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The House of Whispers
By WILLIAM JOHNSTON
THE CRACK 0’ DOOM
• FOR NASTY CALOMEL)
UP TO DATE GHOSTS
Fiction readers who like
haunted houses and myste
rious noises in the night,
and ghost doings that baf
fle explanation, should stop,
look, and read right here.
For “The House of Whis
pers” is well named. It’s
even more fascinating than
the old-time haunted house,
because it’s a mystery
apartment in a big city
building—the lovely heroine,
for instance, can creep
along a ledge from one win
dow to another in the dead
of night, and a wonder
ful pearl necklace can dis
appear from a wall-safe
and find its way back again,
and the superintendent and
his employees can fasten a
charge of murder on the
hero, and there might be
room in the walls for secret
passageways. But there is
nothing new-fashioned or
queer about the loyalty and
devotion of the heroine for
her lover in trouble; it’s the
same glorious thing that
has thrilled us all ever since
true love ceased to run
smooth. And of course she
gets the reward that sha.
deserves—and they live
happily ever after.
CHAPTER I.
With an exclamation of annoyance
I crumpled up the note from my great-
uncle Rufus anil flung It on the floor.
My disappointment at its contents was
the one thing needed to complete the
utter misery of a wretched day.
Only that morning my roommates,
F.irge and Holler, fortunate fellow^,
had been informed that their applica
tions for the ambulance service had
been accepted. Our year of happy
companionship had come to an abrupt
end.
“Cheer up, old man,” cried the op
timistic Birge, ‘“your luck will cliartfee
some time.”
“Right,” said Roller, as he stooped
to give a final tug to the straps of his
new kit bag, "a chap as crazy about
Ad venture us you are is hound to meet
her soon.”
“Stop it,” T cried In desperation. “It
is you two who are to have the groat
opportunity. Soon you’ll be seeing
shrapnel burst, airplanes battling, reg
iments charging, heroes dying, and I—
I’ll be sitting here alone in a ball
room, eating my heart out with lotie-
someness and envy, spending my days
at an uncongenial desk, and my nights,
God knows how, after you fellows have
gone.”
“You never can tell,” chirped old
Birge. “all kinds of strange things hap
pen right here in New York. You may
be tlie one thnt lias had a bellyful of
adventure before we return—if we do.”
Itis last three words gave us all a
sobering thought. There was a chance,
more than a chance, (hat never again
on tills earth would we three be to
gether again. Eight of our college
mates- had preceded Birge and Roller
to the great battlefield. Already three
of them lay in hero graves somewhere
under (he lilies of France.
The silence of a sad parting foil on
us. Tiie taxicab came and we drove
together to the pier with hardly a word
spoken.
As we shook hands at the gang
plank old Roller spoke again, a glis
ten of tears in ills eye. something al
most prophetic in his voice.
“Nelson,” he said. “I feel it in my
bones that something Is going to hap
pen to you soon, something thrilling.
“I wish to God something would !'*
I answered bitterly.
Disconsolately I waved them a Inst
Bflloii from the dock. In n black mood
I railed ngainst the fate that had left
me behind, poignantly lamenting the
lack of the eight hundred dollars that
ivulil have set me free to accompany
them.
Two letters, thrust under the door
In lodging-house fashion, awaited my
homecoming. One of them r recog
nizee! at once as my mother’s weekly
billet of good advice, and tossed aside
to lie rend when I was in a better
frame of mind. The Other was in a
cramped, unfamiliar handwriting. As
I studied the envelope curiously a sus
picion ns to tlie writer’s identity
flnshed into my mind and eagerly I
tore it open. My great-uncle. Rut us
Gaston, was na old. old man. It must
l»l frwfc Wind could he be writ
ing to me about? Rufus Gaston was
rich—worth many millions.
It was merely an invitation to dine
with him and his wife. Disgustedly I
flung it aside. It capped the climax of
my dissatisfaction with everything.
Here were my two chums starting off
to the war, and here was I, Spalding
Nelson, twenty-six, strong in physique,
snve for a “football knee" that lmd
barred me from military service, (hirst-
lag for excitement, left behind in the
prosaic business world and now bid
den to an uninteresting meal with two
decrepit old relatives. I made lip my
mind not to answer tlie note. My great-
uncle Rufus could go hang, for all of
his millions. I would not go near
him.
The right of my mother’s letter lying
unopened on my desk served to recall
to me that it was she who had prevent
ed my going. Poor mother! She and
I had (men at cross-purposes ever since
my father’s death while I was a young
ster. It seemed to me that always she
had opposed everything I wanted to do.
After I left college she had found a
plnce for me in the office of one of my
father's friends In the little western
city where our home was. I laid been
two years getting away to join Birge
and Roller in New York. Most of ail
sin 51 had set herself against my going
to France. She did not believe in war.
I was tlie only man left in tlie family.
She was far from well. If anything
should happen to her, my young sis
ters had only me to look to. When
these pleas had failed to move me
she had not hesitated to remind me
that I was in her debt.
Unfortunately this was true. My
years at college had cost me more than
my small patrimony. I had borrowed
freely from her, expecting soon to he
able to repay her. Like all young grad
uates I had vastly overestimated my
earning capacity. Three years had
elapsed and I still owed her eight hun
dred dollars.
“I do not see,” she hail written
me, “how you can honorably feel free
to go while you are in my debt. To
furnish you funds at college your
mother and sisters practiced many
economies. The girls are now reach
ing an age when their expenses will be
much greater. I need tlie money for
them. The least you can do is to pay
it back before you give up your posi
tion and go off on wild-goose cluises.”
For this argument I could find no
answer. My obligation to her was a
debt of honor that must be paid be
fore I could be my own master. Each
week I had been putting away five dol
lars, and as it accumulated had been
sending her a money order.
While I was debating what to do
I began to read my mother’s latest let
ter. Tlie first part of it repeated her
many arguments. She wrote:
“Two days ago I received a letter
from my father's brother, Rufus Gas
ton, upon whom you called when you
first went to New York. He asked
about you and made me a proposition
concerning you. I did not venture to
give him an answer. Your views and
mine qre so seldom in accord. I gave
him your address and suggested that
he write to you himself. Probably he
has done so by this time.”
Hastily I rescued my great-uncle’s
crumpled note from the floor and
smoothed it out. If Rufus Gaston—
with Ills millions and no direct heir-
had made a proposition concerning me,
his letter took on a vastly more inter
esting complexion. Carefully I reread
it, seeking for some hidden meaning
between (he lines, but it gave no clue
to what he had in mind. He merely
expressed tlie hope that I would be
able to dine with him and ills wife in
formal!;, next Thursday evening.
What could it mean? It was at
least well worth looking into. Mr.
Gaston was seventy-four. He had made
a fortune in the South American trade,
retiring at sixty-five. There was only
himself and his wife. On the Gaston
side, through my mother, my sisters
and I were the oi^ly blood relations.
I wondered if it could be that old
Rufus was thinking of making mo his
heir—heir to the Gaston millions!
As I penned a cordial acceptance of
his dinner invitation I determined to
set myself to pleasing the old couple,
whom I had met only once, on the oc
casion of my call. A few years ago I
would have despised the thought of ca
tering to wealth, hut since I had dis
covered how difficult it was to earn
money and how much more difficult to
save it, my views had changed.
I could hardly wait for the day he
had set for me to dine with them to
arrive. I found myself approaching
their residence fully three-quarters of
u.i hour before the time named. When
I discovered how early I was I decided
to loiter in the park for a few min
utes. Old Rufus recently had given
up his Avenue residence and now lived
in one of those stately apartment
buildings erected in the East Eighties.
I turned into Central park opposite
my great-uncle’s street and dropped
into the first bench I came to, deposit
ing beside me a hunch of roses I had
purchased ns my first move toward
winning my great-aunt’s affections.
Lighting my pipe I gave myself up
to pleasant reveries, from which I was
aroused by finding my roses tossed
suddenly to the ground at my feet.
“Pardon me,” I said indignantly,
“but those belong to me.”
“Benches ain’t for bundles,” croaked
an evil voice beside me.
Recovering my flowers, I turned to
find seated beside me a rat-eyed young
fellow, cheaply dressed, eyeing me with
nn Insolent stare. As I looked at him
he began crowding over toward me.
Plainly it was his intention to oust me
from the bench.
"There's plenty of room on those
other benches over there,” I suggested
resentfully.
“Beat it yourself if you don’t like it
here,” he retorted, blowing tlie smoke
from a cheap cigarette in my face. “I
got a date here, nnd I'm going to stay,
see?”
I answered with an angry retort and
hot words followed. We liad almost
come to blows when tlie bushes op
posite us suddenly parted. I caught
sight for just a second of a villainous
face, that of a man about forty, an
unforgettable face with a rod scar
across the left cheek. He raised one
finger in an imperative gesture, signal
ing to my unwelcome companion on
the bench. With a profane exclama
tion of dismay, the rat-eyed fellow
sprang up and walked hastily away
along tlie park patli. Wondering
what it was all about. I watched him
out of sight around a turning of tlie
asphalt and then glanced toward the
apartment.house where in a few min
utes I was to be a guest.
As I looked a young girl came out
of tlie house and walked slowly to
ward tlie park. At the corner she
hesitated. She seemed to lie debating
whether to continue on down the ave
nue or to turn into the park. Appar
ently the lure of the greenery won her,
for she came on slowly toward where
I was sitting. As she drew nearer I
observed her with interest, for she
was one of tlie prettiest girls I ever
had seen. Her slim figure, her dainty
ankles, her carriage, everything about
her suggested tlie patrician. Her face,
rosy and youthful, was set off by a
jaunty feathered toque, from under
which a pair of soft, black, roguish
eyes, shaded by long lashes, looked
out above a dainty nose, just a bit
tip tilted, on either side of which a
fugitive dimple played.
To my great amazement she walked
right up to me and stopped stiort. I
Folks Abandoning Old Drug fo»
“Dodson's Liver Tone,"
Here in South.
“You Were to Wear One. Too.”
observed then that she seemed to be
greatly agitated. Involuntarily I
sprang to my feet and removed my
hat, feeling certain thnt she had mis
taken me for someone else.
She looked straight at me with an
odd tightening of the lips. Into her
great dark eyes came a look in which
pride and fear seemed to mingle with
utter loathing.
“I am here,” she said.
In my confusion I mumbled some
thing, I hardly knew whut., She look
ed me up and down with a puzzled air
and raised her hand to a red carna
tion she was wearing.
“You were to wear one, too.”
“I don’t understand,” I answered.
“Didn’t you,” she .asked hesitating
ly, “didn’t you come here about tlie
papers—”
"What papers?”
“You know—”
“I don’t know,” I replied. “I know
nothing about any papers. You must
have mistaken me for someone else.”
"But this was tlie place—this bench
—tlie first bench?”
“I sat down here quite by accident."
"Oh!" she exclaimed with a sigti of
relief. “And you’re not wearing a
red carnation, either.”
I recalled then with misgiving that
the ill-favored youth who just a mo
ment ago lmd disputed the bench with
me had been wearing a red carnation,
and that lie had muttered something
about having a date. Yet it did not
seem possible that a girl of this sort
would be having a rendezvous with
a scamp like him. I determined if
possible to ascertain the girl's mis
sion. *
“I atn merely waiting here,” I hast
ened to explain, “until it is time for
me to keep a dinner engagement with
some relatives in the apartment house
from which you came.”
As I spoke I noticed thnt the fear
and loathing had vanished from her
eyes nnd that she was looking with
relief at a little college pin I was
wearing. She was blushing now from
confusion at her mistake, and the ris
ing red in her cheeks added greatly
to her exquisite loveliness.
“I was to meet someone here,” she
faltered; "you quite understand, don’t
you?”
“I understand perfectly," I answer
ed, nnd recalling the scar-faced man
who hud been lurking in tlie bushes,
I hurried on to say, “but if I can he
of ntiy service—”
“No, no,’ she sobbed, apparently
overwhelmed by whatever It was that
was besetting her. “It’s nothing-
nothing anyone can help.”
“Tell me about tlie man you were
to meet here.”
“Who are you?” she demanded, her
suspicion suddenly rising at my ques
tion. “You’re not a detective?”
"Far from it," I answered amused- [
ly. “I’m just plain Spalding Nelson,
on my way to (line with my great-
uncle Rufus Gaston.”
“Ob!” she said, relieved, "their
apartment is on the same floor es
ours."
“Tell me about tlie man you were
to meet,” I insisted. “I may have seen
him."
“Did you? What was he like?” She
demanded eagerly.
“Don’t you know him?” I countered.
“No, I never saw him. I don’t even
know who he is. I only know that
there was to be a man waiting hare
on this bench this evening. We were
both to wear red carnations. I was
to come here alone, to see him and
to get the—”
She stopped abruptly and tearing
off tlie flower she was wearing,
trampled it viciously under her foot.
“Not so loud," I Warned her, fear
ful lest they might still he lurking
about nnd overhear us. “There were I
two of them.”
“Two,” she whispered, turning pale.
“Yes, one waiting here on this bench, j
and the other, a villainous scar-faced j
fellow, hiding in tlie bushes yonder.” j
“I dare not go on with it,” she i
sobbed, “I dare not'. I dare not! Oh, !
what shall I do?”
“The tiling to do now,” I replied, “is
for you to let me accompany you hack j
to your home. They wilt make no |
further attempt to meet you this eve
ning, since my presence has spoiled
their plans. Come, let me escort you,
Miss ..."
As I liesllated over the name she
answered simply:
“Bradford—Barbara Bradford,”
She pondered for a moment over my
suggestion and then turned to walk
with me toward the apartment house.
“What were tlie men like?" site
asked.
I described them as best I could,
though really tlie impression that the
youtli on the bench had left was vague.
His voice, an insolent, hoarse, uncul
tivated one, was almost all I could re
call about him. ,
"I wonder who they were? I won
der how they knew?”
“Knew what?”
Her lips tightened into a straight
line.
“I can’t tell you. I daren’t. It isn’t
my secret.”
By this time we had; reached her
home and tlie bowing doorman was j
swinging back the great iron door |
for us. It had been my intention to
| announce my arrival, hut recalling
that Miss Bradford lmd said that the
Gaston apartment was on the same
floor as hers, I stepped with her into
tlie elevator. When it lmd descended,
leaving us together in the corridor,
she turned to me and offered iier hand.
“Thank you so much, Mr. Nelson.”
“I wish you'd let me help you,” I
cried.
She shook her head.
“Well, promise me one thing,” I in
sisted.
“What is it?"
“That you never again will go alone
to the park to meet those men.”
A tremor shook her body, and once
more a look of terror crept into her
eyes.
“I can't promise that. I must meet
them. I must! I must!"
I reached out and took her hand.
“Promise me, then, that before you
go again you will let me know.”
“You must not try to stop nij go
ing," she cried desperately and free
ing her hand turned quickly and un
locking her door left me standing
there alone, staring after her.
Perplexed beyond measure ns to
what I ought to do, after a moment 1
pressed the bell and was admitted to
the Gaston apartment and to the pres
ence of my aged relatives.
Ugh! Calomel makes you sick. It's
horrible! Take a dose of the danger
ous drug tonight and tomorrow you
lose a day.
Calomel is mercury! When it comes
into contact with sour bile, it crashes
into it, breaking it up. Then is when
you feel that awful nausea and cramp
ing. If you are sluggish, if liver is
torpid and bowels constipated or you
have headache, dizziness, coated
tongue, if breath is bad or stomach
sour, just try a spoonful of harmless
Dodson’s Liver Tone tonight.
Here’s my guarantee—Go to any
drug store and get a bottle of Dodson’s
Liver Tone for a few cents. Take a
spoonful and if it doesn’t straighten you
right up nnd make you feel line and
vigorous, go back to the store nnd get
your money. Dodson’s Liver Tone is
destroying the sale of calomel because
it can not salivate or make you sick.—
Adv.
Squirrel Builds Nests.
In the South, instead of living in tlio
hollow trees, tlie fox squirrels build
big nests in tlie top of the pine and
other trees—usually of Spanish moss,
says tlie American Forestry Magazine
of Washington. In these they sleep,
also carrying to them tlie pine cones
just mentioned. In tlie hardwood for
ests of tiie North- dry leaves take the
place of tlie Spanish moss, and a con
spicuous nest is built with an entrance
hole at tin' side.
LIFT OFF CORNS
Under the same roof with
the heroine.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Reached Its Destination.
A little boy was given a penny to
give to the Lord at. church. He 're
turned home to report that not seeing
God around lie gave his penny to tfc«
man with a plate.
WITH FINGERS
Doesn’t hurt a bit and costs only
few cents
Magic! Just drop a little Freezone
on that touchy corn, instantly it stops
aching, then you lift the corn off with
the finftentf’L--Truly! No humbug!
Try Freezone! Your druggist sells
a tiny bottle for a few cents, sufficient
to rid your feet of every hard corn,
St ft corny or corn between tlie toes,
and cullusfs, without one particle of
pain, soreness or irritation. Freezone
is tlie discovery of a noted Cincinnati
genius.—Adv.
Similar Symptoms.
“How did you- feel," inquired the
spectacled tourist, “when tlu? cyclone
wrecked ypur home, and you found
yourself sidling through the air on the
wings of tlie wild wymle, as it were,
witii the debris;of y<,mr domicile whirl
ing all about you?"
“Like a fly In a glass of soda water,
tlmnk you!” replied the Kansas farm
er. “I was present but didn't seem to
have enough influence to quiet the
fuss."
TENSE PRESSURE
HER HEAD
“My Sides, Back and Head
Pained Me Just All the Time,”
Says Alabama Lady, Who
Took Cardui and Got Well.
Uniontowii, Ala.—”After tlie firth of
my baby, I came near dying,” writes
Mrs. Maude Felts', of Unlontown. “I
was in an awful condition, ... It
just looked like I would die.
“I couldn’t- bear anyone to even
touch ine, I was so sbre, not even to
turn me in bed. My sides, back and
head all painqd me, just all the time.
“We had the doctor every day and
he did everything lie knew liow, it
looked like. Yet I lay there suffering
such intense pains as seems I can’t
describe.
“Finally, I said to my husband, ‘let
us try Cardui’ . , . He went for it at
once, and before I had takeu the first
bottle tlie . . . ca.me back, the soreness
began to go away, and I began to
mend. The intense pressure seemed
all at once- to leave my head, nnd be
fore long I was up.
“I took three bottles and was well
and strong and able to do my work.
I believed Cardui saved my life. . . .
r cannot praise it enough for what
it did for me.”
If you are a woman, and need
a tonic—
Take Cardu!, tlie Woman’s Tonic.
—Adv.
Kind to His Relatives.
“Mu, is Mr. Fulhouse very old?”
“No, dear; why did you ask?"
“I iliink he must be, ’cause I heard
pa suy last night that he raised liia
ante.”—Boston Transcript.