The Seattle Star Newspaper, September 17, 1921, Page 11

EATTLE STAR “PAPER ROSES” By RUBY M. AYRES pol OH, HOw DO “You DO, MR DUFF P) HOW IS "HELEN AND LITTLE DANNY ? | 4 | WOw DO You DO, MRS - ER-- ’ How? be asked, whim Your LITTLE BOY you hus } y~ Tom Meets One OH, MY HUSBAND'S NAME I$ WARREN, We'S OUT OH THE ROAD MesT OF THE Time ,You KNow! of Helen's Friends — WEL OF ALL THE STUPID THINGS! WHY DIDN'T You ASK HER HE NAME a | OW, WR HAVEN'T ANY Le De CHILDREN YOU KNOW - ms JUST MY MUSBAND AND MYSELF = OH THAT'S RIGHT, SURE ~ How's FRANK THESE DAYS? I NEVER SEG HIM ANY MORE ~— SHE HAD DARK HAIR AND BROWN EYES AND HER HUSBAND'S NAME IS ° WARREN - | DON'T KNOW HOW SHE WAS BE SURE AND REMEMBER ME TO OUR ‘wiFE - AN Rights Reseryed ee HERE TODAY HO IN THE STORY RICK BRITON, famillarty called Whose rich father has just died Roderick off wi a ed-pound The severe father hag seemed RRELY MOTHER man. The} Ata Grevs, OH YES, WARREN ~ SURE | DID KNow —£ TRAVELED A GOOD DEAL-1S'Pose HE'S FINE - a hand to ber. smile for m }atoally, “Not a smile for | band? | The starled blood rushed to her) face; tears welled into her eyes. | “Oh, are you sure—wure you'll never be sorry?” ehe asked piteously ‘I'm eo afraid. I never thought of it before, but you're a gentleman, and I'm only—only—Jjust nobody!” Young Briton laughed. h | “Be truthful and call me a beg jeaith, Afters 14IK | cae he said, with forced cheerful | ness. “And I won't have you say that my wife te—Jjust nobody! He shook her playfully, “I'm proud that ‘ve trusted me enough to marry ; you shan't ever regret it, Rosa We're going to be ever such | good pals. You wait till tomorrow, when I've got you all to myself.” But she did not smile, Two bi tears fell trom her eyes and splashed on to the shabby cost she wore. | She looked at him with @ sort of fierceness. “It—if I ever thought you were| sorry,” she said; “if I ever thought) you were—ashamed of me—I'd-—I'd raindrops pattered down Itke|—kil myself.” tears. * Young Briton was shocked; there| Slow voice of the old clergy-| was such earnest Intensity in her ‘sounded monotonously thru the| volce—sueh determination in her church like a voice in a dream. | eyes. | listened to it with a yague! “I won't have you talk like that-” ig of unreality; he told bimself/ he burst ont, angrily. “I've not it was all a dream: the thin,/ given you any reason for it I~ iy “Ahmons” of the bald-headed Phere!—we won't quarrel on our im the background, the timid wedding day. Let me look at your roice @ girl beside him, the trem ring, Mrs, Briton.” / bi of her fingers in his—all a|‘ He raised her band—such a thin in from which he would soon| trembling little hand, on which the maken to find himself again in the| gold wedding-ring bung loosely fury of his rooms in London. It was like a game-a horrible it was not until he had signed his farce. As young Briton looked at in the musty register m the her he felt weighed down with ‘vestry that he seemed to make| shame and remorse. What bad he : shiver and meet the half-/ done? What endless store of trouble > Anca OF the siti whe ba | ode meg as woh ery ta cay eog “The tact ts," he went on, with a/ rush—"the fact ia I've booked a pas ane te te ios tel to “o “Fool! "tool! The word | sage in one of the Orient boats, and , aged eed ibe ae shouted ok tien te taavtane BB naman sail for Australia tomorrow. It's Si east teklom the tanta, |actom the ‘windewent country: be| Hopes hanging on here. I've got Ges’ etbgente “ to make some sort of @ life for my clergyman set his teeth, he shut his ears to| . “ By him. ore felt 22 If he must| the mocking cry which would uot be | self, and—and—* He wondered what could feel the laugh rising a—t 4 old Fergerson would say if he blurted bee 0 Grepnsé his wife's hand | out the words trembiing on his lips, poat. Then again he met) suddenly. | “and I'm married!” of the girl opposite him. “I shall hate myself if you look | “And—what?" asked the lawyer Was something tragtc in those z at me like that,” he said, roughly.) J Young Briton looked at him, and and infinitely pathetic. | He took an agitated step away from) wy ote away again pee performer, Just as anager, is pre Roderick ls engax throws im abe | Bie fathers w =] BY BLOSSER HELLO! SAM! wars, Ee MATTER WT You? CA See IM re gest to talk to, eo Be fol "Again finds Rosalie, He pro- dage to het, When Hoderick eo the pompous butler, tells htm FRECKLES AND HIS FRIENDS CHBACK, an attache of the clr wth a Deen Watching the house GQ ON WITH THE sToRyY wed From Yesterday) q CHAPTER V In the dim silence of the little iry church a man and a woman being married. the wind blew dead leayes the graves in the churchyard: LA HU fe s ow ALL ALONG DAY $O t MIGHT AS ¥ Ingi Rorie saw It with a eense of irrt EVERETT TRUE tation. EVERETT, THE BOYS ABiat “Ai Louie Bue TOWA iv FoR MR. CUGHTLY. Next) [oo F=| WG PNESPAY 1S HIS BIRTH bald-headed | straight to the heart of the girl borg trem- ‘ closing and the chyrch doors behind young Briton was waking numbness: thawing from again, and beginning to re nd to look ahead into the ad in wait—and to be drew the rug around Rosalie, it warmly about her—he she trembled when once inadvertently touched hers, the wave of compunction D very soul. pon't Paice of me,” he said, ity. “I'm going to be awfully ypu, gnd make you ever so wie te oy h a bald speech, so different to Pate words of devotion d come so easily to his Ups Might he had said good-by to Fane! He felt somehow hor. ble. He could not meet the eyes the girl beside bim. drive back was a silent one p Alperton village was in sight stopped the car. ‘I must put you down here: every. wil be all right.” He smiled jragingly down at her. “I don’t Sherney or anyone can suspect haven't been an hour and a halt together. Don't look so sad, lie; this ts the last day of the iife. Don't forget what I told you must get away from the wans early in the morning, as as it's light. I shall be here Waiting for you with the car, and go strkicht to London, and by time you're missed we shall be @f reach, and then”—he drew a breath, looking away from her the bleak fields to the belt of leafless trees behind which the old house of which he d never now be master—“and { we'll start life afresh,” he went Pon slowly, after a moment. He held Relieve babys itching skin RESINOL Soothing and Healing Has just the cooling touch fo her. “It ten't fair; you baven't given me a chance. It is you who ure sorry that We are married.” Hé stammered the words angrily: his own fear and pain drove him to accuse her—he did not know that something of the truth he believed he was hiding rushed from his heart faced him, whitefaced and bling. It was a tragic moment—then she moved towards him suddenly She laid her hands on his shoulders; she etood on tiptoe to bring herself Rearer his level. “Whatever happens.” she sald, stovty, “I shall always be glad that you married me—whatever hap pens.” And she kissed him. sunlight broke thru turned the little gold; a flock yellow ducklings splashed and chattered in the gutter. Scott, the woolly sheep-dog, came wishes to see you, It’s very important.” Rorfe paled; he had meant to write to old Fergerson and tell him what he bad done—the life he had mapped out for himself. It would have been | fairly easy to write; it seemed all at | once an utter Impossibility to explain by word of mouth. “Is be in the library? “Yes, sir, he come jist after you'd gone, sir, and said be would wait.” Rorie hung up his coat mechant with great deliberation: they were not in the least dirty, but he felt as it he most gain time. Blunt hovered near. “I suppose you haven't seen the hunchback chap again?” asked Rorle | carelessly. He was not in the least interested to know, but it was some thing to gay. Blunt frowned. | morning, sir; and after you'd gone out, Mr impudence to call at the front door and ask for you. Said it was most particular.” “Ob! Rorte laughed. you say?” “I told him you was out, Rorie.” “Hump.” “He said he knew that. He eaid he'd seen you go, sir, and he wanted to know when you'd be back and where you'd gone—such impudence. | I set Scott on him, Mr. Rorle, and that’s the last I've seen of him. | What shall I say if he calls again, sir?” Rorle hesitated; there was a flerce | light in his eyes, “You can tell him,” he said then, deliberately, “that I’m sailing tomor- row afternoon for Australia.” “Mr. Rorie! Sir™ Old Blunt's | ruddy face paled, his mouth drop open. You're not in earnest, sir “I am,” said Rorie. He turned on | his heel and walked towards the | study, leaving Blunt staring piteous- | ly after him. “What did Mr. CHAPTER VI Roderick stood for an instant ont side the closed study door, hia fin- gers on the handle—his heart beat- ing up somewhere in his throat. He felt horribly nervous; old Fer- gerson had such plercing eyes. He knew full well how flereely the old man would resent his marriage. When at length he opened the door and walked into the room, Rorie car. ried his head defiantly high—to the man in the deep chair by the fire he looked absurdly like a schoolboy come to receive punishment. A smile twinkled in the lawyer's kindly eyes as he rose to meet him. “Well, Roderick? Rorie sat down on the arm of a chatr with his back to the light; he fumbled for hi gig- aret case, and held it to Mr. Ferger- son. “I'm glad you've come, sir,” he | a with an ease he waa far from eeling. “I was going to write to ‘you tonight.” He paused. “Indeed! Mr, Fergersou was smil- cally and wiped his boots on the mat| “He was hanging about again this| Rorte, he actually had the} | “That's all.” he sald bluntly. “1 nee.” Old Fergereon looked at him consideringly. “Rather a eud. den determination, tan't it, Roder ‘o. 1 never meant to stay in | England. I booked my passage three days ago. Hang it all! What's the use of mincing matters? I'm done for in England. I owe more money than I can ever pay. I haven't a | friend in the place who'll stick t+ | me now I'm a beggar. 1 know what people are; daresay I should be the game myself—but— Weil, that’s ail about it.” j “And—Miss Fane? The old lawyer asked the question | quictly. | Young Briton flushed crimson. He . dropped his cigaret to the floor. | “She chucked me,” he sald rough: | ly. “And quite right, too, I'm not} blaring her. She's not used to pov erty; and after all, we weren't really | engaged. She was quite free to do) ag ehe pleased.” j “T see.” Pause. “Minn Fane would haye married you had your father's | will been—different?”" Roderick wax white enough now—~ | his brows frowned fiercely. ' “[ suppose eo. But I'm not blam | ing her," he burst out, angrily. “Why | | whould she marry a begwar and a fool like I am? How could I keep her? TI can’t even keep myself.” “And so you are golng to Aus | tralia?” Feu." “1 don't think so, Roderick.” Young Briton stared: then he gave! a short laugh. | “I thought you wouldn't believe | me. I suppose you don’t think I got enough grit to go out and rough ft, eh? Well, here's the ticket; you can eee for yourself.” | He drew some papers from his | | pocket, threw them on to the table | then snatched them back again. For the moment he had forgotten that he had booked a double berth—for his wife and himself. } After all, there was no need to tell \old Pergerson that he was married, | {t would only upset the old chap, and | it was unilkely they would ever meet | again after tomorrow. He put the papers back in his pocket; he remem» bered that his marri certificate was amongst them. Rosalie had asked hit to keep It “The boat sails at five,” he added, awkwardly | “But you will not sail with tt,” | said Mr. Fergerson | Young Briton shrugged his shoul ders, | “1 oa of course,” he said, sharply. He left the chairarm and walked over to the window. It was q |sunny afternoon—the clouds rain of the morning had away—a shiny, yellow billed blac bird chattered on a bare tree bough |outdide the window. Rorle Aighed |inyoluntarily; he had never before realized how much he cared for his home—how beautiful it really was. If only he could wake ana find he had dreamed this last nightmare | jof a week—dreamed of the reading | |of that unjust will-—of Lilian Fane's letter of dismissal—ot his marring }that morning in the little dark church—wake to find himself once} more rich, beloved, happy | “Roderick!” He turned rply, bracing his} shoulders; at any rate he would not let old Fergerson see that he cared. | He would go to bis exile smiling, and defiant. He went back to the fire | side. The old man was watching him with twinkling eyes. “Supposing,” he sald suddenly, “that another will were to be found jleaving you master of everything here, Roderick—leaving you a rich man. You would not be talking of Australia then, T take it?” Roderick laughed mirthlessty. “supposing—-what is the use of supposing?” he asked, wretchedly. “This ign’t a kid's fairy tale gr a six-shilling novel.” “No,” said old Fergerson, euddenly ve. “This iy the truth—the living ruth —and sometimes truth {gs stranger than fiction, Roderick.” Young Briton turned slowly. He had been standing staring down into | the fire. “What do you mean? he asked, sharply. “I mean,” ‘t force you to believe me, said Mr, Fergerson, ‘ar “As the weeks and months passed, the three women grew more homesick; more and more curlous to know what their fam lly and their frienda were doing on the earth. “They thought of it and talked of it ti in their hearts there was room for little else. “So one day they selected a big and fern and dug down, down, and down the roots till suddenly a gust of wind blew thru, and then far, far below them they saw the earth, “So day after day, when no one was watching, they wove a long ladder of cedar roots, which would reach to the earth, “WhiteStar and RedStar felt the alr moving and came to see what their wives were doing, but th® women had covered up the hole so that {t could hot be seen and the busbands saw only three women busily weaving cedar roots. “Day after day the worked and and carried home great baskets of fern roots so that their husbands (ne Seattle Page 471 THE THREE SISTERS (Chapter 3) a wouldn't suspect. And they made little flat cakes of pressed meat and when the laddgr was long enough, Tapalt baby, and she, and Yaslamish climbed down the ladder. “But old Wocock, the grand: mother, stayed behind to cover up the hole tn the sky so that the stars couldn't find their wives. Wocock covered up the hole, and then being afraid the husbands would kill her, she turned herself into a fern and grew right over the hole thru which the sisters had returned to the earth. “There deer took her was great rejoicing In the camp over the return of the sisters and the swinging ladder was the center of attraction, for it proved the truth of the wonder. ful story told by the sisters. “And then one stormy night It fell, and because it was a magic thing which reached from earth to sky, when its topmost end touched the earth, It became a clear stream of water rushing over a cliff—people now call it Snoqualmie falls.” To Be Continued “that I have found another and later will amongst your father’s papers, Roderick, and that by it he revokes all other wills, leaving you bin sole heir.” ‘There was a poignant. g¢ilence. Young Briton stood with head craned forward, white-faced, wild-eyed, star- ing down at the old lawyer. “You—you—mean—it?" he asked, hoarsely. “You're--you're not-— making a fool of me?” There was a sort of sob in his voice, Mr. Fergerson rose to his feet; he laid a kindly hand on the young man's shoulder. “It's the truth,’ Roderick—the sol emn truth. The will was not made by me, but it is perfectly in order, and leaves everything to you, Your father was always @ strange man; one could never tell what he would do from one day to the next. Thank God that at the last he did the right thing by you.” {Continued Tomorrow) WHEN A WOMAN TELLS By RUTH AGNES ABELING copyright, 1921, by Seattle Star.) CHAPTER XXXVIHII—MRS. AMES HAS STRANGE oad. | AWAKENING The sun was shining brightly thru | find herself and then went in. I In- my windows when I wakened. The | tended to ignore the proceedings of |little clock on the table nearby in-/the previous night. |formed me‘ that it half after nine, but the Ames usually silent for that hour in the |morning. Slipping eaxily out of bed, I lis- ened at the door between Lila Ames* room and my own. There was no sound. | Very quietly I opened the door and |peeped in. She was still sleeping. On her beautiful face there was no trace of the previous night's de. bauch. Her skin was fairly trans parent, and the expression on her | face was one of extreme calm. 1 was fascinated. | TI felt again the lure of her beauty jand found her attraction for men jwery easy to understand. | Twent back to my room and left Lila sleeping. In the hall on the way to break- fast I met Grace. “Is she awake?” she asked. said that her sleep: thing that went on ‘ace smiled. late was the best then | ¢ |ing jcould happen, and about her work. | My morning was finishing touches for the party, things which I knew Mrs. Ames |would want done, but would not have time to do herself. Anon” during the morning T thought of Tom. I wondereg what | would hapyen if I told him of Philip | Ames’ doings yesterday afternoon land the indiseretions of the night. The import of Philip Ames’ ingult was gripping on me. I had reached |the point where it seemed unfor- givable. Where a few hours before I rather pitied his weakness, as the morning went on I grew to hate it and wanted it to be brought to reck- oning. It was yery evident that he was ruining the life ‘f bis brother and that thought affected me strangely. I could never got over it, it seemed— the grip of John Ames’ lonely voice I heard in the hall on the night be- fore—which already seemed so long ago. I wanted to tel] Tom. I wasn't sure that I wouldn't, because I felt that someone should extract from Philip Ames’ hide, if in no other way, the toll for some of the things he was doing. It was just a little past noon when I heard movements in Lila's room. crowded with She didn't look up when I entered ouse Was un-|her room. She was working with a fastener of her dressing gown. Her “good morning” was strained. Without knowing just why, I had the feeling that some big change had taken place in Lila during those hours of revelry and the sleep which followed. There was some intangi- “ RRS 2 Off they Mr. Codfish swam away and Cap'n Pennywinkle went on with his con- versation, “By the way, Twins, that lobster got away after jabbing Jimmy Jellyfish full of holes, and he ought to be punished. I haven't time to go after him and I wonder if you will find him for me.” Nancy and Nick told Mr. Penny- winkle that they should be delighted and asked where he lived. Curly, Cap'n Pennywinkle's sea- horse, spoke up now. “He lives in the grove of seaweed next to the big gray rock.” “Goodness!” you talk?’ “Certainly! answered Curly with dignity. “Why shouldn't 1? Besides it’s useful in our business, isn't it, Captain?” Cap'n = Pennywinkle teed fondly. “Yes, cried Nancy. “Can patted his indeed! he de- 1 waited until she had had time to [clared, “Most useful! Because Curly sah ET toma It disturbed me. 1 felt » little bit Finally she oven bet cma ad chao om : rsaatige “| ag something—T feel quite well: “Thats fing,” r said, “TU Sor for eamething tempting you. To bridge the strained have been t swam thry the Land of t) ean see behind while I look tn Every traffic policeman should ha) four eyes.” “That's right,” declared Nick, “T never Rreugnt of that. c Nancy, we'll hunt up Lopry Le and bring him to Captain 2 winkle right away.” Off they swam thru the Lang the Wigglefins. " sits! There were quite q number of oysters tying about m q very lay fashion, and the Twins swam up one of them, inquiring politely, ° brine was where Loppy Lobster lived. “Yes,” answered one of the ox» ters, “he lives here when he's. but he's not at home yi left the house a tee ‘went’ aoe very hastily, saying that it time for him t . id era so conyrighe 1921, by Seattle Star) amas