The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, August 7, 1904, Page 15

nk then back wharf, with the into glance into shore at links were al- ved but one ter Fana. dinner in lear girl,” his lings with Wil s adjusting you, never to 1an three more she gasped, the color b cheeks and her eyes So I am— that Jerrold e he had once owned, which nate a mad run with the s, planting his forefeet s pokers. At last he had touched a responsive chord. “You were atout to remsrk?” he prompted invitingly. IZthel Pixley, her face the piciure of annoyonce, experi- ed a sharp shock at her own heat. Since she had refused him twice and had every intenion of doing so again, even she realized the inconsistency of quick resentment. She did not love him—of course not; and yet—well, “one doesn’t like to think of a rejected suitor as having offered himself to other girls. “Might I ask just where I occur in the series?” she inquired at last, in a tone whose exaggerated indifference was 2s soothing to Jerrold as the heat of a moment before had been. He settled himself more comforta~ bly in his chair, wheeled it about so that it commanded that view of her profile that he had come to regard as her THE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL. Tamasa's } n eyes studied the youth d the link behind lings of the endless chain, f the study was made »pen encouragement whose gaze foll her in e cir d the result or sh repudiation th gplank kindly Tamasa's for Miguel, the received thirty- but Fana's gaze at eyes fruit, day; tha int dropped resolutely to her feet, for Miguel was ill-favored and ose in the ship's hold masa's good re changed to black looks, while s > rose swift 1d sweetly happily Rafo received but 19 but he was handsome and ed and straightforward. i circled the end- bearing its stream of ban- 1 the wharf to the hold, and g belts of sunshine and hanged the faces of old Tama- hful Fana as they went ank to hold and hold to Under ordinary circun the 'mpl ide for the but Fafo's unchanging d Fana's per- plank had HER LAST CALL | By Keith Gordon. —t one of the solid joys of a fleeting e: istence and answered her with che readine: “You are the fourth,” he announced shamelessly, and at the words her blazed into his again involun- tarily and he became lost ini a great contentment. Usually she refused him differently! It was: “You see, I love you in that way, though I want you for a friend. Somewhere there is a nice girl waiting for you and we'll find her together.” Jerrold gloated inwardly at the way in which the tables had turned and marveled at his own stupidity. He left a lively interest of fellow- ship with the worm that turned glow- ing in his veins. After months of ab- jectness he tingled with the conscious- ness that Richard was himself again and no ‘longer a man made weakly indulgent by his love. In the flutter- ing of her nostrils he could read the anger and resentment -that was surg- ing through her and he found the sight exhilargting. . She was In sad need of subjugating, this Katherine of his, and he applied himself to the task with a keener zest than he had ever before experiencd. There was just a hint of mockery in his tone when next he addressed her. “Of course,” he continued, as if the ten minutes of tense silence that had elapsed since his last remark was the most natural thing in the world, “it rests entirely with you whether ‘to be continued’ or ‘concluded’ shall be written after this, the fourth chap- ter.” The deliberation of his speech --as marked, and the darkening landscape suddenly ceased to absorb all of Miss Pixley’s attention. She turned toward him like & cornered creature prepared to conceal her chagrin to the ut- most. But at the expression of his yes £y = 3 face a cold fear touched her heart. Beneath his nonchalance she had ex- pected to discover some sign of Teel- ing—some indication of thé eagerness and pleading that had looked so plainly from his eyes on other occa- sions when he had spoken of his love. What she saw was the face of a superior, who looks with a certain amount of interest and indulgence upon the pranks of a willful child. She instantly felt as if she were a small, shivering thing in the midst of a big, cold world, though she clutch- ed frantically at her oozing dignity. “I don’t see how you dare talk to me in such a manner,” she began, with a look that was meant to crush him. But the rest of the sentence was lost, for, instead of returning to the worm state again—as by every token he should have done—he sim- ply burst into an amused laugh. The rhythmic rumbling of the wheels, the whirling lights outside where the dusk had deepened into velvety black- ness, the cheerful brightness of the car, all seemed unreal. She had boarded a train at Jersey City ke a queen with a faithful, hum- ble servant in tow, a servant whom, in her heart of hearts, she valued, but of whose devotion she was so sure that her estimate of him was disparaging for that very reazon: And now—two hours later—everything had changed! Even now, out of the tail of his eye, she could see that he was regarding the handsome, well-set head of a girl who occupied a chair a few rows ahead of them with the interest of a man who realizes that you never know when or how you may meet—Her! For the time being he actually seemed to have forgotten her royal self com- pletely. It was all very well to pretend to give her the choice—allowing her to abdicate, as it were. In reality, she T, i io i * was convinced that she was dethroned. “Handsome girl up there, isn't {t?” he observed with enthusiasm, turning toward her at last with the furtively apologetic air of a man who has mo- mentarily forgotten himself. “So weil set up! Look at those shoulders and the poise of that head! Regular Juno!” Ethel Pixley assented stiffly. “You have not always admired that type, though,” she added deflantly. “You used to say you thought girls like that masculine!"” “What a blind idiot I must have been!” was the placid rejoinder, “and how one's standard of feminine beauty changes—"" “From chapter to chapter!” she fin- ished sarcastically, and at the look of hot scorn that accompanied the words he had a gloating idea that the day was won, At this juncture a picturesque figure appeared at the end of the car, above whose snowy garments a head that looked as if it were finely turned bronze, rose superbly. “Last call for dinner in the dining- car!” called a musical voice, as he lounged down the aisle with the gait of a man who has his sea legs on. “Dinner now ready in the diming-car.” There was a brief pause when he passed them and disappeared at the other end of the car, but his volce floated back to them, barely audible above the rumble of the wheels, and freighted with a lingering ominous warning. “Last call!” A strange thrill ran through Ethel Pixley, and she turned toward the man beside her. It was only by an effort that she kept from holding out her hands to him. His face was grave almost to sternness, and under his masterful glance, her own eyes fell, and she wondered in a sort of desper- ation whether her lips were quivering. “As he says, Ethel, it's the last call, and I'm waiting for your answer.” Her only reply was a swift uplift- ing of the eyes that he remembered for years afterward as the sweetest thing he had ever witnessed in the way of April showers, and, later on, when they had responded to the last call for dinner, the wdliter wopdered and chuckled, too, as he tucked into his pocket the crisp two-dollar bill that he received as his share of the spoils. (Copyright, 1904, by Mary McKeon.) darkened more and more the tempes- fuous countenance of Tamasa, untif at last, just after they had passed the sul- len Miguel, her resentment got the better of her tenderness and she turned with a sharp reprimand. But Fana had not yet raised her eyes from her feet and the conse- quence of Tamasa's checking the reg- ular motion of the chain brought them together and swayed the bunch of bananas from its delicate balance. Fana tried to right herself, but in vain. A moment later there was a loud splash in the water twenty u_e( below, accompanied by a scream from Tamasa, who was peering down with wild, frightened eyes. Miguel was not ten feet away, but his face was sullen with resentment and anger and he made no move. Then there was a swift rush from the hold and a second splash and Rafo’s head rose to the surface with a merry shout of encouragement. A rope was dropped from the vessel, and even as Rafo’s left arm encircled the girl, his right hand shot up and caught it. Then he whispered some- thing to her and, with quick intuition, and courage equal to his own, she placed her arms over his shoulders so as not to impede his movements and then, hand over hand, he went up the rope until he could swing himself across the gangplank. It was a rare exhibiticn of nerve and muscle and the spectators sent up an involuntary shout of appreciation—all except Mi- guet and Tamasa. The old woman'’s face was drawn and tremulous, but the look she cast upon Rafo was as black as ever. “ome, Fana,” she whispered hoarse- ly, “we will not work any more to- day. We will go home and rest.” But Fana was leaning against Rafo, Instead of recovering smiling happily. Thoge few moments coming up the rope borne by the strong, confident Rafo, had been the happiest of her life. And now, upheld by his encircling arm, she did not care if the whole world—and her mother, too—were looking. “Fana!” sharply, must® not stand like that. It proper. I “Let the little one rest,” interrupted Rafo, pleasant “Don’t you see how weak she is. And I ke it.” “You—like it screamed Tamasa, ‘you is not losing control of herself entirely. “You—you nineteen-cent man! You grinner and jester! Oh, Miguel, come here!” But instead of Miguel, another man, 2 brisk young Englishman, pushed his way across the gangplank toward them. “Rafo,” he called imperiously. “Here, quick! I want to see you. I'm in & hurry. Oh, there you are,” as he saw the group. “Weil, I'm sorry to disturb you, but every second is precious to me now. I have an imperative sume mons to England to settle up an es- tate, and will have to be gone two years or more. I want you to take care of my finca until I return. I've had you work for me, Rafo, and know you are perfectly honest and trustworthy. What do you say? Quick! I must get my things ready and take this boat back. You will know how to cut and ship the bananas, and I will give you fifty dollars a rth and pay all the expenses. And, oh, ves,” as he no- ticed for the first time the figure en- led by Rafo's arm, “this will be a good time for you to get married. There is a comfortable house on the plantation you can live in. What do you say?” Rafo made him a low bow, showing his teeth he anawered, “we be married in twenty minutes, and you can leave in thirty—as soon as you have kissed the bride.” And then his merr fectious laugh rang out so heartilv that all had to join in, even Tamasa. “Si, senor,” % from fright, she was perfectly calm. (Copyright, 1904, by Frank H. Sweet.) : e L ¢ A NEW CLIMAX ¥ | By Hubert McBean Johnston. l Y i HYLLIS,” I asked, ‘‘will you =aid Phyllis. 1 looked in astonishment. “Seven?” I questioned. what?"" “Why? the score, you silly,” she re- sponded demurely. “Some one has to keep track of it.” That's the trouble with Phyllis. If her sense of humor were not so highly de- veloped I'm quite sure I would have had her ages ago. She never will take me seriously. “Bother the score,” I cried desperate- ly; “anyway, we'll not count the other six times. “But I would very much rather.” Phyllis was staring into the fire. I didn’t know just what she meant. I never was much good at guessing: “Well,” I answered indifferently, “just as you please. Count them if you like. All I meant was that none of them mattered so much as this time.” “Positively your last chance, ladies and gentlemen,” she cried gayly. I assented in my most dignified man- ner. Phyllls laughed. I do wish she would take me seriously once in a while. “Why'dg you keep on proposing to me like this?" she asked me. I shrugged my shoulders. “If you must have it,”” I replied flip- pantly, “I suppose it's my little form of diversion—my hobby, if you will. We all have our hobbies more or less, you know.” Phyllis frowned. I liked that frown immensely. Then she looked at me quickly when I was not expecting it. “You appear to be enjoying your- self,” she complained. “Me?” I queried in mock innocence. “Oh, I protest; really I'm not!"” Phyllis frowned again. “Well, then, you ought to be.” “I know,” 1 agreed; “I ought to be. Seven times ought to be productive of more than it has shown so far. I wonder,” I concluded dreamily to my- self, “I wonder if eight will do it.” “You haven't been answered for seven yet,” sald Phyllis. “No,” said I; “nor for any of the other six either.” “Now, there was Darcy Graham,” said Phyllis inconsequentially. “He asked me to marry him nineteen times and swore eternal devotion each time whether I would have him or no. There's a man for you!” “And then went and married Kitty Macpherson,” said I, almost to my- self. “No,” corrected Phyllis; married him.” “Willie Atkinson came next,” I ven- tured. “He only ran up to thirteen,” said Phyllis. “Which accounts for his failure,” I suggested. Phyllis paid no attention to my re- mark. “I think the little fellow from the bank whom I met in the summer came after that?” she murmured in- terrogatively. “Seven “Kitty “Surely you don’t count him?” I questioned in surprise. “Why, you told me yourself that he only lasted till the second round.” “He would probably have stayed longer if you hadn’t come down that Sunday,” said Phyllis in a vexed way. “You always do turn up at the most inopportune moments.” “Had I only known you didn’t want me—" I began. “I can't remember who was next,” said Phyllis quickly. “Do you know?” “I think,” saild I reflectively, “I added about two to my own score that day; I always liked you in white, you know."” “One,” said Phyllis, consulting her tablets. “Hold your head that way again,” I said. /“What long eyelashes you have Phyllis deliberately turned the othar way. “Hold it round,” I commanded. want to look at it.” Phyllis held it round. Phyllis likes to be commanded at times—only a fel- low's got to know when to do it. “A rather pretty mouth, too,” sald I gravely, “and your color is also very fair yet. One would never guess you were getting up in years.” “I'm not,” denied Phyllis with a certain assumption of dignity; “I'm only 23.” 9 “You don’t show it,” I responded gallantly. “Were I asked to make a guess I should say ‘sweet 16 and—'" “Quite so!” said Phyllis dryly. “How awful it must be to be laid on “p the shelf,” I remarked sympathetic- ally. “I'm not!" asserted Phyllis indig- nantly. “The very idea!” I murmured in a surprised sort of way. “I never even insinuated such a thing. But you know,” I concluded dismally, “you baven't had a proposal in three weeks."” “I have,” insisted Phyllis; one just to-night.” “Oh, but that doesn’t count,” said I; ‘“you told me so yourseif. These are only sort of trial heats to keep you in form, you know.” “Oh!" sniffed Phyllis. “‘Besides,” I added, “I need material for my storigs.” ’ “What a risk you are willing to run for the sake of material!” sald Phyllis. “It is necessary that. one make some sacrifices for the sake of art,” I «xplained. “Suppose, though, I were to accept you some time?” queried PhyRis in an awful tone. “I would haye a new climax for the next one,” said I. I flatter myself [ said it indifferently. 1 had expected Phyllis to be affected; instead, she burst out laughing. That's the trouble with Phyllis; she never will take me seriously. “You're a goose,” ed me. 2 “‘Aw, thanks,” I murmured. “Sa good of you.” Phyllis regarded me gravely. Now, it's an odd thing, but whenever Phyllis looks at a fellow like that he feels sort of funny all over, you know. I don't know just what it is. I think it must be what they call personal mag- netism. “I had she compliment- “Jack,” she said, “you have gray hairs.” “It's not polite of you to remind me of it,” I said. “And your complexion isn't as good as it used to be,” she continued. “Be- sides, there are a lot of little things— particularly about your clothes.” “Nothing serious, I trust?” I asked in alarm. “No, nothing serious,” said Phyllis. “But an awful lot of little things. I think you need some one to take care of you.” “Parks is an exceptional valet,” sald I in his defense. “Now, a wife—" began Phyllls, mus- ingly. I laughed. “Yes,” sald Phyllis, taking no notice; “I think you need a wife. Why don’t you propose to some nice girl, Jack?" “I have,” said I stoutly. “Huh!” snorted Phyllis in disbellef. “How many proposals have you ever made?” “Seven,” said I I think Phyllis was pleased. Anyway, she smiled a little. “There was the Rawshaw girl,” sald she warningly. “Nice girl,” I assented warmly. “Nothing particularly queenlike about a girl's carriage, though, when she’s only five foot three.” “And Bessie Fleming?” Phyllis was getting back at me. “A sweet creature,” I agreed; “but I really prefer blondes. “And then there’s a whole host of others you might have if you wanted ‘re a catch, you know." said I wearily. “You might have been nicer, though, and said that I was very popular. It all means the same, perhaps, but there are prettier ways of saying it.” “Oh, no,” said Phyllls sweetly, “you're rather nice as well.” “Thanks,” I replied; “but with a score of seven it does not seem to have bene- fited me greatly. Will it do me any good to make it eight?” Phyllis toyed with the corner of the sofa cushion. “You might do a great deal better,” said she deprecatingly. “Then I don't have to make it elght?" cried I, for once in my lite comprehend- ing. - “] did not say just that, sir,” said Phyllis saucily. I don’t thiz - T ever saw Phyllis look so beautiful, and the 0dd part of it was, I couldn’t see her eyes, either. She was staring full'into the fire all the time. If it makes her look that way, I wish she would look into the fire always. “But I do make it eight, Phyllis,” said I soberiy. I took hold of her arm and turned fier round =o that she was facing me; but she still held her head down and I could see only her eyelashes. Phyllis has long eyelashes. “And youw'll marry me, Phyllls? I whispered. I don’t know whether I raised my tone interrogatively or not. I hadn't the same control over my voice that I had the other seven times. Phyllis loeked at me with a funny lttle smile. She never will take me seriously. “I suppose this will make climax,” said she. But her looks belied her words and for once I was bright enough to see, “No,” said I as distinctly as my throat would let me, “this is not a elimax. This is a beginning!™ (Copyright, 1904, by Hubert McBean Johnston.) some a mnew