The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, December 18, 1904, Page 4

THE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL. ; BY _OPIE READ. KL EDITOKS DINRER . «nt sneczes hefore r there’'s likely to THE COURT %‘ R TR 2 ~ fast rain in nort t tow ship, range east. Looks tha too; and I Ke my way to me. I'll have to tions accordin’ brea kon pripara- st, there aln't ng otion, than with the bro the coals kfast t that don apd doll stuffin’ the spot where I live. Now a right yaller-leg chicken, a leetls more thar half grown, snatched off'n the face earth and fried before he knows what the matter with him—he's me, I w to tell v Made up your mind yit s who is to be the next President? E reckon you've been so busy yvou hain’t p much attention to it. This here social life too, keeps you on the trot a good deal, I reckon. And dinners, too: you have to go to them: and they eat dinners now in the night, I'm told. I like 'em best when the sun gits jest out as high as it ki ross the broad j the old log house. It wing of a half-fea the time don’t make so much differ uth Rock pt what they have to eat. Sorry my grily along he saw no signs ain’t at home. She could skeer up 10 seeming fear of danger the chickens for you. She got my dinner as quick the window, where could and hurried over to one of t amid the tendrils bors where the old, maid a corner of ain’t expected to live till sun 4 ucking pigs, all the women folks in the € enough sles in their are flockin’ over there, and I reckon hs have a good time. The old maid w gaged to be married and that make was it effort of memory death all the more interestin’. Don't . T B e g lect when old Dorb Sevien dled, do reme hurry. It was fresh in his mind as he heard I set up with him all the night aft pot rack, pot rack,” of a guinea hen. But with and along about twelve o'clock of vital concern he talked on" the condition of Judy, that worked there, skeere the country and of foreign probabili He didn't about as good a snack as I ever eat. Some load down his speculative mind with what had taker FTP‘mA'n ffl;s(i; that folks get hungry. but place. That would have been a matter of mere i old Aunt Judy wa'n't one of that 1 dustry. It lay within the keen province of his vision She had a way of fryin’ hominy in han to discover what might be done if such and such should gravy that would make a saint pop his mouth like a bull whip. T eat and eat— well, I jest eat till I forgot all about Old per If a certain prime minister sho resign, if the emperor should so far forget himseif as to say 80 and so in his coming speech, why it was clear or Dorb, in the next room. He was mighty t , that and the other would hapy And Old fond of cards, and Bill Atcherson 'lowed agreed that it was no doubt true. he was a lyin' there a waiting fo > sun lost its bz e and slipped over into the ast tiamp. ~Now, Bill, he's mon- afternoon. the waving vine at the window eitted o N st'us fond of good things to eat. Tuther softer light, and still there was no call from pot or day he brought me about as fine a mess of young squirrels as I ever set down to. Fried ‘em in the lard out of a mast-fed hog. And that reminds me. Is there anything sweeter than a chinqupin ham? Jest take and b'il it in cider about four days old and—I tell you, ve got suthin’ to smack your mouth pan. So at Jast, the editor arose and put his hat on his head, when the ame from the dining-room the rattle of dishes. Then he hesi- tated, turned about as if he had just thought of a wise thing to say, and sat down. I reckon a cat must have run said old Lim, and Shang W. Mow| low in despair. s about to r the table,” heart beat The editor got out of his chair. “Mr. Juck- Sorry, colonel, you didn't come a littie lin, I've stayed too long already, and must go.” earlier. Reckon you se ome of them “Don’t you do it. My work's putty well up pigs out there. Had one of their and Y've got nothin’ to do but sit here and talk. rothers roasted to a fall of the And as for you—you don’t need to look a ear brown, and—." The editor wa L nor the sun when it's slantin’ toward west. They say that time was made for sla and if you ever was a slave you were set f long ago. Sit down—just a minit. I'll give 3 a plece of news you can print in your paper.” And. fc & the editor to sit down, he con- tinued “¥ don’t reckon you hearn of what hap. pened over at Old Groggin's. Well, Groggin’s dang.- ter, Tilly, as likely a girl as you'd meet in a day's of a Sunda grabbed out his handkerchief and i his mouth. O Lim con ‘And I had some early »d as one that potatoes as pink- of th the Albunfin: what you call ‘em?” Alk 8," drawled the edi Yes, that's it; se side show when the when folks are goin’ to chu-ch 6 Pardy. “Ane ook up a notion that she was in love with a long. I had some of the b 8 T Feskun 308 Gvas lank feller that come down the river on a raft and saw—made out of this pearl corn. Hard! Why, you could have a grain of it set and wear it for a breast pin. Along with it all, too was a yaller pitcher full of buttermilk brought the spring houss, stopped at Moseley’s place. Now whuther or no* the logs belonged to him don't enter into the story. At gny rate, he sold 'em, and the first thing he done was to give a dinner in the woods, and the most urgent invite was sent to Tilly Groggin. He had seen her somew here, no matter where, and so, along with a number of others, she went. And it was a barbecue, mind you. They roast d sheep whole and—wait a minit—an@® ducks, too; and he had about two barrels of shell oysters that were brought in right fresh, and they roasted them on hot coals, and—" “But what happened? I'm in a hurry.” ‘““Happened? You jest wait a minit. By the time dinner was ready everybody was haungry, and the long, lank fellow, he takes up a.knife about as long as a scythe and begins to carve a mutton, and the brown juice began to run out, and—" “Turn me loose,” exclaimed the hungry man. “I've got to go, I tell you.” > And just at that moment old Mrs. Jucklin “Why, howdy do, Colonel Mowlett. comin’ he told me not to have dinner till he said so, and I don’t know what he meant by it unless it was one of his own sort of jokes, but as ~you must be hungry by this time you'll please walk out.” The colonel looked at Lim and the old man shouted and the old lady said: “Limuel, you ought to be 'shamed of yourself.” 'OPIE READ. (Copyrighted, 1804, by Opie Read.) e e it All at once she comprehended why “I told Bill to exercise them horses,” he muttered. “And this it was that she had hesitated to an- blamed ring has mighty short cor- nounce her erigagement until Ran- some should learn of it, why it ners. You better hold on tight,” he from I've got to go,” claimed, jumping up his hat on his head Wait a minit and let me tell you about it. Set down,” and the old man shoved the editor back into his chair. “And I do reckon I had some of the best sparrer grass that ever growed outen the ground, and these little brownish redishes that look ke a rusty-coat apple. Haungry! Why, colonel, I never was haungryer 1 my life. And Susan, my wife. she kept of a sayin’, ‘Do have another help to the pig’ and—well, I eat enough to last me for a week. I reckon you are that way, too. Folks must bring you thousands of things—these here women that write; don’t care much for suthin’ to eat themselves and fetch it to you. You may not make as much money as a county judge, but I take it you live oft'n the fat of the land. So you think that if this here prime preacher resigns—" “Prime minister,” continued the editor. “Ah, hah. And you think if he resigns and the Emperor ketches cold WHEN MAX By A. M. Davies-Og;len HE big, flower-filled drawing-room the editor ex- and clapping appeared at the door. When Limuel seen you a ly due to your instrumentality. I was brilliant with afternoon sun- shine. Through the open window came the sound of the trot of horses’ feet as they passed on the broad “Tnter den Linden.” Ran- some Prentice looked about him with a sigh of satisfaction. It was good to be back in Berlin. Then he smiled at the girl who was handing him a cup of tea. *“So here 1 am at last,” he said. “And, now, tell me the news. You left Amer- jca so suddenly that I had no chance to comeé and bid you goodby. How do you like yvour elevation to the rank of Embassador’s daughter? And has any- thing exciting happened so far? You see, I had to follow just to hear it all.” The girl hesitated, playing with the spoons on the dainty tea table. “There is not much to tell,” she an- swered slowly. “And yet there is one thing,” glancing across at him. “I think you will be pleased, as it is large- should never have—have known him so quickly had it not been that, owing to your old friendship, I already felt as if he were no stranger when we met. Of course you can guess whom I mean. It is not announced yet, but I am going to marry Max von Witzleben.” The man’s cup clattered in its saucer. But the next afternoon, seated in the box of honor in the big open-air arena, Miss Freeman appeared to have quite regained her normal spirits, chatter- ing gayly with both men. Von Witzle- ben, precise, neat, with parted hair and pointed mustache, sat on her right and the girl glanced critically from his somewhat impassive face to that of the American, with its keen dark eyes and steady, clean-cut mouth. The study of the two men was more absorbing than the show. Her at- tention had wandered from the ring, and the flourish of trumpets, which beralded the Deadwood coach, caused her to start. The next moment a man pushed his way to their box and bowed. i “'Colonel Cody would be honored it any American Embassador's guests would wish to ride in the Deadwood coach,” the man suggested courteous- ly. Miss Freeman in sudden mischief looked at her fiance. b nk you, we shall be glad to ac- cept,” she said to the man who still stood, hat in hand, awaliting her de- cigion. “If you are afraid, pray remain here,” she added defiantly to Von ‘Witzleben. “Will you come, Ransome ?” “‘But—" began he.. One glance at her set mouth showed the futility of remon- strance. And wherever she called he would fellow, be the consequences what they might. In silence he let her pre- him dowwn the steps, Von Witzle- ge;l!xe bringing up a sullen rear. The fraulejn left behind wept in unheeded rotest. 2 It :vu not until the coach had fair- 1y started that Miss Freeman realized all that she had brought upon herself. From her childhood she had always detested firearms. And these pursu- ing Indians! But without flinching she bore it all; the crack of rifles, the smoke which choked eyes and mouth, the flendish yells. Then all ‘at once she became conscious that the coach was swaying and bumping strangely. A man sitting opposite her !ugpresfled an oath.. DAY, added to the girl, “if this rickety old thing does break loose or turn over—" expressively. Miss Freeman felt her heartbeats quicken. There was dan- ger then, real danger. From the box came the driver's voice in frantic ab- jurgation to the now thoroughly frightened animals. Miss Freeman turned toward Von Witzleben. “Max,” \she whispered. But the German, his face ashy, his eyes fixed and staring, sat with strained fingers clutching at the wooden door. He had quite forgotten the-girl. A little sob broke from her parted lips. Were they going to die? A strong hand closed over hers and, opening her eyes through the smoke she saw Ran- some, steady, calm, self-controlled. “We shall pull through all right,” he safd. “Don’t be frightened, dear.” The girl, conscious only of the word which had slipped inadvertently from his lips, caught her breath in the sud- den shocks of the great revelation. Ransome loved her, Ransome! 1B b was that she had judged Von Witzleben from Ransome’s standpoint rather than her own, appreciated that it had been the fact of his intimacy with Ransome which had been his chief at- traction. And how near she had been to never knowing. Now, at last, in this supreme moment, she grasped the truth, knew that even as Ransome loved her, so she loved him. And whether death or life lay before them, with that knowledge in her heart, that touch on her hand, she was con- tent. And then with one strong, pull from above, down to quiet. For a day or so the Berlin papers were rather sharp in their criticism of the girl who had rendered herself so conspicuous. No equally well-born German girl would ever have done such a thing, they declared. But Miss Freeman, utterly glad in her new found happiness, only smiled in undis- turbed thankfulness. mighty, the horses trembled