About The Fayetteville news. (Fayetteville, Ga.) 18??-???? | View Entire Issue (Feb. 14, 1920)
FAYETTEVILLE NEWS, FAYETTEVILLE, GEORGIA. CHAPTER XIV.—Continued. _?1— "Irene,” said Mrs. Hardy, “wliat way is that to speak to Mr. Conward? You are out of your head, child! Such a scene, Mr. Conward! That cow puncher! I always knew it would come out some time. Oh, if the pa pers should learn of this!” i “That’s all you think of,” Irene re ported. “A scene, and the papers. You >don’t trouble to even wonder what !was the occasion of the scene. You’re afraid of the papers. I’m not. I’ll give the whole story to them tomor row. I’ll tell that you insulted him, Conward, and how you stood there, a grinning, gaping coward under the muzzle of his gun. How I wish I had a photograph of it!” she exclaimed, with a little hysterical laugh. “It would look fine on the front page.” She broke into peals of laughter and rushed up the stairs. I In the morning she was very sober and pale, and marks of distress and sleeplessness were furrowed in her face. She greeted her mother with cold civility and left her breakfast untouched. She gave part of her breakfast to Charlie; it was a saving balm to her to have someone upon whom she could pour affection. Then she went to the telephone. She called Dave’s office. Nothing was known of Mr. Eldon; he had been working there last night; he was not down yet. She called his apartments. There was no answer. Then she tried a new num ber. “Hello, is that the office of the Call? Will you let me speak to—” Her mother interrupted almost fran tically: “Irene, you are not going to tell the papers? You mustn’t do that. Think of what it means—the dis grace—a shooting affair, almost, in our home. Think of me, your mother—” “I’ll think of you on one considera tion—that you explain what happened last night and tell me where Dave Llden is.” “I can’t explain. I don’t know. And I don’t kpow—” “And you don’t want to know. And jou don’t care, so long as you can keep it out of the papers. I do. I’m going to find out the facts about this, if every paper in the country should print them. Hello! Yes, I want to speak to Miss Morrison.” In a few words she explained Dave’s sudden disappearance, stripping the incident of all but vital facts. Bert Morrison was all sympathy. “It’s a big story, you know,” she said, “but we won’t think of it that way. Not a line, so far as I am concerned. Edith Duncan is the girl we need. A sort of adopted sister to Dave. She may know more than any of us.” But Edith knew absolutely nothing; nothing except that her own heart was thrown into a turmoil of emotions. She spent the day and the evening downtown, rotating about the points where Dave might likely be found. And the next morning she called on Irene Hardy. In spite of all efforts at self-control the trembled as she pressed the boil. She had never met Irene Hardy; it was going to be a strange experience, Introducing herself to the woman who had been preferred over her and who had apparently proved so unworthy of that preference. She had difficult things to say, and even while she said them she must fight a battle to the death with the jealousy of her natural womanhood. And she must be very, very careful that in saying things which were hard to say she did not say hard things. And, most difficult of all, she must try to pave the way to a reconciliation be tween Dave and the woman who stood between her and happiness. Irene attended the door, as was her custom. Her eyes took in Edith’s face and figure with mild surprise. Editli was conscious of the process of a quick intellect endeavoring to classify tier—solicitor, music teacher, busi ness girl? And in that moment of pause she saw Irene’s eyes and a strange commotion of feeling surged through her. So*this was the woman Dave had chosen to love! No; one does not choose whom one will love; one loves without choosing. Edith was conscious of that; she knew that in her own life. And even as she looked this first time upon Irene she became aware of a subtle attraction gathering about her; she felt some thing of that power which had held Dave to a single course through all these years. And suddenly a great hew truth was born in Edith Duncan. Suddenly she realized that if the steel ut. any time prove unfaithful to the magnet the fault lies not in the steel but in the magnet. What a change of view, what a reversion of all accepted things came with the realization of that truth which roots down into the bedrock of all nature! . . . “Won’t you come in?” Irene was saying. Her voice was sweet and mu sical, but there was a note of sadness in it which set responsive chords a-tremble all through Edith’s heart. “I am Edith Duncan,” she managed tn say. “I—I think I have something !c say that may interest you.” There, v, as a quick leap in Irene’s < es; iho h ap of thgt intuitive fend nine sense of danger which so seldom errs in dealing with its own sex, and is yet so unreliable a defense from the dangers of the other. Mrs. Hardy was in the living room. “Won’t you come up to my work shop?” Irene answered, without change of voice, and they ascended the stairs together. “I draw a little,” Irene was saying, talking fast. “Oh, yes, I have quite commercialized my art, such as it is. But I haven’t lost ray soul altQgether. I daub in color a little—yes, daub, that’s the word. But it keeps one’s soul alive.” She trembled, and her voice choked; she put out her arm to a chair. When she turned her face there were tears on it. . . . “Tell me—Edith,” she said. . . . “You know” . . . “I know some things,” Edith man aged to say. “I know, now, that I do not know all. Dave and I are old friends. My father took a liking to him and he used often to be In our house. And we got to know each other very well, and he told me about you long ago. And last night I found him at his rooms, almost mad and swearing to shoot Conward. And then he told me that—that—” “Yes? Yes? What did he tell you? I am not afraid—” Edith turned her eyes to where the white crests of the mountains out like a crumpled keel through a sea of infi nite blue. “He told me he saw Con ward here . . . upstairs . . . and Conward made a boast. And he would have shot him, but you rushed upon him and begged him not to. He said you would have taken the bullet yourself rather than it should find Conward.” “Oh! oh!”, the girl cried, in the pain of one mortally hurt. “How could he think that? I didn’t care for him— for Conward—but for Dave. I knew there had been a quarrel—I didn’t know why—and I knew if Dave shot him—it wasn’t in self-defense—what ever it wav he couldn’t plead that— and they’d hang him, and that was all I saw, Edith, that was all I saw, and I would—yes, I would rather have taken the bullet myself than that that should happen—” “You poor girl!” said Edith. “You poor girl!” And her arms found the “Because I Love You, and Would Fol low You Anywhere.” other’s neck. “You have been hurt, hurt.” And then, under her breath, “more than me.” “What has he done?” “He had already been convinced that he should offer his services (o his country, in these times. He said he couldn’t remqin here, and he has already left for England. I am afraid I encouraged him to leave at once. You see, I didn’t understand.” Irene had taken a chair, and for some minutes she sat in silence. “I don’t blame you,” she said, at length. “You gave him good advice. There remains only one thing for me to do.” “What?” said Edith after a mo ment’s hesitation. “Follow him! I shall follow him and make him understand. If he must go into battle—with all that that means—he must go in knowing the truth. You have been very kind. Miss Duncan. You have gone out of your way to do me a great service, and you have shown more kindness than I have any right to claim from a stranger. ... I feel, too, the call for vengeance,” she exclaimed, spring ing to her feet, “but first I must find Dave. I shall follow him at once. I shall readily locate him in some way through the military service.” She accompanied her visitor to the door. They shook hands and looked for a moment in each other’s eyes. And then Edith burst away and hur ried down the street. * * * * Irene had searched London for two weeks. The confidence of her earlier inquiries had diminished with each suc cessive blind trail, which, promising at first, led her into a maze of confusion and disappointment. Her little store of money was fast dwindling away; she looked into the face of every man in uniform with a pathetic earnestness that more than once caused her to be misunderstood. The organizaton of the military service commanded less enthusiasm than she felt a month before. She saw it struggling with the apparently im possible; It was as though she, In he: little studio, had been suddenly callot upon to paint all the portraits In th( world. ... In some degree she un derstood the difficulties; in equal de gree she sympathized with those whe were striving to overcome them, and she hung on from day to day in hei search with a dogged determination which set its teeth against admitting that the search was hopeless. At last one great fear had settled on her heart. Suppose Dave should not enlist under his right name? Id such a case her chance of finding him was the mere freak of accidental meet ing; a chance not to be banked upon ip a country already swarming with its citizen soldiery. . . . And yet there was nothing to do but keep on. She had sought a park bench where groups of soldiers were continually moving by. The lights shone on their faces, and her own tired eyes followed them incessantly. Always her ear was alert for a voice that should set her heart a-pounding, and more than once she had thought she heard that voice; more than a score of times she had thought she had seen that figure with its stride of self-reliance, with strength bulging in every muscle. And always it had been to learn that she had been mistake:!; always it had becu to feel the heart sink just a little lower than before. And still she kept on. There was nothing to do but keep on. Often she wondered how he would receive her. That cold look which had frozen his features when she seized the revolver in his hand, would it still sit there, too distant and de tached to be even scornful? Would she have it to break down? She could not know; she could only hope and pray and go on. As she turned her eyes to follow a group of men in uniform she became aware of a soldier sitting alone in the shadow a short distance away. Some quality about him caught her atten tion ; his face was not discernible, and his figure was too much in the shadow to more than suggest its outline, but she found herself regarding him with an intentness that set her pulses rac ing. Should she dare risk it again? And yet there was something. . . . She had a sudden plan. She would make no inquiry, no apology; she would walk near by and call him by name. If that name meant nothing to •him he would not even notice her pres ence, but if it should be— “Dave,” she said. He turned quickly in his seat; the light fell on her face and he saw her; lie was on his feet and had taken a step toward her. Then he stopped, and she saw his features harden as they had on that dreadful occasion which now seemed so long ago. “Well?” he said. His voice was me chanical, but in it was something which quickened her hope; something which suggested that he was mukiug it mechanical because lie dared not let it' express the human emotion which was struggling for utterance. “Let me talk to you, Dave,” she pleaded. “I have followed you around the world for this. Let me talk. 1 can explain everything.” He stood still so long that she won dered if he never would speak. She dared not reacli her hands to him; she could only stand and wait. “Irene,” he said, “why did you fol low me here?” “There is only one answer, Dave. Because I love you and would follow you anywhere. No one can s1»p me doing that; no one. Dave—except you.” And again he stood, and she knew that he was turning over in his mind things weightier than life and death, and that when he spoke again his course would be set. Then, in the partial shadow, she saw his arms slowly extend; they rose, wide and strong, and extended toward her. There was a quick step, and they met. about her, and the world swooned and went by. . . . “I can explain everything,” she said, when she could talk. “You need explain nothing,” lie re turned. “I have lived the torments of the damned. Edith Duncan was right; she said if it were real love it would never give up. ‘Endureth all things,’ she said. ‘All things,’ she said. . . . There is no limit.” “But I must tell you, dear,” she said, “so that you limy understand.” Amt then she patched together the story, from what she knew and from what Edith Duncan had told her, and Dave filled in what neither had known, in cluding the incident earlier on that fateful evening. She could see his Jaws harden as they pieced the plot together and she knew what he was thinking. (TO BE CONTINUED.) GOOSE MEAT IS NUTRITIOUS Fowls Will Be Found Profitable in Regions of Cheap Land and Abundant Pasturage. If (lie goose of the fable was able to lay a golden egg there is no reason why her progeny of the present era cannot repeat this miracle in a more concrete form. Goose meat is nutri tious and palatable and not greasy when properly cooked, and an exten sion of goose raising in the regions of clteap land where pasturage is abundant is a suggested source of cheaper meat. Geese are raised chiefly in the South and middle West, Kentucky, Tennes see, Missouri and Arkansas being the chief supply sources. During the dec ade ending in 1910 the total number of geese declined 22 per cent, largely be cause of the lack of cheap pasture and the limited demand for goose feathers and goose flesh. The Toulouse, Emden, Chinese and African are the most popular Ameri can breeds of geese, the first two greatly leading the others. Occasion ally the eggs are used for cooking, hut generally geese are kept only for meat and feather production. Practically all the geese In this country are raised in small flocks on general farms, some men making a specialty of collecting large numbers of geese and fatten ing them for a few weeks before they are killed. As grass makes up the bulk of feed for geese, it is doubt ful whether it. pays to raise them un less good grass range is available dur ing the summer. A pool of water for bathing and recreational purposes is also a desirable feature. The market for geese is not so gen eral as for chickens. This point should lie considered in undertaking the rais ing of geese. The demand and th*» price paid for geese are usually good in sections where goose fattening is conducted on a large scale. Geese are hardy birds and need shel ter only in tlie worst weather. An empty shed or an old barn usuatly is satisfactory for this purpose. From 4 to 2. r > geese may be kept on an acre of land, although under most condi tions ten is a fair average. Wherever possible the geese should have free First Moving Picture. The first real moving picture was produced by C. Francis Jenkins, a stenographer at the treasury depart ment, Washington, and shown by him at Richmond, Ind., his home town, on .Tune 6, 1894. The picture portrayed a butterfly costume dance performed by a vaudeville artist named Anna' belle, who received $5 for her work. i oulouse Goose. range during the grass season. South ern plantation owners keep geese to kill the weeds .in Hie cotton fields. The eggs may be hatched by either hens or geese. Some breeders prefer to raise all the goslings under hens, as geese sometimes become difficult to manage when allowed to hatch and rear their young. The period of in cubation of goose eggs varies from 28 to 20 days. Goslings do not need food until they are twenty-four to thirty-six hours old, when they should lie fed one of tlie mashes recommended for chickens or goslings, or a mash or dough of two-thirds shorts (middlings) and one-third eontnieal, which can lie made of equal parts shorts and cornmeal, with 5 per cent of beef scrap added after the goslings are six weeks old. Bread and milk make an excellent feed for young goslings. Fine grit or sharp sand should also be available in cold weather. Most geese breeders do not confine their geese for fattening, but feed them freely a few weeks on a fattening ration before they are to be marketed. The geese may lie confined for two or three weeks and fattened, but some green feed or vegetables should be added to the ration. FEED SUPPLIED TO POULTRY Several Different Substances That Go to Make Eggs Must Be Available in Hen’s Ration. Tlie kind of feed supplied tlie hen is fully as important as the quantity. The egg is made up of several differ ent substances and unless tlie.se are available In the ration eggs cannot lie produced. DISCARD ALL INACTIVE HENS Old Fowls Are Better Working Mem bers Than Those That Are Physically Weak. When weeding out flocks a good place to begin is with the hens that are not thrifty and active. Old Item ofti>n are better working members ol the feathered family than those that are physically weak all the time. So testifies Mr. J, f. AREM&7, Box 44, CSemlig, Toxas THE REMEDY EDS EVERYDAY ILLS “I have used Pe-ru-na for years in cases of colds and catarrh. The results have been good, in fact, more than you claimed. Have also taken Lacupia and can easily say it is one of the best blood puri fiers I have ever used.” Mr. J. F. Axendt For Catarrh and Catarrhal Conditions The evidence of one man like Mr. Arendt is more convincing proof to you of the merits of Pe-ru-na than any written words of ours. For fifty years Pe-ru-na has been the standby of the American Jamily {or diseases due to catarrhal inflammation of the mucous membranes lining the organs of the body. Thousands, like Mr. Arendt, have proved the effectiveness of Pe-ru-na for coughs, colds, nasal catarrh, stomach, bowel and liver.disorders or any disease characterized by a catarrhal condition. If your suffering is the result of a catarrhal disorder try Pe-ru-na. It is a true, tried medicine. Sold Everywhere Tablets or Liquid Ninety-Seven par oent. of the people h*va catarrh in soma form. Patriotism is like filial affection; 'omething to feel, anrl not to acquire. BOSCHEE’S SYRUP. A cold is probably the most com- non of all disorders and when neglect- id is apt to be most dangerous. Sta- :istics show that more than three imes as many people died from in- luenza last year, as were killed in he greatest war the world has ever cnown. For the last fifty-three years 3oschee’s Syrup has been used for loughs, bronchitis, colds, throat ir ritation and especially lung troubles. It gives the patient a good night’s •est, free from coughing, with easy ixpectoration in the morning. Made n America and used in the home3 of -.housands of families all over the civilized world. Sold everywhere.—Adv. ‘WHEN KNIGHTS WERE BOLD” Days of the Tournament and the Joust Must Have Seen Some Pretty Lively “Scraps.” The national sports of Europe were 'or a long time confined to tourna- nents and jousts, most of which were larticipated in by nobility, with the ring as a spectator. The tournaments saw companies of from five to a dozen knights ranged igainst eacli other in tlie field, with bulges to see that the regularly set •ules be observed. The plan of each contestant was to unhorse the other jy a blow with a blunt lance received full from in front. A knight thrown • ;>y a side blow was considered the vie- j :or in that it showed poor horseman- j ship oil the part of the other. The joust was entirely different! from the tournament, being virtually i duel, and usually a fight to death. Knights seeking to fasten themselves to a saddle and thus save themselves from being thrown, were deprived of inlgjitliood. The knight was permitted to wear an outer garment over his ar mor, thus lending a gay appearance to the contending forces. An ounce of prevention is not worth a pound of cure—In the pork-packing business. “Safety first” is a good motto un til it hooks up with “lot the other fellow do it.” GOT A CHILD’S COAT BY DYEING GARMENT “Diamond Dyes” Help Make New Out fits for Youngsters. Don’t worry about perfect results. Use “Diamond Dyes,” guaranteed to give a new, rich, fadeless color to any fabric, whether it be wool, silk, linen, cotton or mixed goods,—dresses, blouses, stockings, skirts, children’s coats, feathers—everything! Direction Book in package tells how to diamond dye over any color. To match any material, have dealer show you “Diamond Dye” Color Card.—Adv. An Easy Mark Drops In. “There’s a woman up in front who wants to buy a ‘gen-u-wiue’ Persian rug,” said the clerk. “‘Gen-u-wine,’ did you say?” replied the dealer in Oriental goods. “That's the way she pronounced it.” “Ahem! Does slie appear to have money?” “Yes, and she doesn’t appear to have had it long.” “Ah! In that case get down some of those rugs we got from our factory in New Jersey the other day. I sus pect that what we have in our net is a ‘gen-u-wine’ fish.”—Birmingham Age- Herald. Still Chance. Ten-year-old Virginia and her lit tle friends ^vre discussing their fu ture occupations. “Oh. I'm going to be a school teacher.” Virginia said, “and I suppose I'll lie an old maid, too. Aunt Nellie and Aunt Ruth are, and they are tlie oldest in their family. I’m the oldest in mine, so I probably shall have to lie one, too.” Then little John spoke up: “Oh, 1 wouldn't lie sure, Virginia. You see. Aunt Ruth has a beau now, and she might got married after all. Then I don’t believe you'd have to be one, et their.” Its Need. “I am writing a book for chiropo- Many a man doesn’t know what ho s talking about until it is too into. I hope it has plenty of foot notes. "Jfhat Popular Drink '•so much used nowadays in place of coffee <•' Sold at the same fair price as al ways. No raise. M grocers everywhere Made by Postum Cereal Company Battle Creek,Mich^an
