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SYNOPSIS.
George Percival Algernon Jones, vlce
torealdent of the Metropolitan Oriental
Rug company of New York, thirsting for
romance, is in Cairo on a business trip.
Horace Ryanne arrives at the hotel In
Cairo with a carefully guarded bundle.
Ryanne sells Jones the famous holy Yhi
ordes rug which he admits having stolen
from a pasha at Bagdad. Jones meets
Major Callahan and later Is introduced to
Fortune Chedsoye by a woman to whom
he had loaned 150 pounds at Monte Carlo
some months previously, and who turns
out to be Fortune’s mother. Jones takes
Mrs. Chedsoye and Fortune to a polo
game. Fortune returns to Jones the
money borrowed by her mother. Mrs.
Chedsoye appears to be engaged in some
mysterious enterprise unknown to the
daughter. Ryanne interests Jones in the
United Romance and Adventure com
pany, a concern which for a price will
arrange any kind of an adventure to or
der. Mrs. Chedsoye. her brother. Major
Callahan, Wallace and Ryanne, as the
United Romance and Adventure company,
plan a risky enterprise involving Jones.
Ryanne makes known to Mrs. Chedsoye
his intention to marry Fortune. Mrs.
Chedsoye declares she will not permit it.
Plans are laid to prevent Jones sailing
for home. Ryanne steals Jones’ letters
and cable dispatches. He wires agent in
New York, in Jones’ name, that he is
renting house in New York to some
friends. Mahomed, keeper of the holy
carpet, is on Ryanne’s trail. Ryanne
promises Fortune that he will see that
Jones comes to no harm as a result of his
purchase of the rug. Mahomed accosts
Ryanne and demands the Yhiordes rug.
Ryanne tells him Jones has the rug and
suggests the abduction of the New York
merchant as a means of securing its re
turn.
CHAPTER X—(Continued.)
Stubborn as the lock was, persever
ance overcame it. George then, as a
alight diversion, spread the ancient
Yhiordes over the trunk and stared at
it in pleasurable contemplation. What
a beauty it was! What exquisite blue,
what soft red, what minute patterns!
And this treasure was his. He leaned
down upon it with his two hands. A
color stole into his cheeks. It had its
source in an old confusion; school
boys jeering a mate seen walking
home from school with a girl. It was
all rot, he perfectly knew, this wish
ing business; and yet he flung into the
sun-warmed, sun-gilded space an ar
dent wish, sent it speeding round the
•world from east to west. Fast as heat,
fast as light it traveled, for no sooner
had it sprung from his mind than it
entered the window of a room across
the corridor. Whether the window was
open or shut was of no importance
whatever. Such wishes penetrated and
went through all obstacles. And this
one touched Fortune's eyes, her hair,
her lips; it caressed her in a thousand
happy ways. But, alas! such wishes
are without temporal power.
Fortune never knew. She sat in a
chair, her fingers locked tensely, her
eyes large and set in gaze, her lips
compressed, her whole attitude one of
impotent despair.
George did not see her at lunch, and
1 \ \
i d W \
jJKU
1 I ) I I
I wiM
What a Beauty !t Was.
consequently did not enjoy the hour.
Was she ill? Had she gone away?
Would she return before he started?
He greeted the Major as one greets a
long-lost friend; and by gradations
George considered clever indeed,
brought the conversation down to For
tune. No, the Major did not know
where she was. She had gone early
to the bazaars. Doubtless she was
lunching alone somewhere. She had
♦he trick of losing herself at times.
Mrs. Chedsoye was visiting friends at
Shepheard’s. When did Mr. Jones
leave for America? What! on the mor
row? The Major shook his head re
gretfully. There was no place like
Cairo for Christmas.
George called a carriage, drove
about the principal streets and shop
ping districts, and used his eyes dili
gently; but it was love’s labor lost.
Not even when he returned at tea-time
did he see her. Why hadn’t he known
and got up? He could have shown her
the bazaars; and there wasn’t a drago
man in Cairo more familiar with them
than he. A wasted day, totally wasted.
He hung about the lounging-room till
it was time to go up and dress for
dinner. Tonight (as if the gods had
turned George’s future affairs over to
the care of Mdmus) he dressed as if
he were going to the opera; swallow
tail, white vest, high collar and white
lawn cravat, opera-Fedora, and thin
soled pumps; all th se habiliments
and demi-habiliments supposed to
make the man. When he reached what
he thought to be the glf*s of fashion
and the mold of form, he turned for
the first time toward his trunk. He
did not rub his eyes; it wasn’t at all
necessary; the thing he saw, or rath
er did not see, was established beyond
a doubt, as plainly definite as two and
two are four. The ancient Yhiordes
had taken upon Itself one of the po
tentialities of its fabulous prototype,
that of invisibility; it was gone.
CHAPTER XI.
Episodic.
Fortune had immediately returned
from the bazaars. And a kind of tor
por blanketed her mind, usually so
fertile and active. For a time the
nrocess of the evolution of thought
was denied her; she tried to think, but
there was an appalling lack of continu
ity, of broken threads. It was like one
of those circumferential railways; she
traveled, but did not get anywhere.
Ryanne had told her too much for his
own sake, but too little for hers. She
sat bac* in the carriage, inert and
listless, and indeterminedly likened
her condition to driftwood in the ebb
and flow of beach-waves. The color
and commotion of the streets were
no longer absorbed; it was as if she
were riding through emptiness,
through the unreality of a dream. She
was oppressed and stifled, too; harb
inger of storms.
Mechanically she dismissed the car
riage at the hotel, mechanically she
went to her room, and in this semi
conscious mood sat down in a chair,
and there George's wish found her,
futilely. Oh, there was one thing
clear, clear as the sky outside. All
was not right; something was wrong;
and this wrong upon one side con
cerned her mother, her uncle and
Ryanne, and upon the other side, Mr.
Jones. Think and think as she might,
her endeavors gave her no single illu
mination. Four blind walls surround
ed her. The United Romance and Ad
venture company—there could not pos
sibly be such a thing in existence; it
was a jest of Ryanne’s to cover up
something far more serious.
She pressed her eyes With a hand.
They ached dully, the dull pain of be
wilderment, which these days recur
red with frequency. A sense of time
was lacking; for luncheon hour came
and passed without her being definite
ly aware of it. This in itself was a
puzzle. A jaunt, such as she had ta
ken that morning, always keened the
edge of her appetite; and yet, there
was no craving whatever.
Where was her mother? If she
would only come now, the cumulative
doubts of all these months should be
put into speech. They had treated her
as one would treat a child; it was
neither just nor reasonable. If not as
a child, but as one they dared not
trust, then -they were afraid of her.
But why? She pressed her hands to
gether, impotently. Ryanne, clever as
he was, had made a slip or two which
he had sought to cover up with a jest.
Why should he confess himself to be
a rogue unless his tongue had got the
better of his discretion? If he was a
rogue, why should her mother and her
uncle make use of him, if not for
roguery’s sake? They were fools, fools!
If they had but seen and understood
her as she was, she would have gone
to the bitter end with them, loyally,
with sealed lips. But no; they had
chosen not to see; and in this had
morally betrayed her. Ah, it rankled,
and the injustice of it grew from pain
to fury. At that moment, had she
known anything, she certainly would
have denounced them. Os what use
was loyalty, since none of them
sought it in her?
The Major was wiser than he knew
when he spoke of the hundredth dan
ger, the danger unforeseen, the danger
against which they could make no
preparation. And he would have been
first to sense the irony of it could he
have seen where this danger lay.
Why should they wish the pleasant
young man out of the way? Why.
should Ryanne wish to inveigle him
into the hands of this man Mahomed?
Was it merely self-preservation, or
something deeper, more sinister?
Think! Why couldn’t she think of
something? It was only a little pleas
ure trip to Cairo, they had told her,
and when she had asked to go along,
they seemed willing enough. But they
had come to this hotel, when formerly
they had always put up at Shep
heard’s. A- here again the question
why? Was it because Mr. Jones was
staying here ? She liked him, what lit
tle she had seen of him. He was out
of an altogether different world than
that to which she was accustomed. He
was neither insanely mad over cards
nor a social idler. He was a young
man with a real interest in life, a
worker, notwithstanding that he was
reputed to be independently rich. And
her mother had once borrowed money
of him, never intending to pay it back.
The shame of it! And why should she
approach him tie very first day and
recall the incident, if not with the ul
terior purpose of using him further?
As a ball strikes a wall only to re
bound to the thrower, so it was with
all these questions. There was never
any answer.
Tired out, mentally and physically,
she laid her head upon the cool top
of the stand. And in this position her
mother, who had returned to dress
for tea, found her. Believing Fortune
to be asleep, Mrs. Chedsoye dropped
a hand upon her shoulder.
Fortune raised her head.
"Why, child, what is the matter?”
the mother asked. The face she saw
was not tear-stained; it was as cold
and passionless as that by which sculp
tors represent their interpretations of
Justice.
“Matter?” Fortune spoke, in a tone
that did not reassure the other. “In
the first place I have only one real
question to ask. It depends upon how
you answer it. Am I really your
daughter?”
my Mrs. Ched-
0- er?
un im
make
■Vm. Sae
Ks h< r (inss,
child
^Btience.
wed Fortum
HFibeiation of
me my daughter.”
had denied it,
RSUH have^B^my peace; but since
you admit tIWI I am of your flesh and
blood, I am going to force you to rec
ognize that in such a capacity I have
some rights. I did not ask to come
into this world; but insomuch as I am
here, I propose to become an indi
vidual, not a thing to be given bread
and butter upon sufferance. I have
been talking with Horace. I met him
In the bazaars this morning. He said
some things which you must answer.”
“Horace? And what has he said,
pray tell?”. Her expression was flip
pant, but a certain inquietude pene
trated her heart and accelerated its
beating. What had the love-lorn fool
said to the child?
“He said that he was not a good
man, and that you tolerated him be
cause he ran errands for you. What
kind of errands?”
Mrs. Chedsoye did not know wheth
er to laugh or take the child by the
shoulders and shake her soundly. “He
was laughing when he said that. Er
rands? One would scarcely call it
that.”
“Why did you renew the acquaint
ance with Mr. Jones, when you knew
that you never intended paying back
that loan?”
Here was a question, Mrs. Chedsoye
realized, from the look of the child,
that would not bear evasion.
"What makes you think I never in
tended to repay him?”
Fortune laughed. It did not sound
grateful in the mother’s ears.
“Mother, this is a crisis; it can not
be met by counter-questions nor by
flippancy. You know that you did
not intend to pay him. What I de
mand to know i* why you spoke to
him again, so affably, why you seemed
so eager to enter into his good graces
once more. Answer that.”
Her mother pondered. For once she
was really at a loss. The unexpected
ness of this phase caught her off her
balance. She saw one thing vividly,
regretfully: she had missed a valuable
point in the game by not adjusting
her play to the growth of the child,
who had, with the phenomenal sud
denness which still baffles the psy
chologists, stepped out of girlhood
into womanhood, all in a day. What
a fool she had been not to have left
the child at Mentone!
“I am waiting,” said Fortune. ‘‘There
are more questions; but I want this
one answered first.”
“This is pure Insolence!”
“Insolence of a kind, yes.”
“And I refuse to answer. I have
some authority still.”
“Not so much, mother, as you had
yesterday. You refuse to explain?”
“Absolutely!”
“Then I shall judge you without
mercy.” Fortune rose, her eyes blaz
ing passionately. She caught her
mother by the wrist, and she was the
stronger of the two. “Can’t you un-
I 1,0
“Certainly You Are My Daughter.”
derstand? I am no longer a child, I
am a woman. I do not ask, I demand!”
She drew the older woman toward her,
eye to eye. “You palter, you always
palter; palter and evade. You do not
know what frankness and truth are.
Is the continual evasion calculated to
still my distrust? Yes, I distrust you,
you, my mother. You have made the
mistake of leaving me alone too much.
I have always distrusted you, but I
never knew why.”
Mrs. Chedsoye tugged, but Ineffectu
ally. "Let go!”
“Not till I have done. Out of the
patchwork, squares have been formed.
What of the men who used to come
to the villa and play cards with Uncle
George, the men who went away and
never came back? What of four long
disappearances of which I knew noth
ing except that one day you vanished
and upon another you came back? Did
you think that I was a fool, that I
had no time to wonder over these
things? You have never tried to
make a friend of me; you have al
ways done your best to antagonize me.
Did you hate my father so much that,
when his death put him out of range;
you had to concentrate it upon me?
My father!” Fortune roughly flung
aside the arm. “Who knows about
him, who he was, what he was, what
he looked like? As a child, I used to
ask you, but never would you speak.
All I know about him nurse told me.
This much has always burned my
mind: you married him for wealth
that he did not have. What do you
mean by this simple young man across
the 'corridor?”
Mrs. Chedsoye was pale, and the ar
tistic touch of rouge upon her cheeks
did not disguise the pallor. The true
evidence lay in the whiteness of her
nose. Never in her varied life had
she felt more helpless, more impotent.
To be wild with rage, and yet to be
powerless! That alertness of mind,
that mental buoyancy, which had al
ways given her the power to return
a volley in kind, had deserted her.
Moreover, she was distinctly alarmed.
This little fool, with a turn of her
hand, might send tottering into ruins
the skillful planning of months.
“Are you in love with him?” aiming
to gain time to regather her scattered
thoughts.
“Love?" bitterly. “I am in a fine
mood to love any one. My question,
my question,” vehemently; “my ques
tion ! ”
“I refuse absolutely to answer you!”
Anger was first to reorganize its
forces; and Mrs. Chedsoye felt the
heat of it run through her veins. But,
oddly enough, it was anger directed
less toward the child than toward her
own palpable folly and oversight.
“Then I shall leave you. I will go
out into the world and earn my own
bread and butter. Ah,” a little brok
enly, “if you had but given me a little
kindness, you do not know how loyal
I should have been to you! But no;
I am and always have been the child
that wa’sn’t wanted.”
The despair in the gesture that fol
lowed these words stirred the moth
er’s calloused heart, moved it strange
ly, mysteriously. “My child!” she
said impulsively, holding out her
hands.
“No.” Fortune drew back. “It is
too late.”
“Have it so. But you speak of go
ing out into the world to earn your
own bread and butter. What do you
know about the world? What could
you do? You have never done any
thing but read romantic novels and
moon about in the flower-garden. Fool
ish chit! Harm Mr. Jones? Whys
For what purpose? I have no mor*
interest in him than If he were on*
of those mummies over In the muse
um. And I certainly meant to repay
him. I should have done so If you
hadn’t taken the task upon your own.
broad shoulders. I am in a hurry^
I am going out to Mena House to tea.
I’ve let Celeste off for the day, so
please unhook my waist and do not
bother your head about Mr. Jones.” She *
turned her back upon her daughter,
quite confident that she had for the
time suppressed the incipient rebel
lion. She heard Fortune crossing the
room. “What are you doing?” petu
lantly.
“I am ringing for the hall-maid.*
And Fortune resumed her chair,
picked up her Baedeker, and became
apparently absorbed over the map of
Assuan.
Again wrath mounted to her moth
er’s head. She could combat anger,
tears, protestations; but this indiffer
ence, studied and unfilial, left her
weaponless; and she was too wise to
unbridle her tongue, much as she
longed to do so. She was beaten. Not
an agreeable sensation to one who
counted only her victories.
“Fortune, later you will be sorry for
this spirit,” she said, when she felt
the tremor of wrath no longer in her
throat.
Fortune turned a page, and jotted
down some notes with a pencil. 'Sad
as she was at heart, tragic as she*
knew the result of this outbreak to
be, she could hardly repress a smile
at the thought of her mother’s dis
comfiture.
And so the chasm widened, and
went on widening till the end of time.
Mrs. Chedsoye was glad that the
hall-maid knocked and came in just
then. It at least saved her the ig
nominy of a retreat. She dressed,
however, with the same deliberate
care th,at she had always used. Noth
ing ever deranged her sense of pro
portion relative to her toilet, nothing:
ever made her forget its importance.
“Good-by dear,” she said. “I shall
be in at dinner.” If the maid had!
any suspicion that there had been a.
quarrel, she should at least be im
pressed with the fact that she, Mrs.
Chedsoye, was not to blame for it.
Fortune nibbled the end of her pen
cil.
The door closed behind her mother
and the maid. She waited for a time.
Then she sprang to the window and
stood there. She saw her mother
driven off. She was dressed in pearl
grey, with a Reynolds hat of grey
velour and sweeping plumes: as hand
some and distinguished a woman as
could be found that day in all Cairo.
The watcher threw ber Baedeker, her
note-book, and ber pencil violently
into a corner. It had come to her at
last, this thing that she had been
striving for since noon. Sbe did not
care what the risks were; the storm,
was too high in her heart to listen
to the voice of caution. Sbe would
do it; for she judged it the one thing,
in justice to her own blood, she must
accomplish. Sbe straightway dressed
for the street; and if she did not give
the same care as her mother to the
vit^ function, she produced an effect
that merited comparison.
She loitered before the porter’s bu
reau till she saw him busily engaged
in answering questions of some wom
en tourists. Then, with a slight but
friendly nod, she stepped into the bu
reau and stopped before the key-rack.
She hung up her key, but took it.
down again, as if she had changed
her mind. At least, this was the por
ter’s impression as he bowed to her
in the midst of the verbal bombard
ment. Fortune went up-stairs., Ten
or fifteen minutes elapsed, when she
returned, hung up the key, and walked
briskly toward the side-entrance at
the very moment George, in his fruit
less search of her, pushed through
the revolving doors in front And ail
the time she was wondering how it
was that her knees did not given un
der. It was terrible. She balanced
between laughter and tears, hysteri
cally.
(TO BE CONTINUED.) <
Yellow Fever Germ.
The theory that mosquitoes convey
the disease known as “yellow fever*
is many years old, but it was not un
til the year 1895 that it was proven. ♦
to be true. During that year Major
Ronald Ross, working in India along
the lines of Sir Patrick Manson’s the
ory, demonstrated that mosquitoes of
the genus called anopheles clarifer
conveyed the disease. In 1897-98 ex
periments in Cuba and other parts of
the world established .a similar con
clusion. It is in consequence of this
discovery that the dread disease is.
now being so largely checked in th*
countries where it has hitherto been,
so destructive of human life. ■
Improved Letter Boxes.
Letter boxes have been invented for
office buildings and apartments which
deliver mall dropped Into them on fl
the ground floor to their owners"
rooms, even the weight of a card start
ing the elevating machinery.
