The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, July 24, 1904, Page 7

top of and a the faintly v T hes at the x pa rted e dropped rowed with across the T athietic-lo: a ooat, or b ® v 1 was a rap for I knew what an up the ce that over. e what on his d mizht patches e green went into the and have been especially hard he Pier to know different from the addr erhead. “I £0 very young, little. Tt w u £6 oft end of the heavy braid him and he fell to caressing ntly. As he still gazed over- he could not see that t lowered anéd two e regerding him stealt “And then when I came you were THE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL. err, Queern pon vou.unexpectedly in the shadowy Don » oh »f it again, Arthur Mor s0 vehemently that it brought him g posture. “Everything was and. we did have a good time, and then you had to spoil it all by t—trying to k—k—Kkiss “AND THEN YOU HAD TO SPOIL IT ALL BY T-TRYING TO K-K—KISS ME ! e -~ | me! I n—never graced in my lf with angry sobs. ‘“Please, Bess! was s—so d—disg— Her voice choked I can't bear to have | | | , and »d = social position that to ber with her marria, found this new charm im- attractive. He rejoiced that - an instant is ow But his eyes, if in fascination upon . were dark with unutterabie Her first words were Dpiteously de- fe e all the papers,” she fal- tered one believed it. Yoyr own mother ed the news of your death Iw h to God that it had been!” he said passionately. ‘‘When later I read of your marriage—well, 1 hated those who pulled the Spanish knife odt of my side She shuddered—her sweet lips paling. “But you look quite well-—quite like your old self,” she said anxiously. h, I got over that hurt all right. It's the other I can't get over. Put on your hat and come down on the beach, Isabel. That is, if your hus- band doesn’t object,” he added, with a slight, sarcas curl of his hand- some lip. She drew herself up proudly. “My husband,” she said eoldly. jects to nothing that T do! I with you for a short walk.” And she told herself the while she flung on hLer golf ezpe and cru little scarlet Tam O’'Sh: that still shoolr that this was the only time she speak with him . -~ She owed him an explanation, and he should have it. He must not.-be per- rue her emotion o belief that she st romantic attachment to- harbored ward him. . . - . hid them from the rionable town. The came up to them in thunderous mono- hind—over the vistas t surges of the ocean a fog, dense, illusory, silvery, erious. In its rifts phauto ships were visible, dipping and curtsey- ing on their noiseless course. ry harmonious,” said Roy Cameron grimly. “Might have been de 'to order as a setting for our lit- > comedy, eh? Nothing around us vague obscurity. And we three most hopeless of all the ghosts walk!” “We—three?” she repeated, not com- prehending. “You and I—and the ghost of our vanished happiness?” he said. “Oh!” she murmured. Then, for a lzl}m w h'llo they walked on in silence. Isabel,” he asked, suddenly, bend- ing forward to look into her averted face, “why did you marry that rich man?” Her wifely pride rose instantly in arms at the insinuation. “You speak as though Robert Graeme were a rich man only,” she said indignantly. “He ig a good man —a wise and honorable iman.” “But you did not love him,” Cam- eron went on mercilessly. “And you were engaged to me.” “They told me you were dead in the Philippines!” she burst out, ha- rassed and eager to have the talk over. “My brother Frank was in tremendous monetary difficulties. There was dis- grace of some sort ahead for him. Mother was breaking her heart over the whole matter. And then—then Rob- ert asked me to be his wife. I knew he could fix up everything. Besides, I was very fond of him. I always ad- mired him very much!” she ended de- fianl;‘y. . 5 3 “Ah!” he said, quietly—too quietly. “That wad the way, was ftor oY They had walked rapidly, quite out- stripping all the others sauntering in the same direction. Isabel was breath- less from haste. The hulk of an old beat, drawn high on the beach, offer- ed shelter from the rising wind and the too insistent clamor of the waves. that Mrs. Graéme sat down on an embank- ment of sand some children had made in the shadow of the boat. “1 shall rest a few minutes. aid was wholly unprepared for the viclence with which he broke into Then we will go back,” she Sh. You would go back to him? n it is I, Tsabei—I, who have the st, real right to you! If it were not for that accurs blunde about my death you would have bee waiting for me still.” White, stricken, shocked, she sat there while he raved on. She had never imagined such madness, nor such selfishness. For it was all of himself he spoke—all imgelf he cared. He would miss so. He had great possibilities, which only she could inspire. If she would only go away for awhile—let Graeme get a di- vorce for desrtion. Then they could be married amd leave this part of the world. He knew of a good opening in Havana. pense to her— She found her voice there. “Love!” she repeated. “Love!" And he cquailed a 'little before the grave scorn in her eves. : “You would, have me break my pledged vows, degrade my loyalty, bankrupt my life—for what?" She paused, shaken by the revulsion of feeling that overwhelmed her. Was this her ideal lover? Was this man— peevish, passionate,” wearisomely per- s[gten[—'gfl hero she had enshrined in her heart? “Oh, hugh!* “Hush!"": o) He thought she spoke thus because of the approach of others. Two men were leaning against the hulk of the boat on the farther side. But it was only after she had spoken that she recognized her husband’s voice. “If it were not for a certain knowl- edge I possessed, Travis,” he v- 5 say- ing, “I would not have urged the child to be my wife, long and dearly though I had loved her. It was not even that I could help her family out of a dire difficulty were I one of thé¥n, nor yet wholly because I was aware of the un- stable character of the man for whom she had, I understood, a eirlish pref- erence. It was chiefly because I knew 1 could not live long. I've heart trouble —of an incurable kind, my doctors tell me. She does not suspect, of course; she said brokenly. His love should make recom- she is_ all that is sweet and pure and womanly. But it does me good to know that one of these cays, when®he is free again she will .bave the pro- tection of my name, even though I am no longer with her. She will still be a and beautiful woman and a very althy one. “You understand I am only telling this to you in confidence, because you are such an old friend, d I could not bear to have you doubt my mo- tives. Shall we walk on?"" They went back toward the town, oblivious of the two in the shadow of the boat. Isabel rose quickly and looked out over the tumultuous waste of wate: A fluctuant color was hot in her chee! Her eyes were full of a brooding bril liance Cameron had never seen in them before. “You heard?” she asked him. “You knew that was my husband who spoke?” He nodded, misunderstanding her emotion. “If what he said is true, Isa- bel, I—will wait.” Ske flared out on him then. He would wait—he who was not fit to brush the shoes of that other man whom he flouted! That other man whom shé honored—whom she loved! She spoke in no uncertain terms. He quivered with the merited sting of her disdain. But he understood at last. And when she had flung away from him and was walking rapidly back alone he followed and caught up with her. ““Pll go away tc-night. Forgive me it_you can! See, the mist is clearing off." The silvery veil was rolling up like a scroll from the tossing, peevish bil- Jows. And the sun was shining forth, dazzling, resplendent. ““The mist has quite cleared,” she said. And then lower, “Thank God!" That night Robert Graeme, marvel- ing at her greater gentleness of words, the new tenderness of her smile, thrill- ed to think that perhaps his one wild dream was coming true after all, and that he might win the love he so craved. “Dear,” she said to him, “it is such a beautiful world. T am finding out that— I am happy!” He bowed his head over her hand that she might not see the rapture in his eves. And both found the silence sweet. (Copyright, 1904, by Kate M. Cleary.) you cry!" Anyway, as long as we are having a final straightening up I'm going to finish. the nasty business. ‘When I told you last night that I made & mistake, that I thought it was one of the housemaids, I told you a lie. There. Now I suppose it is up’for gooa!” “A le! Then you did'know? You did mean—but really, Mr. Morton, you must excuse me-from discussing this disagreeable subject any further. I said all T had to say’ last night.” She rose stiffly and went over to the boat for the tea things. All the while that she was rather blindly laying out her dainty lunch, her most inconsistent heart was sing- ing He did! I'm glad! «He did! I'm glad!"™ But the man sat very still, his face buried in his arms. Then she waited for the boiling of the water over the spirit-lamp with ap- parent fascination in its progress. The man looked up at last. “Yes, it was a lie,” he said misera- bly. “I knew perfectly well it was you. It's hardly ltkely ¥ should mis- take any one for you, Bess. I was just loving you very hard, and the moon was in the wrong quarter or something and mv head swam—and then it was over with. When I said¢I-thought it was the maid it was just a desperate attempt to make it easier when I saw how hurt you weére. Above all, Bess, don’t imagine for an instant that I ever thought you that kind of I had afeeling that things we ent with us, that we almost each other—such a com man in love! Itis fors so poorly of you that I wa given.” She turned on him a dazzling “I forgive you,” she said won’t you .hav is nearly beil Promptly he but the hand t mate. After a perce girl said sof! if you'd belleved What did you ex be kissed by a ma sald he loves © a sandwich? The water angry? Anywas train.” *Some day there’ll be ancther,” he answered comfortably . R P They rowed back man’s boat, oars had my: *#Queer_ about th the man half way across. “I—1 dropped ther I went to get the te: mall vo start to go.” Here they stopped agal erage rowboat ‘without some a: e (Copyright, 1904, by T. C. ' #HER 6———— By Lillian HERO =2 —_— G. Paschal —— HERE aren’t any heroes now- ¢ ada; hence my own celi- baey. Nell was nineteen. “T want a real man, one that can do things!” This with a lofty scorn and a eurl of her red lips as she thrummed her gui- tar in the light of the campfire. There had been a light d of snow during and the air was chill, though t; but Yellowstone Park is - “I can do one thing tantalizing liftle witch that ever walk- ed all over man'$ heart.” Jack Stan sprawled on the thick carpet of pine needles at her feet, glanced up half pleadingly, half quiz- zically into the pouting face of the small autocrat of the éamp. “Why won't you marry me? Your father I have enough.” she interrupted hasti- ordinary require- wealth, position, good looks, checking them off with her ink fingers. ‘“And I suppose a reason- able amount of brains—though in our way of living they are needed so little th: she paused suggestively. “Well, then, what's the trouble? You haven't yet said the only thing that will send me away like the other fel- lows—that you don’t love me—dear. As for the hero business, and all that rot=" “It isn’t rot exclaimed Nell in- dignantly “I know you think me schoolgirl-sentimental—I'm not. It's just this—you men, when you aremn’t impossible, are all so much alike these days—I can't differentiate. You're like your ugly, black clothes—all cut by the same pattern and apparently from the same cloth. How can a woman single out one above all others to love and to cling to ‘in sickness and in health™—¥ “*Till death us do part,’” he fin- ished low. “Why don't you do something to make me love you? I want to. I can’t!” She stamped her little moun- tain-climbjng boot hotly, “We don’t get at thé realness of life—a true, primitive instinct is unknown to us all. Even our pretended roughing it for the novelty af the thing is an ar- tificial sham. We come in & special traln; our tents are filled with hair mattresses, down quilts and Navajos. You must have a French valet to dress you each morning in that brave khaki suit of yours, which never saw real service and never willl My tailored short skirt came from Paris and 18 silk lined. Do you know my grand- father went over that old Mormon trail down yonder to the south with an ox team? And my grandmother walked beside it most of the way! I'd like to marry a real pioneer, a true, history maker. That's the kind of man I could love! He'd be a hero to me, if he didn’t have a dollar and had never heard of the twostep Nell held her flushed cheeks and shining eyes for one intoxicating in- stant up close to his dwa; therd turned like a flash and ran back among the white gleaming tents to her own lux- urious quarters, where a sleepy maid waited her coming. L The man picked up her guitar and held it lovingly like a child in his arms. It was hers, and he loved it for her sake. He knew he could feel all the “primitive instincts”—the long- ing for wife and child and the warmth of a home-fire instead of the cold splendor of his club—but how to make Nell see it and respond to it? Long he sat there by the ashening embers, while the tall, stately pines tossed their fragrant cemsers and in- toned their mournful chant above, and the cold moon lit up, one by one, the ghostly pillars of steam which rose day and night from the geysers and vent-holes in the Fire Hole Basin below. A huge, black bulk came lumbering from the deep shadows back of the ¢amp and skulked near the commis- sary tent, whence presently rose a sound of falling tinware and the ob- jurgations of the French chef, as Bruin ambled away with paws and jaws sticking full of the toothsome contents of the butter tub. As Bruin's sticky footfalls padded heavily down the slope, a slow grin overspread Jack Stanley’s face. He stood up and blew an airy kiss to the smiling moon. hes it “Yes, I know, You have all the “She wants a real ma sweet Mistress what she w: disappo: bands! He called a fire, tucked the gt and strode off to slept th eral The next grouped about t been fepl with whe to put out the tar und d, mou ogs drawn across its first kindling f team of h chaperoned drowsed on a fol sprawled about the f day’s adventures an the park. Twao or three kodak enthusiasts soon rose to go to dark tent to ¢ their snar “Give us a song, Nell,” begged Jack Stanley, handing h guitar. ng that old one—old to things primeval e let's have ‘In Days of ( Beld," and all the rest “That's a man's song,” girl. “But since—" senterice was left to } and Nell bent her brig ad ¢ beloved instrument and daintily the stirring acco: the old ballad. But her eves w challengingly to his when the ringing refrain: “Tll Hve for love, I'll live £ and die Suddenly a deep growl thundered of the dense darkness behind them eyes turned startled toward a eat black mass slowly emerging into the glare of the campfire. Jones and Trent beat a hasty retreat toward their tent —to get: their rifles, they explained eagerly afterward—and every one was téo busy then to remember that all their weapons had been sealed by the officials on entering the park. Mrs. Carter and the other women shrieked, scattered and fled screaming to the tents, all but Nell, who was too paralyzed to move. One white hand still cluag to the vibrant guitar strings. Her red lips, now paled with fear, were still parted, forming frozenly the last words of her song. Here was Jack's chance. He seized it instantly, also a red, burning brand from the fire. With this ‘weapon he bravely charged the shaggy animal towering above poor, terror- stricken Nell. Just as the huge forepaws reached out to clasp her In a crushing em- brace—one rasping claw did seratch her tender arm, the mark of which she shows proudly to this day—Jack’'s gleaming firebrand fell resoundingly again and again upon the grizaly. ‘With a roar of pain and a snarl at his antagonist the great bear released trembling Nell from his deadly clutch, and, amid a terrific odor of singeing , made for the cooling river a few yards below. “Nell, darling, are you hurt?” Jack's voice was tender with real concern as he remorsefully wiped the single red drop which oozed from the dear arm. She was clasped in a real man's hug this time and she crept close like a fluttéring, frightened bird into its nest. Her stubborn litle heart melted into gratitude, admiration and love and soon stilled its tumultuous fear throbs into a rapturous answer to the manly one that beat against it. Her trémbling arms stole about neek and her ripe lips met his, drink- ing in the blessed draught of mutual love and joy. “You are a real hero, dear, after all,” she-whispered. “Then you will marry me, sweet- heart?” the graceless youth asked un- blushingly. The answer went so in- toxicatingly to, his head that it was no.wonder Francois thought M. Stan- gly. So a Warrior retorted the of th agination she out An ley had been infbibing too freely, when an Rour later, in the strict privacy of the cook’s tent, he thrust a thousand-dollar bill to ~ that worthy’s hand with the remark “Oh, hgng the exnense—it's worth it!” To his conscience fafr in love and war'—a motto.” The Frenchman the lavish gratuity, ed bearskin at his feet. “Eet ees burn tres mauvaise,” he chuckled. “But, as M'sieu say—eet ees worth eet!” (Copyright, 1904, by Lilian C. Paschal) looked ju then at t yfully e wreck-