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there’s an and of it,”
H ffl growled Jim Heath-
I £ J| cote. “ Take what '
ev e r steps you
lender sucked his
CA r i jom, ■~ “ r ve waited six
fe-j months, because you
declared you’d marry
her and pay me ofF. Then there’s your
cousin, Sir Kenneth —the hero —of
Heathcote hall, won’t he assist you?”
“Kenneth’s a beggar. His father
mortgaged the estates to the hilt,” an
swered Jim. “He hasn’t two brass
farthings to rub together. Besides, if
he were Croesus I wouldn’t approach
him. We’re not on good terms —”
“Yet you dine at the hull tonight."
Jim Heathcote looked astonished,
then laughed as he glanced over his
shoulder at Kenneth’s invitation
card stuck in the mirror.
“You’re a sly fox, Morris,” he ob
served. “Yes, he asked me and I ac
cepted. He had to ask me. I’m his
only near relation. The Hall was
once my home. It’s his coming-of-age
dinner. He’s holding.it today—Chris
mas day—because on his real birthday
in early December he was in the hos
pital. I’m going for one reason and
for one reason only. The heiress I
spoke of will be there. She is a near
neighbor. I’m going to —try again.”
He spoke bitterly and laughed.
“I’ve little chance. Kenneth got a
commission, behaved gallantly, and
was severely wounded at Ypres,” he
added. “He comes home withal" the
glamour of a wounded soldier —”
“And this young woman cares for
him?”
Jim nodded.
“She’s known us both since we were
boys. At one time Kenneth and she
were great pals. When he came to un
derstand the wreck his father had made
of the property—that he was a pau
per—he began to sheer off. That was
my opportunity. At one time my
chances were good—excellent/’
He spoke regretfully, as a fisherman
will speak of a great fish he has failed
to land.
"Then came the news of Kenneth’s
heroism —”
“A moment,” broke in Morris. “Mr.
Heathcote, you may wonder at my
dunning you on Christmas morning.
To be candid, I came with a proposal.
When you speak of your cousin’s hero
ism you mean his saving four guns
at Ypres—the story with which the pa
pers rang in November?”
Jim nodded.
“I came,” added the little man slow
ly, “to suggest your going to see your
cousin. I didn’t know then, as
form me, that he was not a rich man.
I’ve found out this, Mr. James Heath
cote, Sir Kenneth, your cousin, did
not save the guns.”
Jim Heathcote leaped xip, his eye
brows arched, his lean, hatchet-shaped
face working with excitement.
“What? What’s that?” he cried.
Abel Morris explained. He had been
to visit a niihew lying wounded at the
London hospital. The nephew, a cor
a,Li
“Won’t He Assist You?”
poral, hud asked iiis money-lending
uncle for financial assistance Morris,
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THE BARTOW TRIB UNE, DECEMBER 14, 1916.
in explaining the utter impossibility
of raising the wind, had mentioned
Jim Heathcote’s name. His nephew
had then told a pretty story.
“The boy’s an honest boy—a bit
rough, but straight.” Abel Morris said.
"He swears this, Sir Kenneth was shot,
lying unconscious at the beginning of
the affair. My nephew saved the guns.
He was the only unwounded man— ’
“But," began Jim, in objection.
“He was shot just as re-enforce
ments arrived. For two days lie was
unconscious. He was packed off to
a base hospital and lay there between
life and death. He never heard till
he got to England of thfe fuss that had
been mad* ot Sir Kenneth. Now, it
occurred to me, that if you took my
nephew Bob, t<< Heathcote hall and
interviewed Sir Kenneth, be might well
be willing to aid the two of you rath
er than have my nephew’s story made
public. Bob may be difficult to deal
with. We should have had to'be
careful. He calls Sir Kenneth’s ac
tion ‘a shame.’ But he
wouldn’t have a hand in—”
“Blackmail, eh?” said .Jim bluntly.
“A precious lot of good blackmailing
a pauper!”
“Exactly. That’s why I was disap
pointed at hearing that Sir Kenneth
wasn’t the rich man I’d heard he was,”
returned Morris. “Still the informa
tion’s valuable.- It ought to be turned
to good account. For a man in Sir
Saved the Guns.
Kenneth's position to receive a lot of
honor and glory for an act he never
did—”
“Scurvy,” observed Jiiy. “More espe
cially as it tends to infatuate Miss
Wilson with him.”
Little Morris started. “Does she
tline with Sir Kenneth tonight?”
“Certainly,” said Jim. “I told you
so. That’s why I’m going.”
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Hunting Coats
Then take Bob down. Let him ap
pear at the end of the dinner —sud-
denly. Let him give Sir Kenneth away
before them all. What should she
think of him then. It’s a low-down
bit o’ work he’s done. Would she for
give that? I guess no woman would
—to steal another man’s credit. It’ll
revolt her, sure. That’s your chance.”
The lean, wicked little face was
working with excitement.
“It’s a better way than the other.
Bob need be told nothing, except that
he’s to give Sir Kenneth away. You
needn’t tell him twice. Bob’s bitter,
very bitter, Bob is, and no wonder.”
Jim Heathcote strode up and down
his room, asking questions. Could
Bob be trusted? Was his story true?
Was Morris convinced?
“I’ll do it,” he said suddenly. “The
cur deserves it,” he safid suddenly. “To
filch another man’s glory! It’s low,
Morris. It deserves showing up.”
“More especially,” commented Abe!
Morris, dryly, “when it pays.”
* * * * * *-*
A chapter of accidents almost upset
the Morris-Heathcote plot. In the first
place Corporal Bob went to the wrong
house, and the original train to Heath
cote Junction was missed. Then a fog
descended and the taxicab, crawling
through the gloomy streets, was the
cause of their missing the next.
The junction reached, the two men
climbed, shivering, from the train to
find a heavy fall of snow lying thick
and crisp about the station,- and no
sign of any conveyance,
The I Dill carriages and motors sent
to fetch the visitors from the junction
hart long since returned. The only
hired fly had a wheel that same
night in a snow-hidden ditch.
“We’ll have to walk,” said Jirn de
spairingly.
It was ten o’clock before they
reached the hall. As they walked down
the drive Jim noticed that the French
windows were uncurtained. With muf
fled steps they drew near to the great
windows.
“There he is!” whispered Jim at
the corporal’s elbow. “D’you recognize
him?”
Bob could only see Kenneth’s profile.
He stared at it.
“Yes,” he breathed slowly. “I’m sure
—dead sure.”
Jim’s Tieart hammered. There arose
from within the strains of “For He’s
a Jolly Good Fellow.’ and cheering
and laughter.
Jim Heathcote stretched out his
frozen hand and rapped sharply on
the window. Simultaneously he thrust
the soldier forward. Bob Morris stum
bled into the silver path of light.
Jim Heathcote drew back in tne
shadows. \
In alarm and amazement the diners
stared at the lumbering corporal.
Blinking in the ghire, he fetched up
by Sir Kenneth’s chair. He had a con
fused glimpse of holly and mistletoe,
of little flags, of gleaming silver and
Boys Wagons
Tricycles
Scissors
Carving sets
fruit piled high, and then, as though
instinctively he divined who she was,
he turned to Molly Winton and, star
ing at her blurted out:
‘Tin Bob Morris, wot saved them
guns. I’m -y-"
She sprang up. To his consternation
she seized his hand in both of hers,
lie found gazing into her blue,
admiring eyes, aghast at what she was
saying.
“Sir Kenneth has just been telling us
of your bravery; how he lay—wound
ed —unable to move and watched you.
He heard someone call you Morris,
and has been trying to tracb you ever
since. He told us the whole story,
and we’ve been thrilling—thrilling. He
said it was awful lying there, useless,
like a dog, and seeing you work that
gun so heroically.”
A hand fell on Bob’s shoulder, and
Sir Kenneth’s right hand seized his
left and gripped it?
“I recognize you, though you don’t
look so terrifying as you did then,”
lie declared. “It wasn’t a face I was
likely to forget —the face of the hero
I watched all thoSe hours. I’ve been
in communication with the war office
übout you, Morris.”
“About me?” stuttered the dum
foumled corporal.
“Yes, and I wrote to all the papers
denying their picturesque tale of my
gallantry. They thrust a little para
graph in among the advertisements.
I’ve heard you’re going to get the Dis
tinguished Conduct medal. .And you
(Reserve it; you deserve the V. C.”
It was a nightmare to Boh Morris.
They were drinking fiis health all these
| pretty girls. Their gay eyes fixed on
j his sheepish face in admiration. Hang
i it, they were singing! They were pro
j claiming that he was a jolly good fel
: low.
Bob Morris longed for the earth to
i open and swallow him up. He sat there
1 feeling a traitor, a spy, a Judas, a
: cheat. He had come to hurt, and .stayed
I to be honored. How they’d loathe
and dShpise him if they knew the
truth.
They were sitting down. Someone
had raised a shout of “speech—
speech.”
“Say a few words, Morris,” whis
pered Sir Kenneth. “Don’t be shy.”
“I’d rather face them ’Uns,” groaned
Bob. He found himself on his feet.
“You’re wonderin’ ’ow I came and
why—’oppin in like Santa Claus, la
dies and gent—” he stuttered. “’Twas
this way, I’ll be 'oppin’ out —quick—
when I've done, an’ properly too, but
it’s ’hup to me to tell the truth, the
’ole truth, and notin’ but the truth,
s’welp me an’ 1 mean to do it.”
And straightway in halting language,
wtih much going back for incidents he
had forgotten, he let them all into his
secret, the secret of his coming. When
he mentioned Jim Heathcote accom
panying him, Sir Kenneth leaped up
! and ran to window.
| He flung it open and called loudly.
“Jim —Jim!” ~
Only the wind answered. i n the dl
tance where the moon shone on rht
snowdrifts in the park, he saw a ha
tening figure. He shouted again Th
figure broke into a run and vanished
among the trees. Sir Kenneth shut
the window and came slowly, frowning
buck to his chair. ‘ ?
“It weren’t,” Bob Morris was sav
ing, “it weren’t till we was nearly
’ere that ’e told me what ’is girn *
|| | T
"YoWrt Wi.il 1 Cm. ...
Why—” *
was. ’Twas Miss Winton, says ’e I
was to show Sir Kenneth up, I was to
come between ’i:a and Miss Winton,”
He took a step bach, then swung his
chair behind him.
“Well, I'm not between ’em now,”
he added. Sir Kenneth’s cheeks were
darkly flushed.
Blushing Molly held out her hand to
Kenneth.
He hesitated, took it, and bent over
and kissed It.
“’Ere’s to ’em both —God bless ’em,"
cried Corporal Boh,
Kenneth Heathcote’s dreams that
night were invaded by a strange San
ta Claus who wore, beneath liis con*
ventional red robe with its ermine
trimmings, ammunition 1 , boots and
puttees, and whose face instead of be
ing old and white, was young and scar
let, Corporal Santa Claus, who brought
him a gift for which he dated not
ask —he a pauper—she an heiress, the
heart of Molly Winton!
(Copyright.)
Holiday Holdout.
“Santa Claus won’t bring you a
Christmas tree if you aren’t careful ■’
said the reproving mother.
“All right,/ replied the small boy,
resolutely; “then you and father
can’t have any Christmas eve party.’'
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