Galveston Tribune. (Galveston, Tex.), Vol. 35, No. 147, Ed. 1 Monday, May 17, 1915 Page: 4 of 12
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FOUR
GALVESTON TRIBUNE, MONDAY, MAY 17, 1915.
GALVESTON TRIBUNE
THE WHIP
(ESTABLISHED 1880.)
F
Novelized from the Exciting Play of the Same Name
By BERTRAND BABCOCK
Entered at the Postoffice in Galveston
TRIBUNE TELEPHONES
foreign Representatives and Offloes
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strong. There’s no way out.”
She looked at the weapon in
hand and then at him quickly.
0
rived?”
The manner or Sartoris was
assured and easy.
DAVID J. RANDALL
1 •71 Madison Ave.
1 at 33d Street
! New York City.
"*83
CHAPTER XIII.
The Vicar’s Confession.
H, Lambert, The Whip
........83
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THE S. C. BECKW ITH
Agency.
Tribune Bldg., Chicago
TEXAS CITY SUBSTATION,
R. A. YAWS. District Manager,
411 Eighth Street.
164—PHONE—164
TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION
Delivered by Carrier or by Mail, Postage
Prepaid:
nd
MEMBER OF ASSOCIATED PRESS
THE TRIBUNE receives the full day
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ganization for exclusive afternoon publi-
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e
as Second-Class Mail Matter.
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3
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303
Lambert looked him directly in the
eye.
“Yes, she has,” he sputtered, “and
she’s going to arrive tomorrow, too,
you infernal scoundrel! Don’t talk to
me; don't you dare to show your ugly
nose near my horse or I’ll pull it for
you.”
The smile of Sartoris was contemp-
tuous.
“My good idiot, you are very drunk,”
he said.
“No, I’m not,” disclaimed the trainer.
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SLANDERING TEXAS.
Greenville Banner.
When the federal relations commit-
tee was in Texas gathering up any
kind of testimony about the condition
of the tenants, the Banner was certain
that the testimony adduced would be
used to the detriment of the state, and
it is already being so used. The chair-
man of the Committee, Mr. Walsh, is
already pointing to Texas as the state
with the “worst conditions” so far as
tenants are concerned. The state sen-
ate was warranted in denouncing his
statement because of its lack of gen-
eral truth. The tenant conditions are
bad enough in Texas, but they do not
warrant such an expression as that
given out by Chairman Walsh.
now in the blackness of the tunnel
he crept along the foot plate which
ran just below the side doors and
which had given opportunity for many
a crime.
While the passengers were absolute
ly unconscious of his lurching progress
past them he crept along the train,
clinging and swaying. In this fashion
he passed by the door of a compart-
ment in which the morose Verner Has
lam was thinking of him at that very
moment and lamenting to himself
weakly that he had been drawn into a
path whose issue he could not see.
Perhaps the presence of the man,
who had become in a sense his master,
was realized subconsciously by the
clergyman, for at the moment that Sar-
toris passed by his compartment the
shoulders of the substitute vicar were
drawn up into a shrug and shudder.
But to his conscious mind there came
no warning.
Sartoris, while not a crack, was nev-
ertheless something of an athlete, and
the passage on the footplate gave him
no particular concern, once he had
accustomed himself to the swaying
and the exact counterpoise it was nec-
essary to impart to his own body.
Now he stood at the very end of
the footplate which was on the car-
riage next the horse box. Soon he had
passed to the end of the horse box.
Quickly he raised the tail light and
swung it in a circle for a few seconds.
He wished to hurl it in such a way
that the flame would surely be extin-
guished. as he wanted no warning to
be given to the train behind which
was to complete his project.
He realized that if he merely dropped
the lantern to the line there was a
bare possibility that it would continue
to burn.
His semicircular swings were justi-
fied a moment later, when he flung the
lamp to the line, for there was a sud-
den impact, and then no light showed.
With one foot resting upon the car-
riage and one upon the horse box, he
pulled the slip cord and had the in-
stant pleasure of seeing the horse box
and its freight drop behind.
The Whip would not run. The race
would be lost. He would be saved
A '
—
2
Russia is said to have avoided revo-
lution by diverting the attention of her
people from their domestic woes to
the possibility of national calamity.
The present war has done much to
unify the Slav factions. The sense of
common peril has knit them together
in a way nothing else would. Italy may
be compelled to adopt the same course.
There is nothing like a popular war to
suppress domestic discord. There is a
strong tendency in Italy to take part
against Austria, and there is also a
faction who realizes that every blow
struck at Austria would be just so
much assistance to a more formidable
opponent of Italy's ambitions—Russia.
Hence Italian statesmen have been play-
ing the game with Machiavellian finesse,
hoping against hope to satisfy Italy’s
territorial aspirations without recourse
to arms. The breaking point has seem-
ed fearfully near many times since the
war began. It was never nearer, per-
haps, than now.
USING A PEST WEED.
El Paso Times.
There is a weed that grows all over
the southwest, including Texas, New
Mexico and Arizona, known as the
“devil’s claw,” and it has generally
been classed as one of the greatest
nuisances that afflicted the. country.
Now comes Prof. E. H. S. Bailey, food
chemist at the University of Kansas,
with the claim that this weed produces
a seed from which an edible oil can
be extracted that may take the place
of olive or cottonseed oil. The cake
from which the oil is extracted also
has great value as a stock feed on ac-
count of the richness of its protein.
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sentiment is purely a sentiment, and I
should stop there.
The ample provisions we have made
for the exercise of free speech has been
often abused, and usually a time of |
great events in history making pre-
sents the opportunity for some individ-
ual to ride the crest of some wave, ac-
companying the great billows) in this
instance it is the expected that has
happened. The calmness with which
the American people have received the
outburst has had a quieting effect, at
the same time indicated that the peo-
ple have been doing some thinking
themselves and are satisfied to permit
the president and his advisers attend
to the affairs of state while they keep
the wheels of commerce turning and
give time to the raising of foodstuffs
for the feeding of the people abroad
during their period of madness, and
later when Reason shall have resumed
her sway.
ot
c,.
filch from you everything you had
with you,” he said.
Then his mind wandered into an-
other channel as he thought of a day
years ago.
“Remember, Betty,” he said, “what
a day we had haymaking in Farmer
Marsh’s meadow. You wore a little
lilac sunbonnet and looked a daisy.
Not a sweeter daisy doesn’t blow”—
“Oh, Tom!” she said, trying to stop
him.
“Remember. Betty,” he continued,
“after supper you and me went for a
walk along Miller’s lane. Wasn’t the
honeysuckle sweet. Betty?”
Old memories were stirring in her
too.
“It was, Tom,” she said. “Ah, there’s
no place like a hedge for honeysuckle!”
“Remember, Betty, you wanted a
bunch, and I climbed up to get it for
you?”
1
"Put that thing away. Don’t lose a
minute.”
E-
pNs=
Murders happen so rapidly in New
York City that the police are unable
to keep up with them. Out of 292
cases investigated by the New York
detective department in 1914 no record,
it is said, was kept of 41. In 1913, out
of 293 cases, no record was kept of 42.
This condition is due in part to the
laxity of the system, and in part to
the doubtful character of the cases.
It is estimated, however, that only a
small percentage of the homicides
which annually take place in the me-
tropolis are ever known to the world
as such.
A New York inventor, E. C. Madden,
at one time assistant postmaster gen-
eral, is credited with the invention of
a noiseless street car, and the develop-
ment of his invention will naturally be
followed with great interest by the
general public. The street car is a
necessity. We must put up with its
rumbling roar to derive its other bene-
fits. The jitney will probably never
be more than an auxiliary feature of
municipal rapid transit. But if the
street cars could be made noiseless, or
smi-noiseless, an inestimable boon
would be conferred upon urban dwell-
ers. Property values on car lines
would go up, and city life would be
made vastly more agreeable.
Copyright, 1912, by Cecil Raleigh and Hamilton by arrangement with the
Drury Lane Company of America and Arthur Collins, managing
director of the Drury Lane Theater of London.
in ten you,” ne said. “The trutn
will come out if any of these people
die. It was my work. I tried to kill
my cousin's horse. Kelly, the book-
maker, has laid thousands against it.
In Kelly’s pocket is a bill of mine,
with Di’s name upon it. She did not
put it there. If The Whip does not
win that bill comes back to me. There’s
my motive. If The Whip wins he’ll
give the bill to Di.”
For the moment she abandoned her
defense of him to him.
“And if you have any sense,” she
said, “you’ll be in Paris tonight—clear
away by tomorrow”—
“That won’t prevent the horse from
winning,” he said, “won’t stop Kelly.
The minute Beverley sees that bill the
chain’s complete. I shall stand proved
a criminal—a train wrecker—nearly a
murderer. I shan’t hesitate.”
“Don’t be absurd,” she advised.
“I’m not,” he answered sullenly. “Do
you think I’d pass the rest of my life
broke9 Reggins, hunted—no. thanks,
I’ve had my time—not half a bad time.
It must end some day and I shan’t
hesitate.
Sartoris had drawn a revolver and
was looking at it.
“What’s that?” asked Mrs. D’Aquila,
involuntarily reaching out.
“That”—he smiled bitterly—“that’s
Harry Anson’s revolver. He left it
in my rooms. Poetic justice if I used
it. I’m afraid. Nora, the chain’s too
I
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[Published Every Week Day Afternoon at
[ The Tribune Building, 22d and Post-
F office Sts., Galveston, Texas.
It is gratifying to note that Secre-
tary Daniels has let a contract for the
navy’s first dirigible, and that naval
aeronautics will be given more atten-
tion than hitherto. That is a good
sign. The navy has been notably de-
ficient in this most valuable and mod-
ern form of scouting facility. It is a
singular thing that the United States,
the pioneer nation 1n the science of
aeronautics, should be the most back-
ward among the great powers of the
world in adapting the product of
American inventive genius to the cause
of national defense. The Wright broth-
ers found the first market for their
aeroplane experience and knowledge in
Germany. Not until practically all other
European nations had availed them-
selves of the Wrights’ skill did the
United States make a tentative and
meager offer for their product. The
American navy, during the war of 1812,
was the first power to demonstrate the
value of speed in naval strategy. Now,
all other nations have battle cruisers
but our own. The Chinese invented
gunpowder and the compass, but it
was left for other peoples to use them
effectively. Are we going to drift into
China’s class?
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“Yes. there is,” she exclaimed sud-
denly. “and almost a certainty. That
thing made me think of it. You told
me Harry Anson came to your cham-
bers and threatened you. If I were
you I should go in fear of my life.”
“I?”
“And I should swear it—forcibly,”
she went on, “before the nearest mag-
istrate in London and come down to-
morrow with detectives and arrest him
on the course just before the race be-
gins.”
“They'd get another jockey.”
“To ride The Whip? You know
that’s impossible!”
Sartoris took a deep breath of relief.
“That’s true!” he exclaimed.
“Very well,” she said enthusiastical-
ly. "No race is over until it’s lost.
Here is your chance. Almost a cer-
tainty. Take it and win.”
“By heavens, I will!” he said fer
gently.
‘Then put that thing away,” she
said, indicating the revolver. “Don't
lose a minute. I’ll walk with you to
the station. Go up to town at once
and do your work. We’ll see Bran-
caster broken and beaten yet”
As Sartoris and Mrs. D’Aquila stroll-
ed off together toward the station Mrs.
Beamish and Tom Lambert watched
them from the yard of the inn, which
they had entered soon after the oth-
ers left it.
“There they go—a pretty pair of
beauties! They ought to marry each
other,” said poor Tom, who had mar-
rying on the brain whenever he found
himself alone with his Betty.
“If you’d seen them stand there as
bold as brass,” he went on, “and
swear me out—as if I’d dreamed every-
thing I heard them say.”
"Quite sure you didn’t, Tom?” she
asked tartly.
“Just as sure as I am that I didn’t
dream that I saw that old woman
2143
Tom. I’m sorry”—she began.
But be was looking far from her.
"Can’t you take a band when it’s
held out to you?” she said.
Lambert shook his head.
“I was not suspicious, only jealous,”
she said, “and there’s no love without
jealousy.”
“Then I don’t want love; I want
comfort,” returned Lambert. “I want
comfort, carpet slippers and common
sense—if the worst had happened it
would have lain at your door. Yes,
your door and the door of the chamber
of horrors—if you had not got me
locked in.”
"You wouldn’t have heard what Sar-
toris said,” she took him up. “And
then the horse would have been
smashed. It was really a blessing in
disguise."
“A blessing,” he said, angrily, “you
call it a blooming blessing to be locked
up for twenty-four hours with a room
full of horrors.”
“What do you want—suffragettes?”
she snapped.
“Just for one moment I sank to rest
and found my bead in the lap of the
man that was being electrocuted. Just
think of me all alone with those mur-
derers. I cried myself to sleep, and
when that man that you sent to un-
lock the door found me, there I was
sleeping like a new born babe with my
head curled up in the middle of a
murder’s waistcoat. That’s what I
had for a night's pleasure, and that’s
what you caf a blessing.”
Further recital of bis night of hor-
rors was ended by the appearance in
the yard of Sartoris. Lambert wanted
a word with him, and Mrs. Beamish
left him saying that he would find her,
“where be ought to be but never was,
with his horse.”
' The voice of a few superpatriotic
natives of any particular country ut-
tered in behalf or in condemnation of
some transaction engaging general at-
tention should not be mistaken for the
Vox dei. It has quite often been
found that the man wh makes the
loudest noise is usually acting under
the inspiration of something that bears
a close relationship to an indidvidual
desire or a purpose back of which lies
something entirely selfish in its na-
ture. So well is this understood that
the American people have paid little or
no attention to the rather intemperate
language of a number of so-called
German-Americans who have taken ad-
vantage of the latitude permitted all
persons in this country, and have
mouthed sentiments not in harmony
with our declaration of neutrality in
the existing European war.
That these self-appointed pleaders
have found text for their sermons is
not to be denied, in a time when the
developments of a day would supply
the theme for a thousand impassioned
diatribes; but it is just at such test-
ing times as these that men prove their
caliber or their fitness to have part
in the guiding of the craft of state
through perilous reefs and dangerous
shoals, and these zealots have proven
themselves unfit for a great task such
as will contribute to the lustre of a
people or the character of a nation.
But be it said to the honor of the two
and a half million Germans now mak-
ing their home in the United States,
they have manifested no noticeable
disposition to clog the wheels of di-
plomacy by criticizing the course being
pursued by President Wilson, nor have
they blatantly insisted that this na-
tion was playing into the hands of
Germany’s enemies, because our gov-
ernment refused to interfere with pri-
vate commercial practices.
Unless we are prepared to accept the
Inevitable verdict of the logic implied,
and be willing to place ourselves
among those whose oath carries no
greater weight than the breath upon
which it is carried, we must believe
that every German-American, every
Irish-American, every Italian-American
meant all that he said when he re-
nounced allegiance to every foreign
ruler or potentate and accepted the
United States as his future home, the
president as his ruler, and Old Glory
as his flag. Merely because a few
individuals have forgotten their obli-
gations of hospitality and availed
themselves of a purely American priv-
ilege of criticizing matters the han-
dling of which we have delegated to
constitutionally elected representatives,
furnishes no reason for even a pre-
sumption that the vast majority of the
people who have for many years lent
their brains and effort in the building
up of this nation should so very sud-
denly repent of their actions and de-
sire to tear down what they had
erected.
Allowances must be made for a very
natural feeling on the part of the peo-
ple from abroad who have come to this
country and asked to be numbered as
Americans. A man would make a poor
'American indeed who had nothing more
than a commercial affection for the
land that gave him birth, or the coun-
try that welcomed him as a citizen, nor
should we think an Englishman, a
German, a Frenchman or an Austrian
will be any less a good American be-
cause his natural sympathies lie in the
direction of the country from which he
has declared his severance. But this
The Tribune is on Sale at the Follow-
ing Places, Houston, Tex.
E Newsboy at Interurban Station.
F Newsboy at Rice Hotel Corner.
The Horse Box and Its Freight Drop-
ped Behind.
from Kelly’s clutches. Brancaster
would be impoverished and the mar-
riage of Lady Diana and Brancaster
put far off.
Quietly he slipped along the foot-
plate and regained his own carriage
and compartment without his absence
having been noted.
With a speed that gradually fell
away the horse box, with The Whip
inside and Harry fast asleep, rumbled
through the tunnel and came to a stop
on the main line, directly in the path
of the first train which should come
along. near Manfield junction.
The whistle and the sounds of the
rapid approach through the tunnel of
the down express came very plainly
through the darkness, just as a motor
containing two men and Mrs. Beam-
ish dashed around a bend in the road
and came to a palpitating, panting
stop near the horse box and at one side
of the. line.
Mrs. Beamish and her two escorts
from the establishment below stairs at
Falconhurst darted across the line and
pounded upon the door of the horse
box as the train in the tunnel moved
nearer and nearer.
Finally Harry put his head out of
the window and the frenzied voice of
Mrs. Beamish came to him:
“Quick, Harry! The down express’s
on you! You’re cut off and The Whip
and you’ll be killed!” she shouted
above the roar of the oncoming train.
Harry cast one glance, behind him.
“That’s Harry Anson’s revolver. He
. left it in my rooms.”
“Then what the deuce do you mean
by"—
“I mean,” said Lambert sternly, "that
I was at Mme. ‘Too-Soo’s’ on Saturday-
night—Captain Sartoris, close to your
elbow, at your back, and I heard every
blooming word you said.”
Mrs. D’Aquila had followed Sartoris
into the yard, and she heard Lambert’s
last words.
“Dear me, who is this creature?” she
drawled, surveying the horseman
through her glasses.
“You’ll jolly soon know tomorrow,”
the outraged and angry trainer said,
“when you’re both in the dock, ma-
dame. and you hear what I’ve sworn—
that you wanted it so badly—that you
had the pluck, but there wasn’t an ac-
cident”—
And Lambert, who knew that if he
remained longer in the yard he couldn’t
keep from thrashing Sartoris, left ab-
ruptly.
The captain was taken aback.
“Did you hear that?” he asked the
woman. “Your own words. The beast
must have been there really—hidden-
we never saw him and he heard every-
thing.”
“What does it matter?” returned the
steadier nerved woman. “He’s no wit-
nesses. And it’s one oath against two.
I shall swear that I was never there
in my life.”
“Is it worth the trouble?”
“My dear Greville”—
“You’ve forgotten the accident.”
“I’ve not. I always thought it pos-
sible,” she said.
“I didn’t,” he returned sharply. “I
thought that when the horse box stop-
ped on the line the lad, the trainer,
whoever it was—could get out—go for
help—at any rate, jump out when they
heard the next train coming. I never
thought of a dozen poor devils—torn
and cut and thrown about—smashed!”
“All third class passengers,” the wo-
man answered with a shrug. “Dread-
ful things are always happening to
that sort of people.”
“Quite so,” returned Sartoris. “but
you mustn’t kill ’em for all that. I
only thought I was going to do for
the horse. What’s the punishment for
manslaughter?”
Mrs. D'Aquila laughed outright.
“Fiddlesticks," she commented.
“They can’t prove anything. Where's
your motive?”
saw me rusnng express ana tnen
threw down the sidedoor of the horse
box.
The Whip was led across the line
and to safety under the very glare of
the headlight of the express. Not a
second after this the engine of the ex-
press ploughed into the car just left
by Harry and The Whip and was de
railed, while the engine driver fell,
badly hurt, to the ground.
The light impediment of the horse
box served to derail several of the car-
riages behind, which had been travel-
ing at high speed, and a number of
passengers were hurled out or thrown
violently against partitions and other
immovable objects with the train.
Amid escaping steam and a fire,
which had started among the wreck-
age, the work of succor was begun.
Among those who labored none
worked with greater courage than the
Rev. Verner Haslam. Elis train had
been stopped after the crash ,and had
backed down to render aid. It was he
who crawled among the splintered,
burning mass on the line to bring out
many of the children who hud been in
the express.
On the day after the wreck and the
day before the great race The Whip
made her triumphal entry into New-
market. The march toward what all
in the Beverley stables felt to be vic-
tory ended for the day when the racer
was escorted by touts, racing men,
tipsters and youngsters into the yard
of the Rutland Arms hotel, with sev-
eral policemen to keep the crowd at a
safe distance from the pride of Bever-
ley.
After Lady Diana had- greeted the
horse upon which so much of her hap-
piness depended and the animal bad
been led into the box in which all of
the Beverley winners had been quar-
tered. Tom Lambert and Mrs. Beam-
ish were alone in the great yard of the
old inn.
Lady Diana had exclaimed before
she went into the hostelry that The
Whip would surely march to victory
on the following day, and now that
they were alone the trainer turned sav-
agely upon the humbled and contrite
Mrs. Beamish.
“And if it isn’t victory,” snorted Lam-
bert to Mrs. Beamish, “it will be your
fault, Mrs. Beamish!”
“Mine!” she exclaimed.
“Yes. Do you think it did our crack
any good to gallop her over railroad
lines and sleepers?”
“There was no time to put down a
Brussels carpet.” she responded in her
voice of acid. "Did you want me to
leave her in the box?”
“I did not want you to leave me in
the wrong box,” said the trainer with
dignity.
“In the wax works?” she countered.
“Your own fault. Why did you go
there T'
“For an evening’s pleasure,” he said
sullenly.
“Well, you got it, didn’t you?” said
this woman of torments. “Why should
you be ashamed of it and hide?”
“Because you’ve a suspicious mind.”
he said.
“Because you’ve a guilty one,” she
shot back at him.
The passage through the yard of
Hany Anson gave him an idea.
“Stop. that. Betty,” he said sternly.
“It isn’t a thing for joking.”
Then he beckoned Harry to him.
“Harry, my lad." he said., “if you can,
just speak up what you’ve got to say.”
The boy could and did at once.
“I want to thank you, ma’am.” he
said vigorously, "for what you did last
night—for saving my life. If it hadn’t
been for you my sister would have
been left alone In the world, alone in
her trouble"—
“Trouble?" asked the older woman
with a suspicis eye upon Lambert.
“Yes, ma'am. Wrong there has been,”
answered Elarry, "and shame, but it
wasn’t from Tom Lambert it came—
but from the same hand as tried to
wreck The Whip last night.”
"Irom Captain Sartoris?” she half
questioned. half gasped.
“Yes, that’s him,'' returned the jock-
ey; “him as wanted me to pull that
horse—him as would have ruined me—
as he's ruined her—my sister.”
Mrs. Beamish was dumfounded, but
surprised as she was she managed to
get a firm grip upon herself and com-
forted the boy. With her hand on his
shoulder she said:
“My boy, my boy. I’m very, very sor-
ry. If there is anything I can do—if
presently Myrtle can have a new start
in a new land"—
“Oh, ma’am, if it only could be!” the
jockey said hopefully and longingly.
"It shall be,” she answered, without
daring to look at Lambert. “I know
that I can promise as much as that for,
Lord Beverley."
“Thank you, ma’am, from my heart
and hers,” the jockey said.
Harry Anson had fully served the
purpose of the triumphant Tom Lam-
bert. and he now found Harry only an
obstacle in the path he planned to
tread with—another.
"There, there, that’ll do, my lad,” he
said kindly, but firmly and finally.
“You go and look after your horse.”
When they were alone once more
Mrs. Beamish walked frankly to Tom.
holding out her hand. But he turned
scornfully a wa v.
8» 8 - 8
< Wgge <
“And tore your hand with a great
bramble—your li tle hand—and I tied it
up for you with my handkerchief ?
“And while you were doing it I’ —
He finished his sentence with an eC
pressive pantomime of kissing.
“Don’t. Tom," she begged as old
memories seemed about to make her
give to Tom his long deferred “Yes.”
“I can’t help it, Betty,” he said.
Now once more Betty called upon
the institution and the volume which
had prevented her many times from
forgetting that she belonged—by mar-
riage—to the almost princely house of
Beverley and so could not marry one
beneath her in station.
“Save me, Burke,” she said. “ ‘Bever-
ley-Geoffrey Vandeleur Delacroix
George Jocelyn’ ”— she was repeating
the titles and names of the Marquis of
Beverley as they appeared in “Burke’s
Peerage” that she might conquer her
passion for Tom Lambert.
“I’m going,” she lamented and then
continued to quote, “ ‘Tenth Marquis
of----K. G.. K. C. B.; K. C. S. I.’
But Lambert overcame the last low-
ly obstacle in his path of love, seized
her, drew her to him and kissed her,
just as he should have done long ago.
And to his wonder she returned his
lip salutes.
“Oh, Tom—I mean Mr. Lambert—
what have you done?” she cried.
Then both of them became aware of
the presence in the yard of Lady Di-
ana. The girl was laughing at them.
“I’ve compromised you in public and
now you’ll have to marry me,” said
Lambert, with a laugh.
“Do you know. Betty, I really think
you will.” put in Lady Diana as Lam-
bert and Mrs. Beamish retreated into
another corner of the yard.
But Lady Diana had scant time to
give to their affairs, for a moment
later Lord Brancaster appeared.
He had received a letter from the
girl telling him how the Rev. Verner
Haslam had been taken to Falcon-
hurst after the wreck, and how un-
nerved he had seemed. He had really
appeared on the point of telling some-
thing to Lady Diana, but the next
morning had left Falconhurst without
a word.
Lady Diana had added in the letter
that Lord Beverley had applied for war-
rants for Sartoris and Mrs. D’Aquila
on the strength of an affidavit made
by Tom Lambert.
Brancaster had rushed to Newmar-
ket the moment he received the letter.
The young people were commiserat-
ing with one another on the flight of
Haslam when that individual entered
the stable yard. He was pale and
agitated and even trembling as he ad-
vanced to the young people.
“Ah, Mr. Haslam,” said Lady Diana,
“I was just talking of you. Why did
you run away from us so suddenly at
Falconhurst?”
“I was afraid”— began Haslam and
then stopped. He raised his hand de-
spairingly.
“Of what?” she asked gently.
“What I had done,” he said.
“You should have been proud. It
was splendid work. You saved all
those children. You crawled into the
wreckage when others feared to do so.”
“And can’t save myself—my soul—
my life,” he said in agony of spirit.
‛ "Come, come! Where is the danger?”
nsked the young English girl.
A terror almost such as might come
to one demented at imaginary perils
crossed the pallid face of the man in
clerical garb.
“Sartoris—Greville Sartoris,” he said,
“the devil—loose—at my throat next-
save me”—
“Mr. Haslam, you are in no danger
here,” Brancaster said reassuringly.
“Why not? Does he stop at any-
thing?” went on the frightened vicar.
“What do you mean?” demanded the
young earl, now determined that the
scene should cease or that the clerical
should explain himself.
“That I am a coward,” said Haslam.
“Fear sealed my lips. Fear opens
them.”
There was a murmur of astonish-
ment from Brancaster and Lady Di-
ana, and then the pale clergyman hur-
ried on:
“That was his work, wasn’t it? You
told me—the accident?”
Tom Lambert had left Betty’s side
and was now openly listening to Has-
lam.
“I know it was his work, sir, inter-
jected Lambert. “I heard it planned
between him and Mrs. D’Aquila.”
The vicar was looking straight be-
fore him. In the vacancy he seemed
to see horrible sights, hear terrifying
sounds.
“Murder!” he muttered. “A dozen
lives—a hundred—what did he care?
He would have taken them to gain his
end. Would he stop at mine?”
“Why should he want?” Brancaster
began.
“My silence forever! The silence of
the grave,” cried the wretch, almost
beside himself in his cowardly passion.
“Because I helped his villainy—he
drove me to it by fear. Then held me
dumb—by fear. Now I have seen his
work, his pan— complete—reckless—re-
morseless— the crash—the torn bodies
on the line—I’ve seen the fire—beard
the children scream—what is my life
to him? Save me! Save me, if you
will. Put prison walls between us.
There I can atone—repent.”
“Of what?” asked the young earl,
going closer to Haslam and looking at
him peculiarly.
Haslam raised his head, looked di-
rectly at the questioner and then at
Lady Diana.
“The lie that wrecked your lives,”
he said.
“There was a marriage. That is
true.”
“Between me and Mrs. D’Aquila?”
demanded Brancaster.
“Between the woman—and one who
took your place,” confessed the weak-
ling.
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Galveston Tribune. (Galveston, Tex.), Vol. 35, No. 147, Ed. 1 Monday, May 17, 1915, newspaper, May 17, 1915; (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth1450547/m1/4/: accessed July 17, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Rosenberg Library.