The evening world. Newspaper, November 6, 1914, Page 23

NWA ee CHAPTER XIV. Letters From Rex. RRIVED at the house, T Dromptly sought Dirck. He opened the talk by saying: “Monsteur was wondering last night what it wes that called madame from her guests.” .’ “I've heard sincé. The man you thought Theresa sent away from the heitchen door was young Mr. Sutphen. “Ab, you have heard the truth, then. Theresa casried a message from Monsieur Edouard Sutphen to ma- Gaine ms mother. “Hum, just so. Did you learn any- thing else?” He twisted his blond mustache looked as knowing ae only a hman can. hear Monsieur Sutphen is a gay oh Rope that’s over with, Dirck, and that ‘he's ready to settle down. He's eewn wild oats enough.” “Yes.” His blue eyes met my ques- tioning glance. 190, I heard that — ur had a charming visitor last aight. The deuce you did! You mustn’t believe all you bear, Dirck.” “Monsieur keeps silence, but Ther- @ea herself told me that sho visited ht."* bat sald that ‘Mats out, 1.onsieur.” “It was a crazy thing for her to 40, Dirck, Did Theresa tel you what was after?” ushter shone in my man’ eresn has told me her soul @ you up to your old ‘ve gone pretty fast in fina eee. Coser . is more spirituelle than a thought her at first. She is one to be tion to Mademoisell: “Tie him go reluctantly—his pret ence was at least a partial distrac- ten. When he had gono at last, I sat @own in smoking jacket and lounging afte to read. Presently came a light at the door, fo one came in, but again the tap aling. Bad the door open in an instant— 8 ~ wes eancing in thi aie iit of the hall. by her fingers touched min ed away from me and fell to her side. “ “Craig, | couldn't sleep withott at you these.” She thrust a cou letters into my hand and was gone fore I could speak. I.examined, the letters under the One was addressed in @ man's handwriting simply: ‘‘No- “The other bore the direction: “Mies Ellen Sutphen, Red Cedars.” I the latter first. “This afternoon Aleck came Bome with Mr. Beauchamp from the run after you, and after that ntieman (7) was out of the way told me the strangest thing several strange things. you know Craig Schuyler knocked Mr. Beauchamp senselesi this afternoon? But of course you 4on't, for he would never tell Something Aleck told me ig said to him set me thinking about dear Rex. “You know since Rex died w: ad the hi 13 e eart to disturb any in stood just as it was last time he gat there—I mean it did until two hours ago. Well, what Aleck said @et me thinking. Nell, I went straight to Rex's desk and in the very first drawer I opened I found @ letter addressed to me—it had been waiting for me all these , and oh! how sorry I am I Bare find t long ago. I send you the letter—it’s for you to read ‘more than any one ejse, dear. To think how we've wronged Craig, fm our thoughts at least, all these years, and he's been so aillent about it all. Aunt Caroline has already had a talk with Mr. Beau- ‘champ, and he left the house—and our acquaintance—half an hour ‘ago. How fine Craig has been! I {feel so very, very humbled. 3 “NORAH.” |My mind in a whirl, I opened the ether letter, addressed in Rex's hand- writing to Norah, It read as follows: “Dear Little Sister: I've felt rather mopey for several days ‘and Dr. Hudson has just told me T've got a touch of fever, I ‘ gould see by his manner that It's going to be more than a touch, sv I'm writing you this in case anything happens. I'm writing you because it's a queer world and some time people may say unpleasant things about the fin- eat ehap that ever lived—I mean Orns huyler. “You're atill in school, Chicken, + @ut I think you know who Miss : Katherine Willetts is—the daugh- “ter of Mr. Elwood Willetts. Will yu be surprised when I tell you in love with Kitty ® Tm not sure. The Willettses eren't quite our sort, but Kitty is the sweetest, most lovable girl in the world—I mean ehe ased to be. Well, I won't talk about ooh tan't ony 11 a schoolgirl ut @ year ago a m: Faned Garton Boauchamp—aa Sagheryee—evt, to be friends wuere le ‘where dear old Craig comes in, Iwas @- beard nwceny ean» Kitty and Beauchamp, dut IT | couldn't do anything. I hadn't any claim on her—besides, after what had happened I felt as if I never wanted to see her. I spoke to Craig about how I felt and he’ been true blue, He's seett old M Willetts and Kitty for me—he's made things comfortable for them, and T know if anything he won't let Kitty suffer. “I can see now that what Craig's done for me may. put him in @ bad light if it ever comes out. you wi 's the reason I'm telling oh, this—so you'll know that loyal one that ever breathed. Below this was pencill line in a different handwriting “If Norah is humbled, what am I? “ELLEN.” CHAPTER Xv. Ashes of the Star TER tonsing for an hour ory more, with sleep as far from me as ever, I resoived to rN make a raid on the' library and réad myself into a comatose con- dition, Jf not into a somnolent one. As I entered the library my eye Was caught by the red glow from the open fire-place. 1 was about to sink into'a seat when the shifting embers threw a sudden light on the ctiair next mine. I stared—ttie rosy glow was reflected from what seemed a curtain. As I gazed the curtain took shape—I rec- ognized Ellen Sutphen, At the same instant she must have seen my shadow dancing grotesquely on the wall—she glanced up. Her low cry of terror was changed into a gasp of consternation as she realised I was not @ burglar. Sascprens to'Her feet. I saw the firolight sparkle upon neck and arms, and upon little feet— all as hot with blushes as the embers with Baran ; “Sit alown, ait down!" I cautioned. big chair will make your best hiding-place. If you run, ‘Nell, I vow I'l watch you every step of the way— I'm human enough to take advantage of what the gods throw in my way, you know. I ought to let you stand there where the light can shine on you, but I'm honest enough to’ tell you. the chair will make you a regular ent.” She had already sunk into her seat, Consternation in every motion. “It—if you have any decéncy, you'll Behera once, and- you won't took “Decency isn’t supposed to. be my strong point. No, no, if you will wan- der about the house late at night in fluffy negliigco you must. abide, the consequences.” “It isn't very late,” she returned de- fensively. “I couldn't sleep, 60 I just came down here to get @ book, and then I saw the fire and” —— “Madam Grundy Is asleep upstairs, I fancy—no disrespect to your moth “Yes. But what about Mademol- selle Grundy?” “You don’t mean the falr Ther. esa?” “Of course. What would she think if she should find us? She's as formal as anyone and"—— My laughter interrupted her. “Theresa in the role of Miss Grundy!" “Oh, don't go.” I glanced around far enough to make her cower back in her ch: ir. she sald at last, “how long do you intend to keep me here? It's dreadfully late. If any one should come down I don’t know what I'd fo “I don't belleve it's 12 o'clock yet— ridiculously early.” “But—I'm .cold, Craig.” “Honest and true, now! Are your” “We-ell, perhaps not #0 vory.” Again we were silent. Into the si- lence stole a faint sound. My hear. ing, from yeare of outdoor life, is unusually acute—what I heard, or fancied I heard, was a scraping out- aide one of the long windows. “What's that?” I asked carelessty. I didn’t hear any- thing. Goodness! I hope mother isn't prowling about.” “No, it seemef to be on the porch out there.” ' “Maybe it was a cat.” “Ot course,” I assured her. “I don’t bear anything now, at any rate.” Nor did I at the ‘moment, but a lit- tle later, listening tntently, I heard 4, the sound again, unmistakable to my trained senses—the fall of a stealthy foot on the porch just outside the long window. Sinking deeper than ever into my chair, and turning my head with the utmost caution, I stared at the win- dow. The long curtains left a triangle of dark pane ex; Although there was no moon the stars were out and the night was clear. Between the stars and the window pane a dark bulk loomed—or did I only imagine it? Wag there or was not a white smudge—a human face--set close-Against the glass in an effort to peer into the room? I could not have sworn either, way. The shadow of the porch hid what the starlight might have revealed. If there were a e@ it could see nothing—the fire was only a red eye that made the room darker by con- tra Ellen and I were concealed by the high backs of the chairs. A foot- step—or the wind—sounded as if mov- ing away from the window. ‘We were silent a jong time. At last I heard a ruath es footateps. T waited, and when I looked around Ellen’ CHAPTER XVI. A Cold Bath. ‘EN I had allowed Ellen time to reach her room I hurried to my own, There I pressed the bell that com- municated. with Dirck's quarters at the rear of the house, and pending his arrival, I rummaged through my things. ' Dirck did not appear, and for him again and again. ‘drawing ‘my palrret: vy I rang I was ‘ 7 + mm” ¥ ‘ v ¥ from their case when I heard his dis- ereet knock. I opened the door. “Gad! you must have been al lke a log,” I said. e been ringing ten minuteg, moré or leas. “I am sofry, monsieur.”! His eyes fell on the blued steel in my hand, “You clean your pistols late.” I waved the barrel toward the table. ‘There's the other for you. Don't clean it—load it. It may be more useful that way.” “Ah?” He spun the cylinder with a@ skilful thumb, and deftly slipped the cartridges in place. “Is there a hope of using these—perhaps a chance of something of interest in this peaceful country?” “There's a bare possibility.” As quietly as if we ourselves had been a-pair of burglars, we stole downstairs and into the library. Here even the red eye of the fire had faded to blackness. I almost stumbled over the armchair, empty of the white- fered ‘Agure ‘hit bad lately ocoupied We listened and peered by the long window. No shape sbut off the star- light, and no gound disturbed the night except the sighing of the chill autumn wind about the cofners of the house—the loneliest sound in the world! “I wonder if I could have been mis- taken. What do you think, Dirck?” @o not think so. Monsieur’s eyes and ears are good.” “I hardly think I could myself. ‘We'll try the other rooms.” Holding our breath, our revolvers ready, we searched the drawing- room—without result. Then we slipped across the hall and felt about the other rooms, penetrating every alcove and shaking every window curtain. Still no sign of any night marauder. ‘We went back to the library, un- locked and opened a window and stepped out on the porch. In an- other minute we were on the grav- elled walk in front of the house, Dirck touched my arm and pointed upward. A light was burning be- hind the closed curtains of a second story room—-Elle Perhaps she was slowly pre ig for bed, her mind running o our adventure in the Mbrary and. liked to think— brooding over the ashes of the stars. ‘As on the other face.of the hous here was no indication of any would- be violator of its sanctity. I was about to continue our patrol when [ felt Dirck's earnest pressure of my arm. He was nodding emphatically toward a box hedge a few paces from us—something was stirring its stiff foliage. A man broke deltberately through the box, and stood in the gravelled walk beneath the lighted window, , We sitrank deep into the shadow of the blue spruce, Then the barrel of Dirck's revolver crossed the line of my vision. I gripped his wrist. “No, no, man,” I muttered. “We must seo who he Is, may be only some harmless astraggier from the town.” The night-walker, having stood a moment in the path, now began an extraordinary performance. Facing toward the house, he moved a step to the right, then to the left, back- ward and forward, Had it been a schoolgirl and on the street I would have called it skipping. His arms, too, fluttered about his head in an ascending and descending callathenic. For the time and place it was truly bewildering behavior. “It may be he signals a confed- erate,” whispered Dirck, ‘But he’s facing toward the house.” “Truly, and looking up to the win- dow—the one with the light.” We stared at each other, The strange pantomime atill con- tinued. The man would place both hands to his mouth as if he were about to call up to Ellen. Then he would apparently think better of It, for the hands would be flung up and outward in what seemed almost a ture of 4 5 WSGan it be Ned Bitphen, trying to his. sister's attention? But he make quch @ secret of should ‘SOME CYCLONE!” @ » day's occurrences, Des Ste a ge = = == er ma “Ah, the gaillard? It must be the one.” “He must be throwing gravel at the window.” “But he takes it from his mouth.” “No, he probably has his hands full of pebbles and happens to find It easiest. to toss them up in that style. He certainly never played baseball, though—and I don't hear anything rattle against the pane either.” Again’ the intruder applied his hands indubitably to his mouth and flung them upward. I gasped “Kisae: By heaven! Kisses! “Kisses! “It can’t be Sutphen, after all, He wouldn't throw kisses to his sister at * 1 o'clock in the morning. Yes, by Jove! the damned tdlot is skipping— and throwing kisses! Humph! He's stopped at last.” The fellow had, indeed, come to a halt fair in the little patch of light that fell. from Ellen's window. For the-@iret time his face was tilumined. I loomed—rubbed my eye: nd stared with all my soul. “I say, Ellen,” called a drawling voice, “you ought to give a chap back his kisses—you ought, you know, really. It isn’t fair to keep them.” “Beauchamp, by Gad! Drunk!" The light fell on the hither side of his face and I saw it clearly, His prominent nose showed ridgelike against the blackness bebind it, and his insolent mouth was directed up- ward as he renewed his appeal. “Don't kee! chap waiting here forever—it'a deuced cold out here.” The light in Ellen's room suddenly diminished, yet did not go out, In- voluntarily fear must have led her to switch off the lights, then pride had come in time to prevent their com- plete extinguishing, “That's right, my dear,” called “Turn ‘em out! Turn Wo tare are so bright.” “Drunk! cold drunk!" I muttered again. As I learned afterward, he had spent half the night at the club, going there direct from the Weatbrooks’, In the club he had proceeded to take one Grink on another, doubtless drown his rage and chagrin o When at to steward had given orders tha should be served gothing more, Beau- champ waa in the state men of his cool temperament soinetimes reach his braia.on fire, but his apeech co- herent and his limbs fairly steady, He began to aing: ‘ikindee your window 1 play my, eultae, Play wy guitar, play my gul— Gad! I don’t remember tho rest. It’s & bally poor song, at any rat “Shall ve rush upon him?" whis- pered Dirck eagerly. ‘We can send him to a hospital in three minut time. You can again break his jaw. The prospect was enticing, but I was in a cold fury that impelled me to endure the drunken cad 4 while jonger. “No, not yet. I want to give him rope enough to hang himself.” He way paying out the rope fast enough, thera was no doubt akout that. ttle Tommy Tucker fr his supper,” he chanted, supper I'm sin, say, Noll, it isn't my iw for, though—it's just you, my dear.” He chuckled. “Had my supper at the club. By gad! I didn’t either. Their chow wasn't fit to eat, you know, I had e@omething to drink instead.” He paused and shook his head at the window as if he had received an interrogation thence. “Too much to drink? Oh, no, my dear, I promise ou—just a few refreshers—I needed ‘em, really, after the nasty way old Miss Westbrook talked to me. A real eat—I never had such a wigging in my life. And theo ur letter, my Par. this morning—tbat was a blow. hi ‘Ou. want to know what I had to ink? Let's see, I'll tell you.” t aoleniniy on hin fingers, 1 bad some of your American cocktatls, Then I had @ Scotch; and an Irish, After that I tried a gin-ricky—no, it was a silver fizz. By Gad! I don't know which was. first—had ‘em both, at any rate. Then @ little more usquebaugh, I think. I don't suppose you ever drank shandygaff, did you, my dear? I did, and next to that a whiakey-sour. Your American drinks are delightful. Nell, are you listening, my dear? You ought to Masten, really.” The dim light burned steadily above. The wind moaned about the corners of the house. The frosty stars twin- kled on the ridiculous and saddening pectacle of @ man reduced to the ‘ge of the lachrymose. ‘I say, Nell, you ought to take me in. Whi the use of being ty about it He paused and a new idea seemed to strike him. “Oh, is it on account of the row I with that fellow, Schuyler? The p has # fist like a biacksmith’s. No gen- tleman ought to have a fist like that, by Gad!” He stared up at tne window, hold- ing his head at a comical side-cock, as if he again had a communication from above. “Oh, on account of little Kitty Willetts, is it? That's the same thing—the row with Sohuyler was over her, you know. I tried to be ‘slim’ about that, and by Gad! how he did bowl over, Come now, don't be atiffish over a thing like that. I'm no worse than any other ch I fancy. If Rex Weat- good old chap he was, too— if Westbrook was such ass to to face my rush. But this very un- preparedness helped him, for. checked my blow nis jaw and it fell. heavily on his shoulder. Never- theless, he went down full-length on the gravelled walk. Dirck dealt him a kick in the riba as he lay, "Go easy!" I aald. “He's down, worse luck. I wish he'd kept his feet a minute longer.” “Wot cheer, maties!" came from the figure at our feet. “Do you mean fight? I'll take you on, ff you like.” “That's what I want,” I returne ‘Help him up, Dirck.” With some difficulty, was restored to an upright position. However, one look at him as he threw himself into a grotesque attempt at a boxing attitude was enough. A fight with him would be only a slaughter —desirous as I was of punishing him 1d not take such an advantage ‘he brute’s too drunk to fight.” “By Gad! 1s that you, Schuyler? You He, Schuyler.” “Do I? I've a notion to heat you to @ pulp—you drunken blackguard!” “Craig!” My_name floated down from mia- air, I glanced up. The curtain of the window above was parted ever altghtly, Through the crack a sen- tence was thrown like bits of Ice, “Craig—there's a pond—across the Toad!” The icy votce ceased—the curtain showed an unbroken surface—the light was abruptly extinguished, pond—across the ron Ina flash I remembered that a recent ral had washed away an edge of the r in front of “Red Cedars.” The local roadmaster had neglected to repair it promptly, and it now lay a black and nauseating pool, not a hundred yards from where we stood. I shouted directions to Dirck, We whirled Beauchamp about in spite of his energetic, “Wot cheer, matie! and, one on each side of him, hustled him across the lawn, Although prob- ably he did not divine our intentions, he struggled vigorously. But he was a child in the grasp of two men, either of whom would have been more than his match even had he been sober, An it was, his drunken ‘ ndition made him well nigh help- In a trice we had rushed him over the lawn, had crosned the road and in the edge of the filthy wat you chaps, what the I—a thin scum of ice crackled as went down. aC eo cate The Evening World Daily Magazine, Friday. Novem | Fasten a Bracelet | A New Yorker's Odd Adventures With « “Badge of Slavery” By David Potter : ‘There was a tremendous splashi! in the freezing fiuid—e storm curses as a figure, black cla: feet of ter. and out of my life. As we returned past the house I studied Ellen's window. All was dark, By the blue spruce I halted and ing atar, v ed coldly at looked back. The bright and pure, face, from an Infinite distance, CHAPTER XVII. Eavesdropping. IRCK waa awaiting me when 1 gained the porch steps: We regarded each other with the sober satisfaction of men who have done their plain duty. “How he splashed, monsteur!” “Fairly wallowed! I hope he gulped down a good mouthful of ‘mud. “It was impossible not to. laughter I heard the crunch of gravel behind me. Dirck peered over my shoulder Above our relish! ae I turned. ‘Bome one ie coming up the path, monsieur.” “Beauchamp would never ha ing nerve—unless he’s ready to shoot.” “He walks too steadily for a druak- From. where we atood, the path fol- lowed the curve of the house in and in the other wor away beneath @ row of elms to the public road, Just now the elms formed @ tunnel, so shot witb stare that the jst was kicked up in allvery sparkles about the feet of an ad- direction, ground m vancing maa. Whoever he might be, he was mak- ing no effort to conceal his approach, On the contrary he came forward Beauchamp boldly until within a few yards of My greeting apprised him of our pres: ence. “Good evening. a halt. “Oh, Schuyler! N. You're just the man I Bohuyle “Good night, Direk behind Aleck stared Frenc..man slipped ons A fine He threw up his head “Hello! who's t that you, Aleck? “Have you lost your way, my boy’” m all right. it to see, 10, leur, through the open window, “Who was that with you—DuBols?” “Yes. “He's out late.” “So am I you, aren't you?" ight." I returned. murmured er my head as the into the house For that matter, so are My question wai (x2%kts,) © By Robert Minor of hair and shoulders grotesquely plastered with found a footing in four ‘Then Carlos champ, shivering, filth marked, #o- bered, furious but tmpotent, made his way to the further bank of the pool ‘tn the d came to | - er 6, 1 914 People Say? ' By Rupert Hughes: |. This Book on the Steade Will Cost You $1.35. You Get It for 6 Cents, an’t complain. But it ien’t that. a jething about—well, about [Se gg te ontg she'd tho . & message from Killen. ig Norah?” I turned matters swiftly ¥ in my mind. “Ought you to talk to ki ee Stine ae me about your sister, Aleck? You' le’'s & good talker when he tries.” re young—I_ he pardon, but bs | Aleck ick his fist on the ate!—and pel ad you think offhi “ it's your duty. alk t jo. me about her bg T don’t know what It's about of cour My Wat, at a venttre, I should aay don't ses try to handle your si ‘What did ‘ " Sleep on it, at any rate. “Ohett raon't what he sald but the We werg, standing close torether, way he sald it—hie yelesend: d Me ? what in the world the fellew in the drakness {could MANO Ang ull that. I'm foot te an ote George! hearing that dae myan talk. I felt as week os Hehind him a star or two twinkled ~.08 Weak as Norah, maybe, 14 through the top of the blue spruce, "derstood before hiw.it ame : leon could handle A Tabbit—e, eo ep aE prerey ea it us. “ One horrified men. fs see now. It wast % all there was to it. Angit’s the-eeaym thi sath tte ton Hickering itke eteor in the dar! talking wan aled ner he Se. ‘I think—If you don’ Pe it!) And she was ain listening as if she were a stat ‘Seat—not See —ltea My mind groped for his meaning— i. tried ts romersber, what word or ave ir oy loran. bed next‘words be. wildered me more than ever. “You're the cleanest minded mas follow your aocwhate rent for me to do.” lo—what's lor he iqned myself to the issue ne ia, ‘We can talk better in- (mat, Ls F i 5 ag Hy il iy He followed me across the porch and th rh the window into the ibrary. ition! until 7 had.atl embers of the cheerful blaze es. “ait down, Aleck.” He aankinto a chair—the one where Filen had lately crouched. “The fre~ light revealed his face—I saw that 4% wore 4 troubled look rather than puzzled one.” As he leaned. his elbows on his knees ai his chin in his Lined the Merten his temples -seemed more drawn than hota reo sphrhle ia his blue eyes was a le qi! , ME dont know what to think,” he | “Tf ft were any one @ mean if it were any dther man’s ter—I'm afraid I would feel out-and- out disgusted. But ‘Norah! She Fa OR ited sort imn't aes act é , anld emphatically. be certain.’ “But giris are queer,” he seturned ‘with all the cynic Philosophy, of yout and inexperience. “Afterall, I don't ry different Ha F ‘hie fin- . “Well, o'clock t act, | suppose. You leaned still further forw mi Hs ii ie fl Gchuyter, F é: s re tight about his rigtd {fa like. this. About brought thore lett Ellen from Norah.” I nodded, “We're all mighty so! and aaheren Ode “Never n “Well, then, when I got Tlay down on the lounge In fis toracy, Do you remember?—It's next to the ‘den’ each has. a door onte the porch, @ good deal like this,” “I Ay Oy and a, wn about things unc (5 wo stu put upa I felt inclined to emilt th in there going over Re: “One minute, ‘Aleck.’ terial : “Ol You'll sep in a minute, eee any aneatthiag oT dowd want you to think I'm @ a4, eo I ha thought about her and- ‘unt! T fell asleep,” “Hum-m!"" t ‘- festing “The next I knew T woke up mighty cold—the open window let the wind brow across mé. Before I was really awake I the window. When I it was too late to move. nen?” “I understand. perfectly; Yeu thought you would make more ef a mens of things by moving thaa you would by keeping quiet.” ; be a bau iE 8 His rigid att Ufted his face from cry “I knew you'd understand. Well, of course, | recognized Norah's voice soon enough, but it took ma @ minute or two to make out whose the oth was, and when I did, it gave me start, T can tell you “It was Beauchamp, of course’* “Beaucahmp! Lord! no—I wish it had been. I would know where I stand then. It was your man DuBois," more for a second, Ute sound in her Lar ot you with Mr. Schuyler,’ ac autour, when you are a: geatie- sought my face as if to mi of we sympathy. “4 a % “Women aro sor! appealing, ene, seni, Have you ever aren't I had not been in the least pre- pared for this revelation, yet I did not doubt ite truth. At my one lamation of surprise, I fell back on silence to conesal my thoughts. | remembered that Norah had been struck by her first sight of Dirck. At dinner she had deeply tnter- ‘The fireitght ‘it hie earnest face as overy of woman's 1» be went on, 4 Bola c superfluous, and I went on. “Dirck ¢' in my little story of hls kind- to talk in Fremeh. know and I have been rounding up @ man | 49 to the Hungarian emigrants. He it any too well, but Norah is rather we took for a burglar at firat.” had returned without embarrassment clever at it—the year after 'You left ‘A tramp?" her Impuisive handclasp that same home, Aunt Caroline and she spent ‘No, only @ trespasser—Carlos night—-she had blushed beneath his in France—Norah weat to, sc Beauchamp.” glance, there. “The devil!" “Pretty nearly, over there.” “Good! has been up to to-ni, “Hello! what's up, Aleck?, I don't flatter myself you came over here at tae hour simply for the pleasure of a call" “No-o, that's true, Can I have a talk with you, Schuyler—about some- t! thing confidential oo “If you want to say anything abou! Kitty Willetts and Beauchamp an me, I'd rather not Al Norah's jestege and your apologies for “It ien't that—t knows I feel a could kick me from ight?" We sobered him up by giving him a swim in the pond Although hia exclamation of satisfaction was genuine, yet, to my surprise, be displayed no further interest in Beauchamp's fate, went on in @ significant tone. that everything your man—DuBole— He ry ‘From what I made out, DuBois sked Norah if she remembered how 8 lovely, blonde ‘jeune fille’ was near ly run over by a drunken cabman one day on the Champa Elysees. Did she remember how a stranger—@ passer-by—had drageed back thes 9 young girl just in time to save her, — y land how he 1 .d carried her to the sidewalk—out of harm's way? “Of course, the girl was Norah and DuBols said he was the man who'd sgyed her. Norah vo fe affair—who vouldn’t?y-but, a@ as I could fallow thelr * couldn’t reconcile her recollection, her hero as he was then with man as he is now. Hut she bell Jn bim—she had to believe Jp hin ‘He told her he'd loved hi ntrived to speak to her at © step—his heart in his t, under certain conditions, there mi be no limit to ity, But was, it seible could be such a thing as love at first sight between Tady and a chauffeur—between Norah and Dirck! Aleck continued, his voice delibe! an if he were conscientiously trying Bot to be hasty In hia judgment: “They must have been talking a few minutes before | woke up—long ‘orah to hav ten over k of thi ‘nerve,’ IT made out somehow that he'd seen her through the win- her % iad 2 ie ¥3 —I've seen dow—tapped on the pane and beck- since that dap- ¥ Rex's, I'll take omed her to come out, you know. The of her in his heart-~ A ranted.” Lord oes why ahe'd come! was always carrying ough the Lord ere home and f n't scream instead, had three or ‘four yéai about me CBO Be Ce se ) Deutehaters