Newspaper Page Text
FOURTHTSGB
THE SUNNY SOUTH.
FEBRUARY 24, §90S.
By Will N Harben
Jtuthor
The Georgians,” ”Westerfelt**Pole Baker’
▲ • 1 m/Tt joy win iv naroen ^
Abner Uamel .v
by HARPER & BROS. [conceived the plan,” Miller protested, | she said; “but I hope you will excuse standard to shape their conduct by. They
iOUT a week after this ‘ “and that I only-” t me this evening.” see you going to balls and dances and
transaction Rayburn Mil
ler went to Atlanta on
business for one of h's
clients, and while there
ho incidentally called at
the offices of the Southern
■Land and Timber Com
pany. hoping to mett Wil
son and learn something
about his immediate plans
“Oh yes; I know Alan thought of It,”
she interrupted, “but without your expe
dience and firmness it would have re
mained in his dear old brain till the
Lord knows when. The idea of their
being in debt was slowly killing mj
father and mother, and you came to
their relief Just when they were unable
to bear it any longer. I'm so glad y° u
thought of borrowing that money
Just then a young man, half
head
in regard to tho new rail- (shorter than Adele, came up hurriedlj.
road. B-ut he was inform
ed that tho president of
the company had just gone to New York,
and would not be back for a week.
Rayburn was waiting in the rotunda
of the Kimball Housq for his train,
which left at 10 o'clock, when he ran |
across his friend. Captain Ralph Burton,
of the Gate City Guards, a local mil
itary company.
“Glad to see you,” said the young offi
cer. “Did you run up for the ball?”
“What ball Is that?" asked Miller. “I
am at the first of it.”
“Oh, we are giving one here in this
house tonight,” answered Burton, who
was a handsome man of thirty-five, tali
and erect, and appeared at his best in
his close-fitting evening suit and light
overcoat. “Come nip stairs and I’ll in
troduce you to a lot of strangers.”
“Oan’t," Bayburn told him. “I’ve go
to leave at 10 o’clock.”
“Well, yfiu’vo got a good hour yet,”
Insisted the officer. “Come up on the
next floor, where th% orchestra is, any
way, and we can sit down and watch the
crowd come in.”
Miller complied, and they found seats
on the spacious floor overlooking the
thronged office. From where they sat
they could look through several large
drawing rooms into the ballroom beyond.
Already a considerable number of people
had assembled, -and many couples were
walking about, even quite near to tile
two young men.
“By George!” suddenly exclaimed Mil
lar, as a couple passed them, ''who is
that stunning-looking blonde; she walks
like a queen."
“Where?” asked Burton, looking la
tho wrong direction.
“Why. there, with Charlie Penrose.”
“Oh, that one,” said Burton, tfying to
think. "I know as well as I know any
thing. but her name has slipped my
memory. Why. she visiting the Bishops
on (Peachtree street—a Miss Bishop, that’s
It.”
"Adele. little Adele? Impossible!” cried
Rayburn, “and I’ve been thinking of her
as a child all these years.”
“So you know her?” said Captain Bur
ton.
."Her brother is a chum of mine,” ex
plained Miller. "I haven’t seen her since
she went to Virginia to school, five years
ago. I never would have recognized
her in the world. My Lord! file's sim
ply regal.”
“I haven’t had the pleasure qf meet
ing her,” said the Captain; “but I've
heaTd lots about her from the boys who
go to Bishop’s. They say she's remark
ably clever—recites, you know, and takes
off the plantation negro to perfection.
She’s a great favorite with Major Mid
dleton. who doesn’t often tako to the
frying size. She has been a big drawing
cara out at Bishop's ever since she came.
The boys say the house overflows every
evening. Are you going to speak to
■her?”
“If I get a good chance.” said Ray
burn. his eyes on the couple «s they
disappeared in the boolroom. I don't
like to go in looking like this, but she’d
want to hear from home.”
“Oh. I see,” said Burton. “Well, you’d
better try it before the grand march
sweeps everything before it.”
—s_ Miller entered tho ballroom, Pen
rose was giving Adele a seat behind a
cluster of palms, near (he grand piano,
around which the German orchestra was
grouped. He went straight to her.
“You won’t remember me. Miss Adele,”
he said, with a smile, “but I’m going to
risk speaking to you. anyway.”
She looked up from the bunch of flow
ers in her lap, and. in a startled, eager
aort of way, began to study his face.
“No. I do not,” she said, flushing a
little, and yet smiling agreeably.
“Well. I call that a good joke,” Pen
rose broke in, with a laugh, as he greeted
Miller with a familiar slap on the
shoulder. “Why, Rayburn, on my word,
she hasn’t talked of anybody else for
tho last week, and here she—”
“You aro not Rayburn Miller!” Adele
exclaimed, and she stood up to givo him
her hand. “Yes, I have been talking of
you, and it seems to me I have a thou
sand things to say, and oh. so many
thanks!”
There was something in this Impulsive
greeting that gave Miller a delectable
thrill all over.
“You were such a little thing the last
time I saw you,’’ he said, almost ten
derly. “I declare, you have changed—so,
so remarkably.”
She nodded to P.enrose, who was ex
cusing himself, and then she said to Mil
ler, “Are you going to dance tonight?”
He explained that he was obliged to
take the train which left in a few* min
ute s.
He saw her face actually fall with
disappointment. The very genuineness
of the expression pleased him inexplica
bly. “Then I must hurry,” she said.
“Would you mind talking to me a little
While?”
“Nothing could possibly please me so
much,” said he. “Suppose we stroll
•round?”
She took bis arm and ho led her back
to the rotunda, overlooking the office.
“So you are Rayburn Miller!” she said,
looking at him wonderingly. “Do you
know I have pictured you in my mint
many- times since mother wrote me all
about how you rescued us from ruin.
Oh, Mr. Miller, I could not in a thou
sand years tell you how my heart filled
with gratitude to you. My mother goes
into the smallest details in her letters,
and she described your every word and
action during that transaction in your
office. I could tell just where her eyes
filled and her throat chocked up by her
quivering handwriting. I declare. I
declare. I looked on you as a sort of
■king with unlimited power. If I were a
man I'd rather .use my brain to help suf
fering people than to be made president
of the United States and be a mere
figure-head. You must not think I am
ep-i-ied by all this glitter and parade
down here. The truth is. I heartily
despise it. I wanted to be at home so
bad when I got that letter that I criei
myself to sleep.”
“You must not forget that your brother
“Oil, here you are,” he exclaimed, iu a
gasp otf relief. “I’ve been looking for you
everywhere. This is mine, you know-
the grand march. They are all ready.
Adele smiled pleasantly. “I hope you 1
excuse me from it, Mr. Tedcastle she
said. “I’ve just met a friend from home;
I want to talk with him, and— ’
“But, Miss Bishop, I—”
“1 asked you to please excuse me, Mr.
Tedoastle.” Miller saw her lace harden,
as if from the sneer of contempt that
passed over it. ”1 hope it will not be
necessary (for me to explain my reasons
in detail until I have a little more time
at my disposal.”
“Oh, certainly not, Miss Bishop, said
the young man, red with auger, as he
•bowed himself away.
“What’s society coming to?” Adele ask
ed Miller, with a nervous little laugh.”
“Does a lady have to get down on her
knees and beg men, little jumping jacks,
like that one. to excuse her, and pet
them into a good humor when she lias
good reason to change her mind about an
engagement? That’s a sort of slaveiy
I don’t intend to enter.”
“You served him right, said Miller,
who had himself resented the young
man’s chili * ’ll impetuosity, and felt like
slapping him for his impertinence.
Adele shrugged her fine shoulders.
“Let’s not waste any more time talk
ing about him,” she said. “I was go
ing to tell you how happy you made them
alb When 1 read mother’s description
of their return home that night—how
she went round looking at each object
and touching it, that she might realize
it was hers again; and how father sat
up till past midnight talking incessantly
about it; and all tho droll things Uncle
Abner said, I cried and laughed by turns.
I longed to see you, to tell you how I
felt about what you did, and yet. now
that I’m with yoc, all I say seems ut
terly weak and—inadequate.”
“It seems wonderfully nice to me,” Mil
ler declared, “i don't deserve anything,
and yet—well, 1 like to hear you talk.”
He laughed. “Whether 1 deserve it or
not, 1 could listen to you ifor a week on
a stretch.”
In truth, Rayburn Miller had never
in ail his varied social career become so
suddenly and startlingly interested in any
woman. It seemed like a dream, and a
most delicious one—the gay assemblage,
the intermittent strains of the music,
the touch of the stalely creature on his
arm, tho perfume of her flowers, her
hair t her eyes! He suddenly felt fear
ful of the passage of time, the leaving
of his train, tile approach of some one
to claim her attention. lie could, not
explain the spell she had thrown on him.
Was it because she was his friend's
sister, and so astoundingly pretty, frank
and sensible, or could it be that—?”
His train of thought was broken by
the approach of Miss Ida Bishop, Adele's
cousin, a rather plain girl, who, with
her scrawny neck ar«i scant hair—which
rebelled against being made much of—
would have appeaed to better advantage
in a street costume.
“Oh, Adele.” she cried, reproachfully,
“what uo you mean? Do you know you
have mortally offended Mr. Tedcastle?
He had the march with you.”
"And I asked him as a (favor to ex
cuse me from it,” said Adele, simply.
“1 had just met Mr. Miller, who is to
leave on an early train, and I wanted
to talk to him about home. Have you
■been introduced? My cousin, Miss Bish
op, Mr. Rayburn Miller.”
Miss Bishop bowed indifferently, and
looked as if she still saw no justification
in the slight under question.
“I'm awfully sorry,” she said, reprov
ingly. “Mr. Tedcastle has been as nice
to you as he could be, and tills is the
way you show appreciation for it..l don’t
blame him for being mud, • do you. Mr.
Miller?”
“I’m afraid I’d be a prejudiced wit
ness,” lie smiled, “benefiting as I am by
tlie gentleman’s discomfiture; but, really,
1 can't think that any circumstances
could justify a man In pressing a Jady
to fill an engagement When she chooses
not to do so lor any reason of hers.”
“I knew you'd say that,” said Adele.
“If anybody has a right to be offended
it is 1, for the way he has acted with
out waiting for my full explanation.”
"Oh, that is a high and mighty course
that will do better for novels than real
life,” disagreed Miss Ida Bishop. “The
young men are 'badly spoiled here, and
if we want attention we’ve got to humor
them.”
“They shall not ,be spoiled toy me,”de-
clared, Adele. “Why,” shrugging her
shoulders, contemptuously, “if 1 had to
run after them and bind up tiieir bruises
every time they feel down. I'd not appre
ciate their attentions. Besides. Mr. Ted
castle and his whole ilk actually put me
to sleep. What do they talk about?
Driving, pet dogs, flowers, candies,
theater parties, and silly-bosh, general
ly. Last Sunday Senator Hare dined
at uncle’s, and after dinner he and I were
having really a wholesome sort of talk
and 1 was respecting myself—well, a
little like I am now—'when In trapsed ‘Ted
dy’ with his hangers-on. Of course, 1
had to introduce them to the senator,
and 1 felt like a fool, for he knew they
were my ’company,’ and it was impossi
ble to keep them quiet. They went on
with their baby talk, just as if Senator
Hare were being given an intellectual
treat. Of course, there are some grown
up men in Atlanta, but they are driven
to the clubs by the swarms of little fel
lows. There conics Major Middleton,
one of the old regime. He may ask me
to dance with him. Now watch; if he
does. I’ll answer hm just as I did Mr.
Tedcastle, and you shall see how differ
ently lie will treat it.”
The Major, a handsome man of power
ful physique and a great shock of curly,
iron-gray hair, approached Adele. and
with a low bow held out his hand.
“I’m after the next dance, my dear,”
he said. “You are one of the very/few
who ever dance with me, and I don’t
want to go home without it.”
Adele smiled. “I’m very sorry, Major,”
‘Oh, that’s all right, my dear child,
he said. “No, don’t explain. I know
your reasons are ail right. Go ahead
and enjoy yourself in your own way.”
“I won my bet,”'Adele laughed. “Ma
jor. I knew so well what you would say
that I bet on it,” and then she explainer
the situation.
“Tedoastle ought to be spanked, ' said
the Major, in his high-keyed voice. “Ma-
girl who had not rather hear from home
than spin around with him ought not to
have a home. I’m going to mine rath
er early tonight. I came only to show
the boys how to make my famous Ken
tucky punch.”
When, the Major and Miss Ida Bishop
had gone and left them together, Adele
looked over the railing at the big cluck
in me office. “We have only a few min
utes longer—IT you are to take that
train.” sjie said, regretfully.
“I never had as little interest in trains
in my life.” he said. And he meant it.
“Not in the trains on our new road?”
she laughed.
“They are too far ahead to interfere
witli my comfort.” lie retor#d. “This
one is a steam nightmare.”
I presume you really ooulj not miss
it? Her long-lashed eyes were down.
He hesitated: the simple thought sug
gested by her thrilled him as lie had
neve r been thrilled before.
“Because,” she added, “it would be so
nice to have you come out tomorrow
afternoon to tea. about 4.”
He drew out his watch and looked at
it waverin%’y.
I could send a night message,” he
said, finally. “I really <lon’t want to go.
Miss Adele, I don’t want to go at all.”
“I don’t want you to either,” she said,
softly. “It seems almost as if we are
quite old friends. Isn’t that strange?”
He restored his watch to his pocket.
“I shall stay,” he said, “and I shall call
tomorrow afternoon.”
Some on e came for her a few minutes
later, and he went down to the office
and out in to the street. He wanted
to walk, to feel his body in action, keep
playing cards, and they think it is smart
and will not be interested in our ineet-
igs. They see that you live and seem
to prosper under it, and they follow in
your footsteps. I am afraid you don’t
realize the awful example you are set
ting. Brother Maynell has heard of
you and asked me about you the other
day. Some people think you have been
in Atlanta all this time to avoid the
meeting."
“I didn’-t know it was going on,” said
Miller, testily. "I assure you I never
run from a thing like that. The best
thing to do* is to add fuel to the fire-it
burns out quicker.”
“Well, you will go out to meeting won't
you.’ inquisited tlie; sweet-voiced woman.
"I ou won t have them all thinking you
have no respeei for the religion o; our
father and mother—will you?"
Rayburn squirmed under this close fire.
"I shall go occasionally when there is
►reaching," hi- said, reluctantly. T
would be ou: .>r place at one of the—
tlie knock-down and drag-out shouting-
bees.” Then, seeing lier look of horror
at the words which had unthougljtedly
glided from his lips, lie strove to make
amends. * O/ii, sister, do—do be reason
able, and look ut it from my point of
►'view. 1 don’t believe that's the way to
serve God or beautify tlie world. I be
lieve in being happy in one's own way,
just so that you don'i tread on the
rights of other people.”
“But,” said -Mrs. Lampson, her eyes
flashing, “you are treading on the
rights of others. They are trying to
save tlie souls of tlie rising generation
in the community, and you and your
social set use your influence in the
other direction.”
"But what about the rights pf my so
cial set, if you want to call it by that
name? ’ Miller retorted, warmly. "We
have the right to enjoy ourselves in our
way, just as you have in yords. We don’t
inteiiere we never ask you to close up
shop so we can have a dance or a pic
nic. but you do. if we daTe give a
■party while some revival,■a is filling ],j s
pockets
..... - - - - town the r/ivalist jumps
pace with his throbbing, bounding on us putol’
I CURED MYJIUPTURE
IWM Show You How To Curo Yours
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I was helpless snd bed-ridden for years from a doable rupture.
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since cured thousands. It will cure you. Write to-day. Capt. W. A.
Ceilings, Box 83, Watertown, K. Y.
brain. His whole being was aflame with
a. fire which had never burned in him be
fore.
“Alan’s little sister!” he kept repeat
ing to himself. “Little Adele-slie’s
wonderful, wonderful! Perhaps, she may
be the woman. By George! she is—she
is! A creature like that, with that soul
full of appreciation for a man’s best ef
forts. would lift a fellow to the high
est rung on the ladder of human effort.
Alart s little sister! And the idiot never
told me, never Intimated that she was-a
goddess.”
In his room at the hotel that night he
slept little, his brain being so active with
his new experience. He saw her the
next afternoon alone, over a dainty tea
service of fragile china, in a Turkish
corner in illiam Bishop’s great, quiet
house, and then proposed driving he r the
next day to the Driving Club. He re
mained a week, seeing her, under some
pretext or other, every day during that
time. Sometimes tg was to call with her
on friends of hers. Once it was to at
tend a barbecue given by Captain Burton
f>t a club house In the country, and once
he gave her and hof cousin a luncheon
at the Capitol City Club with a box at
the matinee afterwards. Tie told him
self that he bad never lived before, and
that, somehow, he was Wf beginning.
AO he mused, as he sat in bis
train homeward bound. “I can’t tell
Alan. T simply couldn’t do it, after all
the rubbish I have crammed into him
Then she s bis sister. T couldn’t talk
o him about her—not now, anyway.”
XXI
sister’ £ ad ROt baok ” Rayburn’s
breakfa^ the t, mt>S -° n - Kaid to him at
ui akfast the morning following his re-
em on the midnight train. are
church.” a e, ° riOUS meCUnS at
o1 "° i I, ’J s 1 that so ?” said the yonn- man
•Ipplng his ooffee. “Who is conducting
Brother Maynell,” answered Mrs
JMor PS i°n n ’h enthUSiaStlCaHy ’ a tinge of
color in her wan. thin face. “He’s a
traveling evangelist, who has been con-
uctlng revivals all over the south. I t is
stirred tbe int ™ he ka *
. tirred up W e are holding prayer meet-
ngsmormng and afternoon, though only
the ladies meet In the afternoon. I con
ducted the meeting yesterday.”
d ' J you - really? Why, sis-”
Mr 1 * bPSin t0 poke flln at rne,” said
Mrs Lampson. “I know I didn’t do as
? ” T S ° f tIia others - but I did the
duty.” COU d ’ bPCaUSG 1 felt u was my
“I was not going to make fun,” said
Miller, soothingly; "but it seems mighty
strange to think of you standing up be-
iore all tlie rest, and ”
"V, 1 wa f n - ot * U( ’ h a very hard thing to
o, said the lady, who was older than
her brother by ten years. She had gray
hairs at her temples, and looked gener
ally a.s if she needed out-door exercise
and some diversion to draw her out of
herself.
Italy flnd holds., ip es example
Rayburn helped himself to the delicious
ly browned fried chicken, in its bed of
cream gravy, and a hot puffv biscuit.
“And how does Mr. Lapslqy, tn e regu
lar preacher, like this innovation?” he
questioned. “I reckon you all pay the
new man a fee for stirring things up?”
“Yes; we agreed to give him $200: half
of which goes to an orphan asylum he
is building. Oh. I don’t think Brother
Lapsley minds much, but, of course, it
must affect him a little to see the great
Interest Brother Maynell has aroused, and
1 suppose some are mean enough to
think he could have done the same, if
he had tried.”
No; it’s clearly a case of _ a new
broom,” smiled Rayburn, buttering his
biscuit. “Old Lap might get up there
and -roan and whine for a week and not
touch a mourner with a 10-foot pole.
The other chap knows his business, and
part of his bui/ness Is not to stay long
enough to w’ear out his pet phrases or
exhaust his rockets. I’m sorry for
Lapsley;. lie’s paid a regular salary, and
is not good for any other sort or work,
and this shows him up unfairly. In the
long run, I believe he’ll get as many into
the church as the other man, and they
will be more apt to stick. Sister, that’s
the trouble with these tin nan revivals
The biggest converts backslide. I reckon
you are working over old material
now.”
Mrs. Lampson frowned and her lip
stiffened.
“I don’t like your tone in speaking of
such things,”, she said. “Indeed, Ray
burn, I have been, deeply mortified in'
the last week by some remarks that.have
been made about you. I didn’t intend to
mention them, but you make me do it.”
“Oh, I knew they wouiuVt let me
rest,” said Miller: “they never Uo in their
annual shake-ups.”
"Brother, you are looked on by nearly
all religious workers in town as a dan
gerous young man—<1 mean dangerous to
the boys who are just growing up, be
cause they all regard you as a sort of
of headlongs plungers lito fiery ruin,
i here is not a bit of jn&ice or human
liberty in that, and you'll never reach a
certain element till im quit such a
course. Last year one ol the preachers
in this town declared ini tie pulpit that
a girl could not be purl and dance a
round dance. It raised tb very devil in
the hearts of the young Vi?n, who knew
he was a dirty liar, and *by got us as
many dances out of spite as they pos
sibly could. In fact, sonfeif them came
near knocking tlie preacl* down in tlie
street. I am a conser’vaat sort of fel
low, but I secretly wisi*< that some
body would 'slug that mAin tlie jaw.”
“I'm really afraid you a worse than
ever,” sighed Mrs. Lampl«. ”i don't
know what to do wrt you.” She
laughed good naturedly a [she rose and
stood behind his chair, fuelling his
head tenderly. “It real i y ins make me
rather mad,” she confess® “to hear
them making you out suA bad stripe
when I know what a wuniCul man you
really are for your age. Tally believe
some of them are jealo i^f your suc
cess and standing, but 1 JA ant you to
be more religious.”
When Miller reached hi^’ftice ^.toout
10 o'clock and 'had opened door he I
noticed that Craig's bank on He corner j
across the street was still cl id. It was
an unusual occurrence at jit hour
and it riveted Miller's attlbn. Few
people wore on the stree and none
of them seemed to have nof it. The
■church bell in tho next bloJfas ring
ing for tlie revivalist’s praH meeting,
and Miller saw tlie mere ha aland law
yers hurrying by on their i* to wor
ship. Miller stood in hiifjont door
and bowed to them asijy passed.
Trabue hustled out of hiofpice, pull
ing tlie door to with a je-j
“Prayer meeting?” he a'd, glancing
at Miller ,
"No, not today,” answr Miller; “got
some writing to do.”
“That preacher’s a humjj»” said the
old lawyer. “I've never si, his equal.
He’d ’a’ made a bang-u-riminal law-
yre. Why, they say okiae Murphy’s
converted—got out of hi3©d at mid
night and went to Tim oum’s house
’to get ’im to pray for ’ He’s denied
thhr was a God all TTis till now. I
say a preacher’s worth * hundred to
a town if it can do tlia?rt of -work.”
"He's certainly worth to Slocum, ’
said Miller, with a smill'Tf I’d been
denyfiTg there was a Go-* long as he
has. I'd pay more thar.at to get rid
of the ihabit. Slocum’s *» aud I think
lie ought to foot that ;*her’ s bill."
"You are a tough c B» r, Miller,”
said Trabue, with a»*’irig laugh.
“You’d better look out -yfiell's got? an
eye on you. He’ll cal»t yore name
some o’ these days, ai*k us to pray
fer you.”
. “I was just wonderiif there’s any
thing wrong with.CraiSaid Miller. “I
see his door's not oper i
“Oh, I reckon not,” 1 the old law
yer. “He’s beer, takjjpart in the
meeting. He may liaiVerslept.”
Ther.e was a groccilPt’c near Mil
ler's office, and the p.Ietor came out
on the sidewalk and ji file two men.
His name was BarnetSfc was a pow
erful man, who stood feet five in his
boots; lie wore no cj and his sus
penders were soiled utnotted.
“1 see you-uns isjehin’ Craigs
door,” he -ail. ’TvJ my eya on it
ever since (breakfast-/ hardly know
what‘to make of 1t. ©fit thar to buy
some New York exc!© to pay for a
bill o’ flour, but he Mn’t let me in. j
I know hu’s thar, frXeed ’im go in j
about an /hour ago. S*>ty nigh shook j
on. “Twenty-five thousand,” he thought,
“is no small amount. It would tempt |
five men out of ten if they were inclined/ j
to go wrong, and were in a tight.”
The grocer was looking at him steadily.
“You bank thar, don’t you?” he asked. ■
Miller nodded: “But I happen to have !
no money there right' now. I made a
deposit at the other bank yesterday.” j
“Suspicious, heigh? Now jest a little, j
wasn’t you?” The grocer now spoke i
with undisguised uneasiness.
“Not at all," rejilied the lawyer. “I j
was doing some business for tln».othe'
bank, and felt that I .ought to favor j
them by my cash deposits.”
“You don’t think thar’s anything the
matter, do you?” asked the grocer, his |
face still hardening.
“I think Craig is acting queerly—very i
queerly for a banker,” was Miller’s slow ■
reply. “He has always l|ee.n most par- j
ticular. to open up early and—”
“Hello,” cried out a cheery voice, that
of the middle-aged proprietor of the Dir-
ley Flouring Mills, emerging from Bar
netts store. "I see you fellows have
your eye on Craig’s front. If he was a
drinking man we might suspicion he’d
been on a tear last night, wouldn't We?”
"it looks damned shaky to me,” re
torted the grocer, growing more excited
“I’m goin’ over there an’ try that door
again. A man 'at lias my money can’t
attract tlie attention Craig has an’ me
say .nothin’.”
The miller pulled his little turf of
gray beard and winked at Rayburn.
“You been scarin’ Barnett." lie said. I
with a tentative inflection. "He's easily j
rattled. By-the-way, now that I think !
of it, it does seem to me I ht>ard some :
of tlie Methodists talkin’ about reprov
ing Craig an’ Winship for speculatin’ 'n
grain and cotton. I know they’ve been
dabblin’ in it, for Craig always got my !
market reports. He’s been dealin’ with ;
a bucket (shop in Atlanta.”
“I’m going over there,” said Miller. !
abruptly, and be hurried across in the
wake of the big crocer. The mille.r fol
lowed him. On the other side of the
street several people were curious'y
watching the bank door, and when Bar
nett went to at and grasped the handle j
and began to shake it vigorously they
crossed over to him.
“What’s wrong?” said a dealer in
fruits, a short, thick-set man with a
florid face; but Barnett’s only reply
was another furious shaking of the door.
“Why, man, what’s got Into you?” pro
tested the fruit dealer, jn a rising tone
of astonishment. "Do you intend to
break that door down?”
“I will if that damned skunk don't
open it ir give me my money," said Bar
nett, who was now red in, the face and
almost foaming at the mouth. “He’s
back in thar. an' knows it’s past openin’
time. By gum! I know more 'n I’m goin!
to tell right now.”
This was followed by another rattling
of the door, and the grocer’s enormous
weight,, like a batteringram, was thrown
against the heavy walnut shutter.
“Open up. I say—open up in thar!”
yelled the grocer, in a voice hoarse with
passion and suspense.
A dozen men were now grouped around
the doorway. Barnett released the han
dle and stood facing them.
"Somethin's rotten in Denmark.” he
panted. “Believe me or not, fellows, l
know a thing or two. Tills bank’s in a
bad fix.”
A thrill of horror shot through Miller.
The words had tlie ring of conviction.
Alan .Bishop’s money was in had hands
if it .was there at all. Suddenly he saw
white, trembling hand fumbling with
the lower part of the close-drawn win
dow shade, as if some one were about to
■raise it; but the shade remained down
the interior still obscured. It struck
Miller as beihg a sudden impulse, defeat
ed by fear of violence. There was
pause. Then the storm broke again.
About fifty men had assembled, all wild
to know wha-t was wrong. Miller el
bowed his way to the door and stood on
the step, slightly raised above the oth
ers. Barnett by his side. “Let me speak
to him,” lie said, pacfically. Barnett
yielded doggedly, and Ray horn put his
lips to the crack between tho two fold
ing doors.
“Mr. Craig!” he called
Craig!”
There was no reply, but Rayburn
beard the rustling of paper on the inside
near the crack against which his ear
was pressed, and then the edge of a
sheet of writing paper was slowly shov
ed through. Rayburn grasped it, lifting
it above-a dozen outstretched hands.
“Hold on!” he cried, authoritatively.
“I’ll read it.”
The silence of the grave fell on the
crowd as the young man began to read.
“Friends and citizens.” the note ran.
“Winship has absconded with every dol
lar in the vaults, except about two hun
dred dollars iin my small safe. He has
been gone two days. I thought on a visit
to his kinfolks. T have just discovered
the loss. I’m completely ruined, and
an I^ now trying to make out a .report of
my condition^ Have mercy on an old
man.”
Rayburn’s face was as white as that
of a corpse. The paper dropped from
his hand and he stepped down into the
crowd He was himself no loser, but
the Bishops had lost their all. How
could he break the nets to them? Pres
ently he began to hope faintly that old
Bishop might within the last week, have
drawn out at least part of the monev,
but that hope was soon discarded, for
he remembered that the old man was
waiting to invest the greater part of *he
deposit in some Shoal Creek Cotton Mill
stock which had been promised him in
a few weeks. No. the hope was ground-
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out—“Mr.
sprang tip the steps and ran into tho
church, crying and groaning for help.
A dozen men and women and children
were kneeling at the altar to get the
benefit of the prayers of the ministers
and the congregation, but they stood up
in alarm, some of them with wet farms.
The mob checked itself at the door, hut
the greater part of it crowded into the
two ailes, a motley human mass, many
of them without coats or hats. The
traveling evangelist seemed shocked out
of expression; but the pastor. Mr. Laps-
who was an old Confederate sol
dier. and used to scenes of violence, staod
calmly facing them.
“What’s all this mean?” he asked.
“I came here f-or protection.” whined
Craig, “to my own church and people.
This mob wants to kill me—tear me limb
from limb.”
But what's wroftg?" asked the preach
er.
“Winship.” panted Craig, his white head
hanging down as he stood touching the
altar railing—“Winship's absconded with
■ail the mone- in my vault." fm ruineL
i hese people want me to give up what
I haven't pot. Oh, God knows! I would
refund every rent if I had it!”
‘You shall have our protection,” said
the minister, calmly. “They won’t vio
late the sacredness of the house of God
by raising a row. You are safe here,
Brother Craig. I’m sure all reasonable
people will not blame you for the fault
of another.”
“I believe he’s got niy money,” cried
out Barnett, in a coarse, sullen voice, •
“and the money- of some o’ my women
folks that’s helpless, and he’p got to turn
it over. Oh, he’s got money some’r’s,
I’ll bet on that!”
"The la
gently than he had ever spoken to her
before.
“I only want to know if Alan has
heard. Do—do tell me that.”
“No, he's at home. I shall ride ou - as
soon as 1 get the matter in the hands
of the police.”
She put out her slender, shapely hand
and touched Iiis arm.
“Tell him.” she said, in a low, uncer
tain voice, “that it has broken my heart.
Teli him I love him more than I ever
did. and 'that I shall stick to him al
ways.”
Miller turned and took off his hr,
giving her his hand.
“And I believe you w-ill do it,” he s nd.
“He's a lucky dog, even if he has just
struck the ceiling. I know him, and
your message will soften the blown But
it’s aw'ful, simply awful! I can’t no
■see how they can possibly get from
. under it.”
“Well, tell him.” said Dolly, with a lit
tle, soundless sob in her throat—“tell / a
what I told you.”
XXII.
‘but
less. Alan, his father, Mrs. Bishop and
—Adele—
Miller’s heart sank down into the ve*y
ooze of despair. All that he had done
for Adele’s people, and which had roused
her deepest, te.nderest gratitude, was
swept away. What would she think
now?
His train of thought was rudely broken
by an oath -.from Barnett, who. with
tlie rage of a madman, suddenly threw
the door off’n tlie S® s - His clerk j his shoulder against the door. There
that western fellowship, has gone | was a crash, a groan of bursting tim-
off to visit his folks, I reckon maybe
■Craig's got all the b*<tPin’ to do.”
“Well, he ought n’Steep his doors
closed at this time remarked
Miller. “A man whl other people's
money in his oliarg©’ 1 - he too care
ful.”
“He's got some ij ne -” said the
grycAr, “and Mary t Tarpley, ray
wife's sister, put t«ndred thar day
before yesterday. ^ reckon noth
in’s wrong, Thougrf 0 remember I
heerd somebody si#*« bought cot
ton futures an’ Efnes got skeerd
up a little about mj? 1 ' 3 obligations."
“I have never h.# iat >’’ said Ray
burn Miller, raisin® brows.
“Well, I have, aif heerd the same
o’ Winship,” saf grocer, “but I
never let it go nff er - I ain’t no
hand to circulat(J e PO r ^ s again a
good member of t# rel ‘- ’
Miller bit his 1# aa unpleasant
her and breaking bolts, and the daor
flew open. For .one instant Miller saw
tlie ghastly face and cowering form of
the old banker behind the wire-grating
and then, with a scream of terror, Craig
ran into a room In the rear, and thence
made his escape at a door opening on
the side street. The mob filled the bank,
and did not discover Craig’s escape for
a mipute; then, with a howl of rage, it
surged bgck into tlie street. Craig was
ahead of them, running towards the
church, where prayer meeting was being
held, the tails of his long frock coat fly
ing behind him, his worn silk hat in his
■convulsive grasp.
“Thar he goes!” yelled Barnett, and he
led the mob after him. all running at
the top of their speed without realizing
why they were doing so. They gained on
the fleeing banker, and Barnett could
almost touch him when they reached the
church. With a cry of fear, like that
is your only recourse, Mr.
Barnett,” said the preacher, calmly.
“Even now you are laying yourself lia
ble to serious prosecution for threaten
ing a man with bodily injury when you
can’t prove he’s wiifulb- harmed you.”
The words told on the mob, many of
them being only small depositors, and
Barnett found himself without open sup
port. He was silent. Rayburn Miller,
tvho had come up behind the mob and
was now in the church, went to Craig’s
side. Many thought he was proffering
his legal services.
‘One word, Mr. Craig,” he said, touch
ing the quivering arm of the hanker.
“Oil, you’re no loser," said Craig, turn
ing on him. “There was nothing to voiir
credit.”
“I know that,” whispered Miller,
as attorney for the Bishops, I hay
right to ask if their money is safe ”
The eyes of the banker w nt to the
ground.
“It’s gone—every cent of it!” he said
“Tt was their money that tempted Win
ship. He’d never seen such a large pile
at once."
“You don’t mean—” But Miller felt
the utter futility of the question on his
tongue and turned away. Outside he
met Jeff Dukes, one of the town mar
slials, who had been running, and was
very red in the face ,ad nn t of breath.
“Ts that moth In thar?” he asked.
<( ‘‘ Tps - fflrt fitiiet now.” said Miller.
‘ Let them alone: the important thin<>
is tn put the police on Winship’s track'
Come back down-town.”
“ ri! havp to Kit tlie particulars from
Craig fust.” said Dukes. “Are vou
loser?"
“Xo. biit some of my clients are
I m ready to stand any
catch the thief.”
“Well. I’ll see vou in a minute, and
we’ll heat all the wires out of town
I’ll see you in a minute.”
Farther down the street Miller met
Dolly Barclay She had come stranght
from her hornb. in an opposite direction
from the hank, and had evidently not
•heard the news.
“I m on my way to prayer meeting ”
mded “I'm getting s ood to please
»ld folks, but-” She noticed his
pale face. “What is the matter’ Has
anything—”
“Craig’s hank has foiled.” Ravbum
told her briefly. “He says Winship has'
absconded with all the cash in the
Dolly stared aghast. “And you-you-’*
I had,n 0 money there,” broke in Mil
ler. T was fortunate enough to ‘ es
cape.”
“Bu t Alan-Mr. Bishop?” shp
studying his face and pondering his Zn
wonted excitement. - Un ‘
there?”
and
expense to
she
the old
thrill passed over W Trabue walked | of a wild animal brought to bay, Craig
t for geuluff rid of.
i YORK IMPROVED 1
vlthaui iojurti
IqJaring 1
r dv«r»ll
ad vantage cf afflcieacy and economy
•tee! teeth, round points, narrow la
break. Nocloggiag. Fraaatsmdeof etroag flexible
and shafts are adjustable. SIxe.TW fcet; weight, tt ‘
Cara Plasters a ad Grata jkrftto i ’ -
psrfact la ape ration, chat
It s the greatest i
he growing crepe, li has every
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rest ReilMlitv and won't I
it»..Taa,P».
Bishop?’
pone
“Had they money
Miller did not answer, but she Would
not be put aside. would
•'h’t d«”^ e Urgea ~“ tel1 me that.”
I do. it s j|i absolute confirinn »»
he said, with professional firmness «v
one must know-not a souHtirt th
were depositors, for much <ien 0 r,a 1 they
* Wilson knew the? were Ta r a S ^ it *
might drive them to the wall Up he
not only depositors, but the-
cent they liave-$25.000 in a to, - Very
He saw her catch her breath P ‘
lips moved mutely as tr ! ’ and hp r
words he had just spoke., “Poor "/, tbe
he heard her say "Tht« • AIa n!”
much, after all he „ 18 to °' too
Miller toucher his hat °n* tbrou ^ h ”
but she joined him, keeDin- on ’
like a patient, pleading child Side
veled over her strength He mar -
Poise. ”i am takh,./ d ' Won derfui
way. Mia* Cly.”^ ° f
* said * * e ntly. more
That afternoon the breeze swerv I
round from the south, bringing vague
threats of rain. About 3 o’clock. Alar,
his uncle, and his mother and father
were out in the front yard, looking at
the house, with a view to making some
alterations that hud been talked of f r
several years past.
“I never had my way in anything be
fore,” Mrs. Bishop was runninng on, in
the plea-sed voice of a happy child, "and
I’m glad you are goin’ to let me this
once. I want the new room to jut out
on this side from the parlor, and have
a bay window, and we must cut a wide
foldin’ door between the two - room;
Then the old veranda comes down and
the new one must have a double floor,
like Colonel Sprague’s, on the river, ex
cept ours will have round, white col
umns instead o’ square, if they do cost
a trifle more.”
“She knows what she wants.” soil
Bishop, with one of his infrequent
smiles, “and I reckon we’d save a little
to let her boss the job, ef she don't
hinder the carpenters by too much tall:.
I don't want 'em to put in a stick o’
lumber that ain’t the best.”
“I’m glad she’s going to have her way ”
said Alan. “She’s wanted a better house
for twenty years, and she deserves it.’
“I don’t believe in sech fine feath
ers,” said Bishop, argumentative!/.
“I’d a leetle ruther wait till we see
whether Wilson’s a-goin’ to put that
road through—then we could afford to
put on a dab or two o’ style. I den t
know but I’d move down to Atlanta an*
live alongside o’ Bill, an’ wear a claw
hammer coat an’ a dickey cravat fer a
change.”
“Then you mought run fer the legis-
latur’,” spoke up Abner Daniel, who had
been an amused listener, “an’ git up a
law to pen up mad dogs at the danger
ous part o’ the year. Alf, I’ve always
thought you’d be a’ ornament to the giddy
whirl down thar. William w r as ever’ bit
as greerr as you are when he fust struck
the town. But he had the advantage o’
glowin’ up an’ sorter ripenin’ with the
place. It ud be hard on you at yore time
o’ life.”
At this juncture Alan called their at
tention to a horseman far down tbe road-
It looks like Ray Miller’s mare.” he
remarked. “This is one of his busy days;
he can’t be coming to fish.”
u ^ ai lroad news,” suggested Abner.
It s a pity you hain’t connected by tele
graph.”
They were all now suTe that it w'as Mil
ler. and with no little curiosity they
moved nearer the gate.
By gum! he’s been givin’ his mare the
lash.” said Abner. “She’s fairly kivered
with froth.”
“Hello, young man,” Alan called out,
as Miller dismounted at a hitching post
just outmde the fence and fastened his
roin ' “Glad to see you; come in.”
* i er bowed an<j smiled as he opened
the gate and came forward to shake
hands.
Axin' e are certainly glad you came, Mr.
r ; sa \ d , Mrs - Bishop, with all her
in the C °^ rtlality ' “Ever since that day
show von i ICG 1 Ve wante <l a chance to
vou done fe 0W mUCh We a PP r eciate what
me om V- Bro ther Ab will bear
nigh eveT-’ day.”" 7 W ° SPeak of 11 miglUy
—Miller^ wore an inexpressible look of
(Continued on Fiftb Page.) ’
FOUR'S WORK
FoiirI
^ jmm y
wegtaw