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HIRAM’S “PAPPITATION.”
(Continued from Page 7.)
ram. “I’ve got no patience with a
frisky widow!”
Lena saw that her husband was not
likely to consent to her making the
visit. For once, she would not ask his
permission. She would follow her
fr|end’s suggestion. Hiram left the
house as soon as he had eaten break
fast and Lena quickly cleared the ta
ble and dressed the children and her
self, putting on the nttle linen suit
and the becoming sailor hat. She was
pinning on the hat when old Dickey
trotted up with the trap, driven by
Mrs. Blount’s little nephew. The chil
dren, speechless with delight—were
helped into the vehicle, then mother
following. As tuey were starting off,
Hiram made his appearance. “Where
the devil are you going?” he demand
ed. “To spend the day with Mrs.
Blount,” replied Lena calmly, “and Hi
ram, you’ll find the milk pail on the
oack porch. I didn’t have time to
milk —and the churn is there all fixed.
There’s plenty to eat in the safe, and
I’ll be back in time to get supper.”
He was too astonished to speak. Be
fore he found utterance, the buggy
wheels were splashing in the creek.
It was rather late in the afternoon
when Lena returned. Mrs. Blount
was driving. She had alighted to
help the children out, and she was
standing benind a clump of pine sap
lings when Hiram came out. He
opened at once on his wife, upbraid
ing and abusing her; then seeing that
he made no impression, he began to
gasp and stagger, and finally he fell
to the ground and lay there motion
less.
“Oh, he’s dead! he’s dead!”
screamed Lena. She jumped from
the buggy and ran to where he lay.
“Hiram, what ails you?” she cried, as
she dropped on her knees beside him.
He did not speak or move. Mrs.
Blount, who had followed Lena, was
a little alarmed, but when she bent
over the prostrate man she was con
vinced that he was playing ’possum
to frighten and punish his wife. His
mouth and cheeks had their normal
color, and she detected a twitching of
the shut eyelids that told her he was
perfectly conscious.
His wife looked up with a white
face. “It’s the palpitation,” she ut
tered. “Oh, Mrs. Blount, do you think
he is dead?”
Mrs. Blount smiled and shook her
head. “No, I don’t,” she answered;
then she gave Lena a significant wink
that caused her to catch on.
“If he should be dead, Lena,” she
said, “don’t take it too much to heart.
You’ve done your duty by him, and
he’s been pretty hard on you, so
everybody says. I hope when you
marry again you’ll get a husband who
will take care of you—such a nice,
smart little woman as you are.”
“How dare you talk to my wife
about me like that?” he exclaimed,
springing up to a sitting posture.
“Oh, you heard, did you? Well, I
meant no harm. I was sure it wasn’t
the palpitation, and I wanted to cheer
up your wife a little. Good-bye.” >
Mrs. Blount did not see Lena again.
The season was nearly at an end, and
she went home a week after her ad
venture with Hiram. She returned
to the mountains early the following
summer. A few days after she had
reopened the little cottage she was
sitting on the porch listening to the
mellow roar of the waterfall in the
ravine not far off, when a smart new
spring cart, drawn by a stout pony,
stopped before the door, and from it
alighted Lena, bright-eyed and red
■cheeked, dressed in neatly-fitting blue
gingham.
“I’ve brought you some June apples
and blue berries/’ she said, after they
had greeted each other and Mrs.
Blount had expressed her pleasure at
Lena’s improved looks. “Hiram
picked the berries and sent them to
you.”
“Hiram? You amaze me.”
THE LAW OF THE WHITE CIRCLE
A STIRRING NOVEL OF THE ATLANTA RIOTS
By TIIORNWELL JACOBS
" A book to stir the passions, a book
powerfully grips the pillars cl so
cial life. —Tom Watson The
UkSuBSI ' wSw Jeffersonian.
ggS ' vIGA ..
IHL J, sMEa “One ol the greatest novels ever
Agfa' " wriltcn by a Southern man. It is
vivid, telling, powc rI u I.”—Jo/zzz
T>'°t~ Wo °J Moore.
“From just such writers, men ol
authoritative thought the South will be
awakened to what is necessary in this
negro question—just such books as
The Law of the White Circle, which
we should welcome, read and study. —.Birmingham Age-
Herald.
“The Atlanta Race Riots are well told and the line old preacher
who helped to quell them, appealing to the old-time friendship be
tween masters and slaves, only voiced what the best element among
us leels. It is a good book. " —Knoxville Sentinel.
This novel i.s absolutely unique in English Liter
ature and with the exception of none is the only
attempt to be philosophically accurate in handling
this all-absorbing race theme. It is a virile, honest,
red-blooded presentation ol the greatest factor in
American life. Charmingly illustrated.
Price •$/.2 J Postpaid
SOME LITTLE PICTURES FROM THE BOOK
“The Best South, the Negro Problem,” the distinguished old
man mused sadly. “Ah, sir, what is the Negro problem? Rakes
and rum, white rakes; white men s rum. Some talk ol the danger
of ‘amalgamation,’ as if there were a mulatto in the South whose
lather was not a white man. This is the Negro problem—white
2b ft - - SmOI
sH
He Sheltered the Criminals of His Race,
Shoot Him!”
lepers that lather the third race and white liquor that lathers the
black rapist—and lor which ol these are the kindly black folk re
sponsible?
* *
There was a sweeping shilt ol the electric searchlight as the train
rounded the last curve and the great engine pointed its eye straigh
toward the station, There was a rumble as il ol Titan s steps.
The Golden Age for March 24, 1910.
“Oh, he forgave you long ago. He
didn’t only forgive you, but he was
thankful to you for letting him see
himself as other folks saw him. He’s
got over his palpitation. Old Miss
Slimmens, the yerb doctor, says it’s
The sparks scintillated from the brakes. The porter sprang with
his little step in hand to receive the possible passenger,
“Hello, Keough! ’ the conductor exclaimed. "You here?
“Why not?” the reporter retorted. “Perhaps lam going farther
than this with you.
“God, man, haven t you heard the news?
“News—what news?
“All Atlanta is in the hands ol a howling mob ol murderers.
They're killing negroes by the hundred! Four assaults on white
women in one day—the papers out with extras. The Common
wealth leading a light lor sanity—troops called out. You are the
last man on earth I would have expected to lind running away from
duly!”
Without a word, his lace white with excitement, Roy Keough
rushed to the ticket window.
“Slop Laura-—Miss Lawson. We can t go, it is absolutely im
possible—Atlanta is in the hands ol a mob!
“A mob—Atlanta ' she faltered, “but I have bought the tickets.
* W
Thus lar they stood it. Then—
“ Strike him down, the d —d negro-lover! Strike him down!
“Shut up, blatherskite, Keough retorted while he dodged a
brick, “I am a man-lover anywhere, everywhere. And that is
why I arraign the rottenness ol the man-hater, the home-destroyer.
I want us to teach them the “Law ol the While Circle. I want —
He dodged again as a rock came whirling by.
” —to show you —you white gods—the crime ol letting our rakes
and whips and blacklegs lead Negro women —our wards down
into the demi-monde—l
A brick struck his hat and carried it whirling oil into the air.
* *
“And yet lam t’.ie same,” she murmured softly. “I did it be
cause I loved you so, lam the same woman you have loved.
He was silent while the great tears sprang to his eyes.
“It was my law, my Cod who bade me do il, she continued,
gently. “It was because my soul yearned for you so and the—
d r earn —ol—you—was—so—beautiful.
He rose and stood before her.
“That was why I did it, ’ she said once more. “I wanted you
till my heart ached.”
» ; M ■■ ®
mW®* ■ ■//•■will ®
Eg
' wot %
"Sh: has Tied from the Slvord and Hid in the
Scabbard, "He Muttered
Price postpaid $1.25
With the Golden Age, one year, (old or
nelv subscription) only $2.25.
GOLDEN fXGE PUBLISHING CO.
Atlanta, Ga.
the lazy bug. She says the doctors
in Atlanta are after it tooth and toe
nail, because some big rich man’s of
fered a prize to the one that catches
up with it. They call it the Hook-
Worm.”
9
