Newspaper Page Text
ATURDAY. MARCH 28.
THE DA Y OF DA YS
PROLOGUE.
' "It breaks the speed limit to
smithereens.”
That's a candid opinion about
this story. There may have
been swifter tales, but not re
cently. It’s an aeroplane of a
yarn, moving so fast that you
lose your breath while you fol
low it. But you don’t need any
breath, anyway, because you
forget about respiration with
your eyes on reading of this
kind.
Every man has his day of
days. Yours may have come
and you may be swimming in
the full tide of fortune. If so,
read how P. Sybarite found
his. If your own ship is still
in the offing, you will enjoy
learning how the little spunky
red headed bookkeeper won a
fortune and an heiress, foiled
all his enemies and had some
of the most amazing adven
tures ever penned—all in less
time than it takes the hour
hand to round the clock dial
twice.
(Continued from Yesterday)
- do take on llke'you'd
lost a power of trouble."
“Taxi!" the little man panted vo
eiferously.
The other yawned and stretched.
“It can’t be done," he ndmltted fairly.
“They ain’t no such animal on the
premises.”
With a gesture P. Sybarite singled
put the nearest car.
“What’s that?” he demanded an
grily.
“Ten dollars an hour"—
“I’ll take it."
i “But yon asked for a taxi." grum
bled the man, rising to press a button.
Whereupon a bell shrilled somewhere
In the dark backward of the establish
ment. “Deposit?" he suggested, turn
ing back.
P. Sybarite disbursed a golden
double eagfe, and to the operator who.
roused by the bell, presently drifted
out of the shadows, gaping and nib
bing his eyes, he promised a liberal
tip for baste.
In two minutes be was rolling out of
the garage ensconced in the body of a
luxurious and high powered touring
machine which he strongly suspected
to be somebody’s private car lawlessly
farmed out while Its owner slept.
Self conscious and 111 at ease, he pre
sented himself to the amused inspec
tion of the night force In the office of
the Plaza, made his halting inquiry
and received the discounted assurance
that Miss Blessington. although a
known and valued patron of the house,
was not then Its guest. He turned
away, sobered, baffled, outwitted and
miserably at a loss to guess what next
to do.
Gloomily he paused with a hand on
the open door of Ids car, thoughts pro
foundly disturbed and unsettled, for so
long that the operator grew restless.
"Where next, sir?” he asked.
I “Watt." said P. Sybnrite In a man
ner of abstraction that did him no In
justice.
CHAPTER XIII.
, Nemesis.
SUDDENLY It became plain to P.
Sybarite that If In truth It was
I with her as he fearefl at least
two persons knew what had
become of the girl—two persons aside
from himself and her hired kidnapers
f-Brian Shaynon and Bayard, his son
He gave the operator the address of
Shaynon’s town house and ns the car
slipped away from the hotel was sensi
ble of keen regret that he had left at
Teter Kenny's at the time ho changed
his clothing the pistol given him
Mrs. Jefferson Inche, together with the
greater part of his fortuitous fortune.
In five minutes the car drew up In
of one of those few old sash
loned brownstone English basement
residences which today survive on
Fifth avenue below Fifty-ninth street,
elbowed and frowned down upon by
beetling hives of trade.
. Trying bold of an obsolere bellpull.
l*%Sybarite yanked It with a spirit In
tune with his temper. Immediately
and considerably to his surprise the
doors were thrown open, and on the
threshold a butler showed a face gray
with the strain of a sleepless night.
"Mr. Shaynon V the little man de
manded sharply.
"Mr. Bayard Shaynon 'as Just gone,
notice minutes ago. sir."
"G'one where?"
“To his apartments, I presume, sir."
“Then I’ll see Mr. Brian Shaynon.”
“I'm afraid, sir. Mr. Shaynon is 'ard
ly likely to see any one at this hour.”
"He'll see me." replied P. Sybarite
“He hasn’t gone to bed. I gather?"
“Not yet. sir. but 'e's goin’ Imme
diate.”
"Very well. You may as well let me
In.” •
Suspicious, but impressed, the serv
ant shuffled aside, and P. Sybarite
brushed past him into the ballway.
1 "Where Is be?— - "
By LOUIS JOSEPH VANCE
“If you'll give me your utiue. sir, I*l
toll him you're ’ore."
I*. Sybarite hesitated. Ho wns In n<>
mood for joking, yet u oerlnln doui
humor lu tlie Jest caught his fancy and
persuaded his hotter Judgment.
"Nemesis." he said briefly.
“Mr.—name-what? Itcg pardon,
alrf*
“Nein-o-sls," P. Sybarite articulated
distinctly. ">nd don't mister It. lie'll
understand."
"Tbenk you." muttered the servant
blankly and turned.
On Impulse P. Sybarite strode after
bim.
"On second thoughts, you needn't
■unounce me. I'll go up with you."
“I'm afraid I can't permit that, sir."
observed the butler, horrified. "If I
mas to permit that, sir. It might cost
me my position."
"Well"—
P. Sybarite drew back, relenting.
P.ut nt this Juncture, from a point di
rectly over their heads, the voice of
Brian Story non Interrupted them.
"Who Is that. Sonnies?" he called
Impatiently, without making bluise'.t
visible. "Has Mr. Bayard returned?"
“No. sir,” the butler called, distress
ed. “It's—lt's a person, sir—lnsists on
seein' you—soys 'ls nlme's Nemmysls."
There was a sound of heavy, drag
glng footsteps on the upper landing
and Brian Shay non showed himself at
the head of the stairs; now without
his furred great coat, blit still in the
evening clothes of Elder Rostiectablllty
—Respectability sadly rumpled and
maltreated.
“I dou't seem to know you.” he said
slowly, with a weary shake of his
head. “And it’s most inopportune
the hour. 1 fear you must excuse me."
His accents quavered querulously,
and P. Sybarite, with a flash of scorn
put his condition down to drink.
“Far from it," he retorted ruthless
ly. “What have you done with Marian
Blessiugton?”
“Mar— Marian!” the old voice iter
ated. “Why. she”—the man pulled
himself together with a determined es
fort—“she's In her room of course
Where shonld she be?”
“Is that true?” P. Sybarite demand
ed of the butler in a manner so perem
tory that the answer slipped out befon
the fellow realized It.
“Miss Marian 'asn't returned ns ye!
from tlie ball.” he whispered “'E—’e's
not quite 'imself. sir. 'E’s 'ad a hit of
a shock, ns one might s'y. I'd go easy
on 'lm. if you'll take a word from me.”
But P. Sybarite traversed his advict
without an instant’s consideration.
"Brian Shaynon.” he called, “you lie
The police have caught Red November
I’ll worm the truth out of him within
twenty minutes. If I don’t get it from
you. bow. The game's up Come
What have you done with the girl?”
For all answer, a low cry, like th<
plaint of a broken hearted child. Issued
from the leaden, writhen lips of the old
man. He seemed suddenly to lose tin
strength of his limbs. His legs shook
beneath him ns with a palsy; and then
knees buckling, he tottered and piling
ed headlong from top to bottom of tin
staircase.
Kneeling beside the body of Brian
Shaynon, where it had lodged on a
broad, low landing three steps from
the bottom of the staircase, the butlei
turned up to P. Sybarite fishy, unemo
tional eyes In a pasty fat face.
“ 'E’s gone.” ho announced.
The little man said nothing.
Besting a hand on the newel post,
he looked down unmoved upon the
mortal wreck of him who had been his
life’s bane.
“Dead," the butler affirmed, releas
lng the pulseless leaden wrist and ris
lng. “I presoom I'd. best call 'ls doc
tor. 'adn't I. sir? He’d 'ad a bit of
shock before you come in. sir."
“Yes?” murmured P. Sybarite ab
sently.
“Yes. sir. a bit of a shock, owin' to
’ls ’avln' quarreled with Mr. Bayard,
sir.”
P. Sybarite interrogated with his
eyes alone.
“It was a bit odd. come to think of it
—the ’ole affair, sir. Must ’ave been
over an hour ago, Mr. Shaynon 'ere, 'e
come 'one alone from the dance. 'E
'adn’t more than got inside the house,
sir. w'en a lldy called on 'lm. Properly
speakin’ she wasn’t a lldy at all—but n
woman. I mean to s'y, a bit flash."
“I understand you. Go on."
“Weil, sir. I didn't 'ave a chance to
over’ear w'nt 'er business were, but It
seemed to work on Mr. Brian there
somethin' 'orrid. They was closeted in
the library upstairs not more than
twenty minutes, and then she went
and 'e rung for roe and to bring 'lm
brapdy and not delay about it. 'E
nearly emptied the decanter, too, be
fore Mr. Bayard got 'ere. And the
minute they came together it was 'am
mer and tongs. 'Ot and 'eavy they 'ad
it for upwards of an hour, be’lnd closed
doors, aline as like with the lldy. But
w'en Mr. Bayard 'e come to go. sir. the
old gent follows 'lm to the landin'—
Just where > was when he spoke to
you, sir. before > 'ad the stroke: and
'e says to Mm. says ’e: ‘Remember, 1
cawat you off. Don't come to rne for
nothin' after this. Don’t ever yon dark
en my doorstep agin.' 'e says. And Mr.
Bayard, sir. 'e ups and laugha fiendish
in 'la father's own flee. ‘You've got
another guess coinin'.’ ’e mocks Mm
open: ‘you're in this business as deep
as we.' be says, ‘and if you cross me
IM! double cross you, and through the
newspapers too.' And with that, out 'e
went In a rlge."
THE AUGUSTA HERALD, AUGUSTA, GA.
— —y "in —^
M Ij I
He Looked Down Unmoved.
“So that was the way of It?" P. Syb
arite commented dully.
So Mrs. Incbe bud sought the father
to revenge herself upon the,sou. und
with this outcome—llayard uuharmed,
bis father dead.
With neither hesitation nor a single
backward glance at the body of his
ancient enemy the little man swung
about, walked quietly to the front dem
and as quietly let himself out.
He was of no mind to be called as a
witness at a possible Inquest, and busi
ness of fur greater import urged him
—time pressing—the real business of
his life, this—to discover the where
shouts of Marian Blesslugton with the
least avoidable delay.
His first cast having failed him, he
must now try to draw the son and If
possible before the latter .learned of
bis father's death.
Not until about to re-enter the car
did he remember he had neglected to
secure Bayard's address from the but
ler. But he wouldn't turn back. It
could be ascertained. Peter Kenny
would either know it or know where to
get it.
To Peter's rooms he must of neces
sity return first of all, for it would not
much longer prove possible to go up
and down and to and fro upon Man
hattan Island in a black silk evening
coat and flaming scarlet small clothes.
To change was imperative.
"The Monastery," he directed, set
tling back into bis seat. It was now
clear daylight.
“Wait.” be told the driver on alight
ing at the Monastery. “I’m keeping
you.” Money passed between them,
more than enough to render bis wishes
Inviolable.
A dull eyed -hallboy recognized and
let him in. sullenly passing him ou to
the elevator, but as that last was on
the point of taking flight to Peter Ken
ny’s door It hesitated and the opera
tor with his hand on the half closed
gate shot it open again Insteud of shut.
A telegraph boy not over forty years
tired was being admitted at the street
door. The colloquy there was distinct
ly audible:
“Mr. Bayard Sbaynon live here?”
“’Leventh floor. Hurry up—don't
keep the elevator waitin’.”
Peter Kenny’s rooms were on the
twelfth.
The telegram, with its sprawling in
dorsement in Ink, “Mr. Bayard Sha.v
non, Monastery Apartments,” was for
several minutes within two feet of P.
Sybarite's nose.
Impossible to conjecture what Inti
mate connection It might have with
the disappeuranee of Marian Blessing
ton, what a flood of light it might not
loose upon the dark intrigue.
“What door?" demanded the messen
ger as he left the cage at the eleventh
floor.
“Right across the ball,” he was in
formed.
The gate clanged, the cage mounted
to the next floor, and I’. Sybarite got
out. requiring no direction, for Peter'
Kenny’s door was immediately above
Bayard Shaynon’s.
As he touched the bell button for the
benefit of the elevator man—but for his
own fulled to press it home—the rum
ble of the door bell below could be
heard fulutly through muffling firebrick
wulls. The grumble persisted long aft
er the elevator bad dropped back to
the eleventh floor.
And presently the voice of Western
Union was lifted in sour expostulation.
"Sa-ay, whatcha s’pose’s th’ matta
wid dis guy? I’ been ringin’ baffan
our!”
“That’s funny,” commented the ele
vator boy. "He come in only about ten
minutes ago.”
“Waitin' here ail day won’t get me
nothin'. Here, wbat’s th' matta wid
you signin' for't?'
"Owan. Sign it yourself 'nd stick
unda the door, wbydoneba?”
“A’right. Guess I will."
Clang of the gate; whine of the de
scending car; silence.
Softly P. Sybarite tiptoed down the
stairs.
(To Be Continued Tomorrow,)
“I SAW IT IN THE HERALD”
OPPORTUNITY DOESN’T COME LIKE AN ANGEL
Opportunity knocks at every man’s door, but don’t expect to find upon the step an angel proffering a inagio
wand, a wave of which will bring you fame and riches. It is the chance for hard work and application that Oppor
tunity most often brings, and do not shut the door upon it to wait for a magic pass to success.
THE CHARITY MATCH
It was so simple—just writing an
other fellow's name.
After that, the unspeakable horor
of bare, close walls, of solitude, of as
sociation worse than solitude. In tho
uniform of the banned. Yes, the uni
form they were all as one. Their
fraternity, though minus liberty,
abounded with equality. Ross Cun
ningham had never dreamed how
that last word would one day make
him shiver.
Then, one clay, again It was so
simple. A sea mist stealing over
the moorland. A stumble over a marl
stone fragment lying hidden in the
ling and bracken, that grew so rank
and high that, where he lay, it form
ed a skyline and a cover.
Hark! There it came—the shout
of his number, the halt. But at what
a distance already. Morn shouts,
still more distant. His heart was
jumping more than ever. Then the
whistles —all further oTf.
Now for It. Cross-country run
ning had In the old daj-B won him
fame. Would it win him froedom
now?
Yes. certainly for a while the old
pnee, the old stamina, had won him
freedom. Ilut what was he to da
with it? Miles lay between him and
those grim, high, spiky walls. Tho
light was coming, with the marrow
curdling chill of tho hour before tho
dawn. And the light would bring
danger. As soon as seen, ho would
be recognized as a wanderer from the
fold —of black sheep—branded as
well as black.
He must get cover, so he made for
the jagged line made by house-tops
and pegged with chimney-stacks, dark
against the lifting bluish grey.
He came at last to a high, close
paled, vast enclosure, and, skirting
this, reached a range of sheds wltn
corrugated roofing. Why, yes, in the
strengthening dawnlight he read on
the huge placard:
“Moonlight Football Club.”
There were the high gates—too
high to be scaled; but, a little lower
down, the road, up for repairs, was
littered with planks and poles.
Again, it was so simple. In five
minutes he was within the high en
closure, had scrambled over a locked
turnstile.
“Team's Dressing Room.” Ah! If
he could only get In there!
The doors? —locked. The win
dows? —fastened! But click! In a mo
ment a pane had smashed. His hand,
thrust through, ho forced back the
catph. He was In.
There where he lay, he sank Into
an all-compelling slumber, a spool so
profound that when Ht last he start
ed up, like the hunted thing he was,
the clock hands were both up at the
twelve.
From without came sounds of life
and bustle, dancing through the
windows, he saw officials and others
obviously Intent on preparations for
a big “gate.” For Ross remembere l
It was Saturday, and there on the
wall was a double-crown poster, big
leteered In blue and red, with the
date and Moortown vs. Brindley.
If he could only get rid of that in
criminating ridge. There was an in
ner fitted with basins, a shower-bath
ani lockers, some unsecured, and In
one of these—Eureka! a serge suit.
Foraging in others, he secured a pair
of boots, somewhat the worse ror
wear, but the better so rease. Even
stockings he found.
He started at the rattle at. the door.
Holding his breath, he listened to the
click of the letter-box, and a yellow
envelope fell through
Mechanically he picked it up, and
observed that it was addressed “Mur-
chison, Moortowm.”
Mechanically he oponel and read
It, not from curiosity, or any vague
idea of it assisting him.
“Desperately sorry! Sprained ankle
at exercise this morning. You must
play somebody else.’ —Steggles.”
Steggles! Who could he be? Ross
wondered; then tore up tho telegram,
chiding himself for wasting a mo
ment on Buch idle wonderlngs.
He lost not a second in changing,
which was as well, for Just as he
had hidden tho kit he had abandoned,
In the depth of what was obviously
a nobody’s looker half-flllel with odd
ments, and completed tho luxury of a
good sluice and toweling, the door
handle again.
Now for it!
A square-jawed bullet-headed man
in a reefer suit entored, and ex
claimed;
“What? Mr Steggles—alroaly?"
And Ross Cunningham abandoned
swiftly that resolution to make a rush
for It, and, with a quick laugh, re
plied: v
’’Hardly expected me so soon, oh?"
was the reply. "But I’m
glad. Frankly, I told Mr, Henthara
It was running It ruthor fine, your
timing yourself to be hero at 2:15.
By the by, y»*u’ll be Borry to hear bo's
laid up with gout.”
"Dear me, that’s a pity-" Ross
said, occupied more in won lerlng
who Betham might be than with 'his
misfortunes.
"it is,” said the other. “He hav
ing gone over to arrange your trans
fer, and all that. My name’s Mur
chison, you know—Geordle Murchi
son.”
"Ah, yes, I know.”
“Well, laddie, you’ve got your
chance now,” said the other. "We're
not a great club yet awhile, but I
think you'll like yourself better play
ing center-forward in our first, string
than staging on at Hlagton in their
reserves,\nd a new one at that.
But I understood from Mr. Ben
tharn, you wore a black mustache.”
“I did, but I’ve shave i clean late
ly,” said Cunnlntfham, this time quite
truthfully.
And a daring Idea was shaping In
his brain, daring and yej—
So simple! This man, evidently
the manager of the Wednesdays took
him for Steggles, evidently a recent
transfer from Hlagton United Why
not play the part? It meant playing
the game; but that Ilea merely made
his heart beat a trifle faster. Seven
ty minutes of the game! Seventy
minutes of fierce, frantic Joy! Then,
1f be had to go back after, his bid for
freedom would nqjt have be’en all lu
vain.
But what of the kit? His leaping
heart sank for a moment, then he
whispered to himself; “Bluff It."
"But, 1 say, old chap, what do you
think I've done? I,ike a consummate
ass. I’ve left my kit-bag In the train.”
“By Jove! That’s Hwkward for
you,” said the other. “But we'll soon
fix that up and ” Cunningham’s
heart was In Ills mouth as the genial
manager began to rummage the very
next locker to that one wherein lay
the discarded broai-arrow uniform.
But luckily he* rummaged neither
that nor the other wherein Ross had
found the clothes lie was wearing,
but, from others furnished him with a
shirt with the Moortown Wednes
day stripes, knickers, boots, and all.
And, good fellow as he was, be huii
plemented these with the proffered
loan of a sovereign. Then Murchison
betook himself off to consult his 11-
rectors on points concerning the com
ing match.
Ross gave that dressing room a
wide berth for awhile, wandering
among tho crowds gathering Just be
yond. He wondered whether to see
the thing through or make a holt oT
It.
Slagton was a flry cry. The real
Rleggles only a reserve, "and a new
one at that.” As to bis ability to
meet the expectations cherished eon
corning the newly transferred re
serve, ho, without undue vanity, felt
fairly confident. What had moved
the Queen's Club to ecstasy would
probably do for Moortown.
A band was laid on his arm. He
started, but It was only (leordlo Mur
chison.
That perforce ended any indecis
ion. Back to the dressing-room he
went to be introduced to the team to
make yet another change of garb.
His own skipper was giving a few
last directions.
“You’re lookin' a wee hit nalrvous,
Steggles,” ho said. ‘'That'U go as
soon as we tuk’ the field, I'm thlnk
!n’.”
Then the toss —tho lino up tho
starting whistle—and the mighty
roar it set In motion, and Roas Cun
ningham became oblivious of every
thing that was or had been, save that
ho was Jock Steggles playing center
forward for Moortown
At tho outset Brindley, with wind
and sun In their favour, were press
ing hard, and for a quarter of an hour
tho Moortown goal wds Intermittent
ly packed.
And xhen, all at once, tholr new
center forward, heading away a coo
ner kick, sprang after the ball, got
on it, and, with It at his toe, drib
bled It through tho forwards, round
center half, then sent It swift as an
arrow Into tho open, gaping goal.
The rest, of the game was summar
Grand Duchess Will Marry For
Love
~. 1,, m.. . 1 .t
' - ' * •
<> ' V - isfyw&fok A
GRAND DUCHfcSS MATJANA OK
RUSSIA,
St. Petersburg Grand Duchess Tat*
Jana, the second daughter of the Czar
Insists that she will nrisrry for lov« and
not for political reasons. Tat Jana is
now In her seventeenth, year arid strik
ingly beautiful, Several times It has
been reported that various princes of
KuVopean royal houses have sought the
hand of the Grand Duchess In vain. it
Is now rumored that a son of King
Charh s of Roumania Is contemplating i
visit to the Russian court with the idea
of contracting a Russian-Rumanian al
liance which is riot dtspleasng to the
Cjsaf. Ib w Tatjana wll receive him is
a. question, and If he falls to appeal to
her he will not he long In finding It out,
as she Is very outspoken and oasts dip
lomacy to the winds when personal feel
ings are concerned.
THREE
ized by’the “M.mrtown Chronicle ”
“As to the respective teams, it wa*
unanimously conceded that the home
side were on the whole immeasur
ably outclassed by the visitors, both
as to combination, pace, and science;
and Moortown’s paradoxical win was
due In Jock Steggles, the new center
forward.”
The match was over, and the new
center forwnr 1 had been cheered and
chaired.
Jock Steggles was all at once, in
the hubbub and bustle, missed, he
‘having, after rc-ehunging slipped out
by a back door of the dressing-room,
a tweed cap pulled well down over
his eyes.
“Jock Steggles, man, where are
you?” Geordle Murchison bawled,
stampeding along the passages.
And a man who was limping with
the aid of a stick. In quest of Geor
dle, Imwlol hack:
“Hero I Ire Soon as the doctor
bad hound up my gammy foot I took
first train I could. I’m too lato even
to see the match, but that's no mat
ter; they tell nie we won well.”
Geordle stared hard.
“Oh, yes, we won!” he chortled,”
thanks to one man. But, excuso me
who lire you?”
“I’m Jock Steggles from Hlagton, If
you’ve no objection,” the new arrival
exclaimed, "though one Fellow
laughed In nm face when I told him
so Just now. And 1 heard another
fool ehoutlng that I'd scored all the
six goals.”
Geordle stared Rmazed, then to the
indignation of his Interlocutor, shout
ed to tho Moortown goalie and skip
per; "William, lad, where’s Steggles,
anyway the other Steggles, cause
tills chap says he’s one of ’em.”
“One of ’em, man! I’m the Stpg
gles, the Steggles that signed on for
your club last, week Ask Mr. Ren
thani. Who's been taking my name?”
Then the goalie, too, atarerl.
"Nobody who has disgraced It,” he
said "But, Geordle, I've something
unpleasant to report. Somebody's
plnehed that second best suit 1 left
111 the old locker last week, when wo
went to the dinner after the match.
Found any trace of them?”
Tills last inquiry was to the dress
ing-room attendant, who replied:
r “No, William, but here’s a pair of
knickers and a sort, of tunic. But.
look st tho pattern.”
In dead silence they took stork of
the garments, nnd tho "pattern”
which was—a broad arrow!
"This explains a lot,” he said.
"Poor, lad. ’
"Then he took your togs, and my
name" the real Jock Steggles blurt
ed "What are you going to do about
It?”
“Nowt,” said William Abbs. “Man,
however, he may have disgraced his
own name, today ho covered yours
with glory. Imt the old clothes go.’"
And SteggleH, In another tone re
plied:
"Ay, lads, and let him go. I .at us
four remember 'tls «anny to say nowt.
T'Book tells us, ‘Charity seeketh not
her own,’ and this was a Charity
Match."
"Down in Front, You Bean
Pole”—To Chancellor
Berlin.—Dr. von Bethinnnn-Hollweg,
the Imperial Chancellor vlaited the
aquarium at the Berlin "Zoo” yeater
ilay, and, fascinated by a basin full of
clams, did not notice that his towel
ing form effectually obstructed the
view of hts shorter fellow-visitors,
who tried In vain to peer over his
shoulder.
Finally, a small man tugged at tho
Chancellor’s sleeve and remarked,
"Well, you bean-pole In front there,
perhaps you wouldn’t mind stepping
back and looking over our shoulders,
so that others can get their money’s
worth, too.”
The Chancellor smilingly hastened
to oblige.