The Seattle Star Newspaper, June 29, 1921, Page 9

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 29, 1 921. Watch for “Tarran the Terribie® on Saturday ‘THE UPHILL ROAD”| {Continued From Yesterday) Me dashed tnto the pagt room and bled among the ra on his » Where he had left a copy of letter Ferrier bad written. For Moment he could not remember | the time Ferrier had fixed for the ap- | Pointment. He found the paper after | & moment; he read the scribbled | Words eagerly “Charing Cross Post Office—1 @'clock.” He went out of the room and rang @p the doctor; he was not up, but a Message would be taken to him. “Oh! Well, ask him to send the ether nurse round by 12, will you? T have to go out on important busi: | | and I can't leave my sister), “Very well, if you are going to) Tell him at once, mind!" rang off with a sense of relief went back to Lilian, [bu be all right. I've told them Bend the other nurse along. '§ just a chance that I may be to find this worman.” He looked nat Ferrier. “There isn’t any danger, 1 suppose “He has lost strength a little, but | a naturally tremendously strong,” | answered evasively. ‘The morning dragged away—the of the clock seemed to crawl. Tt was half-past 12 when the nurse ; she was middle-aged and «mil and optimistic; she put fresh into Hastings. He felt al- Most cheerful when he left his rooma ‘and dashed off to the Charing Cross) Post Office. ‘He was there much too goon. He iked up and down, staring at woman who passed. He had the least idea how he was to c the smart maid, and he serious doubts as to whether she 4 admit her identity to him. Once he made a dash after a girl “He deserved tt; you must admit that he deserved tt. Mr, Ferrier spoke well of you--he said you were decent to him after the brutes drugged him. I suppose you know they can all get penal servitude if we catch them." An odd sort of pride flickered Into the girl's sloe@like eyes. “You never will catch them—they | will die first-—they are so clever. Be- | fore you catch them, they will be/ on the other side of the world.” Hastings had expected some such retort; his heart slowed down with | overwhelming disappointment, but he kept a bold face; be leaned back, folding his arms, take that attitude, I shall just drive | round: to she nearest police station and give you in charge: the police will take you speak, if I can't.” She screamed shrilly. “No, no! I«haven't done any wrong—I swear I haven't.” “Then you can answer my quee tion, and no fooling, mind. Where ean I find that devil who calls him- self Edward Major? He may have to answer to a murder charge yet. if Ferrier dies, If it hadn't been for that infernal drag they gave him—" He broke off. “Well, are you going to speak?" “They will kill me if I tel you. They would kill me if they knew that I had come today, But Mr. Ferrier made me a promise, and he has always kept his word, He said in his letter that he would make no attempt to detain me—that he want- ed to pay the money | lent him— two pounds it was.” Hastings flared up. “You need not begin to Ne so scon It was 10 shillings. Go on—you shall be well paid if you are straight | with us. Where can I find him, and the woman who is called Joan? A wave of color Mushed her face. A smile curved her reddened lips. | “You will never be able to find her,” she sald sullenty. “None of them know where she ix, She ra away the night they brought her| back to London, She had often threatened to © her life—I am sure it is what sh> has done now. | Poor soul, poor soul—" She began to sob, real ugly sote this time of | genuine grief. Hastings leaned over and roughly dragged her hands down from her face. If this thin, were true, what was to become o Richard Ferrier? “You're not tying—it's the real truth?" he asked urgently. The smart maid looked at him, thru her tears. “I swear it’s the truth,” she said. “I only wish I did know where she | is. Poor dear, poor dear! Her life hasn't been worth living for many a ‘Qi “Are you—are you from Eastseat™ She stared at him offendedly, with heightened color. Certainly not,* she said, and) liked away, leaving him staring | her blankly. He looked at the/ Ra 1f Office clock, and found that it) wanted 10 minutes to one. He BR behaved like an impetuous fool, | omen never kept an appointment) ally, and he might be sure she would not come for another minutes at least, He crossed to the other side of the he thought that from a dis be might have more opportu: nity to recognize the girl without observed himself. He walked a hundred yards down Strand and back again; {t was) one o'clock. A stout woman standing fn the) office doorway e¥ed Hastings) jciously—she haa a gitt beside Hastings stopped and looked at hard. No, she had not high | 4 shoes, or @ cheeky face, and | were the sole distinctions of b Ferrier bad spoken. $ It was five minutes past ome, and ‘was beginning to despair, when a taxicab stopped at the curb, and a) ‘irl in black got out. She paid the and stood hesitating; she nervous—her small face twitched. Hastings eageriy—che was smart , and—yes, she had the most ¢ waited a few moments, but she not move awag; she was osten- waiting for some one. He felt nervous, and was sure he bungle the whole business. ping his courage in both hands, took a nervous step toward ber 4 up at him with frightened 4 she shook her head vigorously. “No—oh, no.” She made a move- as if to walk away, and followed determinedly. me, I don't wish to be Please don't be afraid of me, are here to meet Mr. Fer. 1 am his friend—he is very ill, ‘cannot come, Please trust me— is nothing to be afraid of.” Bhe stared at him with fascinated “I don’t believe you. }—oh, let me ” eshe would have darted across the but young Hastings held her firmly. “I¢ you try to run away, I shall } the police, and I am sure you Yt want that. I swear to you that may trust me. Mr. Ferrier is ngerously {ll—he may be) ; Now then—” He relaxed his “Where shall we go to talk— here you like.” “If anyone sees me—" She was + inely afraid. Young Hastings Feassured her. “No one will see you—we are quite safe. We can go into the station if you like. No? Well then, we'll have B taxicab and drive about. " She submitted silently. She eat as far away from him ay possible; she ¢ looking at him in terror. | “Ferrier i,” said Hastings rain. ‘Very ili-at my rooms— Hie paused, he half-«miled. “I am i real Ralph Hastings,” he said primly. & She caught her breath: her face hed. “But that needn't frighten you,” fhe went on quickly. “All you've got to do is to answe! few questions, and nobody will hurt you.” “I have done po harm. It was thing to do me—I had to do I was told. I swear I have done fe-harm.” 7 The best proof you can give me wet that, is to do as you are asked Hastings left his seat beside her end sat down on the one opposite. He looked at her quizzically. The girl eyed him fearfully trom th the brim of her jaunty hat; ghe was wearing a veil with large spots on it, and there were paste buckles on her high-heeled shoes. It would have surprised any one to hear her speak with an unmistak able Whitechapel accent. “What do you want to know?” Bhe asked hoarsely, Her thin, mis- ‘\ehlevous-looking hands plucked at her cambric handkerchief; once she it mervously acrose her red- dened lips. “I want you to tefl me where 1 ean find the man who calls himself Edward Major.” Young Hastings spoke in a atrain- + there was a menace in his She broke into shrill, hyster- iS protest, wringing her hands with French gesture she hed #o often f iffected that it had grown to be al @ natural one with ber. js iik—very it--Mr, Ferrer killed him. Ob, it was bor- to see,” a year. I've done the best I could to help her, but it wasn't much use- and if she’s taken her life, weil, per haps she’s well out of it.” Hastings shivered; he had sald similar foolish things himself once about @ suicide, but now—since that early dawn when he had stood in the room where a dead girl lay—he marveled that he ever thought any- thing so mad. To take one’s life—it Was terrible; these’two poor girls! His heart softened for the first toward this woman whom Rich- ard Ferrier loved: he began slowly to realize that perhaps, after all, she had not been wholly to blame. Toe maid wiped the tears from her face; she crumpled the damp handkerchief in her hands, “And now may I go? If they miss me—oh, you don't know how suspicious they are. They have watched me every moment since we came back to London.” “You have not told me where I can find Major,” said Hastings. “I intend to know, if I keep you driv. ing round London all day and night.” She looked guilen; the old scared expression came back to her eyes, “I daren’t tell you,” she said. He shrugged his shoulders. “You mean that you will not. Very well.” He laid @ hand on the check string; she clutched at bim, scream ing shrilly. “I will tell you—tI will tell you” He hesitated. “well?” She looked round desperatety. “The address i» at Camberwell— that is where they are now. I don't know how long they will stay.” She gave him the name of @ street and the number of a house, Hastings wrote them down on bis shirt cuff. “And if you warn them,” he said threateningly, “so much the worse for you.” He gave ber @ couple of sovereigns, “You shall bave more tf I find you have spoken the truth.” She muttered her thanks, and Hastings stopped the taxicab and tet her go, She hurried away and was lost in the traffic, | As soon ay she had gone, he re-| aretted what he had done. He told himself he had behaved like a fool-—| that he had been mad to trust her, | and yet, what else could he do? He returned to the Adelphi. The doctor's car stood outside the} house: he met the doctor himself on | the stairs, descending. “Is he better?” he asked eagerty. “No, I am afraid not. Miss Hast- ings tells me you have hopes of find. ing the woman he is asking for. I hope you will be successful.” Hastings shook his head. “It's no good. She's gone—nobody knows where she is. The doctor arched his eyebrows and pursed his lips, Young Hastings questioned him sharply, “Do you mean that Ferrier won't get over it?” “He is very iN indeed.” Young Hastings looked miserably shocked. He went on up to his rooms slowly; he had all a man's dread of illness and death, and lately he seemed to have been forced into the very midst of it. Lilian came to the door to admit him and shook her head in answer to his question, He followed her silent- ly into the room. “May 1 go in and see him?” “Oh, yes; It can't matier, Be as quiet as you can.” “Has he been talking mucht™ “No, not lately. The doctor says it 1s a bad sign—it means increasing | weakness.” Hastings tip-toed into the room: it was as dark as the bright sunshine | without permitted. The other nurse sat at the bedside. Verrier lay on his back; he looked limp and oddly shapeless, His face was terribly flushed; his big hands lay palms upwards. Hastings noted it with apprehension, “Poor old chap—poor old chap,” he He could not bear to look at | THE SEATTLE STAR ‘ Watch for “Tarzan the Terrible” on Saturday DOINGS OF THE DUFFS ¢'MON DUNDEE ~ GEE, 1 WANNA “TAKE You FoR A NICE WALK UPTOWN, > THERE LITTLE GIRLP HAT ON THAT WOMAN'S HGAD WER THORS, ANOS tHe SGeNS -HACPY GNOUGE. AND COOK AX te You DON'T SCE ANY TWoHRee-roet-mety AGAR Iw HIS MOUTH, an0 4S Scems HAPPY GNoUGel!! him; he went back to Lilian. “Do you think he's done fort™ he asked her jerkily “I don't know. Even the her? Iam sure if she would come—" “They don’t know where she is Nobody knows—she ran away.” “If only Micky were here, burst out suddenly. Micky could help us.” His sister flushed a little, “I am afraid that he ts not likely to come,” she said constrainedly, “No.” Hastings wandered about the room; somehow with the near pres- ence of death bis longing for revenge had faded into the background. He glanced impersonally at the scribbled address on his cuff—that could wait. ‘There would be pienty of time to see to his own affairs when death and life had finished their struggle for the man in the next room. “Joan! Joan! Joant’ the old weary ery came again thru the silence; brother and sister looked at each other. Hastings spoke roughly. “What would bo the use of Joan coming, even if we could find her? She's a married woman.” “T know, bute" The voice wae still agaif now Hastings threw the window wide and leaned out. It as such a beautiful afternoon, brilliant sunshine, with just a soft breeze blowing up across the river. A fussy steamboat chugged its way along with a great air of importance, leaving a frothy trail behind it Somewhere tn the distance a woman with a sweetly shrill voice was sing ing a popular hackneyed song. The afternoon wore away—the sun died down into tints of red and pur. ple, and finally to a chill grayness ot shadow. The doctor came again, but he had nothing to add tq what be had ab he doctor | won't say. Ralph, haven't you found | “I believe old) MAN— ready said; he repeated his direc tions, rubbed his chin, and went away. The old “housekeeper came and sympathetically related in a husky whisper detailed accounts of similar cases she had known. “Did he get well?" asked young Hastings impatiently, when she neared the conclusion of an illness her husband had experienced; he waited anxiously for the answer, She shook her head dolefully. “Bless you, no, sir. There wasn't a chance for him—he just lay and lay like the poor gentleman in there,” she nodded toward Ferrier’s room. “And he just died elowly— seemed to stop breathing all at once like.” Hastings scowled. “Job's comforter,” ne muttered. He wished she would go; she irrt tated him; but she stood there in the shadows rambling on in her jhusky whisper, till a bell ehrilled jn- sistently thru the room, ‘Go and see who it is,” said Has: tings, he was thankful to find an ex- cuse by which to get rid of her, Sho obeyed slowly; he heard her in earnest consultation with some one at the door. Her voice sounded as if she were relating all over again the story of her husband's last illness, Hastings swore softly; he rove to his feet and followed her into the passage, “What the devil,” he began irrita- bly, then broke off. A man stood in the dim light of the passage; he carried a bag in his hand and a big coat over his arm. Hastings peered at him unrecog- nizingly for a moment; then he rush. ed forward with a muffled shout of delight— “Micky! Micky? He clutched at him with beth hands, as if he feared that he would disappear as suddenly and unex wectedly as he bad coma | A ° F cake eek, TELL ME, WHICH WAY DID Your, MOTHER Go? SAN TUATS A Nice DOG YOU-GOTWHERE = SCOTCH TERRIER, DVENTURE Ss WINS A TRICK Sprinkle-Blow pushed him into the house of the Nuisance Fairies. After afl, about the only way to deal with tricky people is to match your wits against theirs and meet a trick with a trick. So when Sprinkle- Blow discovered that it was Jack Frost who had mixed hail with the nice warm spring rain and hit Ben Bunny on the nose, he decided that} it was time to put him under lock | and key until he should be needed | in late fall for sweetening up grapes and pumpkins. There stood sly Jack “ba-ha-tng” | and “ho-ho-ing” at a great rate, and| he made Nancy and Nick 80 cross | they wanted to make faces at him—! but Jack wouldn't have cared. He was accustomed to folks making }faces when he was around. Why, the impudent fellow even went up) to Farmer Smith one time (ust be- |cause he had made a wry face at the | | cold weather) and blew his breath on | etree seared Ae tthe: atand He dragged him tnto the corny ait: | ting-room; he seized bis hand and | shook it and ehook it until Micky | |begged for mercy. “Gracious, man, have you got the brokers in, that you're so jolly glad to see a pal? I warn you I haven't any money. Why—" He broke off; Lilian had come into the room with uplifted finger. “Oh, hush, hush!" she said agita- tedly; then she, too, stopped, staring unbelievingly at Micky, a lovely flush on her face, her eyes filled with incredulous gladness. “Micky!” “Yea, Micky right enough,” said Micky, laughing. “But, what in the world's the matter with you both? Not worse than brokers, surely. There's nothing really wrong, is there?” Lilian stood aside from the door- way which led into the room where Ferrier lay, Micky passed her with a single stride; be etood on the threshold, looking into the room ex pectantly, then he gave a muffled exclamation, “Dicky! heavens!” His wide, good-humored mouth dropped, and he turned to Hastings. “What have you been doing to him?" His volee sounded angry; he crossed the room and looked down at Ferrier with shocked eyes. | “Picky! Dicky!" He spoke Fer rier’s name buskily, but there wast no movement or acknowledgment | from the man on the pillows. “What in the world have you done to him? He's never had a day's Ill- | ness in hig life, Hasn't he got my cable? I wired him that I was com’ Dicky Ferrier! Good him and froze his whiskers! But that's another story and there's no time for it here. Besides, when roses and hollybocks are out and the garden's full of good things to eat, who wants to talk too much about Jack? He's a nuisance! Well, Jack was “ha-ba-ing” away when a plan popped into Sprinkle. Blow's head. Jack had been keeping back In the shadow, for as we all know, he dis- Ukes Mr. Sun. Sprinkle-Blow whis- pered to Nancy, who immediately slipped off to the house where the good winds lived; in a@ minute she returned with lovely warm South Wind. South Wind flew up behind Jack and blew down his neck. Jack was 80 surprised he forgot and stepped out into the hot rays of Mr. Sun. That dazzled him and the rest was easy because he couldn't see a thing. Sprinkle-Blow pushed him into the house of the*Nuisance Fairies and slammed the door, (To Be Continued (Copyright, 1921, by Seattle Star) BY ALLMAN | WHY DION T You KEEP A HOL YOUR MOTHER'S D ON | COULDN’T REACH IT! ao, es a BY AHERN A FUNNY HORSE “We bad @ horse tn the early days on Whidby island,” began the pioneer, “who had more sense than lots of folks. “And the interesting thing about him was that he seemed to be @ natural lover of a joke. “Of course on the island we saw lots of sailors; they would come ashore every chance they got, and I never yet have seen one who wasn't crazy to ride a horse, Didn't know a thing about horses, of course, Usually confessed they had never been or one, but every man of them wanted to try it “Well, father was a kindly man, |] Uked to give people what they |] wanted, and he knew old Jack (the horse) was a safe enough mount. So one day he said to a sailor, who was hinting around about wanting a ride, ‘All right, | sir, there is Jack; get on him and see how you like it. It is about time to take him to water. Just |] give him bis head and he'll find the way.’ | “The sailor got safely on and off he trotted, bumpity-bump. “They got over the hill to the drinking place, the man let his bridle retn. fall loose on. Jack's | neck, and Jack stuck his nose in | the water, Then suddenly, with- out drinking at all, turned and ran home at top speed, scaring — the sailor boy out of his wits, “After ghat, sailors came often | and rode Jack, and he played the © same trick on all of them. “Because he was such a gentle & horse and showed so much sense, a neighbor of my father's wante: to buy him for a saddle horse for his wife. “‘All right” father said, ‘but you know he Is a practical joker.” Then he told about the sailors and what fun Jack had with them, “The man thought it would be- perfectly safe all right, and he took the horse home to his wife. “So one day she dressed all up in her best silk dress and got on her horse to ride over to call on a friend and all went well_yU they |reached a stream. There Buck | stopped in mid-stream and finally \lay down right in the water and then he got up and_went on, but the pretty dress was spoiled. I guess he thought he had a horse laugh on his new owner.” PRREE Confessions of a Husband (Copyright, 1921, by N. B.A) 47. DOT MAKES NO EXPLANATION Tt was nearly 11 o'clock and there had been no word from Dot. Now I was certain that there had been an accident—perhaps a serious one. I began to blame myself, George was such an inexperienced driver I should never have let him take Dot and her parents to the railroad sta- tion. I glanced again at the clock. The train which took Dot's parents home had left at 8 o'clock.” Even tf Dot and George had met with some mis- hap I should have heard from them by now—unless the mishap were a terrible one. Half past eleven! I paced up and down the room, reproaching myself for every time.1T had been ill-tem- pered or inconsiderate since my mar- riage. And in particular, IT reproached myself for having let my flirtation with ith, harmless as it had been, go 80 far, What a fool I had been to pay any attention whatever to another woman when I had a wife like Dot! T had never really appreciated her, ing; he wrote to me from some for- jwaken spot named Eastsea.” ‘Wontiaued Tomorrow) _ 4 this was my punishment. Twelve o'clock! I heard @ clock im the ueighborhoed, J tried, to think of some possibility that could account for Dot being so late —some possibility that did not in- volve @ fearful accident. That silly jest of Edith's came into |my mind, “Eloped.” What nonsense! | And yet, for the first time I serious- ly—or half-seriously—-considered the Possibility of that. I hardly knew what to think. Which would I prefer? To have her away some place with George or lying senseless in a hospital, in- jured, mangled or even— The bell rang. I rushed to the door. It was Dot, apparently in the best of health. “Well! I gasped. “At last!" “Now don't be cross,” sald Dot, “It was such a lark!’ “Tt hasn't been a lark for mef T [returned savagely, “Here I have jbeen imagining all sorts of things. You might ot least have let me know. What happened to the auto- mobile?" “Nothing at all.” “Nothing?” I was even more sur- prised at that than I had been at Dot's sudden appeaarnce. “No, nothing,” she replied. “George really drives very well” “Then where on earth have you been?’ I had to keep a firm grasp on myself; I felt that if I loosed my grip for a moment my temper would get the better of me. Dot had really been cruelly thoughtless. . “It seemed a shame to come right home,” she replied quietly, “The cart was running so nicely and George seldom drives it. So we decided to go up the road a —” “So that's it!” I exploded. “You have been having a good time while I was at home tormenting myself by imagining the terrible things that had happened to you. That's a pretty piece of impudence! Where did you “I'll tell you when you are in a better humor.” And Dot's lips set in the straight line which meant she would have no more to say. (To Be Continued) Coffee down again, Highest prices, 40c and 38a, Lowest price, 20¢. M, 4. Hansen, 40 Economy Market, Adver tisamenty gi q ad