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By MAURICE THOMPSON
AUTHOR OP ""ALICE OP OLD VINCENNBS," "A TALLAHASSE GIRL,"
"SWEETHEART MANETTE," ETC.
Upon a broad highway, straight and smooth,
-~ between ample farms, where the cheerful ac
tivities of spring sent forth a medley |of
noises very pleasant to hear, a young man
rode his bicycle with leisurely strokes. The'
small case of alligator leather on the handle
bar looked a trifle worn, as if It had felt
bard usage, tho rain, sun and dust of a long
journey. From New York city to the mid
region of Indiana is not, Indeed, a short
wheel-spin: moreover, the weather had been
showery almost the whole of the way, making
the roads heavy. Now, however, a perfect
morning late in April was hanging a. splen
did sheen of beauty on sky and landscape.
Frederick Breyten, the rider, despite his
many days of steady exercise, looked fresh
and cheerful. Ha was a man of greater
weight than long-distance traveling a-wheel
usually attracts; yet his massive limbs
showed boyish suppleness, while his slightly
curved back rippled with a fine play of mus
cle*. Steering with one hand, the other
thrust into the pocket of his short coat, he
gazed right and left over the greening fields. j
There was a ruddy underglow in his cheeks, j
his curly, short hair shot a glint of gold from
under the rim of bis cap, and his face had a
Norwegian suggestion in its fairness,
strengthened somewhat by a peculiar yet not
uncomely forward thrust of his rather heavy
chin, which bore a rimpled yellow beard,
short, fine and not very thick, running thenco
up to his ears; and his mustaches but half
veiled his mouth. .
He had. come out of Indianapolis by the
Hawford road at sunrise: now the city lay ,
ten miles behind. There was every tempta- i
tion to fast riding. Straight away, hard as |
packed gravel could make it, the road I
reached, white, smooth, level, without duet. ]
a glimmering, narrowing line to where it
pitched gently djwu from a slight, hazy
ridge-top into a woodeJ valley. But Breyten.
albeit not averse i;c\v and again to a wild
■crock, lagged while his £iay eyes fed upoa
wnat the iands;ape had to offer.
H« looked at his watch; it was a quarter
fust one. The air had a thrill of heat in it,
a preaniiure touch of summer. By the way
side, on tno siope of a grassy hill near a
noisy little brook, a spring trickled form
with a (.-hill suggestion in its crystal current.
Here he dismounted and ate his simple lunch
eo:;, drawn from a eoTBCr of the alligator-
skia case, when; it had been closely asso- j
ciated v.ith two cr three little dog-eared |
book*. The meal ended, he stretched his mag- i
Diflcent lorm on the blue grass under a green
ing willow. Five miuutes later he was sleep
ing, with an arm carved above his head.
About :. o'clock Breyton resumed his jour- I
nej toward* Hawford, going briskly, with a
blue' violet between his lips. The air, draw
ir.^ from the southwest, had suddenly touched
Ms fa.-c with a dampness meaning rain not |
fur off: aud he &aw a bluish-black cloud
spreading upward under the westering sun.
April showers had so often sprinkled Brey
t-cus back lately that the prospect of another j
chill dash did not give him uneasine3B. nor |
was there anything especially threatening in j
the keen spears of flame shot down now and 1
again from the cloud with rattling thunder. I
When the cloud, now tumbling along witn |
a motion like the undertow of a dangerous
Bur*, had rissn about half way to the zenith,
Breyton saw a girl on a bicycle whirl with
a short, swift curve out of a road tributary
to his, a hundred yards ahead. She flew
straight away from him, a beaming embodi
ment of haste, something birdlike in her mo
tions and in the flashes of color from her
clothes suggesting the wing movements of a
Breyten involuntarily quickened his pace as
she began to draw away from him. He found
that she was going, indeed, at a racing gait,
and against a rising wind, while her flutter
ing skirts, somehow showing her well-turned
ankles and little feet, gave forth a twinkle
of yellow and brown. The cap she wore had
m. black-and-orange feather tuft lying flat at \
the left side with demure effect; not that
Breyten could make out just its form ani
color, but a sense of these came along wuh
the memory of how softly turned, and how
like a berry In its rich underglow her cheek
had looked when she rounded into the road.
He 6miled bo much that he let fall the blue
yiolet from his lips.
Jerky whiffs of wind smote harder and
taster in the rider's glowing face; the girl's
skirts flickered through puffs of road dust,
and by some indirect ray of expression from
that exquisitely poised form slipping away
before him, Breyten knew that the girl was
frightened; he could almost see her shrink ,
when the thunder drummed on the hollow
floor of heaven.
He now bent low over his handle-bar, arch-
Ing his back high, stretching forth his An- |
tinous neck, and driving the pedals so rap- ;
idly that the tires purred, spinning pebbles
to right and left. At this moment the puffs
all combined into a head wind, a gale almost
like a hurricane, driving the level stream of
dust into Breyten s eyes, and then the front
■wheel bit a bowlder as large as his head. It
teemed to him that he sailed a long way be
fore be struck the ground; he had many
thoughts while spread out, bat-like, in the
gloomy, raging air, and his flight ended 'n j
a, shock amid a great spangle of starry corus- |
cations. His bicycle climbed along his back j
to his shoulders, where it settled stiffly upon j
him, as if conscious o* having the right to
The surprise wa3 about all there was In the
mishap to disturb Breyten'a faun-like equa
nimity; but he groveled ludicrously in the I
dust for a while, uttering certain virile ex- i
After ten minutes of toilsome headway
Breyten found himself in a little valley i
through which a stream, half brook, half
river, ran crookedly, but in a general direc
tion at right angles with his road. A wooden i
bridge spanned the water. Here he paused,
breathing as much dust as air. A roaring ;
came out of the southwest, as if some great, .
hoarse throat were gasping strenuously.
Breyten shrugged his shoulders; then, lift- ,
Ing his bicycle, he made a dash down the
stream's bank and went under the bridge,
■where he groped around for the mo3t eligible ,
place in -which he might shelter himself from
the shower of tree-boughs, failling noisily.
It was almost pitch dark in the hollow of the .
crib-work wooden abutment, a stuffy nook.
Just above the water level, with great oaken ,
sills half sunk in the mud, while overhead ,
the floor of the bridge served as roof.
Hastily disposing of his bicycle, Breyten ,
felt with his hands for a spot to sit upon.
While he fumbled thus there came a blinding
-white flame down from heaven to earth with ]
a crash, as if all things had been, ground in
stantly together into splinters.
"Oh-0-0"' wailed a tremulous, sweet voice;
and at the same time Breyten's hands
clutched something soft and w:uan. "Let go! '
Quit! Oh-o-o!" continued the voice.
By the fierce light, which seomed to linger
•with a wavering, filmy intensity, like the sun
itself, Breyten saw a girl, smd' recognized her
as the one who had fled before him. She was
sitting, half, kneeling, upon the ground, her
face like a saints at prayer. Her bicycle
lay beside her; so mu£h h«; saw in a twin
kling, and the vision registered itself within
him, a luminous and fadelress picture.
He had withdrawn his hand from her soft
shculder; but when the darkness followed the
flash, doubly black by contrast, and he heard
her wail piteous!^ he felt around, trying to
touch her again.
•Don't be frigfc.tened» ' he said very gently;
"it Is safe here. And don't you be afraid of
me. I "
He was interrupted by another flash of in
describable spVendor and a detonation that
made the groi'ind oscillate. Something forced
him to his knees, but he sprang up instantly;
lor a moment he thought the bolt had hit
him on the< head, while around him, in a
quivering Tjlasp, he feut the girl's arms. It
■was a frssntie embrace, made strenuous by
terror. Certain cries, quite unrestrained, yet
neither loud nor hajah, and altogether femi
nine, told how poi*na«t was the agony en
Breyten stood, still, smiling In. the dark,
half conscious ul a fear that, even, Ills breath
ing might break the charm -woven around
tim. A fine . thrill sprang through his limbs
and body /rom those quivering ' arm's. It
was but a ; minute —how long and how deli
clous!—tken she. let go and sprang away,
rising Ugbtljr to he* leeL
<•!_! beg pardon!" she stammered, with
the Intonation of a hermit thrush. "For
•What for?" he demanded, "*ou have
done no crime that I know of. You haven't
picked my pocket."
Heavy silence ensued, so far as any sounds
between them might be reckoned against it,
and, in fact, the wind was slacking, the
thunder receding. Not a drop of rain hod
fallen. Incredibly soon there was nothing in
the heaven overhead but trailing shreds of
dark gray, the tatters of that cloud which
half an hour before had looked so heavy and
so charged wifh danger.
By the sudden access of light Breyten saw
the girl too plainly for the good of his eyes;
he was dazzled by the beam from her fresh
and glowiug countenance.
•I was dreadfully frightened," she said;
"1 always am when it lightens and thunders
so. It is foolish, I know; but "
"It was enough to scare you." Breyten
interrupted, "or any person. It's all over
now. It has blown around north of here.
Let me take your wheel up to the road for
"No, thank you; don't, please." But he
seemed not to hear her. and went forth car
rying her bicycle up the steep bank to the
bridge-top, while she followed. It was done
so easily and quickly that the tall, comely
girl scarcely understood how she had been
mastered; but she struggled with her wits
what time she was mounting the slope.
•Now wait till I fetch my wheel," he
She clutched the handle-bar of her bicycle
and suddenly looked up Into his face.
"Oh, if you pkase—won't you look for a
little red notebook down there? I must have
left it am the ground where we—whore I—"
■Yes, yes," said Breyten; "all right, 111
With three or four bounds he descended
and passed under the bridge. Something like
a fairy tune was humming in. his ears; his
eyes were so blurred with a rosy vision that
he stumbled over his faithful wheel. He
looked about for the little red book, until
at last he found it, and beside It a dainty
handkerchief from which, when he picked it
up, a hint of heliotrope reached his nostrils.
Breyten reascendei the bluff in such a
state of inward transflgurement that when
he again stood on the bridge and looked
around he felt as if just coming out of a
dream. Had he really seen a lovely young
woman, brown-haired, brown-eyed, berry
lipped? What had become of her? Up the
road, down the road he turned his dazed, in
quiring eyes; but not even a ribbon-flutter
or the twinkle of a wheel broke the daucing
play of sunlight now slanting over from the
rapidly clearing west.
He looked curiously at the red notebook
and the white handkerchief, a smile on his
mouth somehow betraying his sense of hav
ing been outgeneralled. If a stalwart man
ever looked like an abashed and bewildered
boy. it was he, standing there flushed to the
eai-tips, stupidly toying with what was left
of the sweetest apparition that his eyes had
It was a month in his Imagination, but
only a minute or two in fact, that he stood
idle; then the impulse came to mount and
pursue. She was going towards Hawford
when he first saw her; of course, sh? would
be going In that direction now.
Breyten entered the town from the east
in a broad, clean boulevard, not pretentiously
kept, but certainly attractive, on either side
overlooked by pleasant homes in the midst
of trees, under which a blue grass s-.vard
shown intensely green. The way turned at a
considerable angle to join a straight, broad
street of the town.
Quite unlike most little cities of the middle
west. Hawford had an air of age and per
manence; not so muxh in the materials of the
buildings, mostly -wooden, as in the general
effect made by solid architecture and ample
grounds shaded by ancient forest trees.
Breyten saw no great stir as of pressing
traffic; people were going to and fro, but
not with anxiety or eagerness.
After inquiry he found his way to a pleas
ant little hotel in the thick of th*> town,
where his luggage was awaiting him, as well
as a package of Letters. The first thing was
a bath; his correspondents could hold their
breath until he got into comfortable clothes;
for no particular interest attached to what
his mails brought him. Xo father, mother,
brother or sister came within his memory,
nor had he any fiamiliar friends or nagging
enemies who knew where he was. The let
ters were from agents managing his estates
in different cities.
What most occupied his mind, vaguely, per- i
haps, but in its every nook, was tne girl who ,
had escaped so easily at the bridge. She had ;
fastened herself upon his imagination like j
a butterfly on a flower, swinging across his !
inner vision, as if tossed by a fresh wind.
It would be safe to say that Breyten had
been touched by more than one girl's beauty i
before this. He was a southerner, with all |
the warmth of the cavaliers in his blood.
It was a part of his deepest nature to de
sire, as the Greek poets expressed it, when
loneliness came before him; but he hai
escaped sensuality by reason of high health
and a native honesty. As a roving student he
had, as it were, gonu up and down in the
world with a book in. his hand and love in
While he was waiting for the dinner he had
ordered, Breyton walked back and forth .in
his room. A bay \i indow looked into the
.street In front, its c pen sash letting enter
some clatter of vehicles along with a pleasant
country freshness. II was growing dark, yet
against the sky pink! ish clouds were-sliding,
thin and wavering, like fading flames pursu
ing the sun. Th» -wind had gone: into the
southeast. Brey. ten; *ook note- of these weath
er signs, for to-morrow he 'meant to go out
and find his girl, His girl? Of course, his
girl. It is- the- way that youth has of appro-.
priating maidenhood;; what a young man dis
covers, is.it not his? Yea, to keep forever or
to toes aside, according to bis mind. ;y?.v.:..C'
Later in the evening, while/ rummaging for
something in. the pockets of his cast-off bicy
cle coat, he found ti^e book and handkerchief
left in his posseasifl.n by the fair strategist
at the bridge. It. -would have been right gocd
to see him treat <tha bit of hemstitched linen
as it its perfume were a charm, as if it were
a .white flower petaL from a a enchanted gar
den. He held U. nei.r his nostrils to sniff it
delicately; Then in opened the little red
book. •' .N; •
You could have s»;en guilty conscience in
his boyish expression of furtiveness while he
read her name oa. the first page—Rosalynde
Banderet — certainty musical, suggesting
.French ancestry, aad. Vincennes was not far
away, as. he remembered; besides, she had a
Creole dash of tender .duskiness in her eyes.
A warm. glow pursued, his blood around the
circle of his veins at the thought of her
Breyten felt the temptation to read toe en
tries in the book, irom page to page; it was
like seeing ripe berriea in a cool place at
high noon—they assaulted a primitive appe
tite. But he vouild not trespass farther than
to catch, "up tha name involuntarily—Rosa
lynde Bazaderet—fieliciously sweet, if stolen.
And thet nig lit he dreamed, awake and
asleep, th» preposterous dreams of youth and
poetry, with the book and handkerchief under
He did not rise aarly, as was his habit, but
slumbered until nine, waking then to see a
great patch of senshine abetting the glare or
stare of the gorgeous carpet on the floor.
From beneath the pillow, after fumbling a
momeai, he drew the mementoes of yester
day, looking at one, then the other, with
rather a sheepish gaze, the atnile on hts
mouth almost degenerating to a grin. Plainly
he felt a trifle ashamed of himself for some
reason; but the feeling could not. conquer his
delight when once more he saw the name,
Rosalyude Banderet. And what could he do
but kiss an autograph like that? If idleness
Is the parent of vice, it is also the sire of
many harmless virtues begotten accident
As BTeyton was on the point of mounting
from the concrete curbing in front of the
hotel, he was accosted by a short but heavy
set young man, who had followed him out
irom the office to say: "Pardon me, hut that]
THE MINNEAPOLIS JOURN^U
U a remarkably attractive wheel of youra.
Whose make is it?"
The voice had good-foilowshlp in Its tone.
Breyten felt, before he looked up, that he
should see a comely face; but he was not
prepared for what met his eyes. The man
was handsome, that could not be questioned;
yet the magnetism of his countenance, which
was instantaneous, really seemed not due to
any happy arrangement of features. It was
a ray from within, out of the darkness, one
might say, for his face was of a dusky olive,
while his eyes, hair, brows and mustache
were nut-brown, with a dark-yellowish
gloom hovering about them.
"Yes, lt'a a good wheel," laid Breyten
promptly. "I had it made just to my liking.
You see, it has the good points of all the
best makes. It is v concession in my behalf
by several pate-nteees."
"You have come to enter the races at our
spring meet, 1 presume."
Drc-yten came near demanding the man's
right to indulge so violent a presumption.
He had never heard of the Hawford spring
meet, and certainly he was not a racing
man; but there was something in tbe face
before him which forbade rebuke with per
emptory directness. Besides, the man was
lame, short of one leg by three inches, tbe
l&ck filled out with au enormous boot-sole of
"No; I don't race," said Breyten; "I'm
only a tourist, looking at the country."
Thus, by mere accident—or Is there such
a thing as accident? —came Alfred Ruyle into
the ken of Frederick Breyten, and both nieu
knew almost immediately that the meeting
meant something in tbe strange scheme of
Breyten mounted and passed out of town,
gradually increasing his speed as the road
sides flaunted their rural verdure and the
country freshness began to stimulate him.
Not once did it come into, his mind that
there might be a failure at the end of his
ride; nor was he conscious before reaching
the bridge that be was doing a very foolish
thing. There, however, while the glow of
expectation was highest, he suddenly saw
things change, as from poetry to prose. The
whole landscape took on a commonplace
countenance. He dismounted on the spot
where he had last ssen Hosalynde Bauderet.
Plucking at his mustache, he gazed around
with a decidedly stupid stare, not enthusias
tic enough to smile at his own folly or to
recall himself from a state of indifference.
Of course the ycung lady was nowhere in
sigh.; why should she be? Had Breyteu ex
pected her? After all, his coming" back to
the bridge meant nothing more than poelical
impulses have always meant.
After three minutes of blank, listless ■ star
ing around, he pulled \ himself together and
laughed. He propped his bicycle against the
rail of the bridge and went below, curious
to see the spot upon which Rosalynde Ban de
ret had crouched while hugging his legs. It
was not a romantic place, rather dirty, cob
webbed In the angles, ill-smelling. With his
hands in his pockets.he surveyed the ground,
until a dainty shoe-print caught his eye. ■•
''Rosalynde Banderet," he thought aloud,
"I'll find you .vet." . : •. -••;..'."• ■;;.-•
Then , he, laughed. at himself and pedaled
back to Hawford, disappointed in an indefi
nite way, .vet not defeated.- He had plenty of
time, and the little town appeared attractive,
viewed as a place in which to spend a month
or two; furthermore, had not the thought of
studying the life, or rather experiencing the
life, of the middle west often interested him?
You see he was already framing a foundation
for the excuse he needed. '
Instead of returning directly to the hotel,
Breyten made a swing round the residence
'part of Hawford, taking in a leisurely sur
vey, not so much to observe as to think, and
most of all to let his imagination settle.
Breyten may have been in just the frame
of spirit to be most favorably impressed with
what he saw; but any tourist would have been
delighted with the cleanness, freshness and
repose of the little city embowered in its"
manifold greeneries and blown upon by the
weather of a day supremely golden, balmy,
with bees in many a cherry tree, all ■ white
with flowers—a paradise of robins in " every
One broad street lying east and west, tree
fringed on either side, had been chosen, as
the houses showed, by some of Hawford'a
most substantial citizens. It was, indeed, a
double row of attractive homes, which were
set well back amid their trees, with shrub
bery clumps in profusion and broad white
walks of concrete leading straight from street
gate t» stoop.
Near the end of the street Breyten found
himself opposite a large house which at
tracted his attention on account of its un
likeness to all the others. Not exactly ven
erable in appearance, It looked older than
it really was; a stately structure, plain,
weatherbeaten, solid, built of brick and
j painted drab, it stood on a knoll thickly
j surrounded with wide-armed forest trees.
Just as he was passing the drab gate of the
old place two persons, a man and a girl,
went up the walk towards the house. The
man was lame and proceeded slowly, leaning
on a knotty cane, while his companion gently
| kept pace with him. An absurdly unattrac
tive little do.«* followed at the girl's heels,
bearing itself as it conscious of a gazing
world. , iv.'V-*-; ■ ■ ': ■-
Breyten knew instantly that Rosalynde
Banderet was once more under his eye.
| He recognized the lame man as the one who
; spoke to him at the hotel, and there was
! something in the movement and proportions
of the poor fellow's figure that suggested a
satyr or some other half-beautiful, half
motistrous plaything of nature. Nor could
| there be any doubt, after a single glance, as
j to the influence Miss Banderet was, perhaps
unconsciously, exerting over him. He was
looking at her as a child looks at a star.
Breyten .knew this by the pose of his head
and the slight drooping of bis body to
wards her. A stroke, subtly keen, fell upon
Breyten :a breast at the same time, sending
a pang through' his heart—a pang mixed of
joy and Us opposite; for there was a form
less, nebulous pathos in the scene.
.' jlie could not linger gazing, and the thought
of making the book and handkerchief an ex
cuse for entering that quiet close did not
come to his mind; so he rode back to the
. hotel. After" all, he had accompllsned some-
I thing, more, indeed, than he had expected;
I but why this sorrowful faint shadow, this
j obscure taint in th« sunshine of his dream?
A thrush in a garden hedge sang of its love
with just the same hint of indefinable sad
Rayle was attempting the impossible, try
ing to learn art without a teacher and with
no masterpieces from which to absurb a sense
of technical correctness. If he had genius,
his work did not testify to it. Like the
penniless provincial the world over, his re
gard fox wealth being a distortion, he looked
upon success as in some way connected with
a happy financial condition. If he had
money, the rest would be easy. But he 'had
no money worth namitg. $600 annually from
property left In trust for him by an uncle
being his only income save the little' he
earned by coloring photographs and doing
a portrait once- in a while. .".
He took Breyten to his studio In the viper
story of a rickety building, part of which
was occupied by baled hay am! other horse
lead. A livery stable was next . door, and
across the street "Barney Hart's Saloon"
was squeezed hard between a bakery and a
meat shop. - ■<v ..
Breyten followed Rayle up . the stairway,
which , was.:. outside of the building at the
edge of an : alley, feeling In advance the
pathos of what he was going to see. His
sense of «humor, however, received a shock
when he entered the room, which smelt stuffy
and looked • grimy. There were : two rough
easles, a chair and a banch, a three-legged
stool, some pictures—nothing else. On one of
the easels. V large convas held a landscape
In oil, ' stiffly drawn and crudely colored.
hideously uninteresting, yet in a way true
to nature, not unlike a photograph daubed
orer with greens and brows and. blue*. Brey
ten looked around, and a great laugh arose
in him which he had trouble to ke«p from
roaring forth. Then involuntarily he turned
short and faced Rayle, who had stepped be
hind him as they entered.
For a minute there wa* an awkward silence,
while Rayle's dark eyes seemed to search
Breyten's soul to Its farthest limit, and
while Breyten made a great effort to keep
an equilibrium of countenance.
At the point of greatest tension in the si
lence an enormous rat leaped out from a
dark corner of the room and scampered nois
ily across the floor to a hole near another
corner. That was the cue. Breyten let go his
hold upon all the laughter that had accumu
lated. Rayle fairly recoiled before the ex
plosion; but be caught himself and laughed
rather perfunctorily in response. He gave
Breyten the chair, and took the stool for
"I—l beg your pardon," he stammered, "for
bringing you here. I know it's not Interest-
Ing to you,"
"Why. ye»,' said Breyten brlakly; "It i«
Interesting: I'm glad I came. It Is a quiet,
comfortable place. We can have a chat. For
glv* my laugh; the rat was so big and »o
Sitting upon the tripod, Rayle looked pecul
iarly crumpled and pathetic, notwithstanding
his flue head and well-set shoulders. He
glanced uneasily at his landscape, then asked
Breyteu if he took any interest in painting.
'Not rrfuch," was the answer. "I tried it a
while, went to Paris to study, daubed some
canvas, aud was a great failure. You see I'm
not a genius, and one must have a gift. Na
ture first, art next. '
A lush mounted into Kayle's cheeks. "Yes,
the natural gift is the main thing, they say."
He spoke as if under great restraint. "It
seems to me, however, that money plays the
big part in the game. How can genius find
out what it has never seen or felt or heard?"
"I don't know how, but it does," said Brey
ten. "It needs no aid."
"Well, frankly, 1 don't believe a word of
any «uch stuff," said Rayle with energy.
"Qlv» me money, and I'll do the rest."
"Oh, I don't know about the efficacy of
money In the matter of art," Breyten lightly
remarked; "but we all need it, doubtless,
more than we arc willing to acknowledge.
1 squandered some trying to do what you
ihiuk of doing. If I had that money back
now I could use it to better purpose; but it's
gone, and I've nothing to show for It."
His words were meant to deceive, and they
did to a degree; but Rayle knew that Breyten
was freer, happier aud richer than himself,
and so what he said did not bring comfort.
Besides, h's leg was paining him, and it was
torture, yet a torture that he eagerly sought,
to look at Breyten's stalwart form and genial
face, where /health, strength aud activity
were combined in every ray of expression.
"1 had a selfish purpose in decoying you tip
here into this hole," said Rayle after a few
moments of silence, with a smile not alto
gether dUmal. "1 want you to tell me If I
have any real talent for—for this business."
He waved his hand to signify that his remark
comprehended what the room was dedioated
to. "Somehow I had made up my mind, be
fore you. spoke of having studied art in Paris,
that you knew more than I about it. Now I
want you to be frank with me."
Breyten was speechless. Indeed, what
could he say?
"I'll tell you the whole thing," Rayle
went on when Breyten did not speak. "It's
just this: I have a small estate, held in
trust for me, from which I get $50 a month.
My lawyer has just discovered that I can sell
the property, although it was the donor's
Intention to prevent it. Now, if 1 have real
talent I want to know it, and I'll sell out
and so away to study. That's the long and
short of the matter."
He fidgeted ou the stool and a dark glow
rose In his face. This way of blushing gave
him a look of shyness not particularly be
coming, and made him appear less at ease
than he really was.
Breyten looked at him steadily for a mo
ment. "You are just as I was when I got
the painter's bee in my bonnet," be said,
with his pleasantesi smile and in a voice
meant to be very light and careless. "It's
like love; it has a way of humming until
it distracts a fellow—that bee." He was sil
ent for a moment, then added: "How long
have you been at this? How long have you
worked at your—art?"
"It isn't art; you know It isn't, and you
needn't hesitate," said Rayle promptly and
frankly enough. "I know as well as you do
that it's ridiculous; but I wanted you to see
it just as it is. If you should go to speak
ing favorably of It I could not respect your
taste; but can I learn? If I go to where I can
get the best help, can I finally be an artist?
That's what I want to know."
There was absolute earnestness In his voice
and Breyten felt something manly and cour
ageous come along with his words.
"You don't see much here to back my aspi
rations, do you? I didn't expect you would."
Rayle laughed mechaulcally.
"You jump to a conclusion," Breyten re
plied quickly. "I have not yet had time to
examine or to think." While he was speak
ing, his eyes fell upon Rayle's drawn leg
and clumsy shoe, and a thrill of pity shot
through his breast. "But," he added, "I
should Imagine that your work here would
be In your way when you—"
"Yea," Rayle interrupted, almost breath
lessly. "I should have to begin over again,
I know that. But what do you think of the
outcome? Am I mistaken in myself? Is
there nothing in me?"
•Well, bow do I know? I am no mind,
reader." They both laughed, Rayle rather
doggedly. Breyten went on: "You might
have superb genius and I not see It at a
glance. What do you honestly think of your
self when you He in bed pondering over
this subject?" •
"My self-trust never weakens for a mo
ment, save when I read of those men who
have overcome poverty, disease, and every
other possible hindrance to genius. I doubt
myself then; for somehow I cannot break
through anything: I have none of the shifti
ness of those fellows, and there has never
come to me one of those lifting waves of
opportunity to hoist me Into the current
"And if one should come—lf a windfall of
fortune should give you ample means—do you
I'^el sure that you would be able to make the
most of it?"
"I could at least settle the question and
And out. I could measure myself by a true
standard, and I tell you that I believe in
myself; yet"—and hla voice faltered as he
looked gloomily around the room—"you can
see that I've no reason to."
Breyten rose as if to go; but he stood a
moment looking into Rayle's eyes and smil
ing. Then in a tone of present dismissal he
"We'll talk this subject over again when
you have discovered that my opinions aren't
worth a straw. A vagabond wheelman Is not
just the safest adviser In a sertouß matter.
One thing, however, I'll say emphatically.
Don't sell your estate; let the trustee con
tinue to hold It. A $«00 Income is better than
no Income. What I have is safely invested,
and I manage to make both ends meet with-
I out disturbing the principal. It's the only
Rayle had risen from the stool and was
fingering his knotty stick. He looked up at
3reyten, who towered above him, and said:
'You might as well be done with me at
one* I snail be a great bore as long as you
are at the hotel. You see I'm desperately in
earnest and absolutely selfish. How long axe
you to remain in Hawford?"
Suddenly Breyten recollected something
that had been worrying him all the morning.
and be answered Rayle'» question with a
mental reference to it.
"Thai depends," he saLd; "my humor is
uncertain. And, by the -way, I have a pleas
ant yet difficult littte duty to perform before
I go away from this happy little town. Do
you know a young lady by the name of Rosa
A change came into Rayle's dark face. It
was as if a light bad flashed through it, with
a tender illumination trailing behind it. like
chat we see shimmering after a meteor in the
dusky evening sky.
"Yes," be mid, "I am acquainted with
"Well, I have some things of hers that I
am anxious to return to her. Does she -lire
in the Urge old house on \\ abash street?"
'•What nave you that belongs to her?"
Rayle demanded. Then, "I beg pardon," he
.added, "I have no right to ask. Yes, ahe
lives on Wabash street."
The two young men looked straight into
each other's eyes. Breyten broke away flrat;
he did not like something in Rayle's look.
Not that It was disagreeable or threatening;
what he saw was beautiful. It was because
it was beautiful that he did not like It. He
walked back to the hotel thinking in words
to himself. "The poor fellow loves her."
(To be Continued, >
Telephone your want ads to No. 9, either
line. You will be told the price and you
can send, the money in
Uauehlng at the Battle»Ulp Ohio
Will Attract a large Number of
People From the Northwest.
For the occasion of the launching of the
battleship Ohio at San Francisco, May 18,
1901. the Chicago, Milwaukee & St. Paul
railway will make round trip rate of one
fare from St. Paul and Minneapolis, and
other points on its lines.
Discriminating Northwestern people
will use "The Milwaukee's" famous Hed
rick Route- from St. Paul and Minneap
For full information regarding this ex
tremely low rate, limits of tickets, and
particulars concerning the Hedrick Route,
and scenic attractions along its Hoes,
write J. T. CoDley, Assistant General Pa*- i
'«enger Agent, St. Paul, Minn.
FOR MAY 12, 1901
The Great (ununUilon- Matt. XXVIII.
By John R. Whitney—Copyright, 1901.
Golden Text—Lo. I am with you alway,
even unto the end of the world.—Matt,
Whether this great commission to "preach
the gospel to every creature" was given to
the disciples iv Galilee or Jerusalem, whether
part of it was given in one place aud part
in another, whether it was all given at one
time, and then repeated with modifications at
another, are questions to which very different
answers may very honestly be given. The
gospel narratives are by no means clear on
the subject. Probably, however, we will not
be far out of the way if we gather from them
that during the entire forty days between
the Resurrection and the Ascension the vari
ous features of this commission formed the
largest part of the instruction given by our
Lord to his disciples when "speaking of the
things concerning the kingdom ot God."
(Acts L, 3.) Undoubtedly all that he said con
cerning It is not recorded. Enough, however,
has been preserved to quicken the zeal, to iv-
Uatue the heart, to strengthen the hands and
to direct the labors of faithful disciples in
According to St. Mark and St. Luke,
Jesus began to give his disciples this new
and special instruction on the evening of the
very day hi rose from the dead—at his very
first interview with them all. A week later
the apostles, and probably many others, went
to Galilee in obedience to the Instructions
given to the companions of Mary Magdalene.
(Mark xvi., 7; Matt, xxviil., 7.) Whilst there
awaiting the coming of their Lord, they occu
pied themselves in their old pursuit, as fish
ermen, until the Incident we considered last
week occurred. Soon after that incident
Jesus met them there again, and as stated in
this lesson, renewed and enlarged the in
structions which he began to give them on
the day of the resurrection. The occasion
was probably the. one referred to by St. Paul,
when he says, After that he was seen of
above 500 brethren at once." (I. Cor., xv., 6.)
That we may better understand the full
nature of the instruction thus given by our
Lord, it is well to gather tdgether its several
parts as given at different times and as re
corded by the several evangelists. When
thus arranged, it will read somewhat as fol
lows, and may be very justly entitled:
THE GREAT COMMISSION*.
"And he said unto them. These are the
words which 1 spake unto you while I was
yet with you, that all things must be ful
filled, which were written in the law of
Moses, and in the prophets, and in the
Psalms, concerning me."
(Theu opened he their understanding, that
they might understand the Scriptures, and
said unto them) "Thus it is written, and
thus it behooved Christ to suffer, and to rlße
from the dead the third day; and that re
pentance and remission of sins should be
preached in his name among all nations, be
ginning at Jerusalem. And ye are witnesses
lof these thing*." (Luke xxiv., 44-43.)
! "Peace be unto you; as my father hath sent
me, even so, send I you." tJohu xx,, -1.)
"Go ye into all the world and preach the
Gospel to every creature. He that believeth
and is baptized shall be saved; but he that
believeth not shall be damned (or condemned,
R. V.). And these signs shall follow them
that believe; in my name shall they cast out
(ievils; they shall speak with new tongues;
they shall take up serpents; and if they
drink any deadly thing it shall not hurt
them; they shall lay hands on the sick and
they shall recover." (Mark xvi., 15-18.)
"Receive ye the Holy Ghost—whosoever
sins ye remit, they are remitted unto them—*
and whosoever sins ye retain, they are re
tained." (John xx., 22-23.) "Ail power is
given unto me in heaven and in earth. Go
ye, therefore, and teach all nations, baptiz
ing them iv the name of the father—and of
the son—and of the Holy Ghost—teaching
them to observe all things whatsoever I have
commanded you—and lo! X am with you
alway, even unto the end of the world."
(Matt, xxvill., 18-20.) "And behold, 1 send
the promise of my father upon you—but tarry
ye In the city of Jerusalem until ye be en
dued with power from on high." (Luke
Now, the essential features of this com
First—Because Christ suffered and rose
from the dead—repentance and remission of
sins—are to be preached In his name. This,
it says, is "the gospel" for "every creature."
Second—Every one that believes this mes
sage and confesses it shall be saved. All
others will be condemned.
Third —The proclamation of this "gospel"
will be accompanied by signs proving it to
be of God.
Fourth—Those who proclaim it will need,
and will receive, the enlightening of the Holy
Fifth—They have the assurance of Jesus
himself, "All power is given me in heaven
and in earth," and his promise, "Lo, 1 am
with you alway, even unto the end of tae
Sixth—The acceptance of this message will
bring men into fellowship with the Trl-Une
God, and they are, therefore, to be baptized
into the name of the Father, and of the Son
and of the Holy Ghost, and to observe all
things comnuanded them by our Lord and
Such a message, accompanied by such as
surances and guarantees, had never before
been heard of in any part of the world. Noth
ing at all equal to it has ever since been
i found able to take its place. And yet every
feature of it has in view only the one pur
pose of restoring tihe sinner to fellowship
with his Maker. Primarily it does not ad
dress itself to, and it has nothing whatever
to do with, bettering the physical, social or
civil conditions of men, with promoting in
tellectual and ethical culture, or even with
the building up of moral character, and yet
the world has never seen such a powerful
agency to affect all of these, and much more,
as this simple gospel for sinners.
Dimly in types, and by prophecies, ani
promises, it had been set before men, even
from the time that Adam sinned, and in some
exceptional cases It had been accepted long
before Jesus actually died upon the cross, but
it was only by those who were specially en
lightened by the holy ghost, and who by
faith—like Abraham—"rejoiced to see" his
day. (John vili., 56. i No proclamation of it,
however, had ever before been made to "all
nations." In fact, none could be made. For
the great plan of man's redemption must first
be actually completed in the life and death
of man's substitute and redeemer, and being
completed—like the emancipation proclama
tion of President Lincoln, it must be signed
and sealed—by God himself in the resurrec
tion of his son from the dead. This being
done, however, it became at once "the power
of God unto salvation to everyone that be
lieveth." (Rom. i., 16.)
Now, this commission, thus given, looks
upon all men everywhere, as sinners, and its
one commanding purpose is, to save them.
To make this purpose known, the disciples
are to "go into all the world," and address
their message to "every creature, " making
no distinctions as if some did not need it as
much as others, and some did not need it
at all. To encourage and strengthen them in
their work, strong assurances and promises
are given them. But these are only sub
ordinate and auxiliary to the one per-eminent
purpose. They are Lever to forget that the
great reason for preaching the gospel to
"every creature," is that every creature may
be saved. And they are to be saved, it de
clares, not by any process of self-culture, or
ecclesiastical discipline, or moral reformation,
but by "the remission," or the "sending
away" (Young), "of sins," a process so
significantly set forth by the Mosaic ritual
when "the scapegoat" bore away the inqui-
|[ifW SVFFERING WOMEN I
§K» '-' OIF V ■ ,'*m !° S^tcfulto you for your valuable medicine, Wine of Cardui. His wonderful 11|
#i ulw FXfl I«n 10 grateful to you for your valuable medicine, Wine of Cardui. It it wonderful j|f
MBMRk V i * Vfl *«' *ho« be broasht to all suffering women. My period* lasted too long. Now they Jflf
rTOfflliM*! :'.: _^^ii • *""* b*cm* regular ami have the right color. The pains arc not severe and lam strong. IS
M f 3rw^B|k -*«S®^l&Ji The blindneu has left me. I feel all right and I know your medicine has cured me I||
Bf-*^Jft —————— CORA ANN °ARRETT' W
Br V^^ s V H There are many more sick women than there are well ones in this city to- fll
if , >^ \|| day. The duties which wifehood and motherhood impose too often break the l|§
RiiA»*» • © health yean before a woman lhouW be P»*t her Prim In thousands of homes 3
gg^Kik*:^ • -*>\puujijil *very montn brifti dreadful days spent in suffering the agonies of disordered fifl
m 3 menses. Nature never intended as necessary and important a function as mere- 1|
M \ *»!*.*}*■ truatlonto be the cause of pain. We say emphatically and positively that this suf. Bffl
Ik v' I fcrin^ can be avoided. There is no excuse for racking menstrua! pains when fig
|\ via Wine of C*rdui» the great natural emmenagogue. will bring a quick cure. IS
1^,,,-,,,,^ WINEorCARDII I
■|i llMllllll^MP regulates the menstrua! flow perfectly. It not only banishes the pain but fore- W
» / stalls and cures distressing cases of leucorrhoea., Every woman knows the cutting, burning pains of Im
m falling of the womb that shoot through the entire body. Wine of Cardui has cured a million such wk
Hi cases. Thedford's Black* Draught is a valuable laxative made to assist Wine of Cardui by regulating }§m
W® the bowels and invigorating the torpid liver. No woman taking Wine of Cardui and Thedford's Black- Jd
SB Draught has failed of a permanent cure of menstrual troubles when the medicines were used according 9
E|r to directions. Read again what Mrs. Garrctt wrote. Your druggist sells Wine of Cardui and Thedford's • wk
■''''IB """■ '■"'"Black-Draught ■' ■'.■ ■■•;■■-'.•■;■ r'"-"--"' • /^^^^ißSS 1 v m
SU For adrioe »nd literature address, giving; symptoms, " The Ladies' Advisory Bam
J^B Department,". The Chattjmoog* Medicine Co., Chattanooga, Term. ' . mm
&.TURi>*rx EVEMI&G. MAY 1 1901.
tl«s of th« peoplo "unto a Und aot in
habited." Lev. xvi., 22.)
That men might tnu« receive remission of
their sins or send them away, It says dis
tinctly that "'it behooved Christ to suffer and
to rise from the dead." Thus he became
"the lamb of God which taketh away the
sin of the world." (John i., 29.) And so when
the trembling sinner looks to htm he sees
that the infinite grace of God has provided
in his own son not only for the payment of
all the penalty due to his transgressions,
but also a robe of righteousness to cover all
of his guilty. So, washed in the blood of
Christ, and clothed with the righteousness ot
Christ, when the law would condemn him, It
sees in him no sin, and it demands of him no
penalty. Then he is saved.
But now it must be noticed that there is no
"remission of sins" without ••repentance."
For no man can be saved "in" his sins, or
■with" his sins. And this gospel of God's
grace is not offered to any but to those who
are deeply conscious that they are sinners
before him and to whom sin is "exceedingly
sinful." They alone can appreciate it. They
long to be delivered, not only from its pen
alty but vastly more from Us power. When
they thus come to Jesus Christ confessing
their sins, "he is faithful and just to forgive'"
them their sins (1. John, i., 9.) There must,
however, always be first this repentance and
confession, before there can be any "remis
sion of sins." This is the essential condition
demanded of the sinner. But it carries with
it always, on the other hand, the assurance
that there is no true repentance without full
The question now arises, however, how
shall the penitent sinner become partaker of
this great blessing—"the remission of sins"?
What must he do to be saved? The answer
given is clear and distinct: "He that be
lieveth, and is baptized, shall be saved."
Thus It is by faith, by a faith which de
clares itself openly in the rite of baptism
where It can be had, and, where it cannot be
had, by some other means which shall make
it manifest. It is a faith which recognizes
all that Christ has dove, and not only be
lieves that it is all true, but trusts in it,
with thanksgiving, for acceptance with God.
This is an entirely voluntary act.
And it must necessarily be so because of a
very important feature of all law. And re
demption, being simply God's way of satis
fying his own law, is thus entirely a legal
transaction, although its results are moral
and spiritual. Now, it is a marked peculiar
ity of all such transactions that no law
human or divine—ever compels any one to
accept its benefits. To enforce the penal
ties of law, great efforts are made by the
authority of the law itself. The guilty one
is allowed no rest. He is searched for by its
officers even to distant lands, and when he is
apprehended he must pay to the full all that
his guilt demands. But it is not so with
the benefits of the law. No provision is
ever made for seeking out its beneficiaries
to confer upon them the comforts and privi
leges to which they are entitled. So, when
President Lfineoln sent out his emancipation
proclamation, although every slave in the.
land was then entitled to his freedom, yet
not one was waited on and urged to leave his
master, and many remained in bondage be
cause they did not choose to avail themselves
of its provisions.
A few years ago I received a very striking
illustration of this. I had been speaking to
a Sunday school gathering In the Isle of
Wight, and dwelt upon this peculiar feature
of law. After the meeting was over, a visit
ing clergyman, commenting upon the subject
as we walked away together, related the fol
lowing incident: He said that, at one time
in his congregation in a town of Wales, there
was a man who many years before had served
in the British army and had been honorably
discharged. When he returned to. his home
he entered Into a profitable business, and
feeling no need of a pension, he made no ap
plication for one. But after some thirty years
had passed away he was overtaken with mis
fortune, and in his old age was left nearly
penniless. Then he though of the pension to
which he was entitled and promptly filed his
application. His claim was found to be a
just one, and it was not long before all that
was due him for the whole thirty years, with
interest was received to his comfort. He
could have had it at any time during these
year 3 but the law made no provision for
searching him out and placing It in his hands.
It simply kept it for him until his own senße
of need and his belief that it was there
prompted him to ask for it. Then he re-
So is it with the sinner and his salvation.
Bryu Mawr, Pa.
ADE WAS DISCONCERTED
One Occasion on Whlen He Proved to
Saturday Evening Post.
In the ways of tMe American city the
author of "Artie" and "Fables in Slang"
is regarded as an expert observer; but he
recently discovered one place in which
he showed himself as delightfully, unso
phosticated as the most innocent "lamb"
that ever strayed to metropolitan haunts.
One day when George Ade was out
walking with a guide in the naval quar
ter of Kioto, Japan, he observed coming
down the street the head of a great pro
cession. Interested at once, he paused to
watch the procession pass. On they came,
gaudy in apparel, but grave in face,
flaunting flags and great banners on which
were Japanese inscriptions. The mourn
ful chant which announced their approach
was broken only when the kettle-drums
and tom-toms were pounded or the cym- ,
bals clashed. As the weird and solemn
procession approached, Mr. Ade uncov
ered his head and bowed reverently, it
being his custom and settled principle to
invariably show the highest respect for
the rites and ceremonies of the peoples
with whom he comes in contact. He is a
firm believer in the doctrine, "When in
Rome do as the Romans do." His face
was very grave.
The procession was long—nearly a block
in length—but Mr. Ade remained uncov
ered the entire time of its passing. Once
or twice he glanced at the guide out of
the corner of his eye. He thought he saw
on the mans face a puzzled expression.
Finally, when the procession had passed,
he replaced his hat and addressed him
self to the wondering guide:
"Buddah?" he inquired.
The guide looked more puzzled.
"Shinto?" then asked Mr. Ade.
"I do not understand," the guide finally
"Was not that a funeral procession?"
inquired Mr. Ade.
A light began to dawn upon the guide's
face. He almost smiled as he replied:
Lake Mlnnetonka Tralna
Effective Monday, May 6. Great
Northern trains will run to and from Lake
Minnetonka as follows: Leave Minne
apolis 9:15 a. m. and 5:05 p. m. daily ex
cept Sunday, 6:15 p. m. every day, and 10
a. m. Sunday only. Returning—Leave
Spring Park 8:20 a. m., and 4:40 p. m.
every day, and 7:25 a. m. every day except
Sunday. Time cards giving full sched
ule may be had at city ticket office,
300 N'icollet avenue.
Readers will notice that the new time
table does not go into effect until Monday
SHAVING RECORD MADE.
A unique record has lately been made by
the barbers In a West Broadway ahop,
where 1,986 persons were shaved in a
single day. In this shop the hair cutting
and shaving are done absolutely free of
cost. On the stairs leading to the shoy
there was almost a stampede to-day, and
within the fifty-eight barbers had all they
could do to accommodate their patrona,
who come principally from the tenement
districts and lodging houses. In the gal
lery were at least 200 men waiting their
turn. This shop is said to be the largest
in the world, and exists in connection with
a school for barbers. Students come from
all over the country to learn the art of
shaving, hair dressing, manicuring and
facial massage, and among their number
there are women. The beginner is pre
sented with a "dummy" razor until he
THE DUTY OF MOTHERS,
What suffering frequently results
from a mother's ignorance; or more
frequently from a mother's neglect to
properly instruct her daughter!
Tradition says "woman must suf
fer," and young women are so taught.
There is a little truth and a great deal
of exaggeration in this. If a young
woman suffers severely she needs
treatment, and her mother should sea
that she gets it.
Many mothers hesitate to take their
daughters to a physician for examina
tion ; but no mother need hesitate to
write freely about her daughter or
herself to Mrs. Pinkham and secure
the most efficient advice without
charge. Mrs. Pinkham's address is
Mrs. August Pfalzgraf, of South
Byron, Wis., mother of the young lady
whose portrait we here publish, wrote
Mrs. Pinkhain in January, 1899. saying
her daughter had suffered for two
years with irregular menstruation—
had headache all the time, and pain in
her side, feet swell, and was generally
miserable. Mrs. Pinkhain promptly
replied with advice, and under date of
March, 1899, the mother writes again
that Lydia E. Pinkham's Vegetable
Compound cured her daughter of all
pains and irregularity.
Nothing in the world equals Mrs.
Pinkham's great medicine for regu
lating woman's peculiar monthly
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that appeals to lovers of the beverage
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Proper components, modern facil
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Druggists or direct.
Val Blatz Brewing Co., Milwaukee.
Minneapolis Branch, 1816 6th st 8.
Medical Book Free
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Free, postpaid, sealed, to every male reader
mentioning this paper; 6c for postage. "The
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QDEPIII IMTC The Science of Life, or
drtblAL NUIC. ge|r Preservation, the
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young, the middle-aged and the old. It is an
standard as American Gold.—Boston Journal