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GRADY COUNTY PROGRESS. CAIRO, GEORGIA.
GEORGE
musTRAra
15 WHITE
DARK JfCUTCHEON
LUSTRATIONS &- RAY WALTERS
coPY/vmr. is/*
OV DOW, P/ZAD
AftD <X>nPA/fY
SYNOPSIS.
In tho Now York homo of James Brood
(Dawes and Higgs, his two old pensioners
*nd comrades, awajt tho coming of
iBrond s son Frodorlo to learn the contents
(Of a wireless from Brood, but Frederic,
after reading, throws It Into tho tiro and
[leaves tho room without a word. Frederic
(tolls Lydia Desmond, his flancoo. that the
message announces his father's marrlnge
kind orders tho houso prepared for an Im
mediate homecoming. Mrs. Desmond, tho
housekooper and Lydia's mother, tries to
tcool Frcdcrlo's tomper at tho Impending
changes. Brood and his brido arrive, she
■wins Frodorlo'a liking at first mooting.
Brood shows dtsllko and vailed hostility to
ills son. Lydia and Mrs. Brood moot In
ithe Jade-room, where Lydia works as
Brood’s Secretary. Tho room, dominated
fey a great gold Buddha, Brood’H father
confessor, Is furnished In oriental mag
nificence. Mrs. Brood, after a talk with
Lydia, whloh leaves tho latter puzzled. Is
disturbed by tho appearance of Ranjab,
(the Hindu Bervant of Brood. Mrs. Brood
makes changes In tho household and
coins her husband's consent to send Mrs.
Desmond and Lydia away. 8ho trios to
fathom tho mystery of Brood's separation
from his first wife, and his dislike of Ills
son. but falls.
CHAPTER VI.—Continued.
. “It is not unlike all stories of its
kind, my dear,” she said with an In
difference that amazed him. “They
are all alike. Why should I ask? No,
; I do not ask you for your story, James,
i Sometime you may tell mo, but not to-
■ day. I shouldn't mind hearing it if it
' were an original tale, but God knows
j It isn’t It’s os old as the Nile. But
you may tell me more about your son.
* Is he like you, or like his mother?"
i Brood’s Ups were compressed. “I
can’t say that he is like either of us,”
. he said shortly. She raised her eye
brows slightly.
“Ah,” she said. “That makes quite
■' a difference. Perhaps, after all, I shall
> be interested in the story.” Her man
ner was so casual, so serenely, matter-
of-fact, that ho could hardly restrain
the sharp exclamation of annoyance
that rose to his lips.
He hit his lip and allowed the frank
Insinuation to go unanswered. He
consoled himself with the thought that
ehe must have spoken in jest, with
out Intention. He had the uncomfort
able feeling that she would make light
• of his story, too, when the time came
v for revelations. A curious doubt took
root In his mind; would he ever be
able to understand the nature of this
,woman whom he loved and who ap-
peered to love him so unreservedly?
tAa time went on, the doubt became a
fconviction. She was utterly beyond
{comprehension.
*} I The charm and beauty of the new
mistress of James Brood’s .heart and
. home were to become the talk of tho
[town. Already, in the first month of
per reign, she had drawn to. the olei
house the attention not only of the
parasites who feed on novelty, but of
families that had long since given up
Brood as a representative figure in the
circle Into which ho had been born.
I The restoration was slow at first, as
■ it naturally would be. The new Mrs.
jBrood came upon the scene as a
trange star appears suddenly in the
es to excite and mystify the unsus-
iting world. She seemed to have
me from nowhere, and yet like the
S ew planet, she suddenly filled an ap-
ointed spot in the firmament,
i It cannot he said that she conquered,
for that would be to imply design on
iher part. Possibly she considered the
(game unworthy of the effort. She re-
jgarded herself as superior to all these
{people, a surviving estimate of them
selves that most Europeans enjoy;
jthereforo what was she to gain, saving
a certain amount of amusement, by
mtact with her husband’s friends?
In truth, Yvonne Brood despised
U merlcans. She made small pre-
nse of liking them. The rather close-
knit circle of Parisian aristocracy
' lch she affected is known to tol-
ate but not to invite the society of
ifcen the best of Americans.- She wad
larger than her environment. Her
^ws upon and her attitude'toward
Americans- were; not created by
but for her. The fact that James
IroQd had reached the inner shrine of
noh self-worship no doubt put him
u a class apart from all. other Amerl-
, so far as she was concerned. At
jle>t it may account for an apparent
nc-ulstency, in that she married him
; much hesitation.
B warmest friend and admirer—
one ght almost say slave—was Fred-
- leric <od. She had' transformed him.
(He Who longer tho silent, moody
- youth other., days, but an eager, im-
' jpetuoMaymate whose principal ob
ject in was to amuse her. If any
one haied 'to convince him that he
ever coi) ava regarded Mrs. Des-
(mond’s ronement and. departure
With equity, he. would have pro-
; tested wrt\ the force at his com
mand. ®at would have been a
month eS'o saw. Lydia and her
mother 'Mthout the slightest
'doubt in hl d that
.-the host. r
; The DeB® 00 k a small apart
ment just t the corner from
[Brood’s horn®,ide street, an( j i n
ithe same blot a , na tter of fact,
their windows, down into the
courtyard in to l( B roo d’s home,
ijerederlc assloU la pu ttlng their
luew home In « W as great fun
tor 'iffSS* au“ S building of
what they pleased to call “a nest.”
Lydia may have seen tho cloud in their
Bky, but lie did not. To him, tho world
was bright aud gladsome, without a
shadow to mar its new beauty. He
was enthusiastic, eager, excited. She
fell in with his spirit, but her pleas
ure was shorn of some of its keenness
by tho odd notion that it was not to
endure.
He even dragged Yvonne around to
the little flat, to expatiate upon its
cozluess with visual proof to support
his somewhat exaggerated claims. Her
lazy eyes took in tho apartment at a
glance, and she was done with it.
•'It ts very charming,” she said, with
her soft drawl. “Have you no ciga
rettes, Lydia?”
The girl flushed and looked at Fred
eric for relief. He promptly produced
his own cigarettes. Yvonne lighted
one and then stretched herself com
fortably in the Morris chair in which
no woman ever had appeared comfort
able before—or since, perhaps.
“You should learn to smoke,” she
went on.
“Mother wouldn’t like me to smoke,”
said Lydia, rather bluntly.
A faint frown appeared on Frederic’s
brow; only-to disappear with Yvonne’s
low, infectious laugh.
“And Freddy doesn’t like you to
smoke, either, ai—e?” she said.
“He may have changed htB mind re
cently, Mrs. Brood,” said the girl,
smiling so frankly that the edge was
taken off of a rather direct implica
tion.
"I don't mind women smoking,” put
in Frederic hastily. “In fact, I rather
like it, the way Yvonne does it. It’s a
very graceful accomplishment.”
“But I am too clumsy to—” began
Lydia.
“My dear,” interrupted the Parisian,
carelessly flecking the ash into a jar
diniere at her elbow, “it is very
naughty to smoke, and clumsy women
never should be naughty. If you real
ly feel clumsy, don’t, for my sake, ever
try to do anything wicked. There is
nothing so distressing as an awkward
woman trying to be devilish.”
'“Oh, Lydia couldn't be devilish if
she tried,” cried Frederic, with a quick
glance at the girl’s half-averted face.
“Don't say that, Frederic,” she cried.
“That’s as much as to say that I am
clumsy and awkward.”
“And you are not,” said Yvonne de
cisively. “You are very pretty and
graceful and adorable, and I am sure
you could be very wicked if you set
about to do it.’.'
“Thank you,” satd Lydia dryly.
“By the way, this window looks al
most directly down into our court
yard,” Bald Yvonne abruptly. She was
leaning on her elbow, looking out upon
the housetops below. “There is my bal
cony, Freddy. And one can almost
look into your father's lair from where
I sit.”
She drew back from the window
suddenly, a passing look of fear In
“d that it was all for
“By the Way, This' Window Looks Al
most Directly Down Into Our Court
yard.”
her eyes. It was gone in a second,
however, and would have passed unno
ticed but for the fact that Frederic
was, as usual, watching her face with
rapt Interest. He caught the curious
transition and involuntarily glanced
below. .
• The heavy curtains in the window
of his father’s retreat were drawn
apart and the dark face of Ranjab the
Hindu was plainly distinguishable. He
was looking up at the Window In which
Mrs. Brood was sitting. Although
Frederic was far above, he could see
the gleaming white of the man’s eyes.
The curtains fell quickly together and
the gaunt brown face was gone.
Questions raced through Frederic’s
puzzled brain. Out of them grew a
queer, almost uncanny feeling that the
Hindu had called to lior In tho still,
mysterious voice of tho East, and al
though no sound had been uttered,
she heard as plainly as it he actually
had shouted to her across the inter
vening space.
His father had said, more than
once, that the Hindu aud tho Egyp
tian possessed the power to be in two
distinct places at the same time.
James Brood, a sensible man, was a
firm believer-in magic, and this much
Frederic knew of Ranjab—it James
Brood needed him, no matter what the
hour or the. conditions, the man ap
peared beforo him ns it out ot nowhere
and in response to no audible sum
mons. He was like the slave of the
lamp.
Was thore, then, between these two
—the beautiful Yvonne and tho silent i
Hindu—a voiceless pact that defied tho
will or understanding of either?
He had not failed to note a tend
ency on her part to avoid the Hindu
as much as possible. She even con
fessed to an uncanny dread of the man,
but could not explain the feeling.
Once sho requested her husband to
dismiss the faithful follow. When he
demanded tho reason, however, she
could only reply that she did not like
the man and would feel happier it ho
wore sent away. Brood refused, and
from that hour her tear of the Hindu
increased.
Now she was speaking in a nervous,
hurried manner to Lydia, her back
toward the window. In the middle
of a sentence she abruptly got up from
the chair and moved swiftly to the op
posite side of the room, where she
sat down again, ns far as possible
from the window. Frederic found him
self watching her face with curious
Interest. All the time she was speak
ing her eyes were fixed on the win
dow. It was as it she expected some
thing to appear there. There was no
mistaking the expression. After study
ing her face in silence for a few min
utes Frederic himself experienced an
irresistible impulse to turn toward the
window. He halt expected to see the
Hindu’s face there, looking in upon
them; a perfectly absurd notion when
he remembered that they were at least
one hundred feet above the ground.
Presently she arose to go. No, she
could not wait for Mrs. Desmond’s
return.
”It is charming here, Lydia,” she
said, surveying the little sitting-room
with eyes ..that sought the window
again and again in furtive dart3,
“Frederic must bring me here often.
We shall have cozy times here, we
three. It is so convenient, too, for
you, my dear. You have only to walk
around the corner, and there you are!
—at your place, of business, as 'the
men would say.”
(Lydia was to continue as Brood’s
amanuensis. He would not listen to
any other arrangement.)
“Oh, I do hope you will come, Mrs,
Brood,” cried the girt, earnestly. “My
piano will be here tomorrow, and you
shall hear Frederic play. He is really
wonderful.”
“You play?” asked Mrs. Brood, re
garding him rather fixedly.
Lydia answered for him. “He disap
pears for hours at a time, and comes
home humming fragments from—oh
but I am not supposed to tell! For
give me, Frederic. Dear me! What
have I done?”' She was plainly dis
tressed.
“No harm in telling Yvonne," said
he, but uneasily* “You see, it’s this
way—father doesn’t like the idea of
my going in for music. He is really
very much opposed to it. So I’ve been
sort of stealing a march on him. Go
ing up to a -chum’s apartment and
banging away to my heart's content,
It’s rather fun, too, doing It on the
sly. Of course, if father heard of it
he’d—he’d—well, he’d be nasty about
It, that’s all.”
“He will not let you have a piano
in the house?”
“1 should say not!”
She gave them a queer little smile.
“We shall see,” she said, and that
was all.
“What do you play—what do you
like best, Frederic?" inquired Yvonnfe,
"Oh, those wonderful little Hunga
rian things most of all, tile plaintive
little—”
He stopped as she began 'to hum
lightly the strains of one of Ziehrer’s
jaunty waltzes.
"By jove, how did you guess? Why
it’s my favorite. .1 love it, Yvonne,
' As they descended in the elevator,
Frederic, unable to contain blmself,
burst out rapturously;
“By jove, Yvonne, It will be fun
coming over here every day or so for
a little music, won’t it? I can’t tell
you how happy 1 shall be.”
"It is time you ivere- happy,” said
she, looking straight ahead, and many
days passed before he had an Inkling
of all that lay behind her remark,
As they entered the house, Jones
met them in the hall.
“Mr. Brood telephoned that he will
be late, madam. He iB at the cus
toms office about the boxes.”
“There will be five or six in for
tea, Jones. You may serve it in Mr.
Brood's study.”
- A look of surprise flitted.across the
butler's impassive face. "Yes, mad
am.” For a moment he had doubted
his hearing.
“And ask Ranjab to_ put away Mr.
Brood’s writing material and reference
books.”
"I shall attend to it myself, madam
Ranjab went out with Mr. Brood.”
“Went out?” exclaimed Yvonne,
rigid.
Frederic turned upon the butler in
a flash. “You must be mistaken,
Jones,” he said sharply.
“I think not, sir. They went away
together in the automobile. He has
not returned."
A long look of wonder and perplex
ity passod between young Brood aud
Ills stepmothor.
Sho laughed suddenly and unnatu
rally. Without a word she started up
the stairs. He followed more slowly,
IiIb puzzled eyes fixed on the gracotul
ilguro ahead. At the upper landing
sho stopped. Her hand grasped tho
railing with rigid Intensity.
Ranjab emerged from tho shadows
at the end of the hall. Ho bowed
very dooply.
"Tho master's books and papers ’avo
been removed, sahibah. The study is
In ordor.”
CHAPTER VII.
Ranjab the Hindu.
Tho two old men, long slnco rele
gated to a somewhat self-imposed ob
llvlon, on a certain night discussed, as
usual, the affairs of the household in
the privacy of their room on tho third
floor remote, not, however, without
first convincing themselves that the
shadowy Ranjab was nowhero within
rango of their croaking undertones.
From tho proscribed regions down
stairs camo the faint sounds of a piano
and tho intermittent chatter of mqny
voices. Someone was playing “La
Paloma." •
These new days were not like the
old ones. Once they had enjoyed,
even commanded, the full freedom of
the house. It had beeu their privi
lege, their prerogative, to euter Into
every social undertaking that was
planned; in fact, they had come to
regard themselves as hosts, or, at tho
very least, guests of honor on such
occasions. They had a joyous way of
lifting the responsibility of conversa
tion from everyone else; and, be it
said to their credit, there was no sub
ject on which they couldn't talk with
decision and' fluency, whether they
knew anything about it or not.
And nowadays it was different. They
were not permitted to appear when
guests were in the house. Tho sump
tuous dinners—of which they heard
something from the servants—were no
longer graced by their presence. They
were amazed and not a little irritated
to observe, by listening at the head of
thq stairs, that the unfortunate
guests, whoever they were, always
seemed to be enjoying themselves,
They couldn't, for the life of them, un
derstand how such a condition was
possible.
Brood had been working rather
steadily at his Journal during the past
two or three weeks. He had reached
a point in the history where his own
memory was somewhat vague, and
had been obliged to call upon his old
comrades to supply the facts. For
several nights they had sat with him
going over the scenes connected with
their earliest acquaintance — those
black days In Calcutta. Lydia had
brought over her father’s notes ant}
certain transcripts of letters he had
written to her mother before their
marriage. The four of them were put
ting those notes and narratives into
chronological order. Brood, after
three months of married- life and fri
volity, suddenly had decided to devote
himself almost entirely to the comple
tion of the journal.
He denied himself the'theater, the
opera and kindred features of ' the
passing show, and as he preferred to
entertain rather than to be enter
tained, seldom found it necessary to
go into the homes of other people,
Yvonne made no protest. She merely
pressed Frederic into service as an
escort when she desired to go about,
and thought nothing of it. Whether
this arrangement pleased James Brood
time will show. He, too, appeared to
think nothing of it.
The lines had returned to the cor
ners of his mouth, however, and the
old, hard look to his eyes. And there
were times when he spoke harshly to
his son, times when he purposely
humbled him in the presence of others
without apparent reason.
On this particular night, Yvonne
had asked a few people tn for dinner.
They were people whom Brood liked
especially well, but who did not appeal
to her at all. As a matter of fact, they
bored her. She appeared to be happy
in pleasing him, however. -When she
told him that they were coming, he
favored her with a dry, rather im
personal smite, and asked, with whim
sical good humor, why she chOBO to
punish herself for the sins of his
youth. She laid her cheek against his
and purred! For a moment he held
his breath. Then the fire in his blood
leaped into flame He clasped the
slim, adorablo body In his strong arms
and crushed her againBt his breast.
She kissed him and lie was again the
flercei eager, unsateci lover. It was
one' of their wonderful imperishable
moments, pioments that brought ob
livion. Then, ns he frequently did of
late he held her oft at arm’s length and
searched her velvety eyes with a gazfc
that seemed to drag the very secrets
out- of her soul. She went deathly
white and shivered. He took his hands
from her shouidors and smiled. She
camo back into his arms like a dumb
thing seeking protection, and contin
ued to tremble as if frightened.
When company was being enter
tained downstairs Mr. Dawes and Mr.
Riggs, with a fidelity to convention
that was almost pitiful, invariably
donned their evening clothes. They
considered' themselves remotely con
nected with the festivities, and, that
being the case, the-least they could do
was to “dress up.” Moreover, they
dressed with great care and delibera
tion. There was always the chance
that they might be ■ asked to come
down, or, what was even more impor
tant, Mrs. Brood might happen to en
counter them in the upper hall, am}
in that event. It was imperative that
she should be made to realize how
Usually at nine o'clock they strolled
into tho study and smoked one of
Brood's cigars with tho gusto of real
guests. It was their habit to saunter
nbout tho room, inspecting tho treas
ures with critical, appraising eyes,
very much as if they lmd never seen
them before. They even handled some
of tlie familiar objocts with an air of
bewilderment that would have done
credit to a Cook's tourist. It was also,
a habit of thotrs to try tho doors of
a largo teakwood cabinet in one cor
ner of the rooni. The doors always
wore locked, and they sighed with
patient doggedness. Somo day, how
ever, Ranjab would forget tp lock
those doors, and then—
“Joe,” Mr. Dawes, after ho had tried
tho doors on this particular occasion,
'I made a terrible mistake In letting
poor Jim get married again. I'll nover
forgive myself." He had said thlB at
least a hundred times during tho past
three months. Sometimes ho cried
over It, but never until he had found
that tho cabinet doors were locked.
"I wish Jack Desmond had lived,"
mused the other, paying no attention
to the egotism. “He would have
put a stop to this fool marriage."
They snt down and pondered.
"Jim's getting mighty cranky of
late," ruminated Dawes, pulling away
at his uniighted cigar. “It’s a caution
the way he snaps Freddy off these
days. Ho—he hates that boy, Joe.' 1
“Sh! Not so loud!"
"Confound you, don’t you know
whisper when you hear it?" demanded
Dawes, who, in truth, had whispered.
Another potential silence, “Freddy
goes about with her a good deal more
than lie ought to,” said Riggs at last.
“They’re together two-thirds of tho
Crushed Her Against His Breast.
stupid she had been.
time. Why—why, he. heels her like a
trained dog. Playing tho planner
morning, noon and night, and out driv
ing, and going to the theater, and—"
“I've a notion to tell Jim he ought
to put a stop to it,” said the other.
“It makes me sick."
"Jim’ll do it without being told one
o' these days, so you keep out of it.
Say, have you noticed how peaked
Lydia's looking these days? She's not
the same girl, Dan, not the same girl.
Something’s wrong.” He shook his
head gloomily.
‘*It’s that doggoned woman," an
nounced Dawes explosively, and then
looked over his shoulder with appre
hension in his blear eyes. A sigh of
relief escaped him.
“She's got no business coming in be
tween Lydia and Freddy," said Riggs.
“Looks as though she’s just set on
busting it up. What can she possibly
have against poor little Lydia?' She’s
good enough for Freddy. Too good, by
hokey! Specially when you stop to
think.”
Dawes glared at him. “Now don’t
begin gossiping. You’re as bad as
an old woman.”
"Thinking ain’t gossiping, confound
you. If I wanted to gossip I’d up and
say flatly that Jim Brood knows down
in his soul that Freddy is no son of
his. He—■"
“You’ve never heard him say so,
Joe.”
“No, but I can put two and two to
gether. Pin no fool." 11
“I’d advise you to shut up."
“Oh, you would, would you?” with
vast scorn. “I’d like to know who It
was that talked to Mrs. Desmond
about it. Who put It into her head
that Jim doubts—"
“Well, didn’t she say I was a lying
old busybody!” snapped Danbury tri
umphantly. “Didn't she call me down,
eh? I’d like *to' know what more you
coulcl expect than that. Didn’t she
make me take back everything I said?’
“She did,” said Riggs, with convic
tion. “And I believe she would have
thrashed you if she'd been a man, just
as she said she would. And didn’t I
advise her to do it anyway, on the
ground that you're an old*?woraan
and—”
"That’s got nothing to do with the
present case,” interrupted Dawes
hastily. “What we ought to be think
ing about now is how to get rid of
thiB woman that’s come in here to
wreck our home. She’s an Interloper.
She's a foreigner. She—"
Mr. Dawes leaned a little closer. "I
wonder how Mrs. Desmond likes hav
ing her over,there playing the piano
every afternoon with Freddy while
Lydia’s over here copying things for
Jim, and working her poor little head
off. Ever stop to think about that?
"I think about it all tho time. And,
by thunder, I’m not the only one who
docs, either, Jim thinks a good deal
and so does Lydia. It's a darned—"
Mr. Riggs happened to look up at
that Instant, llnnjub was standing In
front of him, ills arms folded across
his breast, in tho habitual poso of the
Hindu who waits. The man was
dressed in tho costume of a high-caste
Brahmin; tho commonplace garments
of tho Occident had boon laid aside,
and in their plnco woro tho vivid, daz
zling colors of lnd, from tho bcjoweled
sandals to the turban which crownod
ills swarthy brow nnd gleamed with
rubies and sapphlros uncounted. Mr.
Riggs' mouth roniainod open as ho
stared blankly at this ghost of anothor
day. Not slnco the old days in India
had he seen Ranjab in native garb,
and oven then ho was far from boing
thu resplendent creature of tonight,
for llunjab in ills home land was a
poor man and without distinction.
“Ain I awake?" cxclalmod Mr. Riggs
In such an awful voice that Mr. Dawes
gave, over staring at tho cabinet nnd
favored him with an impatient ktok
on tlie ankle.
“I guess that'll wake you up If—“
and then he saw the Hindu. "Ran
jab!” oozed from his lips.
Ranjab was smiling, and when ho
smiled his dark face was a joy to be
hold. His whlto teeth gleamed and
his sometime unfoollng eyes sparkled
with delight. He liked tho two old
men. They hnd stood, with llrood be
tween him and grave peril far back
in tho old days when oven the faint
est gleam of hope apparently tad been
blottod out.
“Behold," ho cried, magnificently
spreading his arms. "I am made glo
rious! See before you the prince of
magic! See!” With. a swift, deft
movement ho snatched tho half-
smoked cigar from tlie limp llngois of
Mr. Riggs and, flrBt holding, it beforo
their blinking eyes, tossed it into tho
air. It disappeared!
"Well, of all the—" began Mr. Riggs,
sitting up very straight. His oyeB
were following tlie rapid actions of tho
Hindu. Unlocking a drawer in the
big table, tho latter peered Into it
and then beckoned tho old men to his
side. There lay tho cigar and beside
it a much-needed match!
“I don’t want to smoke it," said Mr.
Riggs, vigorously declining his prop
erty. "Tho darned thing’s bewitched."
Whereupon Ranjub took it out of tho
drawer and again threw it into the
air. Then he calmly readied nboTe
his head and plucked a fresh cigar
out of space, obsequiously tendering it
to the amazed old man, who accepted
it with the sheepish grin of a be-
addlcd schoolboy.
“You haven’t lost any of your old
skill,” said Mr. Dawes, involuntarily
glancing at his own cigar to make
3ure that he had it firmly gripped in
his stubby fingers. "You ought to bo
in a sideshow, Ranjab.”
Ranjab paused, before responding,
to extract a couple of billiard balls
and a small papor knife from the lapel
of Mr. DawcB’ coat.
1 am to perform tonight, sahib, for
tlie mistross’ guests. It is to bo—what
you call him? A sideshow? Ranjab
Is to do his tricks for her, ns tho dog
performs for his master." The smile
had disappeared. His face was an im
penetrable mask once more. Hnd tliolr
eyes been young and keen, however,
they might have caught the flash of
anger in his.'
“Going to do all the old tricks?”
cried Mr. Riggs eagerly. “By George,
I’d like to see ’em a^.aln; wouldn’t you,
Dan? I’m glad we’ve got our good
clothes on. Now you see what comes
of always boing prepared for—”
"Sorry, sahib, but the master lias
request me to entertain you before the
guests come up. Coffee ts to be serve
here."
"That means we’ll have to ■ clear
out?” said Riggs, slowly.
"But boo!” cried Ranjab, genuinely
sorry for them. He bocame enthusias
tic once more. “See! I shall do them
nil—and bettor, too, for you.”
For ten minutes he', astonished th«
old men with the mysterious feats oil
the Indian fakir. They waxed enthw
Mys
terlous Feats of the Indian Fakir.
siastlc. He grinned over the pleasure
he was giving them. Suddenly h«
whipped out a' short, thin sword from
its scabbard in ills sash. The amazing,
incomprehensible sword - swallowing
act followed.
"You see Ranjab has not forgot,” hq
eried in triumph. “He have not loot
the touch of the wizard, aih?”
"You’ll lose your gizzard 3ome day,
doing that,” said Dawes, grimlr. "Ill
gives me tlie shivers."
1 (TO BE CONTINUED J
