Newspaper Page Text
Romance
• ANIMATED SLIME.
Synopsis. Robert Hervey Ran
dolph, young New York man-about
town, leaves the home of his sweet
heart, Madge Van Tellier, cha
grined because of her refusal of his
proposal of marriage. His Income,
SIO,OOO a year, which he must sur
render if a certain Misa Imogen
Pamela Thornton (whom he has
seen only as a small girl ten years
before) is found, is not considered
by the girl of his heart adequate
to modern needs. “I'm through
and I’m going,” said Bobby. Madge
suggested a farewell kis3. Nothing
doing. Bobby didn’t approve of her
views of life and told her so.
PART I—Continued.
— 2—
On that day she had been Miss Imo
gene Pamela Thornton, petted darling
of the gods and Mr. Brewster Thorn
ton, banker and widower; two months
later had come Thornton’s financial
smash and, immediately afterward, his
spiritual, moral and bodily collapse.
Everything that had made for life In
him having been swept away, he died
as a matter of course, and was buried.
For sole inheritance, little Genie
Thornton found herself possessor and
possessed of one Maggie O’Rourke, a
nurse of long standing, of earnest and
faithful face, and a monster heart im
prisoned in a pitifully thin chest.
It had taken Genie’s great-uncle,
Asa Thornton, six more months to for
get a quarrel of sixteen years’ stand
ing with his nephew, and by that time
child and nurse had been seeped into
that lower world which can’t afford
morning and afternoon editions and is
too busy praying for daily bread to
look for a rain of manna in the daily
press,
In short, Maggie and her charge,
traced down the ladder of reputable,
disreputable and Impossible lodgings,
had slipped ultimately from sight and
the ken of people with addresses, and.
as a result, Mr. Robert Hervey Ran
dolph, whose relationship to Mr. Asa
Thornton is of no import whatever to
this tale of cause and effect, came into
ten thousand a year and a string—the
string being the possible reappearance
of Miss Imogene Pamela.
“Bob,” had said old Asa, on the
verge of a tardy demise, “I’m not in
troducing you to a war between con
science and self-interest. There’s no
silly story-book test about my money;
you are under no obligation to look
for Imogene or to shout if you step on
her by any twist of chance. My law
yers have all the Instructions neces
sary along those lines; they are to
make every reasonable effort, and if
they succeed, why, you’re man enough
to look out for yourself. It —it isn’t
going to make a devil of a lot of differ
ence to me where the cash goes so
long as I die with —die with the
credit."
With that last sentence, his mind
had stumbled and wandered off to
memories of his nephew Brewster.
Looking back from the vantage of
twenty-six years, Randolph caught,
for the first time, the full import of
Asa Thornton’s farewell words to him
and to life: “Die with the credit.”
They held the kernel of the old man’s
carefully measured amend.
“Great old top!” murmured Mr.
Randolph aloud, and "half unconscious
ly turned to the left at Forty-second
street. Five minutes later he was
caught in the maelstrom of the
Thanksgiving crowd milling around
Times square.
Presently he found himself on the
edge of a human sea, banked up to
give passage to a honking empty taxi
cab. Here was another question for a
suddenly inquiring mind. Where did
taxi-cabs, empty ones, go to in such a
hurry? The door of this one was
swinging open, and the proof of how
intent the crowd was on its myriad
individual goals is evidenced by the
fact that a dozen voices did not in
form the driver that the season was
off for fans on wheels.
The cab was moving more slowly
than Mr. Randolph’s subconscious
mind, which led him to step into it and
quietly close the inviting door. Upon
seating himself, he tried to analyze
the impulse that had lifted him from
the curb. He decided that it was not
so much the curiosity as to the desti
nation of empty cabs as a natural and
ancient dislike for being pushed and
elbowed by people.
It was not long before the cab, un
wittingly loaded for bear, drew up
with a final honk at the stage-door of
the Crocodile. Immediately came a
rasping voice that was vaguely fa
miliar to Mr. Randolph.
“Well,” it said, “you sure took your
own time getting here.” The driver,
expert in aggravating repartee with
out words, pressed the bulb of his
atrocious horn three times. “Cut it
out!” said the rasping voice. “There
isn’t any hurry now.”
It was incredible, reasoned Mr. Ran
dolph with himself, that anyone should
forget that voice once heard, and he
was right. He remembered it. It was
the voice of Mr. Duke Beamer, whom
he had had the distinct pleasure of
blackballing for one club in college
and three in town. Mr. Beamer, to bis
honest mind, was the best living ex
ample of animated slime In tailor
made clothes,
Mr. B. was not alone; Mr. Randolph
could just see his companion through
the slant of the half-raised window
glass, and even that distorted glimpse
was very close to a vision. The g|rl
was young, beautiful, and troubled.
Her cheeks were thin and pale, her
parted lips aqulver; her chin was
a tremble. Of course she was very
cheaply but neatly clothed?
“Make up your mind,” said the rasp
ing voice. “Ride with me or walk the
streets by yourself, and don’t forget
that there’s no job behind you. You’ve
said good-by to that door for good.”
The girl’s wan face went through
that contortion which says, “I won’t
cry,” and doesn’t, thereby achieving a
pity beyond the meed of tears. The
quivering of her lips, the trembling of
her chin grew more pronounced—only
to steady down as she swept up strick
en and imploring eyes to the face of
the unseen man.
“Oh, Duke,” she begged, "promise—
promise you’ll be always good to me.”
“Of course, little one,” said the rasp
ing voice, promptly and much relieved,
promising lightly to pay on demand,
in full for a soul delivered in advance.
“You’ll never regret it, believe me."
The girl tore her doubting eyes
from his face and stepped toward the
cab. Mr. Randolph made himself ex
ceeding small in the corner nearest
the curb. An unseen agent opened the
door; the girl slipped in and turned to
seat herself; her escort made to follow.
Then did Mr. Randolph suddenly lean
forward and proceed to push in the
face of Mr. Beamer with his open
hand and the full weight of his shoul
der. That astonished scion of a once
gentlemanly house reeled backward
and sat down on the pavement ker
plunk.
“My, what a bump!” spoke a keen
young voice over Mr. Randolph’s
shoulder, but he was too occupied to
take note of it at the time. He
leaned far out so that the driver could
get the full effect of his modish top
hat and spoke cryptic words.
“Ten dollars’ worth of the park,” is
what he said.
The driver welcomed the sudden
apparition with a friendly grin,
honked defiantly three times, and
threw in the clutch. They were off,
and trailing after them came such a
string of blasphemous utterances as
made Mr. Randolph wince.
The girl was laughing. No longer
did her eyes search for a gleam they
thought they had lost forever. It was
there within them, come back to rol
lick in her pupils and spill itself in
reckless spending.
“Oh! Oh! What a bump!" she
gasped.
“Funny, wasn’t it?” said Mr. Ran
dolph weakly.
“Awfully,” said the girl.
Thereupon fell a long silence. The
cab cut across the traffic, reached the
Avenue, and eventually the dark . ark
before Mr. Randolph found anything
further to say.
“Funny, wasn’t it?” he remarked.
The girl cast him a startldd look.
“Why,” she gurgled, “that’s what
you said before.”
“So I did,” said Mr. Randolph,
frowning thoughtfully. “So I did. By
the way, what’s your name?”
The girl caught her breath and
swallowed her laughter.
“Vivienne Vivierre,” she said, after
a pause. (
“How awful!” commented Mr. Ran
HENRY COUNTY WEEKLY, McDONOUGH, GEORGIA.
dolph. “One of those deliberate al
literations that go with the back row
of the chorus,"
“Front row,” Vivienne defended
promptly, but unsmiling. Her lips
twitched down at the corners. “At
least, it was front row.”
“I know,” said Mr. Randolph.
“You’ve been fired. I heard what
Beamer said to you. How long have
you known that snake?”
“Not very long,” she answered. “He
got me on, and I suppose he got me
off.” She, drew a long breath and
turned appealing eyes to Randolph.
“Please,” she said, “don’t let’s talk
about him. I want so to be happy for
a few minutes. I love the park at
night with its border of lights. Let’s
play a game.”
“‘A game?’ ’’ said Randolph doubt
fully.
“Yes. We’ll guess which is Central
Park West and which is One Hundred
and Tenth street and which Is the ; ve
nue. It is not as easy as you think
after you’ve been going round a while.
I’m feeling d-dizz.v a-already.”
"You are!” exclaimed Mr. Randolph.
“Well, let me fell you It Isn’t from
buzzing round a two-mile circuit.
What did you have for dinner?”
Miss Vivienne shnt her lips tight.
“Won’t you please play my game?”
she asked faintly.
Mr. Randolph frowned as though
considering the subject very seriously,
but the matter that held his attention
was not the proposed guessing-match.
That would not have been fair nor
amusing, as the deadlights of his own
very comfortable apartment blinked
at him every time they came to Fifty
ninth street. He was justifying to
himself a very questionable move. He
.jmmr
“My, What a Bump!”
wished to feed this stray damsel and,
at the same time, talk to her with a
purpose. He could not see himself
doing it in a cabaret, and every hotel
supper room had already become one
of those things. He came to a decision
arid spoke.
“I’ll take a hand In your game, all
right, but not just as you think. Do
you—would you trust me?”
Immediately the girl was on her
guard. She looked Into his face and
road it.
“I would never have thought of not
trusting you if you hadn’t asked that
old, old trap question,” she said
gravely.
“Forget that I asked It,” said Mr.
Randolph promptly, and leaned out to
give the driver his address. A thln
lipped and weary scorn was still on
that Individual’s face when he drew
up before Mr. Randolph’s abode and
honked three times derisively to the
world in general as seen from the
front of a taxi.
“Walt,” said Mr. Randolph to the
‘SURE GUILTY OF SOMETHING’
Fact That It Didn’t Happen to Be
Larceny Didn’t Make Much Dif
ference to Hank.
There is an old New England squire
whose knowledge of the statute law Is
limited, but who has decided views as
to common justice. Not long ago a
certain Hank Miller was brought be
fore him, charged with larceny. It ap
peared from the evidence that Hank
had rented a horse from a farmer to
do some hauling and that, during the
period the animal had remained In his
possession, he had fed it from the own
er’s stock of grain, although the agree
ment was that Hank himself should
supply the feed. He was charged by
the farmer, therefore, with the theft
of two bushels of oats and corn.
“The statutes made and provided,”
the old squire announced ponderously,
“say that theft is to convert to your
own use the property of another. The
horse is the servant of the owner, not
of Hank, and Hank converted them
oats to the horse’s use, not his—so 1
acquit Hank of stealin’ them oats —he
ain’t guilty of larceny.”
Hank rose, thanked the squire and
lehn, as he handed out the girl. She
paused with one foot half-way ra the
curb, but that single word directing
anything as expensive as a taxi to
stand by reassured her.
Randolph preceded her to show the
way and turn on lights. He never
looked back to see if she followed, and
this implied trust in herself seemed to
drag her after him up the single flight
of stairs that led to his rooms.
“Old-fashioned but cozy," he said,
as he applied a latch-key and opened
a door that gave directly on a large
square sitting room. "I hate elevators
in a place you call home,”
In an open grate was a dying wood
fire. He proceeded to poke and feed
it at once, saying over his shoulder: ’
"Sit down anywhere, will you?”
Facing the fire was a deep and much
worn leathern couch, with a pedestal
at each end carrying shaded lamps.
They were the only ones he had light
ed and their glow was so subdued that
It blended with that of the fire without
fighting It. The girl chose to seat her
self stiffly in a corner of this couch.
Mr. Randolph looked at her rigid
pose with marked disapproval, but
said nothing. Having rejuvenated the
fire till it leaped merrily to an attack
on the fresh backlog, he left the room
and was absent for a considerable
time. When he returned, it was to
place a small table before his guest,
and then he fetched a tray well load
ed with those things which grace in
perpetuity a healthy bachelor’s larder.
He drew up a chair for himself and,
with an inviting nod, started to eat a
great deal and very rapidly.
“Get In on the lunch while there’s
time,” he admonished. “I warn tyou
there’s nothing more In the house."
The girl gave him a grateful look
and proceeded to fill herself with the
most sustaining food within reach.
She did not fail to note that there
was nothing to drink but water. When
they could oat no more, Mr. -Randolph
removed the table, and then seated
himself in the opposite corner of the
couch.
“You don’t seem to be at ease here,”
he said presently. “If you think you’ll
be more comfortable, we can go down
and sit in the cab. I want to talk to
you.”
“My dear Imogene Pamela
Thornton.”
(TO UK CONTINUED.)
Amber Long in Use.
The modern use of oil of amber,
both externally and internally, is often
mentioned. It lias been denied that
amber was known to the Greeks in
very early times, the Greek electron
having been used as a name both for
It and for an amalgam of gold and
silver, a species of gold ore washed
down by the Pactolus; but amber has
actually .been found at Mycenae, and
the fact that the electron necklace
mentioned in the Odyssey Is said to
have been a gift from Phoenicia means
much.
The Phoenicians are known to have
introduced amber into the East, and
Herodotus says it was brought from
the River Erhlanus in the extreme
west of Europe.
Mistake Made by Many.
We have no right to presume upon
the good offices of good angels. Inter
est in our affairs does not follow as a
matter of necessity. There are thou
sands <of needy people in the world as
deserving or perhaps more so than
we are, who will appreciate kindness
more than we will. The natural thing
will be for good angels to serve them.
And why not? The day of divine
right has passed. Men are free to ad
dress themselves to whomsoever they
will. And it’s natural also to give
service where it will he appreciated
most. So If the good angels are not
tumbling over each other to answer
your appeals, you’re not a desirable
master. —Exchange.
was about to leave the room, when the
old man called him back.
“As I said, Hank,” he remarked,
with a gleam of humor in his eye, “you
ain’t guilty of larceny, but you shore
air guilty of something, and I’m goin’
to send you-to jail for a month for it."
Grapeshot and Canister.
Grapeshot was a bunch of pellets
about the size of grapes, held to
gether in a canvas bag, or by an iron
pin and a series of iron plates con
taining holes in which the shot rested.
Canister consisted of a number of
cast iron balls, a half to one inch in
diameter, which were contained in one
shell. Both were used In the Civil
war.
Forbidden.
Referring to the library sign, “Only
low conversation permitted here,” a
correspondent informs us that be no
ticed in the Chicago public library a
sign reading: Please do not sneeze
in the books.”—Boston Transcript.
Veracious Epitaph.
On a tombstone in New Jersey—
“ Julia Adams. Died of Thin Shoes,
Aged 19 years."
SYMPTOMS
WOMEN DREAD
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