The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, June 17, 1906, Page 2

ntinued From a very different Bllen from the one he| 5 bade goodby that chilly night in March, | wo hours later he came home, full of | . he jeft Haverford and ran back to esponse e beckonir Apr take out the taste” of the uncomfortable y . S on the Chishalms and Sinclairs. here’s one place in town where I'm welcome,” he had said to himself. “I'll we > ot been to see her since, and it | . ing of May. He had not aw. But it had been a long ok de gy saying nothing. He did not | = I r being cold as ice and| w ty as a queen. He liked her all the | y for The colder she became, | he, and from carefu! es floundered into ing h. He told the church, not as it was, she could hear it, told of Vaughan's attack upen him, afd that he had been soapo forced, aga will, to stay away. é She knit her pretty brows. Wh x . all Was it because she this pother? rl and he a gentlem Winslow was at’his wits’ end how to| He blustered about Vaughan, reats. She evidently did “Oh, I mean what I “I've got things | There’s to be | He's to take | and ?" had about she re-| said too | when I} it ' he said hurriedly. you v night word Good- ! single rob- to one! What—not the parsen pay any for watched him , encouraging dist of 1at she semehow ure the heartache which lin- ot now. She The next If-day eut, to Mother Macy’s ast nent—it was the st Thursday afterneon Klien had cared e—and went to see her sister, Mary Mike's sister, was e hill, and 1s; and Mary 4 come to be a meeting e working giris. They brought appointments and per- Mary could not decide there was Mike to if uld be done r Jerry. Mary was usuaily equal to the emer- She was the small, thin, who never flag or tire, as he maternal instinct as a hen- capable of exercising it on ulti who appealed to her with-| the least stinting her own broed. one of r lap, now, Mag- r skirts, and | e hung over the back of her cha e she told Nora what to do for her ured Bridget Conner there t places just as good as the She cried out in delight 4 tumbled the children into | laps as sh® sprang up to other's ites later, and . and g those of the| s W t 10. He re not related to him. They = r of his | asked him how he could spare time from | @ for e ! his club to be calling around? And when| 5 h > speak in public take a hand tonight,” re- | *'Tis a free-for-all go-as-| to be at the Methody e comin’. peakin’ on, b Jerry the ver v right to suppress not replied Jerry glibly. “An’ tised, a s ty the man who sa he has! at would they do to him?” inquired i with a frightened look “Shoot him, belike,” returned Jerry; CHAPTER XXII. By B g 8 | The Debste. But don't they have te take sides?” | | asked Nora. | Wh sides is they to that?"” retorted There's but one side to that ques- | len crossed the kitchen and took a| it Db seat by Nora's side. “Were you goin'| — T home, soon?’ she whispered. “If you| Winslow had not aroused this instinet| 27 I'll walk along.” | n made m carer |, The two ' girls went out together. Ae fam care- | “What's treublin’ ye, Ellen?” asked Nora the Macys: | 2% they turned into the street | & biue eyes gasing | g5 YOUF Mr. Vaughan English?” asked | new world in attitude to- t of the kind, older the “If he is, he's a rale gentleman,” swered Nora. you knew him."” een tha acher, an- | Ye'd say so, yourself, if | guide re i g P P ‘I was thinkin',” sald Ellen slowly, “if greatest as well as the most | P¢S English, he'd—he'd speak on the| g s, gt him | Other side, an'—there'd be trouble.” r rela Her readiness to| NOTa Stepped short. She was in the se- | gness to keep his | CTet With Jerry and Mary Flynn of Wins- er family, toucheq | |0W'S attentions to Ellen, but had prom- | grew really fond of the|iSed mot to say a word. Yet here was Ellen bursting with news, obtained from | oldness gave him an ex | Winslow, Nora was sure ol oot "0t . 5 ol tus Twould be a sad day for the town if | St Teoton, Bhy- thing happened to him,” she said| the cHlld, telling her sty? vely. “’Tis that k.nd he is to the poer | B2 Shrwwl, musint cbei’ the sick, an’ our little gells at the| b 9f FReh Bt R e would be breakin’ their hearts.” She was far from | week when he did not en did not speak. =pend at evenings at the Macy | '*adY to betray her lover, neither would | cattage t she have Nora’s friend come to any hurt. | A pound of tea now and then quieted her| 'If Ye'Te seejn’ him before the night, ye | o Whs free do might tell him not to be speakin’,” c to as she she | pleased once the visits stopped.|S&id at last hurrledly. “I'm not sayin’| Convinced ths was watched, Winglow | that'I know anything, but if I's him, I| avoided the He w not risk a Wouldn't bg speakin’;” and befers Nora | message. Wt should be safe for him | COUlu Stop her she was running back to | to see E be would explain | the Macy cettage as hard as she coul everything. Meanwhile he trusted to her affection and to h confidence in him restrain whatever impatience she might en watched night after the lamp in the window, run. | Nora went straight to her mistress and | laid the whole stery befere her. | Katharine was greatiy disturbed. Tt| wos . so late, very nearly six o'cleck!| binner would be served in a few minutes. The club met at sev There would be | no time to send a note. What could she £ay in it? Impulse prompted her to go to the meeting in person and ward off by her actual presence any danger that might threaten. Was not this, after all, | tne best plan? Ladies were invited. Mrs. Wellman had told her she went once, and the Morgans had been. The change of | the place of meeting from the scheol- night. setting her signal that the coast was clear, listening to every sound. her puls quickening at the approach of foot stops, then sinking to the languor of despair as the steps went b Night after night she removed the lamp, drew the curtain and crept away te bed, te ile palpitating in the darkness, wondering what she had done or sdid to offend, wondering if he were hurt or il Then she beggn to hear, from Jerry and the rest, of the club which Winslow had | house to the church had been made in| started and which many of the young|order to accommedate the increase in | Irishmen in town had been asked to join. | Numbers. T've no use for him,” said Jerry. “But| “Arthur,” she said to her brother. as I'll jine, if for mo more than to watch they went in to dinner, “have you any en- m. He'll bear watchin’. He's a fox, gagement this evening?” that wan.” ‘Only the debating ciub, which I never attend, as you know,” he answered, smil- ing. “I want yeu to go, tonight,” lightly, “and take me." 2idoy “'You, Kitty?” he exclaimed; and Mahel and Miss Emmeline echoed “You?” Ned Wilkins laughed, more at them than at Was Jerry right? She listened to what- ever was said of Winslow; and his name was in every mouth nowadays. She put!| this and that together. Mother Macy | dld not help matters; she resented Kllen's | meods and missed her pound of tea. I At last, one might, the truant appeared, | & Mttie flushed, a little embarrassed, vet | her. quite confident that he could explain| ~“Winslow weuld be flattered by your sway any unpleasantness created by his | interest’” said’ Arthur, elaberately un- wbsence. The Eilen who met him was ) folding his nepkin. T BY A.BSARD... | proposed that the time of its meeting be | were already arriving. They came in a | |He was a man of ability, and had im- Katharine caught at the suggestion., “I'm afrald he thinks we haven't sympa- thized with his efforts to elevate the masses,” she said diplomatica..y. | “After those horrid articles in the Sen- tinel!” broke in .abel. “Wno could sym- pathize with him “He's really done good work in his club, though,” Interposed ..ilkins. “I'm not an' admirer of Winslow, but I must own he's brought out some of the young fellows amazingi) “If you really want te go—" began Ar- thur indulgently. | “I do, very much,” his sister finished promptly. It ended in every one's going. The night | was so fair and so full of stars, they gave that as a reason. They did not realize, themselves, how they had caught| the contagion of Katharine s desire. Vaughan, 'standing in his study door, breathing the same sweet air, looking at | the same stars, was reminded of the of his arrival at Galena, just a year ago. How far he had traveled frem the doubts and apprehensions of that night! How easily now he met and over- came difficulties! There was the debating club, fer instance. Winslow himself had changed frem Thursday te Wednesday night, for the saxe of the prayer meeting. He nad begged the Methodist to take part and had been evidently touched and flat- tered by the offer of the church as a meeting place. In many ways he had shown his frienuuness. There was reason for believing that his visits to the Macy cottage had ceased. Just then a boy ran stumbling up the wallt. ‘“‘Letter for ye, parson”’ he called and thrust a note into Vaughan's hand. fe read it hurriedly under the lamp. Tt was from Winslow. He wrote that Judge Lansing had been called out of town. Was there any one else whom Vaughan would like to have take the negative with him? b Negative of what? Winslow had not yet sent around the question. It was t0oo late new to prepare a set speech. The debater must trust to the inspiration of the mement, and to the ability, not rare in his profession, to think on his feet and talk against time. He drew in half a dozen last, long breaths of the delicious night air and turned .oward the chu Members of the club and their gliests | steady stream, pouring into the roem, men and wemen, cowboys, miners with their wives. It was to be an unusual oc- casion. He wondered what the question could be. There were the people from Richmend Hill! Ned Wilkins led the party, carry- ng a chair in each hand high above their heads. Mrs. Chisholm followed him, in a trim, gray walking suit; then came Mrs. Sinclair, clinging te her husband’s arm; then Miss Emmeline, muffied in a long cloak; last of all, Haverford. Vaughan met them and made them wel- com Winslew, hurrying in at that moment, did the me. He turned to Vaughan. ‘‘Serry Lansing's given out,” he said abruptly. “I suppose you'd rather take his place than have a substitute, oW 7"’ ? “I might, speak on,” shrug. “What, didn’t I tell you? A thousana pardons!"” cried Winslow. t's a matter of controlling revelutionists, you know. Oh, T forgot you were not at the last meeting. Wait-I'll give the question from the chair.” The gavel fell. The meeting came to order. The minutes were read. At last, the question for debate was stated. “Re- solved: Should the countries of Europe present to this government a request to unite with them in suppressing revo- lution, such a proposition should be met with scorn.” Bob Gordon, the first speaker for the affirmative, opened the debate. He was a4 miner, a big broadshouldered Scot, with a sheck ef yellow hair that emu- lated the metal in which he worked. if T knew what I was to returned Vaughan with a proved whatever opportunity had come his way to read and study. The other miners were proud of him and evinced the fact by a tremendous handelapping as he arose. Bob showed his big white teeth in appreciative grin, bowed low te the chairman and to the audience, ana entered without hesitation upon his care- fully prepared sentences. A PATP OF WEAK, WATEFTY BLUL TILS FOVLEV AJILIDSLT ABOUT THE POOINT Ho had not proceeded far before it was apparent to the dullest among his listen. ey ST RONY the American colonies, it was In a manner | 4id, not vociferously, but with a hearti- ers that the question had undergone a |to elicit velpe and hewls of patriotism.| ness which showed their appreciation of transformation in his hands. what the United States would or would not do, or what stand the other Euro- pean countries would take—save Eng- land. England, English policy, English aggression, English tyranny were being arraigned, and at every disparaging al- lusion to the feared and hated country, the young Irishmen, who seemed to con- stitute the majority of the audience, ap- plauded vigorously. At the end of the fifteen minutes al- lotted to Gordon, Winslow’s gavel fell, but not a word did the presiding officer | utter on the taken with the question. There was an expression on Vaughan's face as he came to his face which none of that company had seen there before. He believed that into this plot, which he now at last discerned, had entered nearly every. ome of those watchful, smiling men and women before him. It had been all arranged. As an English- man he had been selected to receive the insults and indignities these people were only too ready to offer to the mother country. The question under debate had nothing whatever to do with the case; anything would serve, so that they had an oppertunity to tease and annoy him. Somewhat of the revoit and the resist- ance which entered inte him when he sparred with Poole in the rear room of Poole and Piicher's vibrated In his voice as he took up the chalfenge Bob Gordon flung down. He bowed to the chairman and the audience, let his gaze wander over the rows of young Irishmen against the wall, over the ranks of men and women, miners and cowboys, then down to the chairs where sat the people from Richmond .iill. Here one pair of keen, earnest gray eyes held his own for an instant, with an expression of in- dignant sympathy and resolute good- will; the anger which had filled him soft- ened and a humorous view of the situa- tlon succeeded, for a moment, the bitter one. He told of Judge Lansing's illgess, asked and recelved permission te oceupy not enly his ewn fifteen minutes, but the time allotted to the Judge, then briefly reviewed the speech made by Gorden, showing how the question had been tampered with, but accepting it as it had been interpreted. When he took his seat the gray eyes thanked him for his tem- perance and seif-control. There was a mild outbreak of respectful applause led by sundry determined explosions from the corner where Dick and Jo sat. Vaughan glanced thither, beckoned Dick to him and gave him a whispered direc- tion. Dick nodded and presently brought half a dozen books from the study; these Vl.:thln hastily glanced through and set aside. Penrose had the half-hour speech. By this time not enly these amang the com- pany who had been made aware before- hand of the trick to be played upon the Parsen, but every one else in the church comprehended clearly what sort of a tournament the debate had become. ' The tail of the British Lion was to be twisted. They were to have the exquisite pleasure of hearing him rear. 3 Penrose had brought to the meeting, as had Gordon, ail the arguments that he could possibly use, but, unlike the miner, he had had seme one to shew him how to use them, st Whereas Bob came out boldly and dealt sledge-hammer blows, right and left, Pen- rose, artmed with Winslow's neat rapier, made little, quick, stinging trusts. When he spoke of Geerge the Third and liberties which had been | | came to Ireland he was stopped at the end [not two, but one. Yby the discretion of the reformer! horror could he heard. By the time he of every sentence, ‘sometimes in the mid- dle of it, while the more outspoken among the audience expressed their own opinions on the subject. As he ceased and Vaughan arose there was an unfriendly silence—then some one hissed. Some one clse calied “Shame!™ The speaker smiled meckingly. ‘“‘How he despises us!"” thought Katharine. An impatient scuffiing of feet followed, then came another hiss. Winslow called for order. The hiss was heard again. “Why do you hiss?” inquired Vaughan coolly. “It cannot be the question. That {is, as T understand it, of yodr own choosing. I'm sure I shouldn’'t have chosen it myself-—a foolish question and misleading, as both of my opponents have shewn. ‘Perhaps it is myself whom you are hissing?”’ He paused, reflectively, and scanned the ranks against the wall. “Yet the velume of sound seems to come from those who are of the same race as I— "Tis true! I have Irish blood in my veins!” They hesitated, hardly knowing how to take him, and he continued, in 2 loud veice, “But owing and owning alle- glance to England, Godsbless her!” A single impetuous handclap responded. ““My opponent,” went on the speakor— how tender his voice was, an Irish voice, of course—why had they not thought of it before?—‘‘has eloquently portrayed the sufferings of Ireland, but—I beg the hen- orable gentleman's pardon—his eloquence lacks semething. How can he adequately portray the sufferings of that sad coun- try when he has never felt her charm? Can he shut his eyes and see the shores of Killarney when the morning sun gilds the rugged slopes of Eagle Mountain?— God never made a scene more fair! C; he in his dreams watch the MecGillicuddy Reeks fade into the sunset glow? Can he in a vision picture himself walking down the vale of Avoca? 'Tis the Garden of Ioden, gentlemen, and better than the first, since from it holy Saint Patrick banished the Snake!” Shouts of delight went up frem the ranks against the wall. Jerry Flynn stood on tiptoe and waved his arms above his head. He had crouched out of sight till new. Penroge and Winslow might talk about the Irish. This was Irish. Only an Irish- man would have said it like that, with a little surprise at the end, the twist into a laugh. a land where the heart rules the head,” the speaker continued.. ‘“But such a heart that God himself forgives its mis- takes and says plainly ‘try again’! “Thanks be to his mercy, the mistake of the revolutionist is being iperseded "Tis the revolutionist that should be sup- pressed, not the refermer. I will try to tell you why, if you will be patient for a moment. ““What are revolutionists?’ he pursued thoughtfully, as if searohing his own mind for an answer to the question. “They're the men with the dirk and the bomb— ‘walt, walt,”” for the restless among the audience began again to stir and mutter. “What are reformers? They're the men with the tongue and the book, with the unsheathed sword, the unaffrighted froni Aye, gentlemen, suppress the revolution- ists and let the reformers do your werk. They're the true lovers of Ireland, the faithful sens. They will obtain for Ire- land what she wants, even while they're serving England!" - He paused to let them respond, as they It was not | When he described Sepoys of India blown | what had been said. |from the cannon’s mouth, murmurs of | “You can’t separate the two countries, | gentlemen,” he said earnestly. “They are Cut England and Ire- |1and bleeds. Break a bone of Ireland, and |England limps. Stint either, and the | other goes hungry. | “And there’s no high and low, this one {en top and the other underneath, even in England—unless it be perhaps Ireland a litle te the good.” They laughed. “'Tis s0,” he insisted. “Who's leading England’s armies to-| day? An Irishman, Wolseley. “Whe was the greatest soldier she ever had? An Irishman, Wellington. ‘Who was her greatest orator? Irishman, Burke. “Timegvould fail me to tell of the Irish- men wif6 have shaped her langnage and formulated her thought, of Sheridan and An| Goldsmith, of Swift and Sir Richard Steele. [* ¢ © “Gentlemen, don’t forget you have a duty to England as well as to the land that gave you birth,” The gray eyes brimmed over with light | and laughter, gazing up at him. “Why, gentlemen, I don't kmow what England would do if half the foremost | Englishmen of today weren't Irishmen!" | he broke eut, impelled by that glance. Now they shouted till the windows rat- tled. He could say anything he pleased after that, and he sald many things at| which he himself wondered afterward, | ending with three cheers for England and the English Irishmen. They were given with & will and thén the vote was taken. | The negative had it, had everything; their | sympathy, their admiration, their good will. They grewded up to congratulate | him, exchanging jokes as they jostled one | the Richmend Hill people the | nee, turning immediately to Katharine. ‘What were you saying?” he asked, although she had not spoken. “It was decilious,” she murmured. “How much of it was true?” ““Al] that about the great men,” he an- swered mischievously. “Didn't you see me look up their aneestry: ‘‘But you—are you an Irishman®" “I might be, if I'm not” His eyes| danced. He had never secemed so acces- sible. 3o near. She had never taken such delight in him. To cover it, she turned to | Winslow and congratulated him on the successful development of the club. CHAPTER XXIII. The nquet at Ruby Hall. “The editor of a daily paper ought to| know which way the cat is going to| jump,” remarked Penrose sadly to him- | gelf, as he walked home after the debate. “But whoever could probnosticate—prog- nosticate's a ‘good word—that things | would turn out as they did!” He tore up the report of the evening's meeting which had been awaiting the ac- | tual event for verincation, and wreot other in an entirely w..erent vein, o~ | glaing Vaughan and the Irish and giving | a humorous account of his own defeat. A few days later the cat jupped again, in the same direction and farther. He was waited on by a company of Hiber- | nians, who informed him they were going | to Vaughan a banquet out at Ruby Hl.. They wished him lohmtufl “to write the thing up.” | This was semething which Penrose could not to lose. Ricker would be | there and weuld say grace” that alone weuld be worth the journey. Other Corn- fshmen besides Ricker and Penrose were ' vited, to draw the fire of the Irish. It would be & great ocomsi¢a, Penrose 3 equipped himself with writing pad and pencil and went early to “take it all in. The tables, long boards laid on trestles, were laid in the large hall owned by the Miners' Union. The banqueters were al- ready in their places when Penrose en- tered. Ricker and Vaughan were at the heads of the two long tables. The Irish- men were out in full force, “the old resi- dents” dressed in American ‘“store clothes,” the “green” new arrivals rayed in picturesque walstcoats and treu- sers of varied color and extravagant pat- tern, brought from the south and west of Ireland. Cornish hemespun played a sim- ilar part in distinguishing newcemers among the Cormish miners, who were present in large numbers. The tabies were full. Every one was in the best of humor, taking hard rubs and giving them with equal good nature. When Penrose had been directed te his seat and one or two otl late comers had drifted into theirs, Ricker stood up and rapped on the table with the handle of his knife. There was instant silence. “Ricker’s going to say grace. This'll put on the cap sheaf,” his mext neighber whispered to Penrose. Ricker ran his eye over the tabls. There were all sorts of viands te effset the ab- sence of liquors proscribed by himself and Vaughan alike; but, as if in ironic dlsre- gard of his ewn well-known vegetarian tendencies, some one had set before him on a large platter a sucking pig. roasted whole, with an apple in his mouth. Ricker saw nothing else. He gave the pig a despairing glance, rolled his blue eyes piously heavenward, clasped his hands and began: “O Lerd, if Thou canst bless under the dispensation of the new that which Theu didst curse under the dispensation of the old, if Thy blessing can rest upon that into which, when Thou wast upon earth, Thou didst permit the devils to enter, then do Thou bless this roast pig”; he paused. and added hurriedly, “and the other feods provided for us at this time. Amen.” He sat down amid a hum of approval which, under purely secular conditiens, would have exploded into handclappings and cheers, and, leaning over the table, called out, “Brother Tregoning, I'll thank yer for that ple Cake, fruit, nuts were added to the ple by these who sat near, they, meanwhile, bearing off in triumph the pig: and the merriment began, one table vying with the other in anecdote and witticisin, each greeted by roars of delight. In the midst of it Vaughan became aware that some one was standing in the open doorway regarding him with fixed, earnest gaze. He looked up and saw Frank Henley. With sudden premonition of impending ill, Vaughan spfang to his side. Frank had a black-bordered envelope in his hand. He gave it (0 Vaughan wiih- out a word. Tt was from the aged pastor at home, who had written on it in his cramped old hand “With speed.” Vaughan breke the seal and read. Frank watched the color leave hig face. Down one page. across another, darted his troubled glance. He read to the end. then refolded the sheet with trembiing “Any one dead?’ inquired Frank briefly. Vaughan bowed, unable te speak. “Any of yeur folks?" “Father—and mother, 100! was the an- swer, in a low. anguish-stricken voice. Frank turned toward the tables where the feasters sat. They had returned, after the imperceptible pause, to the roast pig and the pies and cakes and stories and sangs. -~ Wherever the parson wemt, T T ——————— Continued on Page Threa