The Texas Mesquiter. (Mesquite, Tex.), Vol. 32, No. 43, Ed. 1 Friday, April 24, 1914 Page: 4 of 6
This newspaper is part of the collection entitled: Texas Digital Newspaper Program and was provided to The Portal to Texas History by the Mesquite Public Library.
Extracted Text
The following text was automatically extracted from the image on this page using optical character recognition software:
THE TEXAS MESQUITER
DROADW JDK5
EDWARD ?\AR5IiALL with photographs
FROM m PLAY or GEORGE H.COlWi FR0SKlIL^iX
8YN0P3I3.
I Jackson Jones, nicknamed "Broadway"
because of his continual Klorlflcatlon of
New York's great thoroughfare, Is anx-
tous to gel away from his home town of
JonesvlUe. Abner Jones, his uncle. Is
very angry because Broadway refuses to
'settle down and take a place In the gum
(factory In which he succeeded to his
father's Interest. Judg<? Spotswood tn-
iforms Broadway ihat 1260,000 left him by
his father Is at his disposal. Broadway
'makes record time In heading for his
"avorlte street In New York. With his
ew York friend, Robert Wallace, Broad-
way creates a sensation by his extrava-
gance on the White Way. Four years
'pan and Broadway suddenly discovers
ibat he Is not only broke, but heavily In
idebt. He applies lo his uncle for a loan
JUtd receives a package of chewing gum
with the advice to chew It and forget his
troubles. He quietly seeks work without
success. Broadway gives what Is ln-
itended to be a farewell supper to his New
York friends, and before It Is over tie-
comes engaged to Mrs. Gerard, and an-
cient widow, wealthy and very giddy.
CHAPTER IV.—Continued.
Having performed this sacred rite
of friendship he regained the center of
the room, looked about him as if curi-
ously, and then went unsteadily to the
grand piano, upon which he placed hi*
«lbow with a nestling search for com-
fort which seemed to indicate a firm
decision to lean against the Instrument
ud go to sleep without delay. This
•would never do, for when his slumber
became deep he would be sure to lose
•his balance. Rankin saw the deep ne-
cessity for rousing him from his inten-
tion.
"Mr. Jones, Mr. Jones," he urged,
(tapping him upon the shoulder.
Jackson looked up, sleepily, as if as-
tonished at the Interruption of his
•lumbers. "Hello," he said good na-
ituredly, "who's there?"
"It's Rankin, sir," said Rankin.
"Who's 'Rankin, sir?' " The tone was
that of tolerant curiosity to learn a to-
tal stranger's unimportant identity.
"I'm the butler, sir."
: "Butler?"
1 "Yes, Mr. Jones; the butler."
This seemed to rouse bis master and
%e looked him over with some show of
Interest. "A butler!" he exclaimed in
tones of deep reproach. "Aren't you
ashamed of yourself? When you were
a little boy your mother had great
hopes of you—thought you were going
to be president of the United States,
or something like that"
Rankin bowed impassively; he did
Hot deny It.
"Now," said his employer with the
deepest of reproach, you've disappoint-
ed everybody. You've turned out to be
nothing but a butler. You ought to be
•shamed of yourself!"
Rankin was not offended; instead
his air was that of triumph. "Ah. but
•ee who's butler I am, sir!" he ex-
Claimed.
"Who's butler are you?" inquired
Broadway, apparently with Idlest curi-
osity.
"I'm your butler, sir."
"Oh, you're my butler?" This seemed
"But See Who's Butler I Am, Sir I"
hot to be especially astonishing,
though deeply interesting to the mas-
ter of the house.
"Yes, sir."
Broadway looked at him with a glad
tmlle, then with an earnest and enthu-
siastic gravity. He warmly shook his
hand. "I congratulate you. Rankin.
I'm very fond of my butler." His sen-
timent rose higher and he patted Ran-
kin on the cheek. "I lore my little but-
ler. You must come out with me some
night, Rankin."
"I should like to, sir," said Rankin
truthfully.
Broadway became gay, mysterious.
He looked at Rankin slyly and himself
essayed to whistle some bars of the
wedding march. "I know something
you don't know," he cried irrelevantly.
WONDROUS CHARM IN WOODS
(Traveler Writes of Peculiar Charac-
ter of Romance Noted In Ire-
land's "Forests."
Returning to these woods, I am
•track once more by the peculiar
character of their romance, says a
•writer in Bcribner's Magazine. It is
•so different from that of a German
fornt, where the Imagination is lured
land Jost in the depth of thickets and
Dm/fled by the endless lines of serried
trunks, brooded over by the canopy
tof dark, high bluish fir boughs, inter-
jwovan solid.
; Tho poetry of these Irish woods—
and not merely from a resemblance
(they certainly bear to the Pinetas of
Italy—Ib southern, or perhaps Celtic
^passed through southern imagination,
'alluring, fascinating, but not quite to
;be taken s«rlously.
! Enchantment without end and end
Rankin listened with respect and
close attention. His curiosity was al-
most painful.
But his master did not satisfy it.
"Now I'll bid you good night, Rankin.
Nightie, nightie!" Genially he waved
his hand at him, laughed, whistled an-
other bar or two and elaborately made
the starboard tack toward the door of
his bedroom.
Rankin made no protest; he knew
better. "When do you wish to be
called, sir?"
"Ob, that's so, I must be called," his
master granted after a second's deep
and serious thought. Then, In a deep
Btudy: "Now, let me see—when do I
wish to be called? What day Is It.
Rankin?"
"It's Thursday, sir."
"Thursday? Well, I tell you what
you do, Rankin. You call me on Sat-
urday."
After this entirely unexpected sug-
gestion to the little butler whom he
loved, he found a devious course into
his bedroom and Rankin, after he had
watched the door close, heard the key
turn In the lock. He sank into a chair,
even his composure utterly destroyed.
In the distance a church-clock
chimed. Rankin counted the slow
strokes. "Five o'clock In the morn-
ing!" he said helplessly.
Jless adventures; In and out, In their
,'filtered green light among the big
•twisted many bushes under the oaks,
•nd the high graces and meadow-
eet, and Into their open spaces,
CHAPTER V.
Wallace was a mid-morning visitor.
He came in briskly, Inquiring of the
very much puzzled butler for the very
elegant apartment's master.
"He's not yet up, sir."
This apparently had not the least de-
terrent effect on the young caller. He
urged his Arm athletic frame through
the short hall into the dim Illumina-
tion of the Hat's reception room. It
was evident enough that he had no In-
tention of departing, simply bocause
the master of the house had not yet
risen. Rankin understood that and did
not gainsay him. Wallace had his
privileges us the best friend of the ten-
ant of the flat.
"Shall I tell him you are here?"
"Yes," said Wallace firmly, "and tell
him that I want to Bee blm right away.
It's very important. Do you under-
stand ?"
Rankin had already read the morn-
ing's papers which were lying In a
neat pile on the table. He longed for
fuller news than theirs.
"Yes. sir." But he hesitated slight-
ly. Broadway was an Indulgent mas
ter— still, strange things were happen-
ing; he was doubtful. "He said he
didn't wish to bo disturbed till Satur-
day, sir."
Wallace was not Impressed. "That
doesn't make any difference. You tell
him I want to see him."
"Yes, sir." But the perfect servant
still hesitated, filled with curiosity
about the previous night. Wallace
might enlighten him. "He didn't get
home until Ave o'clock this morning
He attended some big dinner-party, I
believe."
"Yes; I was there—I was there! Go
on and call him! Tell him I am wait-
ing. I'm going to have a heart to heart
talk with that young man."
"Yes, sir," said the butler without
hastening, for he saw that Wallace
had picked up a paper from the neat
pile he had made of all of them upon
the table.
"Great Scott!" Wallace cried, dis-
mayed. "Here it Is on the front page?"
"I beg pardon, Mr. Wallace, but Is it
all true, sir?"
"What?"
"The story In the morning papers,
sir, about—er—his engagement?"
"I don't know. Someone rang me up
and told mo of It. It's what brought
me here. 1 want to find out If It's
true. 1 left the dinner at 12:30. The
engagement, I am told, was announced
shortly after I had left. Were you up
when he got home this morning?"
"Yes. sir."
"Did he talk of It at all?"
"He—couldn't talk so very much,
sir."
"Tipsy?"
Rankin nodded very solemnly.
"Stewed, sir."
"Did he come home alone?"
"He came In here alone, but a crow^
was serenading him upon the sidewalk
for ten minutes after he arrived. It
was the wedding march they tried to
sing. I couldn't understand why they
chose that until 1 read the tnornlng'a
papers, sir."
"Well, what do you think of It, Ran-
kin?"
Rankin shrugged his shoulders, but
did not reply. His Instinctive loyalty
to his employer, his perfect knowledge
of his own proprieties prevented that.
marBhy and flowered with pale lilac
seablus, where the suoset sky 1b wtde,
and there Is the gibbet for wicked
hawks, and where not merely wild
duck rustle up, but a great heraldic
heron; where at dusk It becomes rath-
er frightening among the Immense
pale oak trunks.
A wayward In-and-out romance, as
In the pages of a book, that one In-
dulges In because ono chooses (not un-
der the terrifying necessity of the
German and Alpine forests), In these
Irish woods and alongside tliis brown,
clear river, which under the great
oak boughs has tortoise-shell flickers
and transparencies. On it and into the
very deepest forest heart, I Imagine
boats steered by enchantresses, like
those that carried Sir Guyon or Rl-
naldo, passing up or down like the
broken off narratives of the poets.
Empty Cider Kegs.
The year 1913 will go Into history
as the season when the cider keg
which Is to be found In the cellar of
every well regulated Vermont farm-
house remained empty. The reason
for this almost unprecedented condl-
"Ob, come on," Wallace urged. "You
can tell me. Just between us now."
"She's old enough to be his mother,
sir," Rankin said with lowered voffe.
"She's old enough to be his mother's
mother!" Wallace cried explosively.
Then, with determination: "Go on
and tell blm that I want to see him.
Hurry up!"
Rankin yielded.
These were the headlines of the item
Wallace had perused with such dis-
may upon the first page of the news-
paper. There were columns of it.
"MRS. JAMES GERARD'S ENGAGE
MKNT.
"The Three Times Widow to Share
Her Millions With Broadway's
Own Jackson Jones.
"This Announcement, Which Surprised
New York, Was Made I^ast NBght at
a Dinner-Party Given by the Young
Spendthrift In Honor of the Wealthy
Widow."
Wallace dropped the paper and
looked at It as It lay upon the floor
with discontent apparent In his coun-
tenance. "That's the biggest laugh
New York has had In years," he
groaned. "I'd like to—"
Upon a nearby table the telephone
buzzed busily. He went to It.
"Hello," said he. "Yes. . . .No;
this is Mr. Wallace Bpeaklng. . . .
No; not Mr. Jones. I am a friend of
his. . . . No; he can't come to the
phone. He's dressing. . . . I . . .
can't make an appointment for you.
. . . What's the name? . . . Yes;
I have it: Peter Pembroke. . . .
You must see him today? . . .
Very well, I'll tell him. . . . Say
you'll call? ... All right. I'll tell
him. . . . Goodly."
He returned from the phone as Ran-
kin reappeared. "Wake him, did you?"
"Yes, sir. He'll be dressed in about
ten minutes." He bustled about the
room, gathering up the newspapers. "I
told him 1 had just read of his engage-
ment and I congratulated him."
"What did he Bay?"
"Nothing, sir; Just aaked for the pa-
pers and a whisky sour. He says be
sure and wait."
"Oh, I'll wait, all right!"
There was something stronger than
mere acquiescence In the young man's
voice. There was determination in It;
the determination of a man who has a
plan In mind. Thus might a fond, but
angry father speak, who held a rod In
pickle for the erring son for whom he
waited.
Fiercely he paced the room until his
steps, half way to the outer hall, were
arrested by the buzzing of the door-
bell. Rankin, who had started with
the whisky sour and newspapers for
his master's door, turned back and put
them on a table.
"Another early caller!" he com-
plained. The situation had begun to
get on his nerves.
"If It's a newspaper reporter tell him
Mr. Jones Is out of town."
"Yes, Blr."
Wallace felt his nerves rasp as he
heard the voice which greeted Rankin
In the hall. It was not that of a jour-
nalist, but that of the fair and ancient
widow to whom Jackson was alleged
to be affianced. For a moment he con-
sidered flight, but he was made of
sterner stuff and held himself In check.
The lady swept Into the room.
It wns evident that she was Just a
bit nonplussed at seeing him, but she
recovered quickly; she had had much
experience with the emergencies of
life.
"Good morning, Mr. Wallace," she
said sweetly.
Her age, he noted, showed more
plainly In the daytime, despite the arts
which she Invoked to hide It. He had
not seen her previously, save by arti-
ficial light.
He was shocked. She made him
think of the unpleasant mother of an
unpleasant boyhood schoolmate. He
had hated all of them. Exactly as this
old woman now was smiling that old
woman of his early youth had smiled
when she with diabolical ingenuity had
been devising comprehensive plans for
spoiling a day's Ashing.
His greeting of Mrs. Gerard was
very formal, but she did not Beem to
mind.
"Where Is Mr. Jones?" she asked
Rankin.
"He's dressing, ma'am."
"Well, tell him I am here and wait-
ing to take him for a spin through the
park. Say to him that it's a glorious
morning."
There was an unction In her tones,
a hint of triumph and proprietorship
which maddened Wallace. Could It be
possible that his good friend was to be
linked In wedlock with this er—this—
tlon of things Is the total failure of
the apple crop because of late spring
frosts followed by a dry season The
failure of the mills which usually make
cider to start their presses have
caused a retrun to primitive methods
in order to get a small quantity of the
popular drink in some places, persons
having the hand presses of a genera-
tion or two ago going about among
neighbors who happened to have a
few trees In a sufficiently sheltered po-
sition so that they were not affected
by the frost of growing at such a high
altitude that the buds were not suffi-
ciently developed to be blighted by the
frosts of May.—Rutland News.
Relics of Past Wars.
Two ancient helmets have for some
time been suspended in the parish
church at Eye, Suffolk. England, and
one of them has lately been pronounc-
ed a peaked helmet (closed helmet),
probably of Italian work and dating
from about 1510. Its value Is about
£210. The other helmet Is a Spanish
morion (open helmet), dntlng from
about the time of the Spanish Armada
(1588J.
He was Instinctively a courteous
man and his thoughts refused to form
a word to suit hfs wild emotions
She turned to him. "Won't you join
us, Mr. Wallace?" Her voice was hon-
eyed. though be saw that she was sure
of bis antagonism and reciprocated it.
"No," he snapped It was as an aft-
erthought he added: "Thanks!"
"You went away early last night,"
she ventured, still with the honeyed
Bmile.
"Yes."
"You didn't wait for the announce-
ment."
"No."
"Were you surprised when you heard
It?"
"Staggered."
The smile deepened. She was most
offensive in her victory. "I thought
you would be. What do you think of
It all?"
As he thus apologized. dlBgusted.
worried, even frightened by the mud-
dle In which his friend had so involved
himself, entirely Ignorant of the sorry
cause which had led Broadway to the
fatal step, that young man entered
from the hall, having effaced as many
traces as he could of the wild night,
and rightly clothed himself for morn-
ing callers. As he advanced he
hummed a stanza from some cabaret
favorite which ran, monotonously: "I
love you; oh, I love you!"
She looked at blm with natural In-
dignation.
"You'll pardon me, Mrs. Gerard," he
said apologetically, "but 1 was think-
ing of something funny."
"Something that just happened?"
she said suspiciously.
"No," he replied earnestly, "some-
thing that happened years ago."
"For a moment I thought you were
laughing at me," she admitted.
"Oh, Mrs. Gerard—how could you?"
She was pacified. Taking herself
with perfect seriousness she did not
fail to credit others with the same In-
tention. "I know I'm horribly touchy
In some respects." She would gaily,
almost babylshly. "Mother always
calls me a silly child."
His astonishment was genuine.
"Your mother! Is your .mother still
living?"
"Why, yes; of course. And what a
mother!" Bhe cried enthusiastically.
"What a wonderful mother! Stxty-
flve!"
As she had herself at least reached
that age, he felt himself pardonable
for interpreting her meaning as he did.
"Sixty-five children? Really!"
"No, no!"
"No. of course not," he admitted.
"What am I thinking of?"
"Ten children," said the ancient
sweetheart of his friend. "Five boys,
five girls. 'The baby,' they always call
me."
He was literally withered by the
bold effrontery of this, it seemed In-
credible even to the bald complacency
of this extraordinary dame. But he
was young and rapid of recovery. "I
suppose," he suggested with mild eye
and an Inquiring air, "that most of
the boys are still going to school?"
"Why, of course not!" She seemed
to be taking him quite seriously, to be
pleased, In fact. "They all married?"
"Foolish youngsters!"
"Oh, I don't know. I married my
Arst husband when I was eighteen. Her
eyes grew reminiscent. When she
spoke It was as if she made conces
slon of unwelcome truth to him be-
cause he was a friend—a confidential
friend. "That's twenty years ago!"
He was losing patience with the
woman. "Do you mean to tell me that
you're—"
"Sh!" she cautioned playfully. "1
don't tell my age to everyone!"
"I can readily understand that."
"How old are you, Mr. Wallace?" she
asked sweetly, evidently pleased at
the establishment of confidential rela-
tions with this, Broadway's most inti-
mate friend.
"I'll be twelve In October," he re-
piled with a calm smile.
'Twelve!" She paused and then
burst Into her small cackle of artificial
laughter. "Oh, I see; you want me to
add about twenty to that!"
"Yes," he exclaimed ungallantly, dis-
gustedly, "and add about thirty more
to your own."
"What!" She was Instantly Indig-
nant, not unnaturally.
"Oh, come, now, Mrs. Gerard!" he
urged. "Yon don't expect me to be-
lieve that you—"
She was thoroughly Indignant. "How
dare you, sir! Do you know what
you're saying?"
"I know what I'd like to say," he
confessed, looking steadfastly at her.
"About what?"
"About your engagement to young
LIKE MOTHER USED TO MAKE
Young Wife Scored Heavily When
Hubby Came Forward With the
Stereotyped Comment.
There was a worried look on the gro-
cer's face as he rushed hatless down
the street and ran up the steps of
Acacia Villa.
"I—I'm sorry to say there's been a
slight mistake. Mrs. Grumble." he
panted. "You ordered two pounds of
oatmeal yesterday, and by mistake my
apprentice put up some sawdust that
our grapes came packed in!"
"Oh!" replied tho lady. "Then I
reckon my 'uaban' must 'ave got
through about arf a pound o' tho wood
for breakfus'."
"Y—you don't mean to say that he
ate It?" gasped the man In the apron
"Course 'e did," was the reply.
The lady leaned back on the door-
post and for three minutes Indulged In
a laugh that brought all her neighbors
to the scene.
"Wal, that's right-down funny," she
observed with a laugh.
"Funny?" queried the grocer.
Mr. Jones. Why, you're not taking the
chap seriously, are you?"
Her anger grew. "What do you
mean ?"
"Just what 1 say," he anawered firm-
ly. "That it's all wrong. It's Impos-
sible. The idea of a woman of your
age imagining for a moment that this
boy is fool enough to think of such a
thing! Do you stop to think what peo-
ple will say? Don't you realize that it
can't be? That It's simply preposter-
ous? Why—"
"Are you trying to insult me, sir?"
"No," he answered earnestly, "I'm
trying to save you from being humili-
ated and laughed at. Deny the story
at once. 8ay it was all • Joke. Say
anything, but for heaven's sa.se don't
let It go any further!"
She gazed at him In speecniwws
wrath while he nervously paced the
room.
"Surely," he said whirling, "you
don't think he seriously considers mar-
rying you?"
"And why not?" Her Icy tone was
full of outraged dignity.
"Because It would be a ridiculous
match. Give it serious thought. You're
a sensible woman, figure It out for
yourself. Why, you're more than twice
his age!"
"Sir!"
"Why. he's only twenty-five—not
that, yet."
$i)£ gazed at him in speechless rage
for twenty seconds, then said, explo-
sively: "You—brute!"
"I'm your friend," he urged. "I'm
trying to help you. I'm trying to save
you from being made the laughing
Btock of the town."
"Do you mean to Insinuate tfksrX
Jackson doesn't love me?"
"Jackson doesn't love anyone except
a good time. Why, he doesit't take
anything seriously, especially women.
To my knowledge he's been ongaged
to thirty since he's been here !?i New
York."
He made no reply, merely earthing at
her a malevolent, sidelong glano*
"I say what do yoo ffllnk of It all?"
"What do you think of It, yourself?"
"I am as happy as a little birdy in a
tree-top," she replied, assuming airs
reserved for maidens of sixteen.
Against his will, indeed, to his as-
tonishment, he burst into a roar of
laughter.
"1—don't—believe you!"
He shrugged his shoulders. "Very
well; go ahead; It's no affair of mine."
She agreed with this. "You'll do
HE BELIEVED IN HER
By KENNETT HARRIS.
The telephone rang sharply again
and again, and Ionian, after a mo-
ment's hesitation, took down the re-
ceiver and said: "Hello!"
A sort of strangled gasp came to his
ear, and then a woman's voice said:
"Ib this Doctor Ersmit?"
"It's Doctor Ersmit's telephone," an-
swered Ix>ma8. "If you will hold the
wire for a minute or two 1 will go and
find him. He went—"
"I can't wait," said the voice. "No, I
can't wait. I must go. Tell Doctor
Ersmit to come at pnee to 87 Bourne
street and to bring tilings for stanch
Ing a wound. It Ib llfo and death, and
even now It may be too late. Oh!"
There was terror and anguish In the
cry, and it was succeeded by the click
of the severed connection. Lomas
dropped the receiver and, hurrying out
Into the hall, shouted: "Billy?"
"Well, what's the matter with you?"
answered Doctor Ersmit from the head
of the stairs. "Do you think I'm deaf?
You nearly made tne drop the bottles.
I've joggled them as It Is."
"Never mind the wine," said Lomas.
"Here's a case for you—87 Bourne
street, and it's a matter of life and
death. Wound. Party didn't say what
kind. Get your things together, and
I'll drive you over there in two shakes
of a lamb's tail."
"Bourne street!" repeated Doctor
Ersmit, wonderlngly. "Why, that's two
miles off. Why didn't they call some
nearer man? Who is it?"
"She didn't say," said Lomas. "Just
said it was a wound, and to hurry, and
then rang off. Come on. We'll try the
hock after we get back."
Doctor Ersmit slipped Into the coat
that his energetic friend was already
holding for him, and two minutes later
Lomas' auto was speeding at an ordi-
ntnee-defying rate In the direction of
V-
"You Don't Think He Seriously Con-
siders Marrying You?"
well to remember that. Attend to
your own business, Mr. Wallace."
"Excuse me," he said apologetically,
"I'm sorry I spoke."
At sight of Mrs. Gerard he bright-
ened and sprang toward her eagerly.
He was not the one to go back on a
bargain, or to make a wry face over
necessary medicine.
"Beatrice; My Beatrice!" he cried
Wallace eyed Ihem with disgust as
they flew Into each other's arms.
Having released his "Beatrice, my
Beatrice." he turned to Wallace with a
calm which Wallace could not but ad-
mire. The youngster certainly was
game! "Good morning, Bob."
Wallace scorned him
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Mrs. Lapsling Explains.
"We're alwayB careful about these
contiguous diseases," said Mrs, Lap-
sling. "When Johnny had got well of
the measles we bought some sulphur
candles and disconcerted the house
from top to bottom."—Chicago Trib-
une.
"Yus, funny! 'Ere we've been mar-
ried 13 year come 1st of April, and
Charles 'as never paid me a compli-
ment till this tnornin' at breakfus'.
when blest If 'e didn't pass 'is plate
for another go o' that sawdust, an' told
me It reminded 'im o' the porridge '1
mother used to make,"—Tit-Bits.
Knew What He Meant.
At a fashionable wedding there was
Intense curiosity to see the rich cos-
tumes of the heiress who was being
led to the altar. There was much
craning of necks, and at last some of
the overeager rose in their seats in
the extreme back of the church and
stood upon them in the effort to get
a good view.
The clergyman who was in the
chancel ready to conduct the service
was greatly shocked. With much
dignity, but in haste and anger, he
addressed the congregation: "In
view of the solemnity of this occasion
and tho sacred character of this edi-
fice, I want you all to sit on the floor
and put your feet on the seats." But
they knew what he meant, and
promptly assumed orderly positions.
Began to Pull His Beard Thoughtfully.
Hourne street. Eight minutes more
and the engine was wheezing at a
standstill before No. 87.
Lomas leaped out and was ringing
tho bell furiously before Ersmit had
half way climbed the steps. A light
was burning in the hall, but the house
was silent as the grave, and there was
no response to the repeated summons.
"Try the door," said Ersmit. Lomas
turned the knob and It opened easily.
The two men en'ered the house and
Ersmit called aloud.
"Strange!" he ejaculated. "Are they
all dead? Ralph, I believe somebody
has been hoaxing us."
Lomas pushed past him and entered
a parlor, striking a match as he went.
He lit the gas at a chandelier, and
looked about the room.
"Nothing here," said Doctor Ersmit,
who had followed him. "What's in the
next one?"
Lomas looked in. Then he turned a
pale face to his friend. "Here's your
case, Billy," he said.
On the floor by a small table that
had evidently been overturned in his
fall, lay the prostrate figure of a man
In evening clothes—a tall, powerfully
made man of forty or thereabouts,
with coarse features, now set in the
rigidity of death.
"By the Lord!" exclaimed Doctor
Ersmit. "It's Frank Beverly!" He
ripped open the man's waistcoat and
disclosed a small red stain over the
heart. "Stabbed," he added. "Look
there. Hardly a drop of blood, and
there hasn't been time for coagulation
yet. Yes, he is dead; dead as Pharaoh,
and if It didn't sound heartless, I'd
say It was a good thing, too. Ralph,
we've got to see first If there's any
body about the place, and then—I've
got to do some thinking."
They made a hurried but careful
search of the premises, but though the
house showed signs of recent occupa-
tion, they found no one. They returned
to the parlor, where the murdered man
lay, and Doctor Ersmit flung himself
Into an armchair and began to pull his
biard thoughtfully.
"You say it was a woman's voice?"
he said at last. "Tell mo exactly what
she said."
Ixmias repeated the conversation,
but added: "I couldn't undertake to
swear that It was a woman's vloce,
Billy."
Doctor Ersmit looked keenly at htm
under his beetling eyebrows, and Lo-
mas met his gaze steadily.
"You've heard me speak of this Bev-
erly and of his wife," said Ersmit, at
last.
"I've heard you speak of him as an
unmitigated scoundrel. 1 know that his
wife left him and that you regarded
her highly."
"If she had been my sister—or my
daughter, for I am old enough to be
her father—I could not have thought
more of her. 1 think she Is abroad
now, but if she had been here and—
Ralph, I guess we'd better call the po-
1 lice. The telephone Is In the ball. \
noticed It sb we came in."
One night a year later Ralph Lomas
stood on tho deck of a Cunarder re-
turning to New York, and looked down
at a woman reclining in a steamer
chair with a smile that was curiously
cheerful considering that she had just
told him that she could never marry
him.
"I suppose you have your reason.''
he said, almost easily, and wrapping a
rug closer about her with solicitous
care. "It Isn't that you don't care for
me. I know that.''
She shivered under his touch and
looked at him appeallngly. "Why will
you torture me bo?" she cried. "Yes,
1 care for you. I have grown to care
for you very much in the short time I
have known you. It seems as ft 1 had
known you always. When 1 first met
you your voice sounded strangely fa-
miliar."
"So did yours to me," he said, still
smiling.
"1 seem to need you," she continued.
"And, Ralph, I don't want to lose you.
Does that sound selfish? You must al-
ways be my friend. I am most un-
happy."
"You will be most happy," he said.
"And you will marry me. Dear, you
I Bpoke of my voice. When 1 heard
! yours for the first time It thrilled me
) in Its every tone. 1 seemed to hear
it always. I knew no rest until at last
1 saw you and knew you for what you
are. Then I loved you."
"1 must tell you," she said, in a whis-
per.
"I know," he said. "You first spoke
to me over yje telephone from 87
Bourne street. You said: 'Tell Doctor
Ersmit to come at once.' 1 had heard
of you before, and later Ersipit told
me more, but 1 did not want his justifi-
cation. I do not want yours. I believe
In you, and I love you. Look up. 1
want you to marry me."
She did not look up, but sh
stretched out a hand gropingly, and ho
took It between his. Then, in the dark
nes8, their lips met.
(Copyright, 1914, by Daily Btory Pub. Co.)
FELL THIRTY FEET UNHARMED
Explorer's Escape From Death Might
Surely Be Described as
Miraculous.
On Mr. A. H. Savage Landor's re-
turn journey to the Tapajos river,
after a desperate struggle to reach the
rubber gatherers who live far In the
Brazilian interior, he had, as he re-
lates in "Across Unknown South
America," a very curious experience.
"The forest near the Secundury
river was at first overgrown with
dense vegetation that gave us a good
deal of work and extra exertion; but
after that, when we got some distance
from the water, the forest was fairly
clean, except of course for the fallen
trees. We found troublesome ravines
of great depth where streamlets had
cut their way through.
"In going down one of those difficult
ravines, I had an accident that might
have been fatal. The ravine, the sides
of which were almost vertical, was
very narrow—only about ten meters
across. We let ourselves down, hold-
ing on to a liana. When we reached
the bottom, we found a tiny brook
winding its way between great round
boulders that left a space about two
feet wide for the water. I began to
climb the other side, and I had got to
a height of about thirty feet. In order
to go up this steep Incline, I had set
one foot against a small tree, and I
pulled myself up by a liana. Unluck-
ily. the liana suddenly gave way. Tho
weight of the load that I had on my
shoulders made me lose my balance,
so that my body described a complete
semicircle. I dropped down head first
from that height on the rocks below.
"Providence once more looked after
me on that occasion. On the flight
down 1 already imagined myself dead;
but no—my head entered the cavity
between two great rocks, against,
which my shoulders and the load be-
came jammed, while my legs waved
wildly In midair. I was forced so hard
against the two side rocks that 1 could
not possibly extricate myself. It was
only when Benedicto and the new man
came to my help and pulled me out.
that we were able to resume our jour-
ney. 1 was much shaken and a good
deal bruised, but otherwise none the
worse for that unpleasant fall."—•
Youth's Companion.
Cause for Damage*.
In Llpplncott's Magazine appears
the following story, which Illustrates
the dangers of too prompt obedience
to orders. "Say, Tom," said Jack,
"did you know that Bill was going to
sue the company for damages?" "No,
you don't say!" was the answer. "Wot
did they do to him?" "Why," explained
Jack, "they blew the quittln' whistle
when 'e was carryln' a 'heavy piece
of Iron, and 'e dropped It on 'Is foot.'"
"I need a half-column filler," said
the dainty blonde editress of the wom-
an's page. "Oh. run some fashion
notes under the heading 'What Our
Girls Are Wearing,'" suggested the
managing editor, crossly. "Er—yes,"
blushed the edltrers. "But that would
fill only a couple of lines."—Puck.
More Apt to Be Understood.
Among present day British par-
liamentary orators the labor leaders
use the longest and most recondite
words. Mr. Balfour, however. Is pret-
ty hard to beat at polysyllabic dis-
plays. In a speech on dualism In edu-
cation, delivered some months ago,
he used the word "dichotomize." The
reporters, not having heard of this
strange verb, held a consultation
about it and sent up a message to Mr.
Balfour asking If their note was cor-
rect. In reply they received a de-
lightful Balfourlsm: "Did I really use
such a word? Was It a verb or a sub«
stantlve? Make It'bisect.'"
L&rlng the Women.
One of the men candidates In Chi-
cago Is adopting the afternoon tea
Idea In his campaign. His headquar-
ters have a kitchen, and upon certain
days women friends "pour" and other
women come into the nicely fitted up
reception roome and drink the tea and
eat the sandwiches made In the kitch-
en. He expects to keep this up until
after the election.
Vl
III
Ml
uf
cJ
dii
ail
hi
"I
cl.l
' 1
til
! J
< I; I
I 1-61
of
f§ ,'i 11
i
1
hiil
seJ
Pal
del
vi 1
els
fail
i aua
Sal
Upcoming Pages
Here’s what’s next.
Search Inside
This issue can be searched. Note: Results may vary based on the legibility of text within the document.
Matching Search Results
View three places within this issue that match your search.Tools / Downloads
Get a copy of this page or view the extracted text.
Citing and Sharing
Basic information for referencing this web page. We also provide extended guidance on usage rights, references, copying or embedding.
Reference the current page of this Newspaper.
Davis, John E. The Texas Mesquiter. (Mesquite, Tex.), Vol. 32, No. 43, Ed. 1 Friday, April 24, 1914, newspaper, April 24, 1914; Mesquite, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth400119/m1/4/?q=war: accessed July 17, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu; crediting Mesquite Public Library.