The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, December 18, 1904, Page 10

THE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL. girl's voice, “we to animals in 1 ‘Meaning dogs?” sald a man eitting on the other he hearth. yves, meaning cats and dogs ses, and anything else that nder the categery of domestic Living in Queen's House- 4 having no carriage, be- ave all our work cut out to Jueen’s House-crescent going means having no once—we haven't rzaf mals, just as a e majority I am ted to Oscar is ern writer, much. I saw, soon as I cast my eye over him, that as : i : : : “May I see this paragon?” asked the man. *““Certainly; I shall be proud to show her to you. Stay here and talk to Ger- aldine, and I will find the Altogether Adorable.” The girl whisked out of her big chair’ ;nd crogsed the big studio toward the joor. “Turn on the lights as you go out, Effie,” said Geraldine, and in a moment half a dozen electric lights, delicately shaded, flooded the apartment with a delightful radlance. Geraldine Harka- way got up from her lounging chair and went nearer to the fire, “You have started her op her pet ANNOUNCEMENT. For the purpose of encouraging California and Western writers, by offering a consideration for short stories equal to that paid by the best magazines, and for the purpose of bringing young and unknown writers to the front. the Sunday Call announces a weekly fiction con- test in which a cash prize of $50 will be paid each week for the best story submitted. There is no section of America more fertile in ma- terial for fiction or more prolific in i material at hand than ig California and the day Call offers $so for the best story submitted each week by a West- Stories of Western life and Western characters will, as a rule, be given the preference, but all strong stories, and especially strong stories, by new writers, will receive careful consideration. Each story will be judged strictly upon its literary merit. Type- written copy is the easiest to read and will receive the first consider- ation from the editor. but do not hesitate to send a story in hand- writing if you cannot afford to have it typewritten. Fiity dollars in cash for a story of not less than 2500 words and not more than 3500 words is approximately $17 per thousand words, or 1.7 cents per word. The highest price paid by the leading magazines for the work of any but the very best writers is rarely more than est. fancy picture or a portrait?” “Oh, I want a portrait, absolutely a postrait. A respectable size—as big as that,” poirnting to a large canvas that stood "against the wall. “All right. I shall have to come to his stables and paint him in the yard, there is nowhere here to pose an ani- mal of that size.” “I will make every 'arrangement,” seid Major Bruce. “I think I can ar: rapge for you to palnt him under cover. You could not possibly sit outside this weat! er. There is a feel- ns gifted to give spirit .to the Therefore the Sun- he would turn out two cents a word, more often one cent and a half, and generally one a beauty. And so cent. With the majority of magazines the writer, after his story is ac- has—not only a cepted, is compelled to wait until the publication of his story before beauty but the he is paid, a period of seldom less than six months. and usually from gu;"f - ;{Cn’l:!:‘f nine months to 2 year. The stories accepted in this contest will be e 4 gud for immediately upon publication, and will be published on the “And the cats? rst Sunday following the judring of the week's manuscripts. "Oh, the cuist 09060000200000000000 Well. there's mor. 00000000 ? 9900060000008060368 wenna, she's a black lady of no partic- subject, Mejor Bruee,” she said, laugh- ing of snow in the ular value, just a plece of ordinary English black velvet, guaranteed never to go off color, and warranted to wear well. Then there's a blue Persian, whom we call Arbuthnot Woods. He is a person of value, and a gentleman of fortune, possessing real property in the shape of silver cups, medals and collars. But the pride and darling of my heart is Maudie Marguerite.” Maudie Marguerite is a cat?” the men “Yes, I suppose an unfeeling person would call her a cat.” “Oh,” cried another voice, just be- yond the ring of light cast by the fire. “Bffie believes in a rather queer creed where her animals are concerned. She believes they all have souls.” “And so do you,” rejoined Effie. “And so I do. I love my animals; they are always the same, they never turn on one, they are never spiteful. If they do by chance happen to scratch or bite, they never mean it.” “And Maudie Marguerite is a Per- sian?” “Yet, a Persian.” “Blue?” No, not blue. said She is a golden tabby with amber eyes,” Effie Harkaway re- plied. The voice from the big chair beyond the ring of “Maudie ) light broke in again. arguerite is a very nice Per- al what is ordinarily known among show people as a French long- haired cat.” hing of the kind,” rejoined Effie. “She’s a rich golden-brown color, heav- arked with black, with eyes of French tabbies, 28 a rule, have ves like green jade, and Maudie Mar- gucrite has none of ‘the usual marks of a French tabby.” ber. As how®™ W a French long-haired tabby has very lomg limbs, and a larger head than you find in the major- ity of Persians, and they are gray and black thout any tawny tints. This is squarely made, thick in her ather short and stumpy on her Her feet are not very small and tufts of black fur between the $ he has a bushiér look than you usuaily find in a French cat. On her forehead the black marks make a ‘dis- tinet M on the tawny background, which s the reason we have called her Maudie Marguerite.” ing a little. “Effle is mad on animals.” “And children?” he put in. *“Yes, I think. she would be very kind to children if they came in her way. They do not come very much in our way. Three sisters and a brother living together, all grown up, we haven't a cousin in the world, and most of our friends are Bohemians like ourselves. Somehow we know very little about children. When we lived in France we always gave to the Little Sisters who came begging for the crphanages, and now we are in London we send some- thing at this time of the year—as much as we can afford—to one of the recog- nizged ways of enterteining the poor kiddies, and taking ther out of their squalid surroundings. S> these cats and dogs of ours fill a very real want in our lives. 1 do not know myself that Maudie Marguerite is all, as a beauty, that Effie describes her. You may think her & very ordinary speci- men of a long-haired tabby.’ . “A golden tabby wilh anmoer eyes,” Major Bruce repeated, in a musing tone. “It a pretty description, Miss Geraldine.” “Yes, very pretty. I am painting her portrait. 1 llke painting animals. I would rather be a second Madame Ronner for choicé, you kuow, than I would paint the portraits cf ‘fair, fat and forty,” even if I got paid in three figures for every one of them. See, there it is,” she said, pointing ro a half-finished portrait of a cat on an easel near bhy. Major Bruce got up and went lel; urely across the hearth to get a better look at‘the picture. “Your work is un- commonly strong and uncommonly goed. I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if you turned out a second Madame nner. By the bye, Miss Geraldipe, have you ever tried your hand at horses?” “I have.” “I wish you would take a commission from me. I have got a favorite charger, who was with me all through the war. Most_of the fellows left their four- footed friends behini “hen they came home. I was lucky enough to keep mine with me all the time. He was never sick or sorry a single day, and more than once he saved my life.” “I ghould love to paint him for you.” said Geraldine Harkaway. “Do you want a big picture or a little one, a air to-day, ‘it -is nippingly cold with a sting in the wind which always be- tokens the same thing.” Well,” said Geraldine, “if you can- not arrange for me to work under cover, we could wait till the weather is a Il(rt}ie bit more genial.” ‘Ch, ves, there is np particula e ry. Well, Miss EPHe—pogl haventth;olu got thhe cal “Oh, I can’t find her anywhere.” I have searched the ) o houyse from top to “She is hiding somewhere,” said Geraldine; “you know what a mis- chievous thing she ie. Last night we looked for her everywhere, lfimfly from roof to cellar. We made up our minds that she had gone—gone for l-.l\eri!;,”nnd where do you think we found “Nay, how can I tell.” ““Well, she was curled up in a big china bowl on the top of that press— in that bowl. She might have stayed there for a week, we should never have thought of looking there for her, but my brother came in to put out the lights and saw the lady emerge from her hiding place.” “Perhips she is there now,” suggested Effie. ) But the Altogether Adorable was not hidden in the big china howl, Presently Major Bruce took his leave, with a promise to come back the next afterncon to tell Geraldine what ar- rungements he had been able to make for the commission which he had just given her. “Gerris,” said Ffiie, when the door had closed behind hir, *that's a nice man. “He is a nice man. ¥e has just given me a comm:ssion. Q eomn\\sxs on !' f ““Yes, to paint a favorite charger was all through the war ‘Ilth‘lflxr:.l’."at Did you settle a price?” 'No, we never mentioned it. I have never painted a horse as a commissjon, ard I shall leave.the price to him.” “I think you ecan very safely do that,” said Effle, with a light laugh. Their confidences were disturbed by the en- trance of Winifred, the third of the sisters. 'Oh, my dears, how cold it is,” said she. “I have never been out on such 206000000003000000000S 0006 - ===—=——=Fach Week for the Best—————— SHORT STORY $ 50 § SUNDAY CALL $50 [3 0600000000059000009690 6008 nommooné $50 a bitter day In the whole course of my life. By the way, 1 hope you two won't mind. I have invited Dickie Mi{d- dleton to spend Christmas day with “Dickie Middleton! Why?" A “Oh, because he was so lonely and so wretched, He thought he was go- ing down into the country, but the people he was going to have got scar- let fever, and Dickie was so ineffably P e — miserable pt the idea of Chrigtmas at his club.” “All right, the more the merrier, We might have asked Major Bruce.” i"That was what he was spelling for. Why didn’t you?”’ “Why didn’t 1? Well, I knew he was epelling for it.” 5 “You might just as well. All alone, poor chap, with not a soul to speak to; or leeve—pot even his regiment to cheer him up, poer fellow!” “Oh, well,” sald Winifred, easily, “it is a very simple matter to rectify that. I will drop him a note to-night and tell him if he has nothing better to do, he can put in Christmas day here. I shouldn’t be a bit surprised if we have a white Christmas. It was beginning to snow when I came in, and the cold is something horrible.” In due course of time the three girls sat down to dinper. Roy Harkaway, the brother, who lived with them, and was, as Effie put it, their greatest pal, was diniog out that night, so the three sistere sat at the round table together. It was at the end of the meal, when the sinart parlor maid brought in the coffee, that the subject of Maudie Mar- guerite came uppermost. “If you please, Miss,” said the maid, addressing herself to Maudie Margue- rite's owne?, “we cannot find Maudie Marguerite anywhere.” “And I cannot find her anywhere, Simpson,” Bffie replied. “You dg not think she has got ouf “1 don't know when she coutld have got out. She has not been down In the kitchen since lunch time. She generally comes down for her hot milk at after- noon teatime. I have never known her tu leave two meals and hear. two bells without coming for her food. I have searched all over the house, Miss Effie. Eilen anid T have been searching while you were at dinner. We haven't left a corner.” Then the hue and cry began, but it was very soon evident that Maudie Marguerite was missing. There was ne lack of interest in conducting the search. The house was carefully gone over from rcof to basement. Eve drawer and wardrobe was searched, every basket and box was opened, but spending there was no Maudie Marguerite. 1I. There was desolation and woe in the honse of Harkaway, for when the cold and wintry. morn broke upon a white .world, the Altogether Adorable was still migsing from her accustomed place. * “Three inches of snow,” said Effle, when she same down to breakfast— “three inches of snow! And that little & creature, who has never been out in the cold in her , life—out in this!" and she flung her hands out with a esssesse An_author may submit as many manuscripts as he desires, but no one writer will be permitted to win more than three prizes during the contest. tragic gesture. *“Oh, she crept in somewhere,” said Geraldine. “Oh, yes, into some coal hole— some damp, evil-smelling coal hole.” That's better than the snow and wind,” said Winifred. “Oh, it is a poor best. No warm milk, no basket lined with warm flan- nel. The best is a damp, dark, nolsome coal hole.” . “The question is,” sald Geraldine, “what are you going to do?”’ “To do? I don't know what to do. Shall I make a pilgrimage to all the houses in Queen's House-crescent, ring up the servants, with apologies, say civil things, only to be told that ‘they haven't seen her, but they'll send her home if they do’—I know."” “I should certainly go to all the houses in the Crescent,” said Winifred, sensibly. “T wiil,” cried Effie. “I will go to ;:?_ry one but No. 16. I won't go to No. “Why not No, 162" “Oh, the man might think T was making an excuse~—" “I don’t think,” said Geraldine, “that he looks that kind of man. I think he is a painter, or he wouldn’t have taken a house with such a big studio. Bé- sides, you wouldn't see him.” k “I saw him the other day as I was going down the street,” said Effie, ‘“Hs looked at me in such an odd way—as if he knew me.” “Or, ag if he wanted to know you?" put_in Winifred. “Well, yes—as if he wanted to know me. No, no, I wouldn't go to No. 16— no, not for the world!” ““Then there’s another thing you might do. Put a bill in every shop window all round the neighborhood.” “What sort of bill? Printed?" “‘Have it printed if you like, but you could do it with a brush and some sepla. Gerrie might draw a portrait from memnory of poor Maudie Margue- rite.” “I wish,” flashed out Effie, “vou wouldn't make & cof it. We shall never get her ba you make a joke of it—ecvery inl is against it." “‘Oh, nonsense!™ cgied Winifred, at ‘which Geraldine shot a warning glance 4t her, meaning that Effie, the pet and baby of the establishment, must not be Always inclose return postage. unless accompanied by return postage. teased on & subject which lay so near her heart. It was Geraldine who sketched out half a dozen descriptions of the Alto- gether Adorable, using a big brush and making a very effective placard; it was Geraldine who helped Effle in her in- quirieg, and in going round the shops which were nearest to Queen’'s House- crescent; and it was Geraldine who, when the vilgrimage from one end of Queen’s House-crescent to the othsr was completed, suggested that she should go across and make inquiries at No. 16 ‘“Na, not No. 18—not for the world,” said Effie. “But T should only speak to the parlor maid, and T have seen her several times before.” “No, not No. against it.” “Oh, if you have a fegling against it, that is another matter.” And so the sisters went inte the house again, and at lunch, as had been the case at breakfast time, the lost Maudie Marguerite was' the one topie of eonversation. It wag Christmas morning, Christmas in dirty London. The church bells were ringing through the snow, which was trying very hard to make the world re- 16. I have a feeling splendent, and to cover up the dirt and misery of a London winter. The trees in the moon-shaped Inclosure which gave Queen's House-crescent its name were white and dainty, but the roads and pavements were in an inde- geribable state of squalid-looking, half- frozen mud. Christmas day was quite spoilt for the Harkaways. The great pile of letters and parcels which arrived about 11 o'clock were as Dead Sea fruit, because Effle wag so unhappy at the absence of the Altogether Adorable. “Come, we may as well enjoy our presents,” sald Winifred. “Oh, yes,” chimed in Geraldine; “come, Effie, there's a present for you from Bobby Myers.” “Yes, I sce there's something from Bobby Myers. I will open it, oh, yes, I will open it. I wonder if I were to put a bill in the window—what do you think?" “Oh, my dear, there will be nobody passing.” RULES. 1 No story will be considered that is less than 2500 nor more than sm words in length. The length of the story must be marked in p figures. . In the selection of stories names will not count. The unknown writer will have the same standing as the popular 184 As one of the objects of the Sunday Call is to develop a new corps of Western writers no stories under noms de plume will be considered. If a story earns publication it will be well worth the writer's name. v Stories nat accepted will be returned at once.. Those selected will be published one each week. This fiction contest will be continued indefinitely. Vi wvil No manuscripts will wvil Write on one side of paper only; Jast page, and address to the SU SAN FRANCISCO, 00090000856C0000 0000090 3000009203000000000006 CAL. “I have a feeling that if I were to put a bill in the window—Gerrie, write me a bill.” : So Geraldine left her parcels and quickly fashioned a bill setting forth a brief description of the I adorable one. “1 shall put it in the dining-room window,” said Effie, “and then ewery one who passes will read it. Half the shops are shut to-day.” “Of course, they are all shut, and only some of them will keep their win- dows open.” Away went Effile, carrying the sheet of paper in her hand. “Poor Effle, I de wish Maudie Marguerite would turn or. even if she's dead, that we sald Geraldine pitifully, as the door closed behind her younger sister. “8he will turn up,” said Winifred. “Mark my words, she will turn up. But, all the same, even if she does, two nights out in this horrible weather are enough to finish off a littic delicate creature ltke that.” Then Effie came in again, and, with the feeling of having taken one more step toward the recovery of Maudle Marguerite, began to open her letters with more zeést than she had shown so far. They had not finished their pleas- ant task before a great peal came at the front door. § ““That’s Major Bruce,” said Winifred. It was not Major Bruce; on the con- trary, Simpson, broadly smiling, usher- ed in the young man from No. 16 carry- ing under his arm a very sleek and prosperous-looking Maudie Marguerite. “T think this is your property,” he said, as he advanced into the studio. He lgoked from one to the other of the three sisters, not knowing whom to pointedly address. Effie rushed forward and seized Maudie Marguerite in her arms. “Oh, my little duck, my darling! Oh, where did you find her? We know who you are, but we don't know your name. You live at No. 16.” “Yes," said the young man, laughing a little, “I do live at No. 18, and my name is Carthew.”* “Carthew!” echoed the three sisters in the sante breath. “Geoffrey Car- thew ?"” “The same, ladies, at your service. You see, I am beforehand with you, I know your name. I have not been in England long, and I have been abroad for so long that I scarcely know a soul in London. I am very bold, very im- or. put name and address legibly on NDAY EDITOR OF THE CALL. pertinent, but may I say glad this little pet of yo because it has been the will allow it of introdu lighted to make acq Sure’-- Maudie Marguerite's r tion Is good enough for anybody. “Do you call her Maudie Margue- rite?” Goeffrey Carthew inquir “Yes, that is her name, but your ve almost always call her the Altogether Ador- able.” “And she belongs to you?" “No, to my sister here. She is pet to all of us, but she belongs to “And do tell me,” said Effte, her voice at last—“do tell me, how you find her? “Well, it was like this. I was c home the night before last, quite when I ran against this little creatu in the station entrance.” “The station entrance?” “1 saw was a kitten of value—I know something about cats—and it v wet and slu tr; much too cold and he dawdling about owner, so I carried i “Was she wet?” said Efffe, in an anxious voice. “Wet! She was the most miserable little specimen of a kitten I ever saw in my life. Her legs were like she was wet through, and plainings were pitiful to hear “What did you do with ! cried. “Well, 1 handed her r to v housekeeper. She, I bel washed her and dried @ ket.” “Did she reall i that kind stuffed with hot milk, and I n Heve she had a little brandy an but certainly before I was Jdry and warm and pe fortable. I gee,” "he sa changing the subject, gesture toward the easel him, “you have an artist ‘“That is my sister,” said Winifred, indieating Geraldine. She was here.” “T" must congratulate you on the strength of your work—this is an ex- cellent bit of draw- 000042 |, . He lingered for some time over Geraldine's can- vases, and then Major Bruce came in with Roy Hark- away, and the story of Maudie Mar- guerite’s . recovery was told over again. Roy’'s thanks were added his are to those of sisters. “We awful fools about animals here,” he said, as he grasped Geoffrey Carthew's hand. By Jove! If you want to make new friends, you co not have a better way of introducing yourself.” “I do want to make new friends,™ sald Geoffrey, look- ing straight into th. eyes of the other. “I have been out of England for ten years. I don’t know half a dozen men at my club; hardly a soul in of the family life be returned % | Londen and know nothing at all.” “Then where are you going to spend to-day?” said Effle “Ob. my servants want to be off on their own account, so I shall go to my club.” “The brother and sisters looked. at each other, and then Winifred said, with a pretty, elder sisterly air, “Mr. Carthew—er, would you mind—I don’t quite know—would you care—won't you come and dine with us? We are hav- ing & kind of free-and-easy day. Ma- jor Bruce has come now. We are go- ing to do all sorts of silly things this afternoon, and sillier things this even- ing. We made a bargain with our seryants that we should look after our- selves t orrow. Do stop—take us as we ar “1 should love to.” by, again it was A year had sone Christmas day. Winifred Harkaway sat at the very late breakfast table readipg her letters “Here's another for you, Roy,” she sald, throwing the m where her brother was ting. #Oh, it's from Gilbert,” and he put the Jetter down beside him and went on reading the closely written sheet in his han “Have you had a letter from Gerrie this morning?”’ he asked. “Ob, yes. She is worrying a little at our being left alone together, you and “Well, it's scarcely alone.” “Not alone at all,” said Winifred. I must write and tell Gerrie how 2 lunch goes off at No. 16, and how the dinner goes off here to-night. Only think, a year ago to-day there were four of us, now Gerrie is Mrs. Bruce, and wintering in Egypt, and Effle, spite of her determina not to give the man at No. 16 the smallest encour- agement, is Goeffrey Carthew's wife. What a funny world it is!" “There’s just one thing. “If you want to get n ur had bLetter set up vy tent hisre, and I can stay on as your lodger.” “And if you,” said Winifred, blushing a fine and rosy red, “if you should be thinking of getting married, Roy—" “Hullo!" said Roy, “there's Effle com- ing across the road with Maudle Mar- guerite under her arm.”™