GRADY COUNTY PROGRESS, CAIRO, GEORGIA.
Dpi®
fir GEORGE BARR SCUTCHEON
ILLUSTRATIONS ^ RAY WALTERS
copyp/wt, w+.
OY DODO, AJAAD
A/fD OOYIPAf/Y
SYNOPSIS.
—5—
_I» 11,0 N ®w York home of James Brood
Dawes and Riggs, his two old pensioners
and (Comrades, await the coming of
Broods son Frederic to learn the contents
,of a wireless from Brood, but Frederic,
nftor reading, throws It Into the lira and
,leaves the room without a word. Frederic
tells Lydia Desmond, his fiancee, that the
message announces his father's marriage
■and orders the house propnred for an Im
mediate homecoming. Mrs. Desmond, the
housekeeper and Lydia's mother, tries to
cool Frederic’s totnpor at tho Impending
changes. Brood and his bride arrive. Sho
wins Fredorlc's liking at first mooting.
Brood shows dislike and veiled hostility to
his Bon. Lydia and Mrs. Brood meet In
the Jade-room, where Lydia works as
Brood s Secretary. The room, dominated
by a great gold Buddha, Brood's father
confessor, Is furnished In oriental mag
nificence, Mrs. Brood, after a talk with
makes changes in the. household and
gains her husband's consent to send Mrs.
Desmond and Lydia away. She tries to
fathom tho mystery of Broo'd's separation
from Ills first wife, and his dislike of his
son, but fails. Mrs. Brood fascinates
Frederic. They visit Lydia ahd her moth
er in their new apartment. Mrs. Brood
begins to fear Ranjab In his uncanny ap
pearances and disappearances and Fred
eric. remembbrlng his father’s East Indian
stories and firm belief In magic, fears un
known . evil. Ranjab performs feats of
magic for Dawes and Riggs.
CHAPTER VII—Continued.
Then, before their startled, horror-
struck eyes, the Hindu coolly plunged
the glittering blade into his breast,
■driving It in to the hilt!
“Good Lord!” shouted the two old
men.
Ranjab serenely replaced the sword
In its scabbard.
"It is not always the knife that finds
the heart,” said he, so slowly, so full
of meaning, that even the old men
grasped the significance of the cryptic
remark.
“A feller can be fooled, no matter
how closely he watches,” said Mr.
Dawes, and he was not referring to
the amazing sword trick.
"No, sir,” said Mr. Riggs, with
gloomy irrelevance, “I don't like that
woman."
The old spell of the Orient had
fallen upon the ancients. They were
hearing the vague whisperings of
.voices tbat came from nowhere, as
they had heard them years ago in the
mystic silences of the East.
“Sh! One comes,” said .Ranjab,
softly. "It will be the master's son.”
An instant later his closet door
closed noiselessly behind him and the
old men were alone, blinking at each
other. There was no sound from the
hall. They waited, watching the cur
tained door. At last they heard foot
steps on the stairs, quick footsteps of
the young.
Frederick strode rapidly tyto the
room.
CHAPTER VIII.
I "He Killed a Woman.”
! His face was livid with rage. For
a moment, he glowered upon the .two
old men, his fingers working spasmod
ically, his chest heaving with the vol
canic emotions he was trying so hard
to subdue. Then he whirled about,
to glare into the hall.
“In God’s name, Freddy, boy, what's
happened?” cried old Mr. Riggs, all
a-tremble.
J ome minutes passed before he could
it himself to speak. Ugly veins
stood out on his pale temples, as he
Spaced the floor in front of them. Even
tually Mr..' Daves ventured the vital
'question, ln-a so'mewhat hushed voice,
j "Have you—quarreled with your fa
ther, Freddy?”
! The young man threw up his arms
jin a gesture of despair. There was
■gt. wail of misery in his voice, as he
grated out:
“In the name of God, why should he
hate me as he does? .* What have I
done? Am I not a good son to him?”
“Hush!” implored Mr! Dawes, nerv
ously. "He’ll hear you,” •
“Hear me I” oried Frederic, and
laughed aloud in his recklessness.
“Why shouldn’t he hear me?" By
God, I'll not stand it a day longer. He
■wouldn’t think of treating a dog as
Jie treats me. God, I—I, why, he is
actually foroing me to hate him. I
do hate him! I swear to heaven,- it
[was in my heart to kill him down
there just now. I—” He could, not
go on. He choked up -an'd the tears
rushed to his eyes. Abruptly turning
away, he threw himself upon the
couch and buried his face on his arms:
sobbing like a’llttle child.
The old men, distressed beyond the
power of speech, mumbled, incoherent
words of comfort as they slowly edged
out toward the door. They tiptoed
into the hall and neither spoke until
their bedrooih door was closed behind
them. Mr. Dawes even tried it-to see
that it was safely latched.
• The curtains .parted and Yvonne
looked' in upon the wretched Frederic.
There was a look of mingled pain and
commiseration in her wideopen eyes.
For a moment she stood th'ere regard
ing him in silence. Then she swiftly-
crossed the room to the coach In the
corner where he sat huddled up, his
shoulders still shaking with the mis
ery that racked him. Her hand went
out : to touch the tousled hair, but
Stopped before contact. Slowly she
drew back, with a glance of apprehen
sion toward the door of the Hindu’s
closet. An odd expression of alarm
crept into her eyeB.
"Frederic,” she, said, softly, almost
timorously.
He lifted bis head quickly, and then
sprang to his feet. His eyes were wet
and his lips were drawn. Shame pos
sessed him. He tried to smile, but it
was a pitiful failure.
“Oh, I'm so ashamed of—of—” he
began, in a choked voice.
"Ashamed because you have cried?'
she said quickly. “But no! It is good
to cry—it is good for women to cry,
But when a strong man breaks down
and sheds tears, I am—oh, I am heart
broken. But come! You must go to
your room and bathe your face. Go at
once. Your father must not know that
you have cried. He—”
“D—n him!” came from between
Frederic’s clinched teeth.
“Hush!" she oried, with another
glance at Ranjab’s door. She would
have given much to know whether
the Hindu was there Or still below
stairs. “You must not say- such—”
“I suppose you’re trying to smooth
it over so that they won’t consider
him a brute. Is that It?”
“Hush! Please, please! You know
that my heart aches for you, mon
ami. It was cruel of him, it Was cow
ardly, yes, cowardly! Now I have
said it!" She drew herself up and
turned deliberately toward the little
door across the room.
His eyes brightened. The crooked
sneer turned into an imploring smile.
“Forgive me, Yvonne! You must
see that I’m beside myself. I—I—"
“But you must be sensible. Re
member he is your father. He is a
strange man. There has been a great
deal of bitterness in his life. “He—”
“But I can’t go on the way things
are now. He’s getting to be worse
than ever. I never have had a kind
word from him, seldom a word of any
description. Never a kind look. Can’t
you understand how-it goads me to—"
“I am your friend,” she said slowly.
“Is this the way to reward mp?”
He dropped, to his knees and cov
ered her hands with kisses, mumbling
hi3 plea for forgiveness.
“I am so terribly unhappy,” he said
over, and over again. “I’d leave this
house tonight if it were not that I
can’t bear the thought of leaving you,
Yvonne. I adore you. You are every
thing in the world to me. I—’’
"Get up!” she cried out sharply. He
lifted his eyes in dumb wonder and
adoration, but not in , time to catch
the look of triumph that swept across
her face. '
. “You will forgiye me?” he cried,
coming to his feet. "I—I couldn't help
saying it. It was wrong—wrong! But
you will forgive me, Yvonne?"
She turned away, walking slowly
toward the door. He remained rooted
“We Will Excuse You, Frederic.”
to -the spot, blushing with shame and
dismay.
“Where are you going? To tell
him?" he gasped.
• She waited au Instant, and then
came toward him. He never could
have explained the unaccountable im
pulse that forced him to-fall back, a
.few steps as she approached. Her eyes
were gazing steadily into his, and her
red lips were parted.
' '.'That is as it should .be,” she was
•saying,- but he was never sure that he
.heard, the- words. His knees grew
weak. He waB, in' the toils! "Now,
you must pull yourself together,” she-
went on in' such a .matter-of-fact tone
that he straightened up involuntarily.
“Colne! Wipe the tear stains from
your cheeks."- • ( t
.• He obeyed, but : his lips still quiv
ered' with the rage that had been
checked by the ascendency of another
an'd even more devastating emotion
She was standing quite close to him
now, her slender figure swaying
slightly as it moved by some strange,
rhythmic melody to which the heart
beat time. Her eyeB -.were soft and
velvety again; her smile tender and
appealing. The vivid .white of her
arms and Bhoulderi? seemed to shed
a soft light about her, so radiant was
the sheen of the Batin skin.
She moved closer to him, and with
deft fingers applied her tiny laco
handkerchief to his flushed cheek and
eyes, laughing audibly as she did so;
a low gurgle of infinite sweetness and
concern. •
He stood like a statue, scarcely
breathing, the veins in his throat
throbbing violently.
"There!" she Baid, and deliberately,
touched the mouchoir to her own smil
ing lips,. before replacing It In her
bodice, next to the warm, soft sltln. “I
have been thinking, Frederic," she
said, suddenly serious. “Perhaps it
would be better if we were not alone
when the others came up. Go at once
and fetch the two old mon. Tell them
I expect them here to witness the
magic. It appears to be a family
party, so why exclude them? Bo
quick!”
He dashed oft to obey her command.
She lighted a cigarette at the table,
her unsmiling eyes fixed on the door
of the Hindu's closet. Then, with a
little sigh, she sank down oh the
broad couch and stretched her supple
body in the ecstasy of complete relax
ation.
The scene at the dinner table hod
been mo3t distressing. Up to tho in
stant of the outburst her.husband had
been In singularly gay spirits, a cir
cumstance so unusual that the whole
party wondered not a little. If the
others were vaguely puzzled by his
high humor, not so Yvonne. She un
derstood him better than anyone else
in the world; she read his mind as she
would have read an open book. There
was riot, not joy, in the heart of the
brilliant talker at the head of the
table. He was talking against the sav
agery that Btralned so hard at its
leashes.
At her right sat Frederic, at her
left the renowned Doctor Hodder,
whose feats at the operating table
were vastly more successful than his
efforts at the dinner table. He was
a very wonderful surgeon, but equally
famous ns a bore of the first rank.
Yvonne could not endure him.
Mrs. Desmond and Lydia were there,
This was an excellent opportunity
to entertain them on an occasion of
more or lesB magnitude.
Frederic, deceived by his father's
sprightly mood, entered rather reck
lessly into the lively discussion. He
seldom took his eyes from the face
of his beautiful stepmother, and many
of his remarks were uttered sotto
voce, for her ear alone. Suddenly
James Brood called out his name in
a sharp, commanding tone. Frederic,
at the moment, engaged in a low ex
change of words with Yvonne, did not
hear him. Brood spoke again, loudly,
harshly. There was dead silence at
the table.
We will excuse you, Frederic,” said
he, a deadly calm in his voice. The
puzzled expression in the young man’s
face slowly gave way to a steady glare
of fury. He could not trust himself
to speak. “I regret exceedingly that
you cannot, take wine in moderation
A breath of fre3h air will be of benefit
to you. You may Join us upstairs later
on.”
“I haven't drunk a full glass of
champagne,” begun the young man in
amazed protest.
Brood smiled indulgently, but there
was a sinister gleam in bis gray eyes.
“I think you would better take my
advice,” he said, levelly.
Frederic went deathly pale. “Very
well, sir,” he said in a low, suppressed
voice. Without another word he got
up from the table and walked out
of tbe room.
He spoke the truth later on when
he told Yvonne he could not under
stand.' But she understood. Bhe
knew that Jame3 Brood had endured
the situation as long as it was in his
power to endure, and she knew that it
was her fault entirely that poor Fred
eric had been exposed to this crown
ing bit of humiliation. '
As' she sat in the dim study, await
ing her stepsoft's reappearance with
tie two old men, her active, far-seeing
mind was striving to estimate the .cost
of that tragic clash. Not the cost to
herself- or tb Frederic, but to James
Brood!" ,
The Messrs. Dawes and Riggs, inor
dinately pleased over, their rehabilita
tion, were barely through delivering
themselves of their protestations of
undying fealty, when- the sound ot
voices came up from the lower hall.
Frederic started to leave the 'room,
not caring to face those who had wit
nessed his unmerited degradation.
Yvonne hurried to his side.
“Where are you going?" she cried,
sharply.
He stared at her in wonder. “You
cannot expect me to stay here—”
“But certainly,” she exclaimed.
“Listen! I will tell you what to do."
Her voice sank to an imperative whis
per. He listened in sheer amazement,
his face growing dark with rebellion
as slie proceeded to unfold her plan
for a present victory over his father.
“No, no! I can't do that! Never,
Yvonne,” he protested.
“For my sake. Freddy. Don’t forget
that you owe .something to me. I
command you to do- as' I tell you. It
is the only way. Make haste! Open
the window. Get the breath of air
he prescribed. And when they are
all here, apologize for your condition!”
When Doctor Hodder. and Mrs. Gun
ning entered the room a few minutes
later young Brood w-as standing in the
open window, drinking in the cold
night -air, and she waB blithely regal
ing the blinking old men with au ac
count ot her stepson's unhappy efforts
to drink all of the wine in sight!
she told it, it was a most amusing
experiment.
James Brood was the last to enter,
with Miss Followoll. Ho took in tho
situation at a glance. Was it relief
that sprang into his eyes as ho saw
tho two old men?
Frederic came down from the win
dow, somewhat too swiftly for one who
is moved by shame and contrition, and
faced Ihe .group with a .well-assumed
look of mortification in’ his pale,
twitching face. Ho spoke in low, re
pressed tones, but not onco did ho
pormlt his gazo to encounter that of
his father.
"Im awfully sorry to have nmdo a
nuisance of myself. It does go to my
bond and I—I dnro say tho heat of
the room helped to do the work. I'm
all right now, however. Tho fresh air
did me a TVot of good. Hope you’ll
overlook my.foolish attempt to ho a
devil of a fellow.” Ho hesitated a mo
ment and thon went on, more clearly.
“I’m all right now, father. It shall not
happen again, I can promise you
that.” A close observer might have
seen the muscles of his jaw harden
as he uttered the .final sontenco. Ho
Intended that hts father should take
it as a threat, not as an apology.
Brood was watching him closoly, a
puzzled expression in his eyes; gradu
ally it developed into something like
admiration. In the clamor ot voices
that ensued the older man detected
the presence of an underlying note of
censure for his own behavior. For tho
first time in many years he experi
enced a feeling of shame.
Someone was speaking at his
elbow. Janey Followell, in her young,
enthusiastic voice, shrilled somethlug
Ho came swiftly into tho room from
the ball, and not frbm his closet Tho
look ot relief in Yvonne's eyes was
short-lived. She saw amazoment in
the faces of the two old men—and
know!
“After wo have had tho feats ot
nmglc/’ Brood was Baying, "Miss Dob-
inoud will road to you, ladteB aud gen
tlemen, that chapter ot our journal—”
"My Gawd!" groaned both ot tho
middle-aged gentlemen, looking at
their watches.
relating to—"
"You'll hnve to excuse mo, Brood,
ronlly, you know. Important engage
ment uptown—"
“Sit down, Cruger," exclaimed Hod
der. "Tho lady won’t miss you,”
1 —relating to. our first encounter
with the great and only Ranjab,” pur
sued Brood, oracularly. “Wo found
him In a little village far up in the
mountains. He was under sentence
of death for murder. By tho way,
Yvonno, the ltrls you have in your
hand is the very weapon the good fel
low used in tho commission ot his
crime. He was in prison and was to
dio within a fortnight after our arrival
in the town. I heard of hts unhappy
plight and all that had led up to it.
His case Interested me tremendously.
One night, a week before the proposed
execution, my friends and I stormed
the little prison and rescued him. We
were Just getting over the cholera and
needed excitement. That was fifteen
years ago. He has been my trusted
body servant evor since. I am sure
you will be interested in what I have
written about that thrilling adven
ture." V
Yvonne had dropped the ugly knife
upon the table as if.lt were a thing
that scorched her fingers.
Did he—really kill a man?" whis
pered Miss Janey, with horror In her
eyes.
'Ho killed a woman. His wlfo, Miss
Janey. She had been faithless, you
see. He cut her heart out. Aud now,
Ranjah, are you ready?"
The Hindu salaamed. “Ranjab is
always ready, sahib,” said he.
CHAPTER IX.
.He Was Getting Hla Few Things To
gether In His Room.
into his ear that caused him to look
at her in utter amazement. .It was so
astounding that he could not believe
he heanj aright. He mumbled in a
questioning tone, "I beg your pardon?'
and Bhe repeated her remark.
“How'wonderfully like you Frederic
is, Mr. Brood." Then she added: “Do
you know,' I’ve never noticed it until
tonight. It’s really remarkable.”
'It is a most gratifying discovery,”
said he, and turned to speak to Mrs.
Desmond. He did not take his gaze
from Frederic’s white. Bet face, how
ever! and, despite the ,faot that he
knew tho girl had uttered an idle com
monplace, he was annoyed to find
himself studying the features of Ma
tilda’s boy with an Interest that
seemed almost laughable when he con
sidered it later on.
His guests found much to talk about
in the room. He was soon being
dragged from one object to another
and ordered to reveal the history, the
use and the nature of countless things
that obviously were Intended to be
just what they seemed; such as rugs,
shields, lamps, and so forth. He was
abjy. aslsted by Messrs. Riggs and
Dawes, who lied prodigiously In
frenzy of rivalry.
"Wlmt n perfectly delightful Bud-
dim," cried Miss Janey, stopping in
front of the idol. "How perfectly
lovely he 1 is—or i3 it a she, Mr.
Brood?!’'
Frederic joined Lydia at the table,
“A delicious scene, wasn’t it?” he
asked, bitterly, in lowered tones.
Her fingers touched his. “What did
he mean, Freddy? Oh, I felt so. sorry
for you. It was dreadful."
“Don’t take it so seriously, Lyddy,
ho said, squeezing her hand gently.
Both of them realized that it was the
nearest thing,. to a caress that had
passed between them in a fortnight
or longer. A wave of shame swept
through li(m. “Dear old girl, my dear
old girl,” ho whispered brokenly.
Her eyes radlated.joy, her lips part
ed in a wan, tremulous smile ot sur
prise, and a soft sigh escaped them
“My dear, dear boy,” she murmured,
and was happier than she had been in
weeks.
“See hero, old chap,” said one of the
middle-aged gentlemen, again consult
ing his watch as he loudly addressed
his host, “can’t you hurry this per
formance of yours along a bit? It Is
after ten, you know.”
“I will summon the magician,” said
Brood. “Be prepared, ladies and gen
tlemen, to meet the devil. Ranjab is
the prince ot darkness.”
He lifted hiB hand to strike the
gong that stood near the edge of the
table.
Involuntarily four pairs of eyes fas
tened their gaze upon the door to tbe
Hindu's-closet. Three mellow, softly
reverberating “booms" filled tbe room,
Almost instantly the voice of the Hin
du'was heard.
"Ai-ee, sahib!"..
The Sorceress.
The next day, after a sleepless night,
Frederic announced to his stepmother
that ho-could no longer remain under
his father's roof. He would find some
thing to do in order to support him
self. It was impossible to go on pre
tending that he loved or respected his
father, and'the sooner the farce was
ended the better it would be for both
ot them.
She, too, had passed a restless night,
a night filled with waking dreams as
well as those which came in sleep,
There was always an ugly, wriggly
krls in those dreams of hers, and a
brown hand that was forever fascinat
ing her with its uncanny dpftnesB,
Twice in the night she had ciutched
her husband's shoulder in the terror
of a dream, and he had soothed her
with the comfort of hts strong arms.
She was like a little child “afraid of
the dark."
Her influence alone prevented the
young man from carrying out his
threat. At first he was as firm as a
rock in hiB determination. He was
getting Ills few possessions together
In hiB room when she tapped on his
door. After a while he abandoned the
task and followed her rather dazedly
to the boudoir, promising to listen to
reason. For an hour sho argued and
pleaded with him, and in the end he
agreed to give up what she was
pleased to call his preposterous plan,
“Now, that being settled," she said
with a sigh of relief, "let us go and
talk it all over with Lydia."
He started guiltily. “I'd—I’d rather
not, Yvonne," he said. "There’s no
use worrying her With the thing now.
As a matter of fact, I’d prefer that
she—er—well, somehow I don't like
the Idea ot explaining matters to her. 1
She was watching him narrowly. “It
has seemed to me of late, Frederic,
that you and Lydia are not quite so—
what shall I say?—so enamored of
each other. What has happenod?” she
inquired so innocently, so naively,
that he looked at her In astonishmont.
“I am sure you fairly live at her house,
You are there nearly every day, and
yet—well, I can feel rather than see
the change in both of you. I hope—■"
"I’ve been behaving like an Infernal
sneak, Yvonne,” cried he, conscience-
stricken; "She’s tho finest, noblest
girl in all this world, and I’ve been
treating her shamefully.”
“Dear me! In what way, may I
inquire?"
“Why we used to—oh, but why go
into hll that? It would only amuse
you. You'd laugh at us for silly fools,
But I can’t help saying this much—
she doesn't deserve to be treated as
I’m treating her now, Yvonne. It’i
hurting her dreadfully and—”
Sho laughed softly. “I’m afraid you
are seeing too much of your poor
stepmother,” she said.
His eyeB narrowed. “You’ve made
me over, that’s true. You’ve made all
of us over—the house as well. I am
not happy 'unless I am with you. It
used to make me happy to be with
Lydia—and we were always together.
But I—I don’t care now—at least,
am not unhappy when wo are apart,
You’ve done it, Yvonne. You’ve made
life worth living. You’ve made me
see everything differently. You—"
She stood up, facing him. She ap
peared to be frightened.
“Are you trying to tell me that
you are in love with me?” she de
manded, and there was no longer
mockery, raillery in her voice.
His eyes swept her from head to
foot. He was deathly white.
“If you were not my father's wife
I would say yes,” said be, hoarsely.
Sho laughed. "J shall pay no ats
tentlon to such nonsense. You are an
honest fool anil I don't blame you.
Wlsor mon than you have fallen In
love with mo, so why not you? I like
you, Freddy, I llko you very, very
much. I—’’
You like me because I am lii*H|
son," ho cried hotly.
“If you were not his son t should
despise ■ you,” sho said deliberately,
cruolly. He winced. "There, now;
we’ve Bald enough. You must bo
sensible. You will discover that I am
very, vory sensible. It is Lydia whom
you love, not I."
"Boforo heaven, Yvonne, I do love
her. That’s what I cannot understand
nbout myself.” Ho was pacing the
floor.
But I understand,” she said, qui
etly. "Now go away, please. And
don’t lot mo hoar another word about
lenving your father’s house. You are
not to take that stop until I command
you to go. Do you understand?"
Ho stared at her in utter bewilder
ment for a moment, and slowly nodded ,
his bond. Thon ho turned toward the
door, shamed and humiliated beyond
words.
As ho wont BWiftly down tho stairs
his father came out upon tho landing
abovo and leanod over the railing to
watch his descent. A moment later
Brood was knocking at Yvonne's door.
He did not wait for an invitation to
enter, but strode into tbe room with
out ceremony.
She was standing at the window
that opened out upon the little stone
balcony, and had turned swiftly at
the sound of the rapping. Surprise
gave way to an expression of dtspleas-
uro.
“What has Frederic been saying to
you,?” domandod her husband curtly,
after lio had closed tho door.
A feint sneer came to her lips.
“Nothing, my dear James, that you
would care to know," sho said, smol
dering anger in her eyes.
You moan something that I
shouldn’t know," he grated;
"Are you forgetting yourself,
James?” coldly.
He stared at her incredulously,
“Good Lord! Aro you trying to tell
mo what I shall do or say—”
Sho camo up to him slowly. "James,
we must both be careful. We must
not quarrel.” Her bauds grasped the
lapel of his long lounging robe. There
was an appealing look in her eyes that
checked tho har3h words even as they
rose to his lips. He found himself
looking into those dark eyes with the
same curious wonder in his own that
had become so common of late. Time
and again he had been puzzled by
something he saw iu thotr liquid
depths, something he could not fathom,
no matter how deeply ho probed.
“What is thore about you, Yvonne,
that hurts me—yes, actually hurts me
■when you look at mo as you’re look
ing now?” he cried, almost roughly.
“There is something in your eyes—
there are times when you soem to be
looking at me through oyos that aro
not your own. It’s—it’s quite un
canny. If you—"
"I assure you my eyes are all my
own,” she cried, flippantly, and yat
there was a slight trace of nervdue-
ness in her manner. "Do you intend
“I Have Advised Him to Bide HIS
Time.” ■
l
to bo nice and good and reasonable,
James? I mean about poor Frederic?"
His face clouded again. “Do you
know what you are doing to the boy?”
he asked bluntly.
“Quite as well as I know what you
aro doing to him.” she replied quickly.
He stiffened. "Can't you see what it
is coming to?"
"Yes. He was on the point ot leaving
your house, never to come back to it
again. That’s what It is coming to,”
Bhe said, lively.
"Why—why, he’d starve!' cried the
man, shaken In spite of himself. “He
lias never done a day’s labor, ha
doesn’t know how to earn a living,
He—’’
“And who is to blame? You, James,
you! You have tied his hands, aud
have penned him up in—’’
“We will not go into that," he inter*
rupted coldly.
“Very well. I have advised him to
Bide his time.”
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Goes the Limit.
When a woman Is angry she tells •
man just what she thinks of him—amU
incidentally, just what she thinks otiv,
er people think of him.
