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THE FLOWERS COLLECTION
Interesting Long and Short Stories
An Ideal Summer Fiction Number
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From the
S right descended, cold and
damp, the wind hauled,
and by 9 o’clock the ship
was charging before a
half gale and a rising sea
from the port quarter.
When the watch had
braced the yards, the mate
ordered the spanker brall-
ed In and the mlzzen royal
clewed up, as the ship
steered hard. This was
done, and the men colled
up the gear,
“Let the spanker hang In the brails—
tie up the royal," ordered the mata
from his position at the break of the
poop.
“Aye. aye, sir,” answered a voice from
the group, and an active figure sprang
into the rigging. Another flgum- slim
and graceful, clad In long yellow oil
skin coat and sou’wester, which latter
could not confine a tangled fringe of
wind-blown halt^-left the shelter of the
after-companlonway and sped along the
alley to the mate's side.
“The foot rope, Mr. Adams,” she said,
hurriedly. “The seizins was chafed, you
remember.”
“By George. Miss Freda,” said the
officer. “Forgot all about it. Glad you
spoke—come down frdm aloft.” h3 added
In a roar.
The sailor answered and descended.
“Get a piece of spun-yarn out o’ the
booby-hatch and take It up wl' you,”
continued the mate. “Pass a temporary
seizing on the lee royal foot rope. Make
sure It’s all right ’fore you get on It,
now.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
The man passed down the poop steps,
secured a marline spike and the spun-
yarn, and while rolling the latter Into a
ball to put in his pocket, stood for a mo
ment In the light shining from the sec
ond mate’s room. The girl on the poop
looked down at him. He was a trim-
built, well-favored young fellow, with
more refinement In his face than most
sailors can show; yet there was no lack
of seamanly deftness In the fingers
which balled up the spun-yarn and
threw a half-hitch with the bight or the
lanyard over the point of the marline-
spike. As he climbed the steps, the girl
faced him, looking squarely Into his
eyes.
“Be careful. John—Mr. Owen. The
seizing Is chafed through. I heard the
man report It—it was Dutch Georgo of
the other watch. Do be careful.”
“Eh. why—why, yes. Miss Folsom,”
he stammered; “thank you. But you
startled me. I’ve been Jack for three
years—not John—nor Mister. Yes, It’s
all right, I—”
“Get aloft to that mlzzen-royal,” thun
dered the mate from near the wheel.
“Aye, aye, sir.” He touched his sou’
wester to the girl and mounted the
leather-mizzen rigging, running up the
ratlines as a flyman goes up a ladder.
It was a black night with cold rain—and
having thrown off his oiled Jacket, he
was already drenched to the skin—but no
environment of sunshine, green fields
and woodland, or of Hower-scented atr
ever made life brighter to him than had
the Incident of the last few moments;
and with every nerve In his body re
joicing In his victory, and her bitter
words of four years back crowding hla
mind as a contrasting background, ho
Yard Down
exercise of will or muscle, move his head
—and there, almost within reach, was a
dark line, which he knew was the royal
backstay, and within this, two other
ropes which he knew for the top-gallant
rigging, though be could see no ratlines,
nor could he distinguish the lay of the
6trands—the ropes appeared like solid
bars. This, with the fact that he was
still but a few feet below the top-gallant
yard, surprised him. until It came to him
that falling bodies travel over sixteen
feet In the first second of descent, which
Is at a rate too fast for distinct vision,
and that the apparent slowness of his
falling was but relative—becauso of the
quickness of his mind, which could not
wait on a sluggish optic nerve and more
sluggish retina.
Yet he wondered why ihe could not
reach out and grasp the backstay. It
seemed as though Invisible fetters bound
every muccle and Joint—though not com
pletely An intense effort of will result
ed in the slow extension of all the fingers
of Ills right hand, and a little straighten
ing of the arm toward the backstay;
but not until he had fallen to the level
of the upper topsail yard was this result
reached. It did no good; the backstay
was now farther away. As it led In a
straight line from the royal-masthead to
the rail, this meant that he would fall
overboard, and the thought comforted
hLm. The concussion would kill him. of
course; but no self-pity afflicted him now.
Ho merely considered that she—who had
relented—would be spared the eight of
him crushed to a pulp on the deck.
As he drifted slowly down past the
expanse of upper topsail, he noticed that
his head was sinking and his body turn
ing so that ho would ultimately face for
ward; but still his arms and legs held
their extended position, like those of a
speared frog; and the thought recalled
to him an Incident of his Infancy—a frog
hunt with an older playmate, his prowess,
success, wet feet and consequent Illness.
It had been forgotten for years, but the
chain was started, and led to other
memories, long dead, which rose before
(him. His childhcod passed in review,
with Its pleasures and griefs; his school
time, with its sports, conflicts, friends,and
enemies; college days, where he had; ac
quired th£ polish ( tc mske him pette(d of
: one—and abhoVr
"Would he strike on the lee quarter or would he go overboard?"
danced up and over the futtock-shrouds.
up the topmast rigging, through the
crosstrees, up the topgallant rigging to
where the ratlines ended, and he must
climb on the runner of the royal hal
yards. As the yard was lowered, tljls
was a short climb, and ho swung him
self upward ti» the weather yard-arm,
where he rolled up one side of the sail
with extravagant waste of muscular ef
fort; for, she had said he was not a
man—and he had proved her wrong; ho
had conquered himself, and ho had con
quered her.
He hitched the gasket, and crossed
over to the lee side, forgetting in his
exhilaration the object of the spun-varn
In his pocket and the marline spike hung
from his neck, stepped out on the foot-
rope, passed Ills hands along the jack-
stay to pull himself farther, and felt
the footrope sink to the sound of snap
ping strands. The Jackstay was torn
from his grasp, and he fell, face down
ward, Into the lilack void beneath.
An Involuntary shriek began on his
lips, but was not finished. He felt that
the last atom of air was jarred from his
lungs by wliat he knew was tlio topgal
lant yard, 4 feet below the royal; and,
unable to hold on, with a freezing cold
in his veins, and at the hair roots, he ex
perienced in Its fullness the terrible sen
sation of falling—whirling downward-
clutching wildly at vacancy with stiffen
ed fingers.
The first horror past, his mind took
on a strange contemplativeness; fear of
death gave way to mild curiosity as to
the manner of It. Would he strike on the
lee quarter, or would he go overboard?
And migh* ho not catch something? There
was rigging below him—the lee-royal
backstay stretched farthest out from the
mast, and if bo brushed it, there was a
possible chance. He was now face up
ward, and with the utmost difficulty
moved liis eyes—he could r.ot yet, by any
all but
person, man or woman, boy or girl, with
■whom he had conversed In his whole life
canto back and repeated the scene) and
as he passed the lower topsail yard,
nearly head downward, he was mutter
ing commonplaces to a brown-faced,
gray-eved girl, who listened, and looked
him through and through, and seemed to
be wondering why he existed. And as ho
traversed the depths of the lower topsail
turning gradually on his axis, ho lived
It over—next to bis first voyage, the most
harrowing period of his life—the short
two months during which he had striven
vainly to impress this simple natured
sailor girl with his good qualities, ending
at last with his frantic declaration of a
love that she did not want.
“But It's not the least use, John,” she
was saying; “I do not love you, and I
cannot. You are a gentleman, as they
say, and us such I like you well enough;
but I never can love you, nor any one like
you. I've been among men—real men—
all my life, and perhaps have ideals that
are strange to you. John”—her eyes wero
wide open in earnestness—“you are not a
man.”
Writhjpg under her words—which would
have been brutal spoken by another—he
cursed, not- her. nor himself—but Ills luck
and the fate that had shaped I1I3 life;
and next, she was showing him the open
ed door, saying that she could tolerate
profanity In a man, but not in a gen
tleman, and that under no circumstances
was he to claim her acquaintance again.
Then followed the onubblng In the street,
when, like a lately whipped dog, he had
placed himself In her way, hoping she
would notice him; and the long agony of
humiliation and despair, as his heart and
soul followed her over the seas In her
father's ship, until the seed she had plant
ed—the small suspicion that her words
were true—developed into a wholesome
conviction—that she had measured him by
u higher standard than any he had known
and found him wanting. So. he would go
to her school and learn what she knew.
With lightninglike rapidity Ills mind re
hearsed the details of his tuition; the four
long voyages; the brutality of the offi
cers until he had learned his work; their
consideration and rough kindness when ha
had become useful and valuable; the cu
rious, incongruous feeling of self-respect
that none but able-seamen teel; the
growth In him of an aggressive physical
courage; the triumphant satisfaction with
which ho finally knew himself as a com
plete man, clean In morals and mind,
able to look men In the face. And then
came the moment when, mustering at tho
capstan with the new crew of her father's
ship, he had met her surprised eyes with
a steady glance, and received no recogni
tion.
And so he pleaded his cause, dumbly,
by tlio life that he lived. Asking nothing
by word or look, ho proved himself under
her eyes—first on deck; first In the rig
ging; the best man at a weather-earing;
the best man at the wheel; quick, obe
dient, intelligent and respectful, winning
the admiration of his mates and jealous
ill-will of the officers; but no sign of
interest or approval from her until to
night—the ninety-second day of the pass
age. She had surrendered; he had reach
ed her level, only to die—and he thought
this strange.
Facing downward, head inboard now,
and nearly horizontal, he was passing .he
to her. rsjners* , oroMack yard. Below him was the sea- v
black arid crisp, motlosi'ra?'.-»s thoug^ether,
carved In ebony. Neither was there
movement of the ship and its rigging;
the hanging bights of ropes were rigr'i,
while a breaking sea just abaft the main
chains remained poised, curled, its white
crest a frozen pillow of foam. “The rapid
ity of thought," he mused, dreamily; “but
I’m falling fast enough—last enough to
kill me when I strike.”
Forgotten for years, there sang In his
mind a schoolboy formula of physics,
“The velocity of a freely falling bddy at
the end of any second of its descent Is
equal to 32.16 feet multiplied by the num
ber of the second.”
“Yes, but I’ve been falling twenty-five
years. I have the height of the top
gallant yard—one hundred find twenty
feet. Now, let's try again—'The distance
traversed by a freely falling body dur
ing any number of seconds Is equal to
sixteen and eight hundredths feet multi
plied by the square of the number of
seconds.' Inversely—'The square of the
seconds Is equal to the distance—one
• C
CONTINUED OX THIRD PAGE.
jg? Hound of tHe BasRervilles
u
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By A. Conan Doyle, Author of "The Great Boer War." 44 The Green Flaq," 44 The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes 44 A Study in Scarlet t " etc., etc.
CHAPTER NINE.
(Secflnd Report of Dr. Watson.)
TIIE LIGHT UPON THE MOOR.
Baskerville Hall, October 15.
Y DEAR HOLMES: It I
was compelled to leave you
without much news during
thy early days of my mis
sion you must acknowledge
that I am making up for
lost time, and that events
are now crowding thick
and fast upon ns. In my
last report I ended upon
my top note with Barry
more at tho window, and
now I have quite a budget
already which will, unless
I am much'mistaken, considerably sur
prise you. Things have taken a turn
which I could not have anticipated. In
some ways they have within the last
forty-eight hours become much clearer
and In some ways they have become more
complicated. But I will tell you all and
you shall judge for yourself.
Before breakfast on the morning follow
ing my adventure I went down the cor
ridor and examined the room In which
Barrymore had boon on the night 'before.
The western window through which he
had stared so Intently has, I noticed, one
peculiarity above all other windows In
the house—It commands the nearest out
look on to the moor. There Is an opening
between two trees which enables one
from this point of view to look right down
upon it, while from all the other win
dows It Is only a distant glimpSe which
can be obtained. It follows, therefore,
that Barrymore, since only this window
would serve his purpose, must have been
looking out for something or somebody
upon the moor. The night was very dark,
so that I can hardly imagine how he
could have hoped to see anyone. It had
struck me that It was possible that some
love intrigue was on foot. That would
have accounted for his stealthy move
ments and also for the uneasiness of his
wife. The man is a striking-looking
fellow, very well equipped to steal the
heart of a country- girl, so that this theory
seemed to havo something to support It-
That opening of the door which I had
heard after I had returned to my room
might mean that lie had gone out to keep
some clandestine appointment. So I rea
soned with myself In the morning, and I
tell you the direction of my suspicions,
however much the result may have shown
that they were unfounded.
But whatever the true explanation of
Barrymore's movements might be, I felt
that the responsibility of keeping them to
myself until 1 could explain them was
more than I could bear. I had an In
terview with the baronet In Ills study
after breakfast, and I told him all that
I had seen. IIo was less surprised than I
had expected.
"1 knew that Barrymore walked about
nights, and I had a mind to speak to
him about it,” said he. "Two or three
times I have heard Ills steps in the pas
sage, coming and going just about the
hour you name.”
“Perhaps, then, he pays a visit every
night to that particular window," I sug
gested.
“Perhaps he does. If so, we should be
able to shadow him, and see whait it is
that he is after. I wonder what your
friend Holmes would do, if lie were here.”
“I believe that he would do exactly
what you now suggest,” said I. “He
would follow Barrymore and see wliat
he did.”
“Then we shall do It together.”
“But surely he would hear us.”
“The man is rather deaf, and in any
case we must take our chance of that.
We’ll sit up In my room tonight, and
wait until he passes.” Sir Henry rubbed
his bands with pleasure, and it was evi
dent that he hailed the adventure as a
relief to his somewhat" quiet life upon
the moor.
The baronet has been In communication
with the architect who prepared the plans
for Sir Charles, and with a contractor
from London, so that we may expect
great changes to begin here soon. There
have been decorators and furnishers up
from Plymouth, and It is evident that
our friend has large ideas, and means
to spare no pains or expense to restore
the grandeur of his family. When the
house Is renovated and refurnished, all
that he will need will be a wife to make
it complete. Between ourselves there are
pretty clear signs that this will not be
wanting if the lady is willing, for I have
seldom seen a man more infatuated with
a woman than he Is with our beautiful
neighbor. Miss Stapleton. And yet the
course of true love does not run quite
as smoothly as one would under the cir
cumstances expect. Todav for example,
its surface was broken by a very unex
pected ripple, which has caused our friend
considerable perplexity and annoyance.
After the- conversation which I have
quoted about Barrymore Sir Henry put
on his hat and prepared to go out. As
a matter of course I did the same.
“What, are you coming, Watson? he
asked, looking at me in a curious way.
“That depends on whether you are go
ing on the moor,” said I.
“Ye3, I am.”
“Well, you know what my Instructions
are. I am sorry to Intrude, but you.
heard how earnestly Holmes Insisted that
I should not leave you, and especially
that you should not go alone upon the a
moor.”
Sir Henry put bis hand upon my shoul
der, with a pleasant smile.
“My dear fellow,” said he, “Holmes,
with all his wisdom, did not foresee some
things which have happened since I have
been on the moor. You understand me.
I am sure that you are the last man n
the world who would wish to be a spo
sport. I must go out alone.” .
It put me In a most awkward poslti •
I was at a loss what to say or w 1
to dp, and before I had made up my m n
he picked up his cane and was gone.
But when I came to think the ma er
over my conscience reproached me -
terly for having on any pretext allowe
him to go out of my sight. I imagine
what my feelings would be if I had to re
turn to you and to confess that some
misfortune had occurred through my dis
regard for your instructions. I assure
you my cheeks flushed at the very
thoqght. It might not even now be too
late to overtake him, so I set off at once
In the direction of Merrlpit House.
I hurried along the road at the top of
my speed •without seeing anything of Sir
Henry, until I came to the point where
the moor path branches off. There, fear
ing that perhaps I had come in the vrong
direction after all, I mounted a hill from
which I could command a view—the same
hill which Is cut Into the dark quarry.
Thence I saw him at once. He was on
the moor path, about a quarter of a mile
off, and a lady was by his side who could
only bo Miss $tapleton. it was clear
that there was already an understanding
between them and that they had met by
appointment. They were walking slowly
along In deep conversation, and I saw her
making quick little movements of her
hands as If she were very earnest in
what she was saying, while he listened
intently, and once or twice shook his
head in strong dissent. I stood among
the rocks watching them, very much
puzzled as to what I should do next. To
follow them and break into their intimate
conversation seemed to be an outrage,
and yet my clear duty was never for an
instant to let him out of my sight. To
act th<s spy upon a friend was a hateful
task. Still, 1 could see no better course
than to observe him from the hill, and
to clear my conscience by confessing to
him afterwards what I had done. It is
true that if any sudden danger had
threatened him I was too far away to
•be of use, and yet I am sure that you will
agree with me that the position was very
difficult, and that there was nothing more
which I could do.
Our friend, Sir Henry, and the lady had
halted on the path and were standing
deeply absorbed In their conversation,
when I was suddenly aware that I was
not the only witness of their interview. A
wisp of green floating In the air caught
my eye. and another glance showed me
that Is was carried on a stick by a man
who was moving among the broken
ground. It was Stapleton with his but
terfly net. He was very much closer to
the pair than I w-as. and he appeared to
be moving In their direction. At this In
stant Sir Henry suddenly drew Miss Sta
pleton to his side. His arm was round
her, but it seemed to me that she was
straining away from him with her face
averted. He stooped his head to hers, and
she raised one hand as if In protest. Next
moment I saw- them spring apart .and turn
hurriedly round. Stapleton was the cause
of the Interruption. He was running wild
ly toward them, his absurd net dangling
■behind him. He gesticulated and almost
danced with excitement in front of the
lovers. What the scene meant I could not
imagine, but it seemed to me 'that Sta
pleton was abusing Sir Henry, who of
fered explanations, which became more
angry as the other refused to accept
them. The lady stood by in haughty si
lence. Finally Stapleton turned upon his
heel and beckoned In a peremptory way
to his sister, who, after an irresolute
glance ait Sir Henry, walked off by the
side of her brother. The naturalist's an
gry gestures showed that the lady was
included in his displeasure. The baronet
stood for a minute looking after them,
and then he walked slowly back the way
that he had come, his head hanging, the
very picture of dejection.
What all this meant I could not imagine,
but I was deeply .ashamed to have wit
nessed so Intimate a scene without my
friend’s knowledge. I ran ^own the hill,
therefore, and met the baronet at the bot
tom. His face was flushed with anger
and his brows were wrinkled, like one
who It at his wits' ends -what to do.
"Halloa, Watson! Where have you
dropped from?” said he. “You don’t mean
to say that you came after me in spite
of all?”
I explained everything to him; how I
had found it Impossible to remain behind,
how I had followed him, and how I had
witnessed all that had occurred. For an
instant his eyes blazed at me, but my
frankness disarmed his anger, and he
broke at last into a rather rueful laugh.
“You would have thought the middle of
that prairie a fairly safe place for a man
to be private,” said he, “hut, by thunder,
the whole country-side seems to have
been out to see me do my wooing—and a
mighty noor wooing at that! Where had
you engaged a seat?"
“I was on that hill.”
“Quite in the back row. eh? But her
•brother was well up to the front. Did
you see him come out on us?”
“Yes. I did."
“Did he ever strike you as being crazy
—this brother of hers?"
“I can't 9ay that he ever did.”
“I daresay not. I always thought him
sane enough until today, but you can take
It from me that either he or I ought
to he In a strait-jacket. What's the mat
ter with me, anyhow? You've lived near
me for some weeks, Watson. Tell me
straight, now! Is there anything that
wou-a prevent me from making a good
husband to a woman that I loved?”
“I should say not.”
“He can't object to my worldly posi
tion. so it must be myself that he has
this down on. What has he against me?
I never hurt man or woman in my life
that I know of. And yet he would not
so much as let me touch the tips of her
fingers."
“Did he say so?”
“That, and a deal more. I tell you,
Watson, I’ve only known her these few
weeks, hut from the first I just felt that
she was made for me, and she. too—
she was happy when she was with me,
and that I’ll swear. There's a light in a
woman's eyes that speaks louder than
words. But he has never let us get to
gether. and it was only today for the
first time that I saw a chance of having
a few words with her alone. She was
glad to meet me, but when she did It
was not love that she would talk about,
CONTINUED ON FOURTH PAGE.