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ECHOLS ECHO
Miss Iris Lund, .... Editor
Eugene Lund......Manager
OFFICIAL ORGAN OF
ECHOLS COUNTY.
ONE DOLLAR A YEAR.
Entered at the Postoffice at
Statenville, Georgia, as second
class matter on August 24, 1915,
under the act of Congress of
March 3, 1879.
PROFESSIONAL CARDS.
JULIUS B. HICKS
Attorney-At-Law
Statenville, Georgia.
H. W. NELSON
Attorney-At-Law
Statenville, Georgia.
DR. E. W. PRESCOTT
Physician and Surgeon
Office 1st Floor Masonic Temple
Statenville, Georgia.
DR. J. L. DEDGE
Physician and Surgeon
Office at Home, Statenville, Ga.
DR. M. H. PEARCE
Physician and Surgeon
Phone 4103 Howell, Ga.
COUNTY DIRECTORY.
Superior Court. • W. E. Thom¬
as, Judge. Tuesday after first
Monday March and September.
Ordinary’s Court. J. E. Par¬
rish. First Monday in each
month.
Commissioners’ Court, J. W.
Sowell, Chairman; L. Davis, J.
B. Corbett, Jr. First Monday in
each month.
County Court. T. C. Ham.
Second Monday in each month.
\V. D. Clayton, Clerk.
J. J. Sharp, Sheriff.
H. W. Nelson, Solicitor.
L. R. Prescott, Tax Collector.
P. W. Kinsey, Tax Assessor.
Arthur Hughs, Coroner.
J. D. DeLoach, Surveyor.
J. G. Prine, School Superinten¬
dent.
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THE ECHO, STATENVILLE, GEORGIA.
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CHAPTER XXVI—Continued.
— 20 — .
A peep at Wolf Larsen showed me
that he had not moved. A bright
thought struck me. I stole into his
state room and possessed myself of
his revolvers. There were no other
weapons, though I thoroughly ran¬
sacked the three remaining state¬
rooms. To make sure, I returned and
went through the steerage and fore¬
castle, and in the galley gathered up
all the sharp meat and vegetable
knives. Then I bethought me of the
great yachtman’s knife he always car¬
ried, and I came to him and spoke to
him, first softly, then loudly. He did
not move. I bent over and took it
from his pocket. I breathed more
freely. He had no arms with which
to attack me from a distance; while I,
armed, could always forestall him
should he attempt to grapple me with
his terrible gorilla arms.
Filling a coffee pot and frying pan
with part of my plunder, and taking
some chinaware from the cabin pan¬
try, I left Wolf Larsen lying in the
sun and went ashore.
Maud was still asleep. I blew up
the embers (we had not yet arranged
a winter kitchen) and quite feverish¬
ly cooked the breakfast. Toward the
end, I heard her moving about within
the hut, making her toilet. Just as all
was ready and the coffee poured, the
door opened and she came forth.
“It's not fair of you,” was her greet¬
ing. “You are usurping one of my
prerogatives. You know you agreed
that the cooking should be mine,
and—”
“But Just this once,” I pleaded.
"If you promise not to do It again,”
she smiled. “Unless, of course, you
have grown tired of my poor efforts.”
To my delight she never once looked
toward the beach, and I maintained
the banter with such success that all
unconsciously she sipped coffee from
the china cup, ate fried evaporated
potatoes, and spread marmalade on
her biscuit. But it could not last. I
saw the surprise that came over her.
She had discovered the china plate
from which she was eating. She
looked over the breakfast, noting de¬
tail after detail. Then she looked at
me, and her face turned slowly to¬
ward the beach.
“Humphrey!” she cried.
The old unnamable terror mounted
into her eyes.
“Is—he—?” she quavered.
1 nodded my head.
CHAPTER XXVII.
We waited all day for Wolf Larsen
to come ashore. It was an intolerable
period of anxiety. Each moment one
or the other of us cast expectant
glances toward the Ghost. But he did
not come. He did not even appear
on deck.
“Perhaps it is his headache,” I said.
“I left him lying on the poop. He may
lie there all night. I think I’ll go
and see.”
Maud looked entreaty at me.
“It is all right,” I assured her. “I
shall take the revolvers. You know
I collected every weapon on board.”
“But there are his arms, his hands,
his terrible, terrible hands!” she ob¬
jected. And then she cried, "Oh, Hum¬
phrey, I am afraid of him! Don’t go
—please don’t go!”
She rested her hand appealingly on
mine, and sent my pulse fluttering.
My heart was surely in my eyes for a
moment. The dear and lovely woman!
And she was so much the woman,
clinging and appealing, sunshine and
dew to my manhood, rooting it deeper
and sending through it the sap of a
new strength. I was for putting my
arm around her, as when in the door
of the hut; but I considered, and re¬
frained.
“1 shall not take any risks,” I said.
“YU merely peep over the bow and
see."
She pressed my hand earnestly and
let mo go. But the space on deck
where I had left him *lying ,was va¬
cant. He had evidently gone below.
That night we stood alternate watches,
one of us sleeping at a time; for there
was no telling what Wolf Larsen
might do. He was certainly capable
of anything.
The next day we waited, and the
aevt, and still he mad' no sign.
"Tht.'se headaches of his, these at¬
tacks,” Maud said, on the afternoon
of the fourth day; "perhaps he is Ill,
Very ill. He may be dead.”
I waited, smiling inwardly at the
woman of her which compelled a solic¬
itude for Wolf Larsen, of all creatures.
Where was her solicitude for me, 1
thought—for me whom she had been
afraid to have merely peep aboard?
She was too subtle not to follow the
trend of my silence. And she was as
direct as she was subtle.
“You must, go aboard, Humphrey,
and find out,’ she said. “And if you
want to laugh at me, you have my
consent and forgiveness.”
I arose obediently and went down
the beach.
"Do be careful,” she called after mo.
I waved my arm from the forecastle
head and dropped down to the deck.
I took off my shoes and went noise¬
lessly aft in my stocking feet. Cau¬
tiously descending, I found the cabin
deserted. The door to his stateroom
was closed. At first I thought of
knocking, then I remembered my oa
tensible errand and resolved to carry
it out. Carefully avoiding noise, I
lifted the trapdoor In the floor and set
it to one side. The slop chest, as well
as the provisions, was stored in the
lazaretto, and I took advantage of the
opportunity to lay in a stock of under¬
clothing.
As I emerged from the lazaretto I
heard sounds in Wolf Larsen’s state¬
room. I crouched and listened. The
doorknob rattled. Furtively, instinct¬
ively, I slunk back behind the table
and drew and cocked my revolver.
The door swung open and he came
forth. Never had I seen so profound
a despair as that which I saw on his
face—the face of Wolf Larsen the
fighter, the strong man, the indomi¬
table one. For all the world like a
woman wringing her hands, he raised
his clenched fists and groaned. One
fist unclosed, and the open palm
swept across his eyes as though
brushing away cobwebs.
“God! God!” he groaned, and the
clenched fists were raised again to the
infinite despair with which his throat
vibrated. ftas
It was 'iiorrible. >1 trembling
all over, and I could feel the shivers
running up and down my spine and
the sweat standing out on my fore¬
head. Surely there can be little in
this world more awful than the spec¬
tacle of a strong man in the moment
when he is utterly weak and broken.
But Wolf Larsen regained control
of himself by an exertion of his re¬
markable will. And it was exertion.
His whole frame shook with the strug¬
gle. He caught his breath once or
twice and sobbed. Then he was suc¬
cessful. I could have thought him
the old Wolf Larsen, and yet there
was in his movements a vague sug¬
gestion of weakness and indecision.
He started for the companionway, and
stepped forward quite as I had been
accustomed to see him do; and yet
again, in his very walk, there seemed
that suggestion of weakness and inde¬
cision.
I rose swiftly to my feet, and, I
know, quite unconsciously assumed a
defiant attitude. He took no notice
of me. Nor did he notice the open
trap. Before I could grasp the situa¬
tion, or act, he had walked right into
the trap. One foot w’as descending into
the opening, while the other foot was
just on the verge of beginning the up¬
lift. But when the descending foot
missed the solid flooring and felt va¬
cancy beneath, it was the old Wolf
Larsen and the tiger muscles that
made the falling body spring across
the opening, even as it fell, so that
he struck on his chest and stomach,
with arms outstretched, on the floor
of the op'posite side. The next in¬
stant he had drawn up his legs and
rolled clear. But he rolled into my
marmalade and underclothes and
against the trapdoor. -
The expression on his face was one
of complete comprehension. But be¬
fore I could guess what he had com¬
prehended, he had dropped the trap¬
door into place, closing the lazaretto.
Then I understood. He thought he had
me inside. Also, he was blind, blind
as a bat. I watched him, breathing
carefully so that he should not hear
me. He stepped quickly to his state¬
room. I saw his hand miss the door¬
knob by an inch, quickly fumble for
it, and find it. This was my chance.
I tiptoed across the cabin and to the
top of the stairs, He came back,
dragging a heavy sea chest, which he
deposited on top of the trap. Not
content with this, he fetched a second
chest and placed it on top of the first.
Then he gathered up the marmalade
and underclothes and put them on the
table. When he started up the com¬
panionway, I retreated, silently roll¬
ing over on top of the cabin.
He shoved the slide part way back
and rested his arms on it, his body
still in the companionway. His atti-
tude was of one looking forward the
length of the schooner, or staring,
rather, for his eyes were fixed and
unblinking. I was only five feet away
and directly in what should have been
his line of vision. It was uncanny. I
felt myself a ghost, what of my invis¬
ibility. I waved my hand back and
forth, of course without effect; but
when the moving shadow fell across
his face I saw at once that he was
susceptible to the impression, His
face became more expectant and tense
as he tried to analyze and identify
the impression.
Giving over his attempt to deter¬
mine the shadow, he stepped on deck
and started forward, walking with a
swiftness and confidence which sur¬
prised me. And still there was that
hint of the feebleness of the blind in
his walk. 1 knew it now for what it
was.
To my amused chagrin, he discov¬
ered my shoes on the forecastle head
and brought them back with him Into
the galley. I watched him build the
fire and set about cooking food for
himself; then I stole into the cabin
for my marmalade and underclothes,
slipped back past the galley, and
climbed down to the beach to deliver
my barefoot report.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
“It’s too bad the Ghost has lost her
masts. Why, we could sail away in
her. Don’t you think we could,
Humphrey?”
I sprang excitedly to my feet.
“I wonder, I wonder,” I repeated,
pacing up and down.
Maud’s eyes were shining with an¬
ticipation as they followed me. She
had such faith in me! And the
thought of it was so much added pow¬
er. I remembered Michelet’s “To man,
woman is as the earth was to her
legendary son; he has but to fall
down and kiss her breast and he is
strong again.” For the first time I
knew the wonderful truth of his
words. Why, I was living them. Maud
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He Shoved the Slide Part Way Back
and Rested His Arms in It.
was all this to me, an unfailing source
of strength and courage. I had but
to look at her, or think of her, and be
strong again.
“It can be done, it can be done,” I
was thinking and asserting aloud.
"What men have done, I can do; and
if they have never done this before,
still I can do it.”
“What? for goodness sake,” Maud
demanded. “Do be merciful. What is
it you can do?”
“We can do it,” I amended. “Why,
nothing else than put the masts back
into the Ghost and sail away.”
"Humphrey!” she exclaimed.
And I felt as proud of my conception
as if it were already a fact accom¬
plished.
“But how is it possible to be done?”
she asked.
“I don’t know,” was my answer. “I
know only that I am capable of doing
anything these days.”
I smiled proudly at her—too proud¬
ly, for she dropped her eyes and was
for the moment silent.
“But there is Captain Larsen,” she
objected.
"Blind and helpless,” I answered
promptly, waving him aside as a
straw.
“But those terrible hands of his!
You know how he leaped across the
opening of the lazaretto.”
“And you know also how I crept
about and avoided him,” I contended
gayly.
“And lost your shoes.”
"You’d hardly expect them to avoid
Wolf Larsen without my feet inside of
them.”
We both laughed, and then went
seriously to work constructing the
plan whereby we were to step the
masts of the Ghost and return to the
world. Maud stood silently by my
side, while I evolved in my mind the
contrivance known among sailors as
“shears.” But, though known to
sailors, I invented it there on En¬
deavor island. By crossing and iaBh-
lng the ends of two spars, and then
elevating them In the air like an In¬
verted “V,” I could get a point above
the deck to which to make fast my
hoisting tackle. To this hoisting
tackle I could, If necessary, attach a
second hoisting tackle. And then there
was the windlass!
Maud saw that I had achieved a
solution and her eyes warmed sympa¬
thetically.
"What are you going to do?" she
asked.
“Clear that raffle,” I answered,
pointing to the tangled wreckage over
side.
Ah, the decisiveness, the very
sound of the words, was good in my
ears. “Clear that raffle!” Imagine so
salty a phrase on the lips of the Hum¬
phrey Van Weyden of a few months
gone!
There must have been a touch of
the melodramatic in my pose and
voice, for Maud smiled. Her sense of
humor was really the artist’s instinct
for proportion.
“I’m sure I’ve heard it before, some¬
where, in books,” she murmured glee¬
fully.
I had an instinct for proportion my¬
self, and I collapsed forthwith, de¬
scending from the dominant pose of a
master of matter to a state of hum¬
ble confusion which was, to say the
least, very miserable.
Her hand leaped out at once to
mine.
"I’m so sorry,” she said.
“No need to be,” I gulped. “It does
me good. There’s too much of the
schoolboy in me. All of which i3
neither here nor there. What we’ve
got to do is actually and literally to
clear that raffle. If you’ll come with
me in the boat, we’ll get to work and
straighten things out.”
“ ‘When the topmen clear the raffle
with their claspknives in their
teeth,’” she quoted at me; and for
the rest of the afternoon we made
merry over our labor.
Her task was to hold the boat in po¬
sition while I worked at the tangle.
And such a tangle—halyards, sheets,
guys, downhauls, shrouds, stays, all
washed about and back and forth and
through, and twined and knotted by
the sea. I cut no more than was nec¬
essary, and what with passing the
long ropes under and around the
booms and masts, of unreeving the
halyards and sheets, or coiling down
in the boat and uncoiling in order to
pass through another knot in the
bight, I was soon wet to the skin.
The sails did require some cutting,
and the canvas, heavy with water,
tried my strength severely; but I suc¬
ceeded before nightfall in getting it
all spread out on the beach to dry. We
were both very tired when we
knocked off for supper, and we had
done good work, too, though to the eye-
it appeared insignificant.
Next morning, with Maud as able
assistant, I went into the hold of the
Ghost to clear the steps of the mast
butts. We had no more than Degun
work when the sound of my knocking
and hammering brought Wolf Larsen.
“Hello below!” he cried down the
open hatch.
The sound of his voice made Maud
quickly draw close to me, as for pro
tection, and she rested one hand on
my arm while we parleyed.
“Hello on deck,” I replied. “Good
morning to you.”
"What are you doing down there?"
he demanded. “Trying to scuttle my
ship for me?”
“Quite the opposite; I’m repairing
her,” was my answer.
“But what in thunder are you re¬
pairing?” There was puzzlement in
his voice.
“Why, I’m getting everything ready
for restepping the masts,” I replied
easily, as though it were the simplesi.
project imaginable.
“It seems as though you’re standing
on your own legs at last, Hump,” we
heard him say; and then for some
time he was silent.
“But I say, Hump,” he called down,
“you can’t do it.”
. “Oh, yes I can,” I retorted. “I’m do
ing it now.”
“But this Is my vessel, my particu
lar property. What if I forbid you?”
“You forget,” I replied. “You are no
longer the biggest bit of the ferment.
You were, once, and able to eat me,
as you were pleased to phrase it; but
there has been a diminishing, and I
am now able to eat you. The yeast
has grown stale.”
He gave a short, disagreeable
laugh. “I see you’re working my phi¬
losophy back on me for all it is worth.
But don’t make the mistake of under¬
estimating me. For your own good 1
warn you.”
“Since when have you become *
philanthropist?” I queried. “Confess
now, in warning me for my own good
that you are very inconsistent.”
He ignored my sarcasm, saying,
“Suppose I clap the hatch on, now?
You won’t fool me as you did in thf
lazaretto.”
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Varieties of Siamese Rice.
More than forty varieties of rice
are cultivated in Siam, one of which
ripens in 70 days^from planting and.
others in six months.