The Henry County weekly. (McDonough, GA.) 18??-1934, October 11, 1907, Image 2
HENRY COUNTY WEEKLY. i -- J. A. FOUCHE, Publisher. R. L. JOHNSON, Editor. Entered at the postofflce McDonr jugh as second class man matter. Advertising Rates: $1.60 per IndD *er month. Reduction on standlnj contracts by special agneement. A modern Godiva h3a ridden through Coventry. This time, says the New York American, the people ■were taxed to see her. The mysterious influence of the mere name of a multi-milionaire on the average mind, moralizes the Washington Star, is a terrible temp tation to people with the swindling instinct. A university professor asserts that Walter Scott could not have written a theme for the freshman year. This is a safe assertion inasmuch as there is no possibility of Walter Scott com ing back and trying it. But the fresh man, rejoins the Pitsburg Dispatch, who can write a story of the rank of “Old Mortality” will do well to dem onstrate the fact. The rapidity with which British shipyards turn out work is one of the most significant features of mod ern warship building, to the Orleans Picayune. The country that can build ships twice as rapidly as any other country has little to fear. The shipbuilding interests of the United States would do well to carefully watch the progress of the great Brit ish shipbuilding plants with a view to improving the rate of speed with which our warships are constructed. If Dr. Peters of the Massachusetts state board of agriculture is listen ed to, the tax on dogs in that com monwealth hereafter will be $5 to $lO per annum. “This outgreak of ra bies,” said the doctor, “would be brought to a speedy termination by bringing to an end a system of dog management that has driven the sheep industry from Massachusetts and allows this privileged species of domestic animal to prowl around de stroying human life and other do mestic animals and fowls. The dog should be a luxury. Owners of dogs should be compelled to keep them under control at all times.” The average and normal Immigrant girl Is said to in about five years to pass through the various stages of discipline and development and grad uate not only a self-supporting wom an, remarks the Boston Transcript, but one conscious of her opportuni ties and of all they mean to her. She has undergone an awakening. She has discovered herself. Though she may have been ignorant at the start with the horizon of her ambition and activities no broader than the wash tube, she emerges from her chrysalis ready for business or to undertake the charge of a family with well-de fined ideas of what its best interests require and views for its future prob ably much in advance of those of the nominal head of It. It is apparent that the public is at as a means of preventing a total dis appearance of the forests of the United States, asserts the Pitts burg Press. The annual cut of tim ber In the South and Northwest is appallingly great. Immense areas of forests are fast disappearing and within a quarter of a century hence there will be comparatively little of the present vast timber stretches re maining. Mills with capacities for cuting millions of feet of lumber each month are continually being erected and the annual output of lumber reaches immense proportions. It is idle to contend against this diminu tion of the forests, for the demand for timber is so great and the lumber in dustry so profitable that so long as timber cutting can be carried on so Jong will the industry last. But a sen sible contemplation of the future re sults of this forest devastation ought to lead to the concdusion that if the existing forests are to fall, as they are falling, by the axes and the saws of the woodmen, somehting must be dor*; to prevent the country from be coming a treeless land. V* fe By WALTER BESANT. *i| CHAPTER XV. 13 Continued. “I don't know. That is the thing which will save me. I don’t know where she is. Pretty ragged and down on her luck she looked when I saw her. It was then that I found out the truth.” “Jem,” said Harriet, in the direct, manner peculiar to her sex, "you are a scoundrel.” Her husband made no reply. “You have stolen all this trust money. And as for the rest,*we were only part inheritors.’ “Don’t be a fool, Harriet. It w'as for your sake. Ilow else would youf have got that crimson velvet dressy Don’t call names, but see if you can’t help me out of this mess.’ “How are we to live, I want to know ?” “Lord knows! The first question is, how will Tom take it? And how can I put it to him?” “When we go from here, where’ are we to go? What are we to do? You have deceived me again. You ought to have told me everything. You ought to have behaved honest to that poor girl, whatever else hap pened. I never thought that I should be able to call my husband ” “Oh! well—if you choose to be a vixen, you may. Don’t think, Harriet; that I’m going to slave and worry on account of a she-devil If you’ve got nothing better to do than to show tem per—as If I wanted Tom to come back—l shall—go and have my pipe by myself.” It was a tame and impotent conclu sion, but she turned upon him and looked so fierce that he collapsed. In the small hours of the morning Jnmes woke up suddenly-. The blinds j were up, and the moon was streaming j in at the windows. Harriet was stand- j lug at the window in her nightdress, j “Harriet,” he cried, “what are you doing?” “I’ve had a dream, Jem,” she re- ! plied. “A dreadful dream. I thought, that you were tried by the judge and j sent to a convict prison for robbery, and I was left destitute. .And I’d got a knife in my hand”—she held up her hand and showed a dagger which gleamed in the moonlight; It was only a little ornamental paper knife, but it flashed like steel —“and I was goiug to kill myself and have done with it.* You were a convict working at Port land, Jem.” “Come back to bed this instant!” he said, sternly. “You and your dreams — come back and go to sleep.” She obeyed, and went to sleep again calmly and sweetly. But her hus band’s teeth chattered, he trembled and shook, because bis action would, he was conscious, bear such a co»« struction. And Tom was on his way home, doubtless having much wrath. \ CHAPTER XVI. Tom’s Return. To& did not cover the ground be- j tween Suakim nd London in the short est time on record. The story of his captivity nud escape of course reached home before he did in scrappy frag ments, which made everybody talk of the two prisoners. So that they were the men of the moment. It is a great thing in one’s life to have been, if only for once, The Man of the Mo ment; the honor is one which is be stowed upon people variously distin guished, and may be shared with Mr. Gladstone or with Charles Peace. But Tom neglected his opportunity, and re fused even so much as to read a paper , at the Royal Geographical. It was one morning at the beginning ; of November, about a fortnight after i that awful fog, that Tom arrived a*t Victoria. He had sent telegrams from Suakim, from Cairo, from Brindisi, and from Paris, all addressed to Harley House. lie would not burst upon the poor girl without warning. She would hear of his safety from the papers; she should hear of his return from Ills tele grams. Poor girl! Poor Katharine! His eyes filled when he thought of her trouble and sorrow on his account. But now all the trouble was over. She knew that he was safe. She was happy again—poor, friendless Kath arine! Six o’clock in the morning, and not yet quite light. You can not call at a house, even to see your sweet heart, who has supposed that you are dead, at six o'clock in the morning. The lazy maids are not up at six in a London house; they are only turn ing round in the sheets, uneasy be cause they are possessed by that pleas ant, teasing, winning, masterful, per suasive, coaxing devil (I know not his j name) who haunts the bedrooms of young people at times when they ought to be getting up. and when the clocks are striking with r. 11 their might, and kolds them ag if by strong arms in bed, and weighs down their eyelids, and makes them helpless with sledp as by enchantment, in so much that for the sake of another hour in bed they are ready to brave everything, even a month’s notice. It is recorded of a certain mediaeval housemaid —I thing the story is the autobiography of Guibert de Nogent—that one day, under the malign influence of this devi], she actually sold her soul for one more hour’s roll in the sheets. This w'as duly granted to her. She is now punished—la-bas—by having no sheets at all to roll in. Six o’clock in the morning. Tom put Ins kit into a cab, and drove to a hotel, the only place where a welcome awaits the returning traveler at six in the morning. Then lie made up his mind not to hurry things. Katharine must have time to get up. He would re strain himself and call at nine. He would have a tub after bis long jour ney, get into a change of clothes, and take breakfast first. It was only eight o’clock when he had quite fin ished both. But he could wait no lon ger, and he set out to walk. Tom pictured in his own mind the sweet face of his girl, and her lovely eyes looking into his once more—he knew that they would be full of tears— and her dear hands laid in his, Ho tried to think what she would say, hut he did not get beyond her face and her eyes and her hands. Of these he was quite sure, and he clung to them. Half past eight. He was opposite Harley House. The door opened, and one of the residents came out. It was a girl employed in a shop ns cashier; her hours were from nine till eight. His heart began to beat violently. Suppose it had been Katharine! He w'ould wait no longer. “Miss Cape!, sir?” asked the girl, who was a newcomer. “There is no lady of that name here.” This was the unexpected; this it was which threw him out altogether. For that Katharine should have gone away was the last thing he expected. “She was staying here six months ago.” “Y'es, sir. I’ve only been here ten days.” “Will you give me her present ad dress?” “I’ll ask the matron, sir.” She left him in the hall, and present ly the matron herself came to him. “Miss Capel left her three weeks ago,” she said. “My name is Addison.” I “Oh!” she said, “you were engaged to her, and you were killed in Egypt. I know now. Oil, sir, I am so sorry! Because I don’t know where she is gone to nor what she is doing.” “Why did she leave?” “She left because she had no money to pay for her lodgings and could get no work. There was nothing but trou ble for that poor girl. First she lost you, and it would have moved the heart of a stone to see her going about so heavy and sad. Then she lost her place. And then she tried and tried, flint what with its being summer time when there is no work going, and what with the many poor young ladies every where looking for w<frk. she could find none. And so her money got lower and lower and lower, and Oh, sir, don’t look like that!—you’ll fiud her sonjewliere.” “Tell me all. Let me hear every thing.” “She -had a great friend here, another girl, named Lily Doran. They stood by each other, and shared their money as long as it lasted. Then one morn- j ing they went away together.” “Where did they go? They roust have had some place to take their things.” “They had no things. They had sold or pawV.ed everything; their watches went first and their clothes went last.” 1 “Oh, Katharine!” “I would have kept them, but it is against the rules. No one is allowed to stay here a day after she is unable to pay her weekly bill. Harley House is uot a charitable institution.” “Gone! Where could she go?” “They must have gone to their, friends and relations.” “Katharine had neither friends nor relations.” “Could she have gone to your friends?” “I have only one relation in London. She may have gone to him for ljelp. She knew his address.” “Go and inquire, sir. Don’t be down hearted Young ladies don’t get lost! in London. She must be somewhere? Give me your address, so that if we hear anything—some of our ladies) may have heard of the two girls—l wfll in quire and let you know.” Tom turned sadly away. Katlarine gone and in great distress. Mffiodv knew better than himself how friend-, less she was. She had no money left. She bad to go. Perhaps she had gone to his cousin. The more he thought of It the more likely this appeared to be. Jem had promised faithfully, in case of his death, to give her whatever was over, lifter the trust money was paid. But rhe bad no money. Therefore there was nothing left over. As for his coufcin, Tom knew very well that he! had no money of his own. He walked to Westminster, where Jem had his) office; it was no use driving, because he would not be there before tonJ When he got there he learned that' Jem had removed to New Square, Lin- ! coin’s Inn—his uncle Joseph’s offices,! He retraced his steps, and walked all the way back from Westminster. In his uncle’s office he found hi? cousin. | “Tom!” He sprang to his feet and seized both his hands, and laughed and grinned and made every possible dem onstration of joy, winking hard with both eyes at the same time. “Tom! old man! wekifc.ae home! Welcome! I was about the only man who always refused to believe that you were killed. Shake hands again!” He repeated the outward and visible sign* of delight. “I always refused. Why? Because they never found your body; the body itself is a piece of evidence that should never he forgotten. And none the worse? Let me look at you. None the worse I believe.” “No,” si id Tom, “none the worse, ex cept for worry and anxiety.” “Ah! you worried about not being able to escape.” “Well, one looked to be speared every day, -and one expected to get sunstroke, and one worried about the people at home (and the food was pretty bad, I no can tell you), and there seemed no chance of escape, and But there Where is Katharine?” “l’ou mean—oh,, yes—l had almost forgotten—Miss Capel. I don’t know, Tom. How should I?” “I loft her at Harley House, where she proposed to remain. But she has gone, and left no address.” “Why* bless my soul!” said Jem, suddenly recollecting, “she called here —not long ago—about four weeks, I think, to ask if there was any hope poor thing—none! It was no use tell ing her that I myself believed you to be alive, was it?” “She called—here? How did she look?” Tom asked, hoarsely. “She looked, as far as I can judge, very well, and very beautiful. In deep mourning, Tom, but very well and very beautiful.” “Did she—did she seem in poverty or distress?” “I observed nothing.” Jem shut his eyes and opened them several times rapidly. “She was not, to be sure, dressed for the park. But she said nothing about any other distress thau her distress on your account.” “Poor Katharine! Jem, you made a solemn promise before I went away—a solemn promise.” “I did, old man, I did. If I had ob served any sign of distress, if she had given me the least hint of trouble in that way, I would—l would have part ed with my bottom dollar to relieve her. I would indeed, Tom.” “Thanks, Jem.” Tom gave him his hand. “Then she said nothing about being in want?” “Nothing; not a word.” “Yet it must have been about that time that she left Harley House.” “Tom,” said his cousin earnestly, “I hope you believe me when I say that I remembered that promise.” “I am sure you did,” said Tom. “I have never forgotten it,” he went on confidently. (This assertion, to be sure, was perfectly true. He had never forgotton that promise.) “I assured you that when the trust was paid I would look after her.” “No; you would give all that was left, if there was any, to her.” “Just so. I fully acknowledge the promise. Well, Tom, the trust has not been paid off. I have advertised every* where for the heirs of Captain Henry Willoughby, but have had no answer.” Perhaps he advertised in the dark arches of the Adelphi or in the tunneds of the Metropolitan Railway, because those advertisements could never b« found in any of the ordinary channels. “As for your uncle's estate, Tom, I found it in a devil of a mess, and it will take another six months, I dare say, to unravel it all and get a cleav statement of how you stand. But there will be more left over than I thought at first. I can promise you that, Tom. A good deal more. So much is certain.” “Oh!” cried Tom, remembering, “As for the heirs, I have made a discovery. Oh! a wonderful discovery.” His cousin turned pale. “What discovery, Tom?” “I have found the heiress. It is none other than Katharine herself, Jem; I ame sure of it. Oh! if I had known before I went away!” “Is it possible? Miss Capel herself?” “Her name is Willoughby. But where is she?” / “I don’t know. She can’t very well be lost. She must have seen the tele grams about your return—you’ve been spread out flue and large for the last week or so, old man—and she’ll be sure to write to you or come to you. She knows your address, of course.” “She knows my old lodgings, and she knows the address of the paper.” “Don’t worry about her, Tom. Go to the paper and report yourself. And you’ll find a letter waiting for you.” “I’ll go at once.” He rushed out of the office. An hour later he returned. “There’s no letter, and I’ve been to the lodgings. No letter has been sent there, and nobody has called since you took away the books and tilings.” “There are your books, Tom.” He pointed to the shelves where they were arranged. “They are safe enough. But as for this young lady—it looks odd; but then, you see, lots of women never look at a paper at all, while there’s others who’ll read every word from be ginning to end every day, and wish; ! there was more—especially more law j cases.” “What shall we do, Jem?” “There’s only one thing to be done. Advertise. Leave it to me.” “I suppose I must,” said Tom, un willingly. “Leave it to me. I will soon find her for you if she is above ground. And j now, Tom, let us go back to that dis • covery of yours.” “The heiress is none other than Kath ! arine herself.” I 1 “So you told me before. How do you | know, eh?” Tom briefly related the points—we know r them already—which had led him to connect Katharine with the Wil loughby trust.” i “Strange!” said his cousin. “It seems plausible; It may be true.” (To be continued.) JAMESTOWN Ter-Centennia! Exposition April t November, 1907. Exceedingly low rates have been authorized by the Southern Railway to Norfolk, Va., and return, account Jamestown Ter-Centennial Exposi tion. Stopovers will be allowed on sea son, sixty day and fifteen day tickets, same as granted on summer tourist rickets. Tickets will be sold daiiy commencing April 19th, to and moul ding November 30th, 1907. The Southern Railway is taking a very great interest in this exposition and doing everything within their power to promote its welfare for the reason that it is located on historic and southern grounds, and has evi dence of being one of the most import ant and attractive affairs of this kind that has ever been held. Through train service and sleeping car service to Norfolk during the ex position has not yet been announced, but it is expected that most excel lent schedules will be put in effect so as to make the trip comfortable and satisfactory in every way. Full and complete information will be cheerfully furnished upon applica tion to any ticket agent of the South ern Railway compq,jny. tf When two neighbors, living on op posite sides of the same street and belonging to different churches, fail to understand each other, what is the probability that any one of ns will comprehend the motives and char acter of people on the other side of the globe? YOUR LIVER is your best friend or your worst enemy. Active it’s your friend. Torpid, it s your enemy, and its army is Constipation, Biliousness, Sick Headache, etc. RWffi&LLS AND TONIC PELLBTS make active, strong and healthy livers, preventing and relieving liver troubles. Complete Treatment 23 C. LOCUST GROVE DRUG CO. R. 0. 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