The Olney Enterprise. (Olney, Tex.), Vol. 7, No. 3, Ed. 1 Friday, May 19, 1916 Page: 3 of 12
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THE OLNEY ENTERPRISE
JL
By GEORGE AGNEW CHAMBERLAIN
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Clem Is wearing out her heart
for Alan. Does he understand
this? is he keeping away from
her for the sport it affords him
to watch a girl’s heart break?
Or does he feel he is unworthy
of her affection? Will she
“catch" him yet?
-16-
Maple House was riding the crest of
a happy wave. In a body it advanced
on the lake to picnic and supper by
moonlight and in a body it returned:
the little ones excited and wakeful, the
grown-ups tired and reminiscent. Days
followed that were filled with laziness
and nights that rang with song. The
-cup of life was filled to the brim with
little things. Sudden peals of unrea-
spning laughter, shrieks of children at
»plqy, a rumble of the piano followed
a rollicking college song, ready
1 smiles on happy faces, broke like com-
\ mas into the page of life, and turned
/ monotony into living phrases. But be-
.t neath the gayety ran the inevitable un-
dertoii'e. When joy paused to take
jafieath it found Alan half aloof and
wistful behind her unvarying
■sweetness.
One evening Alan found himself
alone with Nance. She had frankly
■cornered him, then as openly led him
off down the road towards Elm House.
“Alan,” she said, “you’ve turned into
s. great fool or a great coward. Which
is it?”
Alan glanced at her. “What do you
mean?” he stammered.
“You know what I mean. Clem.
You’re breaking her heart.”
She felt Alan’s arm stiffen. For a
moment he was silent, then he said:
’“Don’t worry, Nance. You’re wrong,
of course, but, anyway, no harm is
going to come to Clem through me.
I’m going away. I’ve meant to go for
ever so long, but somehow I couldn’t.
Something seemed to hold me. I tried
v^Sjpco think it was just the Hill, and that
it would be all right for me to stay on
until the general break-up. But you
4 have wakened me up, and the proof
‘ ■•-■that I’m not quite a coward yet is
that I’m going to get up and run.”
They came to the entrance to The
Elms, but Nance led him on down the
road. “Run? Why are you going to
run? Alan, don’t you love her?”
A tremor went through Alan’s body.
“I don’t know,” he said, “whether I
Ipye her or not. If I ever loved any-
^ne before, then I don’t love her, for
\jffief thing that has come over me is
ne'w—newer than anything that has
ever happened to me. I would rather
see her come down from her room in
the morning than to have watched the
birth of Aphrodite, and yet I would
rather see myself damned, once and
.jgfej/for all, than touch the hem of her
rtjT frock.”
“Why?”
“Because It is not for me. Once
s Alix called her glorious. I don’t know
whether that was a bit of hyperbole
on her part or not, but to me she is
just that. There is a glory about
Clem—the glory of pure light. Do you
think I dare walk into it? Me, with
my scarred life, my blemished soul and
the moral rags that only half hide the
two? That would be cowardly. I’m
not coward enough for that.”
loanee sighed. “I’m disappointed in
you. I thought that if ever man lived
that knew a little about women it
must be you. I won’t say any of the
things I was going to say. Instead, I
.Vi just tell you that you don’t know
4W women.”
They walked back in silence. Nance
went into the house, but Alan said
, good night and stared thoughtfully
1 down the road. His step quickened,
WL /and, walking rapidly, he passed over
the moonlit brow of the hill and down,
down into the shadows of the valley.
Hard is the battle that has to be won
twice, but when in the small hours of
the morning Alan returned and crept
noiselessly to his room, he felt that
he had won, that he had put the final
seal on the renunciation Nance’s words
had well-nigh recalled. Still wakeful,
Alan started packing. He left out his
riding kit.
Al/ That day awoke to clouds that low-
‘ ered and hung about waiting for, the
fateful hour of seven when they might
with all due respect to atmospheric
tradition start in with an all-day rain,
but long before the hour struck Alan
had foraged for a biscuit and a glass
•ofr$il.li and was mounted and away
fof a last ride.
aian rode with the ease of one born
to the saddle. There was nothing of
the cowboy in his get-up. He used a
. mere patch of a hunting saddle, fitted
like a glove to his horse’s back, and
^ rode on the snaffle with a light hand.
The curb rein, that last refuge of a
poor horseman, hung loose and forgot-
ten. Alan himself was dressed in
well-worn whipcord breeches, short
coat, soft hat, and close-fitting boots
adorned with rowelless spurs. For
his health Red Hill had done wonders.
His body was trim, supple and as vi-
brant as the young horse under it.
But Alan’s thoughts were far from
saddles and saddle gear as he walked
the restive animal down the dipping
slope of Long lane and with his riding
crop steadily discouraged the early
morning flies, intent on settling down
to the business of life on his mount’s
arched neck and quivering quarters.
He was thinking of Clem. Where could
he go to get away from Clem? Not
tomorrow, not sometime, but today.
Where could he go today? Once the
world had seemed to him a fenceless
pasture where it was good to wander,
where every undiscovered glade prom-
ised fresh morsels to an unwearied
palate, but now in his mind the whole
world had shrunk to the proportions
of Red Hill. Where Clem was, there
was the whole world. Already he felt
the yearning with which his heart
must henceforth turn to its sole desire.
He crossed the valley, and, as his
horse breasted the opposing hill, he
thought he heard an echoing hoofbeat
behind him. He turned and with one
hand resting on the horse’s quarter
gazed back through the gray light, but
Long lane was veiled from view by
overhanging trees. As he lifted his
hand, its impress, clearly defined as
an image, caught his eye. How strange!
He had ridden a thousand times and
he had never noted such a thing be-
fore. It was simple when reduced to
physical terms. The horse was warm
and moist, the hair cool and dry. His
hand pressed the hair down into the
moisture. But when he had reasoned
out the why and wherefore and tick-
eted the phenomenon, the impress still
stared back at him. To his mood it
seemed an emblem of isolation, a thing
cut off, discarded, useless. With a
smile of rebuke at his fancies he
touched the horse with his crop and
gave him his head. The horse sprang
forward, cleared the top of the hill,
and the rhythmic clatter of his hoofs
as he dashed along the pebble-strewn
road seemed to cleave the still morning
in two.
IXXXtE
Alan did not draw rein until he
reached the top of the bluff dividing
the valley from West lake. Then for
a moment he sat and stared down the
long slope. There was a smell of mois-
ture in the air. The valley, the whole
world, was expecting, waiting for rain,
and even as he stared the rain came in
a fine, veillike mist that steadied the
tones of earth and sky to one even
shade of endless gray. Out of the gray
came the click of iron on pebble. Alan
recognized the quick, springy tread
of a climbing horse. He turned and
faced Clem. He felt the slow color
rising in his cheeks and his hands
trembled.
They did not smile at each other;
they even forgot to say good morning.
Alan licked his thin lips. They were
as dry as ever they had been with
fever. “Where’s your hat?” he asked.
A flicker of amusement showed in
Clem’s eyes. She was quite calm and
she could see’that Alan was not, that
he was biting his tongue at the feeble
words he had saddled on a heavy mo-
ment. “Hats are for sunny days,” she
said. “I like rain on my head. Have
you anything special to do? Don’t let
me bother you.”
“No,” stammered Alan, “nothing
that can’t ba put off.”
“Do you remember,” Clem went on,
“years ago I asked you to take me
for a ride, and you said not then but
sometime? I’ve never had my ride
with you. I want it now.”
Her eyes were fixed on his and held
him. “I am ready,” he said through
dry lips.
She turned her horse and he fol-
lowed. They rode in silence at a walk
and then at a trot. Clem turned into
a wood-road. Her horse broke into a
gallop. She flicked him with her whip
and his gathered limbs suddenly
stretched out for a free run. The go-
in«j was soft. Alan had fallen behind.
Clots of mossy loam struck him in the
face. Swaying branches showered
drops of water on him. He l«it his
hat. Then his lips tightened, his eyes
flashed and he began to ride. He was
himself again.
He urged his horse forward, but he
could not get on even terms; Clem held
the middle of the narrow track. Sud-
denly they burst into the broad Low
road. With a terrific clatter of flying
stones and slipping, scrambling hoofs,
they made the turn. Alan rode at last
on Clem’s quarter. “Clem,” he cried,
“stop! It isn’t fair to the horses.”
But Clem only laughed. Her slim
body swayed to the bends of the road;
her shoulders were braced; she leaned
slightly back, steadying her horse with
a taut rein. Alan tried to draw even,
but every time he urged his horse into
a spurt Clem’s spurted too. Alan grew
angry. He watched Clem’s whip, but
it never moved. He settled into the
saddle and rode blindly. His horse
must catch up or he would kill him.
He was gaining. A moment more at
the same pace and he could reach
ClerU’s reins below her horse’s neck.
Then Clem swerved again into a half-
hidden wood-road and Alan’s horse
plunged through the brush, broke out,
and followed, a poor second.
Alan’s face and hands were badly
scratched, but he rode on doggedly. It
never occurred to him to give up the
chase. In the end he would catch up:
he knew that, but what puzzled him
was what he should do to Clem when
he caught her. Anyone else, naan or
woman, he would give a taste of their
own riding whip for their own good,
but not Clem. Alan suddenly knew
that there was something in Clem
that a man could not break.
The wood-road made a gradual
ascent that the willing horses took at
a steady, hard gallop. They left the
“Clem" He Cried, “StopI"
tree-line of the valley below them,
scurried across an ancient clearing,
pushed through, brush and branches,
and burst out on to the long, bald back
of East mountain. Then came another
clear run over crisp sod dangerously
interspersed with wet, slippery stones
and hindering bowlders.
At the highest point in all the coun-
tryside Clem suddenly drew rein and
slipped from her horse before Alan
could reach her. She stood with one
arm across the saddle-horn and waited
for him.
Alan threw himself from his horse
and rushed up to her. His hands were
itching to grip her shoulders and shake
her, but he held them at his side.
“What did you do it for?” he asked
with blazing eyes.
Clem looked him over coolly. “Ever
run after anyone before, Alan?”
“What?” stuttered Alan. He felt
foundations slipping from under him.
Here was a person who could look Ten
Percent Wayne at his best in the eye
and never turn a mental hair.
“How do you like it?” continued
Clem in an even, firm voice. Then she
turned her square back to the saddle
and faced Mm fairly. “I’ll tell you
what I did it for. All my life I’ve been
running after you. Last night I heard
you packing. I knew what you were
doing—you were getting ready to go
away. Before you went I wanted you
to run after me—just once. A sort
of consolation prize to pride.”
Alan’s face hardened. “Stop, Clem.
You can’t talk like that to me and you
can’t talk like that to yourself.” He
looked at Clem and the blood surged
into his neck and face. At that mo-
ment Clem was beautiful to him be-
yond the wildest dreams of fair
women.
Her right arm was still hooked
over the double horn of her saddle
and her left hand holding a slim rid-
ing whip hung at her side. To the vel-
vet lapels of her coat clung little drops
of rain. Her hair was braided and
firmly tied in a double fold at the back
of her neck, but short strands had
escaped from durance and played
about her head. Her head, like the
velvet lapels, was dusted with little
silvery'drops of water and little drops
of water perched on her long, upturned
lashes. Her cheeks were flushed, her
bosom agitated, her lips tremulous.
Only her eyes were steady,
Alan took off his coat and threw it
over a rock. “Will you please sit down ?
I must talk to you.”
Clem strode to another rock and sat
down. “You are absurd. Your coat
is as wet as the stones. Put it on.”
Alan hesitated. “Put your coat on.”
Alan obeyed; then he sat down be-
fore her, but turned his eyes away and
gazed rather vacantly over the whole
wet world. “If ever two people have
known each other without words,
Clem, it’s you and me. Never mind
the grammar. Even unshackled words
are a dribbling outlet for a full heart,
and my heart’s as full today with
things I’ve never said to you as the
clouds are with rain.
“Nature, taken by and large, is a
funny outfit, ami the funniest things in
it are the ones that make you want
to cry,
clean and straight, married to a faith-
less woman and laughs. Men see a
pure girl give her all to a cad, and
they say, ‘It’s always the rotters that
get the pick,’ and they laugh too. But
down in the bottom of our hearts we
know that these things are things for
tears.”
“Yes, Alan,” said Clem as he paused.
She was no longer imperious, only at-
tentive, with chin in hands and elbows
on knees.
“You know me,” went on Alan, “but
there are things about me that you do
not know—things below you that you
have no understanding for, thank God.
I don’t even know how to picture them
to you.”
“Yes, Alan,” said Clem softly.
Alan picked a bit of huckleberry
bush and twisted it nervously in his
hands. “First of all I’ve got to tell
you what I thought you knew, that
what there is of me is yours over and
over again, and then I’ve got to tell
you why you can’t have it.” A light
came into Clem’s eyes, trembled, flick-
ered, and then settled to a steady
flame.
“You’ve seen people smile—everyone
has a smile of sorts,” went on Alan.
“Did you ever think that a smile had
a body and soul? To me it has. It
starts out in life like a virgin with a
body to keep pure and a soul to guard
unstained. There are smiles that illu-
mine a face, that shine with essential
purity, that glorify. Nobody has to
tell you that they have never pandered
to a ribald jest or added cruelty to de-
nial. They are live smiles and they
are rare among women and rarer
among men. For one such you’ll find
a thousand living faces with dead
smiles—smiles that have scattered
their essence like rain on the just and
the unjust, that have rolled in filth and
wasted their substance on the second
best. You’ll find them flickering out
in the faces of young men and at the
last gasp in the faces of lost women
“My God! My God!" He Cried.
whose eyes hold the shadows of unfor-
gotten sins.”
“Well?” said Clem.
Alan sighed. “Between the lines of
my words you must read for yourself.
My smile is dead—I killed it long ago.
Yours is alive—alive. You have kept
it pure, guarded its flame and you
shall hold it high like a beacon. You
are ready to give all and you have ail
to give. I have nothing but the empty
shell. I have kept nothing. I have
gained the whole world—and lost it.
The little strength left to the pinions
of my soul could carry me up to clutch
your beacon and drag it down, but
Clem—dearest of all women—I love
you too much for that. You’ve got to
trust mo. The things I know that you
do not know shove the duty of denial
on to my shoulders. I could give you
an empty shell, but I won’t.”
Alan had not looked at Clem. He
had talked like one rehearsing a les-
son, with his eyer. far away in the gray
world. He dropped the bit of bush,
and his hands, locked about his knees,
gripped each other till the knuckles
and fingers showed white against the
tan of his thin wrists. When he
stopped speaking Clem turned curious
eyes upon him. “Is that all?” she
asked.
Alan sprang up and faced her. “All?
All?” he cried. “Isn’t it enough?”
Clem rose to her feet. In her uplift-
ed right hand she held her agate-
headed riding whip. Alan’s eyes fas-
tened on it as she meant them to do.
Then, with a full, free swing, she flung
it from her. The whip, weighted by
the agate head, described a long curve
through the air and plunged into the
brush ftir down the mountain side.
“That,” Clem cried, her eyes flashing
into his, “for the beacon. I kept it for
you. It was too good for you; you
would not take it, so there It goes.”
Her lips trembled and she snapped her
Angers. “It is not worth that to me.”
“Clem!” cried Alan, protesting.
“Don’t speak,” said Clem; “you have
said what you had to say. Now listen
to me. You are blind, Alan, or worse
than that, asleep. I’m not a thin-
legged elf with skirts bobbing above
my knees any more. You can’t make
me swallow my protests today with.
‘Clem, you mustn’t this and you
mustn’t that.’ There’s one thing you’ve
closed your eyes on long enough. I’m
a woman, Alan, bone, spirit and a
great deac of flesh. I love you, and
you say you love me.”
Alan started forward, but Clem held
The world sees a good man, J him off with a gesture. “What do y-m
think I love In you? The things you
have spent? The things you have
thrown away? Has a woman ever
fallen in love with a man because he
was perfect?” Clem made a despond-
ing gesture with both hands as though
she sought words that would not come.
“Some men clap a wife on to them-
selves,” she went on, “as you clap a
lid on to a hot fire. If the fire grows
cold quick enough the lid cracks. Some
just let the fire-burn out and take the
dross with it A woman knows that
there is always something left in the
man she loves. And even if she did
not know it, it would be the same. She
would rather give all for nothing than
never give at all.”
Clem’s voice fell into a lower key.
“The things you know that I do not
know! What a child you are among
men. A half-witted woman is born
with more knowledge than the wisest
of you ever attains and the first thing
she learns is that life laughs at knowl-
edge.”
Clem stopped speaking and her eyes
that had wandered came back to Al-
an’s face. She drew a quivering breath.
Her face had been pale, but now the
sudden color surged up over her throat
and into her cheeks. She put up her
hands to her forehead. “Oh,” she
gasped, “you have driven me too far.
I am a mean thing in my own eyes as
I am in yours.”
At first Alan had stood stunned by
the words in which she had poured out
her overburdened heart, but as she
went on pitilessly laying bare her sub-
jection a flame lit up his eyes and fired
his blood. Now he sprang forward and
dragged her hands from her face.
“Mean, Clem? Mean in my eyes?”
Then his tongue failed him. He sank
to the wet grass at her feet, took her
knees in his arms and hid his hot face
in her skirt. “My God, my God,” he
cried. “I am mean, but what there
is of me has knelt to you by night and
worshiped you by day. When you
were little you were in my heart and
you have grown up to it. When you
were little there was room there for
other things, but now that you have
grown up you have filled it—all of it—
every nook and cranny.”
A tremor went through Clem’s body.
She rested the fingers of one hand on
Alan’s head and tried to turn up his
face. But he held it close to her knees.
“If you want me, Clem, if you want
me, then there must be things left—•
things I have never—could never give
—to anyone else. But I am ashamed
to pour them into your lap—I must
pour them at your feet.”
“No,” said Clem gravely, “I do not
want you to pour things at my feet.
It’s got to be eye to eye or nothing,
and if there’s any man left in—”
“Clem,” broke in Alan, “there is
enough man left in me if you’ll only
give me time. Time to groom him.
You can understand that, Clem? You
know what grooming and a clean
stable will do for a shaggy horse?”
Clem nodded. “How much time do
you want?”
Alan hesitated. “A year,” he said.
“I’ll make a year do it.”
“You can have six months.” replied
Clem and added with a smile, “That’s
ten per cent under office estimates.”
Then forgetful of hours and meals
and the little things in life that do not
count when human souls mount to the
banquet of the gods, they sat side by
side and hand in hand on a big rock
and stared with unseeing eyes at the
gray world. “With you beside me,”
said Alan, “all skies are blue and filled
with the light of a single, steady star."
Clem did not answer, but in her eyes
content and knowledge, tenderness
and strength, pleasure and pain played
with each other like the lights and
dappled shadows under a swaying
bough.
When Clem and Alan reached home
long after the lunch hour they found
the Hill athrill with news. Alix had
received a cable and had left at once
for town. She had gone alone. That
could mean but one thing—Gerry was
at last coming back.
It was from Barbados that Gerry
had cabled. Ever since he had written
his short note to Alix, through 16ng
doubting weeks at Piranhas and longer
days of questioning and hesitation on
board the slow freighter that was
bearing him home, Gerry had been
fighting himself. Only Lieber’s sudden
death and his burial, to which Gerry
had ridden post-haste, had come in be-
tween as a solemn truce.
On the freighter he had had time
enough and to spare to think. He had
spent hours going over the same
ground time and time again. For days
he sat in his chair on the short bridge-
deck, staring out to sea, making over
and over the circle of his life from the
time he had left home. He remem-
bered sitting thus on the way out. Ho
remembered the turmoil his mind had
been in and the apathy that had fol-
lowed, the long rest at Pernambuco,
the trip down the coast and up the
river, the glorious, misty morning at
Piranhas, Margarita, catastrophe,
awakening. What did that awakening
stand for? Again he thought, if he
could choose—would he wish to be
back as he was Before—as he was on
the way out? A voice within him said
“No.”
GOULD NOT
STRAIGHTEN UP
Had to Go All Humped Over and
Suffered Great Pain in
Sides and Back.
Sulphur Springs, Va.—Mrs. J. M.
Sprinkle, of this place, writes: “About
two year* ago this coming spring, I
got into awfully bad health. Had been
married only a short time, and my
health was not bo good after my mar-
riage as it had been before, and kept
getting worse all the time. I was go-
ing dewn hill In health, could only
drag areund. My friends recommended
that I try Cardui. I tried various reme-
dies which did me no good. I simply
moped all the time and felt sick all
over... So I began using Cardui and
in a short t*ne I was greatly Im-
proved ; after the use of one bottle was
able to do my work.
"Before starting it, I couldn’t
straighten up to save me; had to go
when I went all humped over, suffered
great pains in the abdomen, sides and
back worse than anywhere... After
the use of one bottle, I had no more
pain, at all... It is also a fine tonic.
The cure has been permanent, and I
have had no trouble since, neither had
to have a doctor or take any medicine
since. It built me up in health and
strength."
If yeu suffer from any of the ail-
ments so common to women try
Cardui, the woman’s tonic. For sal?
by all druggists. Adv.
Big Business; Small Returns.
Statistics possessed by the federal
trade commission show that, exclusive
of banking, railroad and public utility
corporations, there are about 250,000
business corporations in the country,
says the World’s Work. Of these more
than 100.000 have no net income what-
ever; 90,000 more make less than
$5,000 a year, while only the 60,000 re-
maining make $5,000 or more. Turning
from net income to gross volume of
business done by these 60,000 corpora-
tions, one-third have sales of less than.
$100,000 a year, another third sell from
$100,000 to $250,000, while less than
5,000 do a gross business of a million
dollars a year or more, and of these
only 642 industrial and mercantile cor-
porations do an annual business of
over $5,000,000.
Uncertain Memory.
This particular schoolteacher is of
the calm, undisturbed type. She doesn’t
wish to be held responsible, for her
actions on a recent afternoon when
she attended a “highbrow” reception.
At the door stood a man in very
correct swallow-tail. She smiled in a
very friendly manner and extended\.|ier
hand. She shook his hand with ;/a
hearty grasp, saying cordially:
“Your face is so familiar, but I can-
not recall your name.”
He blushed and stammered, but
hadn’t really said anything, when the
situation dawned on her. He waited
table in the little cafe where she
stopped daily for breakfast on her
way to school.
Not Always.
“They say there’s luck in odd num-
bers.”
“I don’t believe it. I know a man
who got nine years in prison for hav-
ing three wives.”
Foolish Fellow.
“Think there s any money in gam-
bling?”
“That’s whera most of mine went.”
Why is watered silk classified a a
dry goods?
MEAL-TIME CONSCIENCE.
What Do the Children Drink?
There are times when mother or
father feeds the youngsters something
that 'they know children should not
have. Perhaps it is some rich dessert
but more often it is tea or coffee.
It is better to have some delicious,
hot food-drink that you can take your-
self and feed to your children, con-
scious that it will help and strength-
en, but never hurt them.
A Yorkstate lady says: “I used
coffee many years in spite of the con-
viction that it injured my nervous sys-
tem and produced my nervous head-
aches. While visiting a friend I was
served with Postum and I determined
to get a package and try it myself.
The result was all that could be de-
sired—a delicious, finely flavored, rich-
ly colored beverage. Since I quit cof-
fee, Postum bas worked wonders for
me.
“My husband, who had suffered from
kidney trouble when drinking coffee,
quit the coffee and took up Postum
with me and since drinking Postum he
has felt stronger and better, with no
indication of kidney trouble.
“You may bs sure I find it a great
comfort to have a warm drink at
meals that I can give my children^
with a clear conscience that it wilt
help and not hurt them as Cv)ffee or
tea would.”
Name given by Postum Co., Battle
Creek, Mich.
Postum comes in two forms:
Pestum Cereal—the original form-
must be well boiled. 15c and 25c pkgs*
Instant Postum—a soluble powder—
dissolves quickly in a cup of hot wa-
ter, and, with cream and sugar, makes
a delicious beverage Instantly. 30c
and 50c tins.
Both forms are equally delicious
and cost about the same per cup.
“There’s a Reason” for Postum.
—sold by Grocers.,
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Shuffler, R. The Olney Enterprise. (Olney, Tex.), Vol. 7, No. 3, Ed. 1 Friday, May 19, 1916, newspaper, May 19, 1916; Olney, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth1103111/m1/3/: accessed July 18, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Olney Community Library.