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[REE MEN AND
! MAID;
e^ouse
Coptjvigfct.'by Gaorge H. Doran. Co.^
“ALP HON SO."
Mrs Horace Hignett, world
famous writer on theosophy, au
thor of "The Spreading Light,
etc., etc., arrives in New York on
a lecturing tour. Eustace, ner
.on, is with her. Windles, ances
tral home of the Hlgnetts, is his,
F o her life is largely devoted to
keeping him unmarried. Enter
her nephew, Sam, son of Sir Mal
lahv Marlowe, the eminent Lon
don lawyer. It is arranged that
Sam and Eustace shall sail to
gether on the Atlantic the next
day. Enter Bream Mortimer,
American, son of a friend of an
insufferable American named
Bennett. who has been pestering
Mrs. Hignett to lease Windles.
bream informs her that Wll
helmina Bennett Is waiting for
Eustace at the Little Church
Hound the Corner. Bream him
self is in love with Wilhelm.ina.
Mrs. Hignett marches off to Eus
tace's room. The scene shifts
‘o the Atlantic at her pier. Sam.
heading for the gangplank, meets
a glorious, red-headed girl, with
whom he instantly falls In love,
though her dog bites him. Eus
tace appears, heart-broken. it
appears that his mother
‘pinched his trousers” and de
layed the ceremony, whereupon
Wilhelmina had declared the wed
ding off. Sam is pushed over
board. has a desperate struggle
in tht water with another swim
mer and rejoins the Atlantic at
quarantine. The red-headed girl
is Wilhelmina Bennett —“Billie.”
She hails Sam as a hero and In
troduces Bream.
CHAPTER lll—Continued.
— s—
special poet?”
“Well, she seemed to like my stuff.
You never rend my sonnet-sequence
on spring, did you?”
“JXo. What other poets did she like
besides you?”
“Tennyson principally,” said Eus
tace Hignett with a reminiscent
quiver in his voice. “The hours we
have spent together reading the ‘ldylls
of the King!’ ”
“Tlie which of what?” inquired Sam,
taking a pencil from his pocket and
shooting out a cuff.
“‘Tlie Idylls of the King.’ My good
man, I know you have a soul which
would be considered Inadequate by
a common earthworm, but 'you, have
surely heard of Tennyson’s ‘ldylls of
the King?’” .
"Oh, those! Why, my dear old chap;
Tennyson’s ‘ldylls of the King!’ Well,
I should say ! Have I heard of Ten
njson's ‘ldylls of the King?’ Well,
r(, ally! l suppose you haven’t a copy
wl ‘,.v° u on board by any chance?”
Were is a copy in my kit-bag.
Ie u ‘ r Y one we used to read together.
<IaC lt: an <l keep it or throw It over
boani. I don’t want to see It again.”
Sam prospected among the shirts,
collars an d trousers in the bag and
presently came upon a morocco-bound
volume. He laid it beside him on the
lounge.
"kittle by little, bit by bit,” lie said,
am beginning to form a sort of plc
-01 tiiis girl, tills—what was her
anie again? Rennett—this Miss Ben
,l; \° u have a wonderful knack of
'■■'■i.i.ion. You make her seem so
viv id. Tell me some more
' * gb e wasn ’ t keen on g ol £ jjy
an -' cl| unce, I suppose?”
I ■ here she did play. The subject
emt ‘ <,nce auc * s l' e seemed rather
'“tluisiastic. Why?”
'' e ll. I'd much sooner talk to a girl
about golf than poetry.”
"I;" are hardl y likely to be In a
•. ,o talk to Wilhelmina Bennett
‘ either, I should Imagine.”
thin' in UU i re S that ’ of course - I was
01 k’irls in general. Some girls
t.. '-n a “ d then lt>s rather difficult
Pm t 10w t 0 g tart conversation,
v; Ine ’ were there any topics
v< "‘ on Bennett’s nerves, If
ttj,, . ’ what 1 mean? It seems to
, ' at one ‘line or another you
'' ■ sai(l something that offended
, niean It seems curious that she
K . '® broken off the engagement
re ' ' ar never disagreed or quar
bout anything.”
tlie n' 1 course > there was always
h ad i r er ° f tl,at d °S of hers. She
of * vou know, a snappy brute
sb a , ‘ age . se - If there was ever any
had . ‘disagreement between us, It
6 on. W th tliat do &- 1 tnade rather
;t that I would not have it
riwi home after we were mar
oner Salfl aiD * He shot his cuff
~iore an( l wrote on It: “Dog-con-
ciliate.’’ “Yes, of course, that must
have wounded her.”
“Not half so much ns he wounded
me! He pinned me by the ankle the
day before we—Wilhelmina and I, I
mean—were to have been married. It
is some satisfaction to me in my
broken state to remember that I got
home on the little beast with consider
able juiciness and lifted him clean
over the Chesterfield.”
Sam shook his head reprovingly.
“You shouldn’t have done that!” he
said. He extended his cuff and added
the words “Vitally important” to what
he had just written. “It was probably
that which decided her.”
“Well, I hate dogs,” said Eustace
Hignett querulously. “I remember
Wilhelminn once getting quite an
noyed with me because I refused to
step in and separate a couple of tlie
brutes, absolute strangers to me, who
were fightingjn the street. I reminded
her that we were all fighters nowa
days, that life itself was in a sense a
fight; but she wouldn’t be reasonable
about it. She said that Sir Galahad
would have done It like a shot. I
thought not. We had no evidence what
soever that Sir Galahad was ever
called upon to do anything half as
dangerous. And, anyvvay, he wore ar
mor. Give me a suit of mail reaching
well down over the ankles, and I will
willingly intervene in a hundred dog
fights. But in thin flannel trousers,
no!”
Sam rose. Hls heart was light. He
had never, of course, supposed that the
girl was anything but perfect; but It
was nice to find hls high opinion of her
corroborated by one who had no rea
son to exhibit her in a favorable light.
He understood her point of view and
sympathized with it. An Idealist, how
could she trust herself to Eustace Tllg
nett? IlOw could she be content with
a craven who, instead of scouring the
world in the quest for deeds of derrlng
do, had fallen down so lamentably on
his first assignment? There was a
specious attractiveness about poor old
Eustace which might conceivably win
a girl’s heart for a' time; he wrote
poetry, talked well, and had a nice
singing voice; but, as a partner for
life . . . well, he simply wouldn’t
do. That was all there was to It. He
simply didn’t add up right. Tlie man
a girl like Wilhelmina Bennett required
for a husband was somebody entirely
different . . . somebody, felt Sam
uel Marlowe, much more like Samuel
Marlowe.
Swelled almost to bursting-point
with these reflections, he went on deck
to join the ante-luncheon promenade.
He saw Billie almost at once. She
had put on one of these nice sacky
sport-coats yvbich.so enhance feminine
charms, and was striding along the
deck with the breeze playing In her
vivid hair like the female equivalent
of a Viking. Beside her walked
young Mr. Bream Mortimer.
Sam had been feeling a good deal of
a fellow already, but at the sight of
her welcoming smile his self-esteem
almost caused him to explode. What
magic there is in a girl’s smile! It is
the raisin which, dropped in the yeast
of male complacency, induces fermen
tation.
“Oh, there you are, Mr. Marlowe I”
“Oh, there you are,” said Bream
Mortimer, with a slightly different in
flection.
“I thought I’d like a breath of fresh
air before lunch,” said Sam.
“Oh, Bream!’’ said the girl.
“Hello?”
“Do be a darling and take this great
heavy coat of mine down to my state
room will you? I had no idea it was
so warm.”
“I’ll carry It,” said Bream.
“Nonsense. I wouldn't dream of
burdening you with it. Trot along and
put It on the berth. It doesn't matter
about folding it up.”
“All right,” said Bream moodily.
lie trotted along. There are mo
ments when a man feels that all he
needs in order to be a delivery wagon
is a horse and a driver.
“He had better chirrup to the dog
while lie’s there, don’t you think?” sug
gested Sam. He felt that a resolute
man with legs as long as Bream’s
might well deposit a cloak on a
berth and be back under tlie half-min
ute.
"Oh, yes! Bream I”
“Hello?”
“While you’re down there Just chir
rup a little more to poor Pinky. He
does appreciate it so!”
Bream disappeared. It is not always
THF OAMELSVILLE MONITOR. OANieLSVILLE. GEORGIA
easy to interpret emption from a glance
at a man’s back; but Bream’s back
looked like that of a man to whom
the thought has occurred that, given a
couple of fiddles and a piano, he would
have mnde a good hired orchestra.
“How is your dear little dog, by the
way?” inquired Sam solicitously, as he
fell into step by her side.
“Much better now, thanks. I’ve
made friends with a girl on board —
did you ever hear her name—Jane
Hubbard —she’s a rather well-known
big-game hunter and she fixed up
some sort of a mixture for Pinky
which did him a world of good. I
don’t know what was in It except
Worcester sauce, but she said she
always gave It to her mules in Africa
when they had the botts . . , It’s
very nice of you to speak so affection
ately of poor Pinky when he bit you.”
“Animal spirits!” said Sam tolerant
ly.” Pure animal spirits 1 I like to see
them. But, of course, I love all
dogs."
“Oh, do you? So do I!”
“I only wish they didn’t fight so
much. I’m always stopping dog
fights.”
“I do admire a man who knows
what to do at a dog fight. I’m afraid
I’m rnther helpless myself. There
never seems anything to catch hold
of.” She looked down. “Have you
been reading? What Is the book?”
“It’s a volume of Tennyson."
“Are you fond of Tennyson?”
“I worship him," said Sam reverent
ly. “Those—” he glanced at his cuff —
“those Idylls of the King! I do not
like to think what an ocean voyage
would be Lf I had not my Tennyson
with me.”
“We must read him together. He Is
my fnvorite poet 1”
“We will 1 There is something about
Tennyson. . . .”
“Yes, Isn’t there! I’ve felt that my
self so often 1”
“Some poets are whales at epics and
all that sort of thing, while others call
It a day when they’ve written some
thing that runs to a couple of verses,
“I Love It. How Extraordinary That
We Should Have So Much In
Common.”
but where Tennyson had the bulge was
tliat liis long game whs just as good
as Ills short. He was great off the tee
and a marvel - with his chip-shots.”
“That sounds as though you played
golf.”
“When I am not reading Tennyson,
you can generally find me out on the
links. Do yon play?” * ■
"I love it. How extraordinary that
we should have so inucii iu common.
We really ought to be great friends.”
He was pausing to select the best of
three replies when tlie lunch bugle
sounded.
“Oh, dear!” she cried. “I must
rush. But we shall see one another
again up here afterward?”
“We will,” said Sam.
“We’ll sit and read Tennyson.”
“Fine! Er —you and I and Morti
mer?”
“Oh, no. Bream Is going to sit down
below and look after poor Pinky.”
“Does lie—does lie know he is?”
“Not yet," said Billie. “I’m going
to tell him at lunch."
CHAPTER IV
It was tlie fourth morning of the
voyage. Of course, when tills story
is done in the movies they won’t be
satisfied with a bald statement like
that; they will have a Spoken Title or
a Cut-Back Sub-Caption or whatever
they call the tiling in the low dens
where motion-picture scenario-lizards
do (heir dark work, which will run:
“And so, calm and golden, the days
went by, each fraught with hope and
youth and sweetness linking two
young hearts In silken fetters forged
oy the laughing Love-God”—
and the males in the audience will
shift their chewing gum to the other
cheek und take a firmer grip of tlielr
companions’ hands and the man at the
piano will play “Everybody wants a
key to my cellar” or something equal
ly appropriate, very soulfully and
slowly, with a wistful eye on the half-
smoked cigarette which he has parked
on the lowest octave and intends fin
ishing as soon as the picture is over.
But I prefer the plain frank statement
that It was the fourth day of the voy
age. That Is my story and I mean
to stick to It.
Samuel Marlowe, mufiled in a bath
robe, came back to the stateroom from
his tub. His manner hnd the offen
sive jauntiness of the man who has
had a cold bath when he might Just
ns easily have had a hot ona. He
looked out of the porthole at the shim
mering sea. He felt strong and hap
py and exuberant.
It was not merely the spiritual pride
Induced by a cold bath that was up
lifting this young man. The fact was
that, as he toweled his glowing back,
he had suddenly come to the decision
that this very day he would propose
to Wilhelmina Bennett. Yes, he would
put his fortune to the test, to win or
lose it all. True, he had only known
her for four days, but what of that?
Nothing in the way of modern prog
ress is more remarkable than the
manner in which the attltudo of your
lover lias changed concerning pro
posals of marriage. When Samuel
Marlowe’s grandfather had convinced
himself, after about a year and a half
of respectful aloofness, that the emo
tion which lie felt towards Samuel
Marlowe’s grandmother-to be was love,
the fashion of the period compelled
him to approach the matter In a round
about way. First, he spent an eve
ning or two singing sentimental bal
lads, she accompanying him on the
piano and the rest of the family sit
ting on the side lines to see that no
rough stuff was pulled. Having noted
that she drooped her eyelashes and
turned faintly pink when he came to
the “Thee —only thee!” bit, he felt
a mild sense of encourngement, strong
enough to Justify him In taking her
sister aside next day and asking If
the object of bis affections ever hap
pened to mention his name In the
course of conversation. Further pour
parlers having passed with her aunt,
two more sisters, and her little broth
er, he felt that the moment had ar
rived when he might send her a vol
ume of Shelley, with some of the pas
sages marked in pencil. A few weeks
later, he Interviewed her father and
obtained his consent to the paying
of his addresses. And finally, after
writing her a letter which began
“Madam 1 you will not have been In
sensible to the fact that tor some time
past you have Inspired in my bosom
feelings deeper than those of ordinary
friendship. . . he waylaid her
In the rose garden and brought the
thing off.
How different is the behnvlor of the
modem young man. His courtship can
hardly be called a courtship at ail.
His methods are those of Sir W. S.
Gilbert’s “Alphonso.”
Alphonso, who t or cool assurance all
creation licks,
He up and said to Emily who has
cheek enough for six:
‘Miss Emily, I love you. Will you
marry? Say th > word!”
And Emily said: ‘‘Certainly, Alphonso.
like a bird!”
Sam Murlowe was a bright young
man and did not require n year to
make up hls mind that Wilhelmina
Bennett had been set apart by Fate
from the beginning of time to be hls
bride. He had known it from the mo
ment he saw her on the dock, and ail
the subsequent strolling, reading,
talking, soup-drinking, tea-drlnklng,
nnd shuffle-bourd-playlng which they
had done together had merely solidi
fied his original impression. He loved
{his girl witli all tlie force of a fiery
nature—the fiery nature of the Mar
lowe* was a by-word In Bruton street,
Berkeley square —and something
seemed to whisper that she loved him.
At any rate she wanted somebody like
Sir Galahad, and, without wishing to
hurl bouquets at himself, he could not
see where she could possibly get any
one liker Sir Galahad than himself.
So, wind and weather permitting,
Samuel Marlowe intended to propose
to Wilhelmina Bennett this very day.
He let down the trick basin which
hung beneath tlie mirror and, collect
ing his shaving materials, began to
lather hls face.
“I am the Bandolero I” sang Ram
blithely through the soap, “I am, I am
the Bandolero 1 Yes, yes, I am the
Bandolero!”
The untidy heap of bedclothes In the
lower bertli stirred restlessly.
“Oh, G —d I" said Eustace Hignett
thrusting out a tousled head.
Ram regarded hls cousin with com
miseration. llorrid things had been
happening to Eustace during the last
few days, and it was quite a pleasant
surprise each morning to find that he
was still alive.
“Feeling bad again, old man?”
“1 was feeling all right,” replied
Hignett churlishly, “until you began
I the farmyard Imitations. What sort
of a day Is It?”
“Glorious! The sea . .
•‘Don’t talk about the seal”
“What I’m trying to say is,
•Will you marry me?’”
“ (TO BE CONTINUED.) *'
Probe Other Bide.
Wise men ascertain what Is on tba
other side of the hurdle before Jump
ing at conclusions.
BETTER
ROADS
Interest in Good Roads
Found to Be Increasing
That Interest in the good roads
movement throughout the country is
increasing rather tlmn diminishing Is
shown by results of a census of bond
issues contemplated and authorized for
highway construction just completed by
the Asphalt association of New York.
The figures show that a total of $781,-
228,384, In bond Issues, exclusive of
federal aid, were reported under con
templation in the states, counties,
townships and road districts of the
country from August 1, 1922, to Au
gust 1, 1923, and that the sum of $617,-
029,537 was actually authorized to be
expended.
The amount reported ns contem
plated exceeded the $748,5(53,000 con
templated during the year previous by
$32,675,384, and the sum authorized ex
ceeded that of the year before by
$75,304,757. The bond issues author
ized from August 1, 1921, to August 1,
1922, amounted to $541,724,780.
“For some time," said J. E. Penny
backer, secretary of Hie Asphalt as
slcintion, “among good roads advo
cates, the opinion has prevailed seem
ingly that the public demand for im
proved roads is not now as greut ns In
previous years. That the exact re
verse is the case is shown by the In
vestigations we have made. Not only
Is the demand for good roads Increas
ing practically everywhere, lmtr there
Is a much greater demand for the
finest types of hard surfaced high
ways, such as sheet asphalt and as
phaltic concrete. Last year 82,000,000
square yards of asphalt highways
were constructed in this country. The
reports we are now receiving Indicate
that asphalt construction this year
will far exceed that figure.”
That the greatest Interest In good
roads Is to be found In the South at
present Is indicated by the fact that
Virginia led all other states In con
templated Improvements. Tennessee
was second and Texas third. Penn
sylvania ranked fourth. The last
named istate, however, led the country
in the amount of money actually au
thorized to he expended. Illinois was
second In this respect, Florida was
third and California fourth.
Field Culvert Built to
Decrease Surface Water
Heavy rains do a lot of damage In
tlie fields. The ditches are often deep
ened until It Is Impossible to crosH
them with farm Implements, and nslde
from this Inconvenience, tlie ditches
usually run at angles, making waste
land, and, In fields that are cultivated,
a number of point rows.
The illustration shows how an Indi
ana farmer overcomes tlie difficulty;
A Simple Field Culvert on an Indiana
Farm.
he always has a good crossing, the
ditch is kept open for drainage of sur
face water and tlie velocity of the
running water is decreased until it
does not have tlie cutting action that It
would have if it were totally unob
structed.
An old tile Is imbedded in concrete
to allow tlie passage of the water. The
surface of the concrete is creased to
Insure good footing.
Rapid Transportation Is
Possible by Paved Roads
Paved roads and dairying go hund in
hand. As more improved roads are
constructed, milk routes are extended
and the farmer farther from the city
is provided with a market for his milk.
Over unimproved routes, requiring
wagon delivery, the longest route pos
sible is only approximately If> miles,
while over paved highways, traveled by
motortrucks, routes covering as high
as 40 miles are established. Large
areas of prospective dairy country are
waiting only the construction of more
hard-surfaced roads. When these are
built many more farmers, now cut off
from their market, will receive the
benefit of the economical and rapid
transportation made possible by tha
motortruck and the paved highway