The Seattle Star Newspaper, June 30, 1921, Page 11

~ * THURSDAY, JU sestera mouse By RUBY M.A YRES Continued From Yesterday) They were back in the sitting room Micky bad thrown his coat) ¢ he poured out a etring of| © questions. “I gent him one cable in answer | iS his letter, and then I thought bet: | of it and rushed off to catch a Doat that sailed a couple of days Aster, Ferrier never could look after Rimsett, 1 might have known what | HRe’'d be, that’s why I sent him along | to you. Any rascal could have gulled Poor old Dicky! What's the/ Matter with him? Haven't you/ Rooked after him? What was he} Why don't you! Answer, man? “You haven't given me a chance | * Said Hastings resentfutly, “It's | & Peng story. He seems to have fallen | @ pack of thieves. He's got} yin fever now, and—he's on hie home right enough, unless—un- +—" He paused to ask an abrupt fen. “You knew & woman d Joan, didn't you" Micky flushed crimson. ell?" he asked curtly. So Woes Ferrier, She seems to played him up propertly. It's a story—I'll tell you all about it down, Don't you want some grub, drink?” No; get on with the story, Wait R minute, What have you done for er? Had « doctor—what's the; of a doctor? It's a specialist wants. Are you on the ‘phone?| A Well, there's a man in Har-| st. the mater had him once. pg it, do you think I'm going to} here and see my best feient| Micky snatched down the receiver; | flicked the pages of the call-book | ith agitated fingera, Hastings tehed him lugubriously—he wished | had thought of a specialist him he rather resented Micky’s ompt action. After a few moments’ harangue Bcross the telephone, Micky hung up the receiver with a eatisfied snort “He's coming; you better ring up man, too. I dare say he'll be d because he hasn't been con- but it can't be helped. Get th the yarn. ’ ky sat down on the arm of % now and then he turned toward the closed door. One of the best, old Ferrier,” he out irrelevantly. “Confound brutes—whoever they are. Get with the yarn.” tithes told what little he knew ‘was not a great deal. Ferrier) only related the story with res- tions. Micky listened with a sto- | face, and when he spoke his| ce was hard. “ “So she's hit old Dicky, too. Well, ig she, do you know?" “I told you I can't find her, The regular baggage—ewore she know." it sort of maid? Cockney, with hof. French? Hum! Well, she’s biggest liar of them all, and the artful. Let's see the address gave you—-I dare my it's « is “un, too. So they drugged old * and then robbed him! Same I got mixed up with ‘em A before I went abroad— w hornets’ nest. But the girl ight to be prosecuted,” said turtousty. | eyes "flashed. can cut that,” he said sharp-| “She's as right as rain, only shi vt chance. Poor little girl ht she'd got free of them. we taken her with me, like a/ if she'd come, but she wouldn't life must have keen a hell. She do for herself once—and to 's had to stand it all these ™ nd *, paced the room in agitation. a coincidence, the way he up with them, eh? You say old you she fainted at the thea | TU bet it was a put-up job— T saw such dodges as they Of course, Ferrier would it—he's just a great ki4,| something happens to open his | Wonder how long he'd have | gulled if you hadn't turned| on _ “It was all the woman, of “Ian't it always?” gaid Micky onicaliy. “Has Lilian come up nurse Ferrier, then?” es; there's another nurse, too. saw her. Lillan’s altered, "t she?” How? icky scratched his head. prettier,” he said at length, tingly. jastings smiled. n't say I've noticed nmented. he question is,” said Micky af. a moment, “what's to be done? can't sit down here and wait for es to happen. I used ,to know haunts of that little gang jolly Mi at one time, but I don't sup e they're likely to go to the same now; but it's worth trying. fellow you knbw as Major— dark chap, eh? I know him— name Elsted—married man, é it," he ” Hastings turned away. “Yes, bat his wife's dead.” is she? I knew her well—decent ttle woman—hated him like poi “Yes, he left her, you know. She nt on the stage.” “You seem to know a lot about - f Hastings turned a white “I'd have mar- hadn't been for es.” to his friend. her, if it ” Micky whistled sympathetically Like that, is it? And she's dead, jou eay?” “Yes. She killed herself.” ‘*Good Lora” Micky looked sick. “And you? I lsay—I'm awfully sorry.” ‘ “Thanks. There's a long score to wiped out against the man who drove her to do it. Ferrier thrashed im within an inch of his life, and soon as he’s well, I'm going to ve him another.” "Good; and when you've done with , pays bim over here,” Mick# doubled his fist, his eyes f wooked fierce. “Tell you what,” he said, “what do you ray to crawling | round some of the places they used frequent? I know ‘em all, and et a chance that we lay one = scoundrels by the heels. You of them know you—ex- Piinhajor, and he’s safe not to voip if he’s had. his face smash: ayway it's worth trying.” * hg Hastings answered eagerly. A game—anything’ you Like. ma sball we go, tonight” “Steady, el@ man! Let's wait and hear what verdict in” He glanced again toward the closed door. The two men sat aflent! thra the closed door came the sound of Fer riers voloe — weaker pow, and hoarse. Micky sprang to his fect, his face was white, “LN deal with the scoundrels,” he | said furtously, “I let ‘em off once for the girl's sake! But not aguin—~ not again. | “Perrier beld hia tongue for the | same reason,” said Hastings dryly “And @ lot of good he did himself. | Got fooled to the top of his bent by a woman who was married all the ume! “What woman?™ “Why, this girk—Joan, as you call) her, She was the wife of the man who passed himself off in my place.” “wWhau" “Ferrier says so—that seems to have been the last straw Major told | bim.” “Told him! Told him what? “That Joan was married—married to the chap who made out he was/ me." “Ret! Micky laughed contemptu- ously. “She's not his wife. If Major said so, it was only another of his infernal lies, She's his sister, right | enough, God help her™ Young Hastings stared at Mick grim face with « sort of chagrin. “Well,” he said at last, “of all the thundering Mars! Poor old Ferrier, that's what Knocked him over, be tween you and me—that she was | married. Of course, he’s been thru a rough time, but he'd have got thru all right if tt hadn't been for Major saying he was the other man's wife ~~it was a sort of last straw.” He paused doubtfully. | “I suppose you're sure t's right? I mean, they're not stuffing you?" I'm quite sure,” mid Micky; he| Tose to his feet with sudden agita tion, “Good heavens, man,” he burst out vehemently, “haven't I loved her myself? Don't I love her still if it comes to that? Not that there's & ghost of a chance; I cut a pretty figure beside Ferrier, don't I" His humorous mouth twisted as if in sud den pain, | Hastings was silent; he id not believe they were all out of the wood yet, by a long way. He thought it Just a5 probable that Micky had been told les, as that Ferrier had. He marveled that two such men had suf fered the indignities they had, with out a murmur; he began to think that Joan must be a marvelously at tractive woman, | “I believe,” said Micky suddenty, “that if we could make Ferrier un derstand that—* “He looks as if he could be made | to understand things, doesn't he?’ said young Hastings with mild sar. | casm. ‘You might tell him that Joan wag waiting in his room with a priest to marry them any moment he chose to agree, and he'd never know it.” “You're a nice Job's comforter, | aren't you?” Micky’s voice was rough | and angry. “Fat lot of good—" He broke off, the bell had tinkled sharp ly thru the house. “If it’s the man from Hartey st.” said Micky shakily, “I'm off; I can’t stop here and face {t. Let me go, I| tell you." He wrenched himselif free | ef Hastings’ detaining hand, seized his hat and bolted out thru the doo the housekeeper admitted a tall | man, closely followed by the doctor, | who rubbed his chin and hummed nd hawed—the two men had arrived | at the door simultaneously. Micky went off down the’ street at a tremendous rate; tho he was afrald*to admit it to himself, in his heart he did not believe that there was the slightest chance for Ferrier. | Out in Canada he had once sat all | night by a truckle-bed and watched & man die, and the man had looked | Just as Richard Ferrier looked now It was a horrible thought, for | Micky loved Ferrier; there had been | much in the past that had bound | the two men together, The lights of | London swam mistily before him he realized that perhaps the day would soon,come when his best friend would be beyond buman | reach. | Micky was a rough diamond. It had been his own fault in tht first place that he had run up against | Major and his gang. He had not always led a clean or a straight life, | and Ferrier had roughly pulled him| up, told him straight out that he/| was & young fool; had set him on his feet again and made a man of | him. | All this Micky remembered as he | walked aimlessly along the embank-| ment, and a rough sort of prayer for Ferrier’s life stumbled for ut- terance in his heart. “He's such a fine chap—suM™ a ripping fine chap.” He walked on almlessty, A glance at his watch told him that he had not yet been gone 10 minutes, but it seemed a lifetime. He stopped and looked out over the} river, where the hulks of babges | looked like monsters in the gray summer night. Away in the dis tance a clock chimed mournfully, and to Micky’s overwrought nerves it sounded like a passing bell. He shuddered and walked on. What a rotten world it was—what 4 rotten world! Nothing ever went right—nobody ever got what they wanted. He and Raiph Hastings and poor old Ferrier—none of them had got the woman he loved, He thought of Joan as he had last | seen her, years ago. She had always | been frightened-looking, always | strained and nervous; even her laugh had not rung true. He re membered so well the haunted way | her eyes had always followed the two men about the room—Major and her brother. He thought of her as she had been that never-to-be- forgotten day when they had sen- tenced her to imprisonment.’ Micky clenched his hands. The brutes— the brute-fools—who had not had the sense to see that she had been a helpless toy all along! And that had been justicet He thought of the long months during which he had waited in anguish for her release—how he had gone to meet her when at last it came—how he had gone on his knees to her, and begged her to come away with him, to let him take her out of the hell that was her life. She had listened with the tears running down her white face. She had let him hold her hand; then, ate had just told him simply— “put I don't love you. 1 dom't love you—and it would not be fair fo you.’ THE SEATTLE STAR _DOINGS OF THE DUFFS OH, HELEN, WILL You PUT THE BUTTONS IN MY SHIRT FOR ME? I'M LATE THIS MORNING ! HELEN, THAT BI ALL RIGHT! FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS — PARDON ME, JENKINS, TSRRVE TING, PID “ou wrt, IN THEIR FAMICY, Teo Nothing had shaken her—and at| last he had given up in despair, and gone out to the backwoods to try} vainly to forget! Poor little Joan! How her face had haunted his dreams at night— the wide, frightened eyes—the whole nervous shrinking of her slender body. He had saved her life once. Per haps it would have been kinder to} let her go—the doubt had so often tortured him since. | He stood still again, he glanced once more at his watch—only 20} minutes, and it seemed like hours and hours, | Hastings must know now—he must have heard what the man| from Harley st. had to say. Micky turned and began to walk rapidly back the way he had come. As he neared the Adelphi bis steps drag. ged; he did not want to go on. He was afraid to hear the thing which, in dis heart, he was sure he al- ready knew. Ferrier was not going| to get better—Ferrier would never} get bette As he neared the house he stop | ped again, in a sort of panic. | ‘The big motor car still stood at the door, its great lamps glaring thru the night like the eyes of some huge monster. It had been, there} when he strode away from the place. A small brougham with an old-fashioned-looking coachman off |the box, stood close by in the vivid| been a child, me, Jonni you're not afraid of old) glare of thowe great lamps. 80} | neither of them had gone yet, those | Micky. verdict he i two men whose afraid to hear. Micky turned away and walked back some paces; he was wet with a sweat of fear, He glanced high }up overhead at a lighted window, | Yourself? which he knew was the room where | Ferrier lay, The easement was open, a muslin.curtath hung limply, a shadow moved once across the white was Lilian’s, Jing them all to face and fight 4 |to Tom Gets a Rise Out of Helen COME ON. WITH REAKFAST! I've GOT TO BE GOING! MORNING PAPERP 1 PAGE 1 BY ALLMAN WHERE 1S “THE PLL HAS IT COME YET? Quick Action Is Needed! Sa WELL, IT FELL DOWN TLL TEACH YOU COME “THE FIRST TIME WHEN I CALL You~! MARCH RIGHT UPSTAIRS AND GET THEY HAVE A He Micky ground his teeth and stop: ped again irresolutely, What a cow- ard he.was, running away and leav h alone. And Ferrier was his friend— not Ralph's or Lillan's. He turned again determinedly. As he neared the house again he had to stand aside to allow a woman pass. They were both in the wide circle of light flung by the lamps of the big car. at her curiously, then he made a wild cluteh forward and caught her arm with both hands. She screamed and tried to free herself, but he beld her tightly. “Joan, Joan! Don't you know me? I'm Micky.” CHAPTER XXIL Joan had not altered; she had altered one bit, Micky to as he scanned her face. There were the same sweet eyes that had haunt ed him thru all the years since he last saw her, the delicate feature: and dimpled chin. But she looked iN—desperately II and worn to a shadow, And she had been crying—the tears were wet on her pale cheeks—damp on her long lashes. She looked at him vacantly, then she began to laugh, a high-pitched, silly laugh Micky still held her cold hands; he stroked them gently, as if ehe had You're not afrai not Oh, you poor little thing!" ‘There were tears in Micky’s rough voice; he put an arm about her shrinking figure “They've looked where, Joan. Tell me all about it old Micky.” She answered him dazedly. “I ran away—they locked me in my room, and Ralph beat me; he wid he'd kill me Jt was the night for you every Micky glanced | i himself | of | Why have you hidden | tell | AN’ BROKE = T TOLD FRECKLES YouD BE Borne Cons OF EME. TWIN HAPPY FOLKS mud under the creek. Jone was, Ben Bunny, because Farmer Smith's sass-patch garden was growing so finely; Scramble cause the buds on the trees were growing sweet and juicy and green and there promised to be a fine crop |of acorns and nuts; Mrs. Redbreast jand Robin, her husband, because |now Eddie Earthworm and his rela jtives could dig their way up thru |the soft ground and out into day- llight, where they could wrig around delightfully in the dewy | erase. | Of course, Mr, and Mrs, Robin may have wanted Eddie and his friends to be hapgy, but when the strutted around calling “Cheer-up, Cheer-up, Cheerup! I don't think they were calling to Eddie. They were thinking of their Jown tummies and how nice Eddie we came up from Eastsea. Ob, but lyou dén’t know; you weren't there. And—Ferrier?” he asked. He felt to sob. “1 thought they had killed him. It |was a drug—they made mo give it lto him. And they had promised not to hurt him, He would not believe me—he thought I was lying to him.” Her voice dragged drearilyeinto st lence. She laughed again. “Oh, but I outwitted them. T tied my frocks together, and I got out of the window, and they never knew. They didn't think I'd have enough pluck. I ran and ran—I meant to kill myself.” She stared past Micky with wide ey “[ meant to throw myself into the ri but it looked dark and cold.” She shuddered “1 thought I would wait @ little while, 1 walked along the em. bankment, and—and then I saw him Rich He looked at me, and then—away again, Oh, he hated me —he hated me! I walked about all night, Micky; they wouldn't let me stay on tye seats. I looked at the river Fi but I was afraid; 1 wanted to, but I was afraid. And then—then I heard that he—Mr Ferrier—was ill! I did not go to the river any more after that, I thought I would wait and see if he got well just wait—and if he died, 1 meant to die, too, I thought he would know somehow, and wait for me.” Micky’s rough face was drawn with pain, The old, fierce longing, was back upon him again—the bit- ter, bitter Jealousy. He loved Ferrier as his friend, but he loved this weeping woman ag a man loves but once in his life. (Continued Tomorrow) | Squirret and Samantha, his wife, be: | adie, but about | her shudder in his arms; she began | And Fred Frog was glad so he could come up out of his With Jack Frost ont of the way| would help to fifi ‘em, poor things! you'd be surprised how happy every I mean, not poor tummies, but poor Eddie and bis friends! And Fred Frog was glad, so he could come up out of his mud deep own under the Mink and Mark Muskrat were glad, because Fred could come. They were glad for the same reason that Robin was glad about Eddie Earthworm. And Chirk Chipmunk was glad be- cause he could frisk out of his pile of stones, and Wasp Weasel, living near the same pile of stones, was | ad that Chirk could been watching his Chirk for some time. Cobby Coon was glad, because now come, chance He'd to get |that the lee was gone, he could get | Shiner | at Mr. Chub Fish and and Miss Minnow so easily. Mr. much more could come out, and Oscar Owl was 4 that Munch coulg come. Everybody was glad about some- thing. (To Be Continued) (Copyright, 1921, by Seattle Star) JUST A MINUTE, FOR You! creek, and Marty | Munch Mouse was glad that re! GET IT IT SOFT LIKE ¥ IT EASY! Wim WHEN HE 17/1 ONLY Knew Was SICK! Ca | When the white mén came to Puget Sound, life cnanged forthe Indians. Life had meant huftting and fishing, fighting and stealing, binding men in slavery and deal- ing treacherously with all strangers. But slowly and sure- ly, as they watched and learned, the Indians grew to believe that there was a better way than the way they had known, and that the white men alone could teach them of that better way. | When William Deshaw was made |] subagent for the mdians by the government, he ‘did much to help on the good work of teaching the Indians this better way to live. The first duty the government gave him was the breaking up of Old-Man-House, You that was the great lodge in which Chief Seattle spent his childhood with his father, Chief Schwabe, and hundreds of other Indians. ‘emember |] It was not right or best for so |] great & number of people to live in one great house. So Mr. De- shaw himself built for an Indian |] family a little home such as white people have and taught tf how to live in it. | He married a grand-daughter |] of Seattle and gave his life, so |] Costello tells us, to the civilizing GEE | WISH | HAD GIRLS, STAY HOME ALL DAY AND "TAKE \ bel Cle : | Page 403 SAY, | DO A HALF A DAYS WORK BEFORE YOURE UR GET YouR BREAKFAST, WAIT ON You, LAY OUT YOUR CLOTHES AND ALLYOU DID WAS SHAVE Yours (OU BY BLOSSER - BY AHERN PFPe WUT BROS-CHESS ALAS, POOR YORICK = IT KNEW HIM ° & A NEW CHIEF SEATTLE of the remaining Indians of the allied tribes. ‘Wiien he went to his post, the Indians still had many of their heathen customs, still had slaves, and when a chief died, their habit was to kill his slaves as well as his dor. Deshaw told of one Indian—a man named Huston—who was a slave of Chief Ska-ga-ti-quis, Now Ska-ga-ti-quis died, and Huston heard that the men of the tribe were planning to take him | with his wife and his little girt and slay them on the grave of their master. ; So he told his squaw about st. “No,” he said, “I shall not die like a horse and a dog on the grave of |my master. Come, take our little one and we will slip thru the darkness in our canoe to the _ house of the white Tyee and we shall escape that death,” So, far in the night, they crept Jown the beach and, without @ | word, without a sound, save the gentle scraping of the canoe against the pebbles of the beach, | put off across the narrow passage | the trading post of Deshaw. | Softly they landed, and softly slipped to the door of the house. Softly they whispered their danger and Deshaw led them past the store to the little shed at the side. (To Be Continued) liad Confessions of a Husband (Copyright, 1921, by Seattle Star.) 48. SAUCE FOR WHE GANDER The next morning Dot conde scended to tell me where she had been from 8 o'clock until midnight the previous evening. “As I was saying last night when you flew into one of your ugly tem- pers, it, seemed a shame to come right home after putting mother and father on the train. “George suggested that we ride up the road a little way, and I was glad to do it. It never oecurred to me that you would object, because you seem to take+ Edith out to luncheon whenever you want to- “I didn’t object to your going out with him, but to the fact that you didn’t tell me anything and left me at home wondering what terrible things had happened to you.” “Well, you stay out until all hours of the morning and don't care whether I worry or not.” “I don’t often go out without you and you always know where I am. “I know where you say you are going,” she returned coldly. “Well, what happened anyway?” I demanded impatiently. “We passed that restaurant over. looking the Hudson—you know the one I mean, where you pick out fy your steak in the ice box before go- ling in to dinner—and George sug- | gested dropping in there and having |# dance or two. “It was still early and we did. I twice went out into the hall to phone you, but each time there,was someone in the booth, so you see 1 did think of you.” “A lot of good it did me! T grunt: ed. “I hope Edith gives it to George for staying out so late, tho T must |say she didn't seem very worried |when I spoke to her over the tele- phone last night.” “Oh, did you call her up? I think that’s too funny for anything. What did she say?" “That you and George had prob- ably eloped.” I said this carelessly, but watched Dot's face. If I had expected her to show any emotion I would have been dis- appointed. Instead, in a tone that matched my own, she responded: “Did she seem much distressed?” “Not so as you could notice it.” I still felt sulky and kissed Dot good-bye in evident {ilshumor, I did not know what to say or do. Did Dot really care for George— even a little? She had acquiesced! so readily in my intimacy with Edith, Did that mean that she de sired to be with George? I knew that my own flirtation with Edith had been dead wrong, but still it didn't strike me as being unpardonable. The idea, however, that Dot would have*even the most trifling and innocent flirtation with George or any other man was ap entirely different thing. Dot was my wife. I had been @ fo¥i®to imagine that another woman could ever mean anything to me, T would have given everything I pos- sessed if we had never come to know the Slocums at all, (To Be Continued) Rely on Cuticura To Clear Away Skin Troubles sone ta Sorra ea. (OPPORTUNITY STAR WAN TADSB