.” If Maud's allusion was mot precisely illuminating, her mother understood it. “It may not be the time of the Cru- sades,” she sald, grimly, “but neither is it the time when girls can be fools and no one hold out a hand to check them. Do you realize what this marriage means for you? Position, title, an en- trance into society that you never in any other way could put as much as the end of your nose into.” “If 1 don’t want to put even the end of my nose into it, what good does it do me? You know I hate soclety. I hate going to dinners and sitting be- side people who talk to me about things 1 don’t understand or care for. I hate going to balls and dancing round and round like a teetotum with men I don’t like. And If it's bad here, what would it be over there where I don’'t speak thelr language or know their ways, and they'd think I was just something queer and savage the Count had caught over here with a lasso.” . Fears and doubts she had never spoken of to any one but Latimer came glibly to her lips in this moment of misery. Her mother was surprised at “her fluency, “You're piling up objections out of nothing,” she said. “When those peo- ple over in France kmow what your fortune is, make no mistake, they'll be only too glad to know you and be your friend. They'll not think you queer and savage. You'll be on the top of every- thing over there, not just ome of a bunch of bonanza hefresses, as you are here. And the Count? Do vou know any one so handsome, so gentlemanly, so elegant and polite in San Francis- co?™ “I know a man I like better,” said Maud, in a muffled voice. The white face, with its dimly sug- gested figure, looked whiter than ever. “What ‘do you mean by that?" said her mother, stiffening. “I mean Jack Latimer.” “Jack Latimer? One of your father's clerks! Maud, come in here at once. I can’t stand talking in the hall of things like this.” “No, I won't come in,” cried Maud, backing away against the baluster, and feeling as she used to do in her juvenile days, when she was hauled by the hand to the scene of punishment. “There's nothing more to talk about. I'm engaged to Jack Latimer, and I'm going to marry him, and that's the be- ginning and the end of it all. She felt desperately deflant, standing there In the darkness looking at her mother's massive shape against the glow of the lit doorway. “Jack Latimer!” reiterated Mrs. Shackleton, ‘“who only gets $150 a month and has to give some of it to his people.” “Well, haven't I got enough for two?"” “Maud, you've gone crazy. All'I know is that I'll not let you spoil your future. I%) write to Count de Lamolle to-morrow, and I'll write to Jack Lati- mer, teo.” “What good will that do anybody? Count de Lamolle can’t marry me if I don't want to. And why should Jack Latimer throw me over because you ask him to? He,” she made a tremu- lous hesitation that would have tauched a softer heart, and then added, "he likes me.” “Likes you!"” repeated her mother, with furlous scorn, “he likes the five million dollars.” “It's me,” said Maud, passionately; “It isn't the money. And he’s the only persen in the world except Win who has ever really liked me. I don't feel when I'm with him that I'm so ugly and stupid, the way I feel with every- body else. He likes toc hear me. talk, and when he looks at me I don’t feel as if he was saying to himself, ‘What an ugly girl she is, anyway.” But I feel that he doesn’'t know whether I'm pretty or ugly. He knows he loves me the way I am.” luxury of laziness. At the top of the fourth flight she paused, panting, while the astonished office boy stared at her, recognizing her as the chief's mother. Mrs. Willers was in her eubby-hole, with a drop-light sending a little circle of yellow radiance over the middle of the desk. A litter of newspaper cuf- tings surrounded her, and Miss Peebles, at the moment of Mrs. Shackleton’s en- trance, was in the cane-bottomea chair, in which aspirants for journalistic honors usually sat, The rustle of Mrs. Shackleton's silks and the faint ad- vancing perfume that preceded her an- nounced an arrival of unusual distine- tion, and Miss Peebles had turned un- easily in the chair and Mrs. Willers was peering out from' the circle of the drop- light, when the lady entered the room. Miss Peebles rose with a flurried haste and thrust forward the chair, and Mrs. Willers extricated herself from the heaped up newspapers and extended a welcoming hand. The greetings ended, the younger woman bowed herself out, her opinion of Mrs. Willers, if possible, higher even than it had been before. Mrs. Willers was surprised, but dis- creetly refrained from showing it. She had known Mrs. Shackleton for several years, and had once heard, from her late chief, that his wife approved her matter and counseled her advancement. But tg have her appear thus unan- nounced in the intimate heat and bur- den of office hours was decidedly un- expected. Mrs. Shackleton knew this and proceeded to explain. “You must think it queer, my coming down on you this way, when you're up to your neck in work, but I won't keep you ten minutes.” She looked at the small nickel clock that ticked aggres- sively in the middle of the desk. “And I know you are too busy a woman to ask to come all the way up to my house. So I've come down to you.” “Pleased and flattered,” murmured Mrs. Willers, pushing back her chair, and kicking a space in the newspapers, g0 that she could cross her knees at ease. “But, don’t hurry, Mrs. Shackle- ton. Work's well on and I'm at your disposal for a good many ten minutes.” “It's just to talk over that letter you sent me by Win. What do you under- stand by Miss Moreau’s behavior, Mrs. Willers?” “I don't understand anything by it. I don’t understand it at all.” “That’s the way it seems to me. There’s only one explanation of it that I can see, and you say that isn’t the right one.” “What was that?” “That there’s some man here sh2's interested in. When a girl of that age, without a cent, or a friend or a pros- pect, refuses an offer that means 2 FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL. marry him {f he was hung all over with dlamonds and was going to give her the Con Virginia for a wedding present.” “Bosh!” ejaculated her companion, with sudden, sharp irritation. “That's what she says. They have no money to marry on, T suppose, and she's try- ing to keep her engagement secret. It explains_everything. I must say I'm relieved. I had the girl on my mind, and it seemed fo me she was so sense- Jess and fly-away that you didn't know where she'd fetch up.” Mrs. Willers was annoyed. It was not pleasant to her to hear Mariposa spoken of this way. But a long life of struggle and misfortune .had taught her, among other valuable things, the art of hiding unprofitable anger under a bland smile. “Well, all I can say,” she sald, laugh- ing quite naturally, “Is that I hope vou're wrong. I'm sure I don’t want to see her married to that man.” “Why not?” queried Mrs. Shackleton, with the sudden arrested glance of sur- prised curiosity. ‘“What is there to ob- ject to in such a marriage?” “Hundreds of things,” answered Mre. Willers, feeling that there are many disadvantages in having to converseé with your employer’s mother on the subject of ome of your best friends. “Who knows anything about Barry Es- sex? No one knows where he comes from, or who he is, or even if Essex is his name. I don’t belleve it Is, at all 1 think he just took it because 1. sounds like the aristocracy. And what's his record? I'll lay ten to one there are things behind him he wouldn’t like to wee published on the front page of The Trumpet. He's no man tomake a girl happy.” “You seem to be taking p good deal for granted. Because you don’t know anything about him, it's no reason to suppose the worst. He certainly looks and acts llke a gentleman, and he's finely educated. And isn’t it better for a girl like Miss Moreau to have a hus- band to take care of her than to go roaming around by herself, throwing away every chance she gets, for some crazy notion? That young woman’s not able to take care of herself. The best thing for her is to get Barry Essex to do it for her.” “I've known women,"” said Mrs. Will- ers, judicially, “ who thought that a bad husband was better than no hus- band at all. But I'm not of that opinion myself, having had one of the bad ones. Solomen said a corner of a housetop and a dinner of herbs was better than a wide house with a brawling woman. And T tell you that one room in Tar Flat and beef’s liver for every meal is ———————eeee DON’'T MISS THIS PHOTOGRAPH. ‘When Tonnessen secured the beautiful boy. who makes up one of the group of fig- ures in his latest art creation, “An Easter Offering,” he found the most per- fect subject in America. This colored photograph, which is a spiritual mas- terpiece, will be given free with the Next Sunday Call Easter Edition. o . She burst into wild tears, and before her mother could answer or arrest her, had brushed past her and fled up the next. flight of stairs, the sound of her sobs floating down from the upper darkness to the listener’s ears. Bessie retreated into the boudoir and shut the door. Maud ran on and burst into her own room, there to throw herself on the bed and weep despairingly for hours. She thought of her lover, the one human being besides her brother who had never made her feel her inferiority, and lying limp and sheken among the pillows, thought with a wild thrill of longing of the time when she would be free to creep into his arms and hide the ugly face he found so satisfactory upon his heart. In the morning, before she was up, Bessie visited her and renewed the con- versation. of the night before. Poor Maud, with a throbbing head and heavy eyes, lay helpless, answering questions that probed the tender secrets of the clandestine courtship, which had been to her an oasis of almost terri- fying happiness in the lonely repression of her life. Finally, unable longer to endure her mother's sarcastic allu- sions to Latimer’'s disingenuousness, she sprang out of bed and ran into the bathroom, which was part of the suite she occupied. Here she turned on both taps, the sound of the rushing water completely drowning her mother’s voice, and sitting on the side of the tub, looked drearily down into the bath while Bessie's concluding and indig- nant sentences rose from the outer side of the door. Mrs. Shackleton lunched alone that day. Win generally went to his club for his midday meal, and Maud had gone out early and found hospitality at the house of Pussy Thurston. Bessie had done more thinking that morning in the intervals of her domestic duties —she was a notable housekeeper and personally superintended every depart- ment of her establishment—and had de- cided to dedicate part of the af(?noon to the socléty of Mrs. Willers. Qne of the secrets of Mrs. Shackleton’s success in life had been her power to control and retain interests in divers matters at the same time. Maud’s unpleasant news had not pushed the even more weighty subject of Mariposa into abey- ance. It was as prominent as ever in the widow's mind. She drove down to The Trumpet office soon after Junch and slowly mounted the long stairs. It would have been a hardship for any other woman of her years and weight, but Bessie's bodily energy was still remarkable, and she had never indulged herself in the successful and maybe a famous future, what's a person to think? Something's stopping her. And the only thing I know of that would stop her is that she’s fallen in love. But you say sne hasn’t.” “She don't strike me as being so. She don’t talk like a girl in love.” 3 “Is there any man who is interested in her and sees her continually?” Mrs. Willers was naturaily a truthful woman, but a hard cxperience of life had taught her to prevaricate with skill and coolness when she thought the occasion demanded it. She saw no menace now, however, and was en- tirely in sympathy with Mrs. Shackle- ton in her annoyance at Mariposa's ir- ritating behavior. “Yes,” she said, nodding with grave eyes, “there is a man.” “Oh, there is,” said the other, bend-. ing forward with a sudden interest that was not lost upon Mrs. Willers. “Who “One of our men here, Barry Essex. “Essex!"” exclalmed the widow, with a sudden light of relieved comprehen- sion suffusing her glance. “Of course. 1 know him. That dark, foreign-look- ing man that nobody knows anything about. Mr. Shackleton thought a great deal of him; said he was thrown away on The Trumpet. He's not a bit an or- dinary sort of person.” “That's the one” saild Mrs., Willers, nodding her head in somber acquies- cence. “And you're right about no- body knowing anything about him. He's a dark mystery, I think.” “And you say he's in love with her?” ““That's what I'd infer from what she tells me.” “What does she tell you?” “He's asked her to marry him.” “Then they're engaged. That ac- counts for the whole thing.” “No, they’re not engaged. She's re- fused him.” “Refused him? That girl who's been living in an abode at Santa Barbara, refuse that fine-locking fellow? Why, she’ll never seen a man like that again in her life. She's not refused him? Of course, she’s engaged to him.” “No, you're mistaken. She's not. She doesn’t like him. “That's what she tells you. Girls al- ways say that sort of thing. That ex- plains the way she's acted from the start. He hadn't asked her when Mr. Shackleton was alive. She's engaged to him now and doesn’t want to leave him. She struck me as just that soft, senti- mental sort.” “You're wrong, Mrs. Shackleton; I know Mariposa Moreau. She tells the truth; all of it. That's why it's so hard sometimes to understand what she means. We're not used to it. She > + better than a palace on Nob Hill with a husband that's no account.” “I'm afraid you're inclined to look on the dark side of matrimony,” saild Mrs. Shackleton, laughing, as she rose from her chair. “May be 80,” said the other; “but af- ter my experience I don't think it such a blissful state that I want to round up all my friends and drive them into the corral, whether they want to go or not.” Mrs. Shackleton looked down for a pondering moment. She was evidently not listening. Raising her head she met Mrs. Wilers' half-sad, half-twink- ling eyes with a gaze of Keen serutiny, and said: “Then if it isn't a love affair, what is it that's made Miss Moreau change her mind?" “Ah!” Mrs. Willers shrugged her shoulders. “That's what I'd like to know as well as you. I can only say what it's not. “‘And that's Barry Essex. Well, Mrs. Willers, you're a smart woman, but you know your business better than you do the vagaries of young girls. I don't know Miss Moreau well, but I'd like to bet that I understand her this time bet- ter than you do.” She smiled genially and held out her hand. 4 “My ten minutes are up,” nodding at the clock. “And I'm too much of a business woman to outstay my time limit. No"—in answer to Mrs. Willers’ polite demur— “I must go.” She moved toward the door, paused and said: “Isn't Essex a sort of Frenchman? Or wasn't he, anyway, brought up in Paris, .or had a French mother, or something?" “As to his mother,” said Mrs. Willers, sourly, “the Lord alone knows who she was. I've heard she was everything from the daughter of a duke to a snake charmer in a dime museum. But he told me he was born and partly edu- cated in Paris, and Madame Bertrand, at the rotisseris, tells me he must have been, as he talks real French, not the kind you learn out of a book. “He certainly looks like a French- man,” sald the departing guest. “Well, good by. It's a sort of bond between us to try to settle to her advantage this silly girl who doesn’t want to be set- tled, If you hear any more of her af- fair with Essex, you might let me know. In spite of my criticism, I take the greatest interest in her. I wouldn’'t criticize if I didn’t.” As Mrs, Shackleton was slowly de- scending the long stairs, Mrs. Willers still stood beside her desk,. thinking. The visit had surprised her in the be- then ginning. Now it left her feeling puz- zled and vaguely disturbe® Why aid Mrs. Shackleton seem to be so desirous of thinking that Mariposa was be- trothed to Essex? The bonanza king's widow was a woman of large charities and carelessly magnificent generosities, but she was also a woman of keen in- sight and unwavering common sense. Her interest in Mariposa was as strong as her husband's and was entirely ex- plainable as his had been, in the light of their old acquaintance with the girl's father. What Mrs. Willers could not understand was how any person who had Mariposa Moreau’'s welfare at heart could derive satisfaction from the thought of her marrying Barry Es- sex. CHAPTER XVIL FRIEND AND BROTHER. “‘Wisdom Is good with an inheritance, and Is profit to them that see the sun.” Mariposa’s $16 a month had been aug- mented to $28 by the accession of three new pupils. These had been acquired through Isaac Pierpont, who was glad to find a cheap teacher for his poten- tial prima donnas, who were frequently lacking In the simplest knowledge of instrumental music. Mariposa was impressed and flattered by her extended clientele, and at first felt some embarrassment in finding that one of the pupils was a woman ten years older than herself. The worry she had felt on the score of her living was now at rest, for Plerpont had promised her his continued aid, and her new scholars professed themselves much pleased with her efforts, Her mohthly earnings were sufficient to cover her exceedingly modest living expenses. The remnants of her fortune —the few dollars left after her moth- er’s funeral and the money realized by the sale of the jewelry and furniture that were the last relics of their beaux jours—made up the amount of $320. This was In the bank. In the little desk that stood on a table In her room was the $500 in gold Shackleton had sent her. She had not touched it and never intended to, seeming to repudlate its possession by keeping it thus secret and apart from her other store. The time was wearing on toward mid- December. Christmas was beginning to figure in the conversation of Miguel and Benito, and with an eye to its ap- proach they had both joined a Sunday school, to which they piously repaired every Sabbath morn. They had intro- duced the question of presents in their conversations with Mariposa with such smiling persistence that she had finally promised them that, on her first free afternoon, she would go down town and price certain articles they coveted. The afternoon came within a few days af- ter her promise, one of her pupils send- ing her word that she was invited out of town for the holidays, and her les- sons would cease till after New Year’s. The pricing had evidently been sat- isfactory, for, late in the afternoon, Mariposa turned her face homeward, her hands full of small packages. It was one of the clear, hazeless days of thin atmosphere, with an edge of cold, that are -~attered through the San Francisco winter. There is no frost in the air, but the chill has a segrching quality which suggests winter, as does the wild radiance of the sunset spread over the west in a transparent wash of red. The invigorating breath of cold made the young girl's blood glow, and she walked rapidly along Kearny street, the exercise in the sharp air causing a faint, unusual pink to tint her cheeks, Her intention was to walk to Clay street and then take the cable- car, which in those days siid slowly up the long hills, past the Plaza and through Chinatown. She was near the Plaza, when a hail behind her fell on her ears, and turning shie saw Barron close on her heels, his hands also full of small packages. He had been at the mines for two weeks, and she could but notice the unaffected gladness of his greeting. She felt glad, too, a circumstance of which, for some occult .reagon, she was ashamed, and the shame and the gladness combined lent a reserved and yet conscious qual- ity to her smile and kindled a charm- ing embarrassment in her eye. They stood by the curb, he looking at her with glances of naive admiration, while she looked down at her parcels. Pass- ers by noticed them, setting them down, she in her humble dress, he in his un- metropolitan roughness of aspect, as a couple from the country, a rancher or miner and his handsome sweetheart. He took her parcels away from her, and they started forward toward the Plaza. “Do you hear me panting?” he said, laying his free hand on his chest. “No, why should you pant?” “Bécause I've been running all down Kearny street for blocks after you. I never knew any one to walk as fast in my life. I thought even If I didn't catch you you'd hear me panting be- hind you and think it was some new kind of fire engine and turn round and look. But you never wavered—simply went on like a racer headed for the goal. Did you walk so fast because you knew I was behind you?” She looked at him quickly with a side glance of protest and met his eyes fuil of quizzical humor and yet with a gleam of something eager and earnest in them. “I like to walk fast in the cold air. It makes me feel so alive. For a long time I've felt as though I were half dead, and you don’t know how exhila- rating it is to feel life come creeping back. It's like being able to breathe freely after you've been almost suffo- cated. But where did you see me on Kearny street?” . “] was in a place buying things for the boys. I ws looking at a drum for Benito, and I just happened to glance up, and there you were passing. 1 dropped the drum and ran.” “A drum for Benito! Oh, Mr. Barron, don’t get Benito a drum!” He could not control his laughter at sight of her expression of horrified pro- test. He laughed so loudly that people looked at him. She smiled herseif, not quite knowing why, and insensibly both feeling curiously light-hearted, they drew closer together. “What can I get?” he said at knives and guns, and I knew that they wouldn't do. Benito would cer tainly kill Miguel and probably grand- ma. I thought of a bat and ball, and then I knew he'd break all the win- dows. The man in the store wanted to buy a bow and arrcw, but [ saw taking his revenge on the cra Benito's a serious problem any way take him.” They had come to the Plaza open space of sand, round which th wild, pioneer city swept in whirlpo currents, now already showing the lichened brick and dropping plaster, the sober line of house fronts, of an aging locality. Where Chinatown backed on the square the houses had grown ori- ental, their western ugliness, disguised by the touch of gilding that, here and there, incrusted their fronts. the sway- ing of crimson lanterns, the green zig- zags of dwarf trees. the Clay-street hill the west shor through smoke which filled the air with a keen, acrid smell. It told of hearth fires. And oozing out of a thousand chimneys and streaming across the twilight city it told of homes where the good wife made réady for her man “Let’s not take the cars,” sald Bar ron. “Let’s walk home. Can you man- age those hills?” She gave a laughing assent, and they turned upward, walking slowly fitted the climb. Chinatown opened b fore them like the mysterious, val haunt of robbers in an old drawing. The murky night was settling on Itf, shot through with red gleams at the end of streets, where the sunset pried into its peopled darkness. The black- ness of yawning doorways and stealthy alleys succeeded the brilliancy of 2 gilded interior, or a lantern-lit balcony Strange smells were in the air, aromatic and noisome, as though the dwellers in this domaln were concocting their wizard brews. There was a sound of shifting feet, a clatter of guttura volces, and a vision of faces passing from light to shadow, ma d by a weird similarity, and with eyes like bits of onyx let into the tight-drawn skin. The ascent was long and steep, and they walked slowly, talking in a desul- tory fashion. Mariposa recounted the trivial incidents that had ta place in the Garcia house during her com panion’s absence. As they breaste ¢ last hill the light grew brighter, for the sunset still lingered in a reluctant glow “Take my arm,” said Barron. “You're out of breat! She took It, and they began slow mount the last steep blocks. She glanced up at him to smile her thanks for his support, and met his eyes, look- ing intently at her. - The red light strengthened on her face as they as- cended. “1 looked ne him ady you once an as be medie ) tout Women made thin By Wearing Our Belt-Reducing Corsets. It supports the bust in nat- ural position and lengthens the waist. Cut low and full around the top, with the waist line running low in front. A circular belt around the bot- tom sets snugly over hips and abdomen, giving that long- waisted, straight-front figure so much desired. Tt the ideal corset for comfort. Boned throughout with dou- ble aluminoid boning, which is unbreakable, also rust-proof. 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