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16
“Ask Your Doctor”
When baby is not thriv
ing—not gaining in weight,
health and cheerfulness as
he should, ask your doctor
about
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In sending her pic-
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the neighborhood J
and has never f 1
known what f
it is to be /
» ic k." f/f*'
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American Sunday Monthly Magazine Section
The Scarlet Plague
('Continued from page f)
did not appear to wave. Then I laid my
head on my arms there in the saddle.
I was afraid to look again, for I knew it was
an hallucination, and I knew that if I
looked the man would be gone. And so
precious was the hallucination, that I
wanted it to persist yet a little while. I
knew, too, that as long as I did not look it
would persist.
“Thus I remained, until I heard my dogs
snarling, and a man’s voice. What do you
think the voice said? I will tell you. It
said: ‘Where the dickens did you come
f rom ? *
“Those were the words, the exact words.
That was what your other grandfather said
to me, Hare-Lip, when he greeted me.there
on the shore of Lake Temescal fifty-seven
years ago. And they were the most ineffa
ble words I have ever heard. I opened my
eyes and there he stood before me, a large,
dark, hairy man, heavy-jawed, slant-browed,
fierce-eyed. How I got oft my horse I do
not know. But it seemed that the next
I knew I was clasping his hand with both
of mine and crying. I would have embraced
him, but he w-as ever a narrow-minded, sus
picious man, and he drew away from me.
Yet did I cling to his hand and cry.”
Granser’s voice faltered and broke at
the recollection, and the weak tears streamed
down his cheeks while the boys looked on
and giggled.
“ Yet did 1 cry,” he continued, “and desire
to embrace him, though the Chauffeur was
a brute, a perfect brute—the most abhorrent
man I have ever known. His name was
. . . strange, how I have forgotten his
name. Everybody called him Chauffeur
it was the name of his occupation, and it
stuck. That is how, to this day, the tribe
he founded is called the Chauffeur Tribe.
“He was a violent, unjust man. Why
the plague germs spared him I can never
understand. It would seem, in .spite of
our old metaphysical notions about absolute
justice, that there is no justice in the uni
verse. Why did he live?—an iniquitous,
moral monster, a blot on the face of nature,
a cruel, relentless, bestial cheat as well. All
he could talk about was motor cars, ma
chinery, gasoline, and garages — and espe
cially, and with huge delight, of his mean
pilferings and sordid swindlings of the per
sons who had employed him in the days
before [the coming of the plague. And
yet he was spared, while hundreds of
millions, yea, billions, of better men were
destroyed.
“I went on with him to his camp, and
there I saw her, Vesta, the one woman. It
was glorious and . . . pitiful. There she
was, Vesta Van Warden, the young wife of
John Van Warden, clad in rags, with marred
and scarred and toil-calloused hands, bend
ing over the campfire and doing scullion-
work—she, Vesta, who had been born to
the purple of the greatest baronage of wealth
the world has ever known. John Van
Warden, her husband, was worth one
billion eight hundred millions, and, President
of the Board of Industrial Magnates, had
been ruler of America. Also, sitting on the
International Board of Control, he had been
one of the seven men who ruled the world.
And she herself had come of equally noble
stock. Her father, Philip Saxon, had been
President of the Board of Industrial Mag-
nates, up to the time ot his death. This
office was in process of becoming hereditary,
and had Philip Saxon had a son that son
would have succeeded him. But his only
child was Vesta, the perfect flower of gener
ations of the highest culture this planet
has ever produced. It was not until the
engagement between Vesta and Van Warden
took place, that Saxon indicated the latter
as his successor. It was, I am sure, a politi
cal marriage. I have reason to believe that
Vesta never really loved her husband in the
mad passionate way of which the poets used
to sing. It was more like the marriages
that obtained among the crowned heads
in the days before they were displaced by the
magnates.”
(to be concluded in next issue)
The Essential Sense
(Continued from preceding page)
Amy cut into a great mass of dough.
“ I don’t think I am feeling very hungry,”
she said.
“Now don’t tell me you are going to be
ill,” Bopps said between bites.
Two tears forced themselves into the
girl’s eyes. The situation had far exceeded
her sense of humor. Bopps looked up just
in time to see his wife dab her handkerchief
into both eyes.
“Poor little woman,” he said, “please
try to enjoy your dinner. I'll be out to
Pittsburgh and hack before you know it.”
In answer Amy only sniffed and blew her
nose rather violently. Throughout the
rest of the dinner Bopps watched her with
much solicitude, and the last chance only
to feign eating was lost to her. He had
not only made her devour a great part of
the chicken and dumpling but a huge slice
of lemon meringue pie, for which on other
occasions she had, unfortunately, expressed
her partiality.
But at last the most unhappy meal of
her life came to an end, and Amy followed
her husband to the train gate:
“Now, don’t be miserable,” he said by
way of farewell, “and don’t worry about my
giving up dinner on the train. I enjoyed
I our little party very much.”
Ogden received her at the door of his
study, and she went alone into his ow n room
i to take off her cloak. It was the same room
she had know n as a girl two years before,
when she had gone there as one of several
I well-chaperoned girls.
She drew the chair close to the table,
\ and, resting her elbows on either side of her
plate, held her face between both palms.
: Between the shaded candles Ogden looked
across the smilax and the roses at the del
icately tinted cheeks, the small, straight
nose, the smiling lips, the golden curling
hair, the ivory throat and arms.
“Well?” she asked.
Ogden smiled. “Well,” he said and
raised his glass.
The girl nodded and, reaching across the
narrow table, touched her glass to his.
“To you!” he said.
'‘To you, too,” she answered, “and to the
days that were.” For a few moments there
was silence, while Amy looked down at the
j square piece of toast and the caviar on her
‘ plate. Then she put down her fork and
smiled whimsically at her host. “ I sup-
post* I ought to cry, or try to eat this, or—
to do something, but instead I am going to
tell you just what happened. Bopps forced
me to eat a terrible dinner with him at the
Jersey City depot about an hour ago. I
don’t feel as if I could ever look food in the
face again. He forced fricassee chicken
dumplings and lemon pie down my throat
the way a t child feeds a pet crocodile. It’s
no use, Sam, I can’t eat anything.”
Ogden did not attempt to conceal his
disappointment. He and his servant had
worked hard over this dinner, and it had
promised very well.
“ Nothing? ” he asked.
Amy shook her head. Her eyes were
becoming a little misty and Ogden saw that
such humor as there might have been in the j
situation for her had disappeared entirely, j
She picked up one of the long-stemmed j
beauty roses and pressed it with both hands
to her lips, which had suddenly become white
and straight.
“It almost seems,” she said, “as if he
might have let me have this one hour of
pleasure.”
Ogden got up and started to walk around
the table, but he stopped half way and
leaned against the desk. The girl inter
laced her fingers behind her head and stared
up at the ceiling, her face white and ex
pressionless.
“ There will be other days, Amy,” he said.
“No, Sam, there will not be other days.
It’s no use trying to deceive one’s self.”
Her voice sounded tired, and she apparently
spoke without any feeling of anger or re
sentment. “If my love of pleasure were j
half as great as my fear of respectability,
there might be many days in which Ned
would have no part. I knew that I was
going to regret this foolishness when I came
here and I do already. Young women with
morals should be more careful whom they
marry.”
“You’ll let me drive back with you?”
She shook her head. “I would rather!
go alone. You’ve been so good to me, please
let me have my way once more.”
“What fools the most of us girls arc,”!
she whispered—“what dull, stupid fools!
We think we are marrying men, hut we’re
not. They’re not real husbands—only
janitors.” 1
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Hinds Cream in bottles, 50c.
Hinds Cold Cream in tubes, 25c.
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