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title: 'The Day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, January 06, 1916, LAST EDITION, Image 19',
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Image provided by: University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL
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bad she fared? How did he coire to
leave her? Where did his duty lie?
"Lucy," he said one day, when he
had recovered, "I am going east on
business. I shall be gone a month.
Do not be lonely, dear."
"No, Roger," she answered simply.
It did not occur to her to question
him. And he left her sadly, conscious
that he might never set eyes upon her
In New York he put up at a small
hotel. First he went to the offices of
the great corporation of which he
had once been manager. He had
owned a controlling interest in this
and would have been president but
for his youth. He sent his card in
to the manager and a dapper little
secretary came out
"I want to see Mr. Latham," he
The secretary looked blankly at
him. "I thought you wished to see
the manager," he answered.
"Mr. Latham is not the manager?"
"I never heard of him."
"But he owns a controlling inter
est in the business."
"You must excuse me," said the
secretary, and withdrew.
Nobody knew anything of Latham.
At his bank he found that the officials
had all died or retired, or transferred
their activities. At the house which
had been his he found a stranger,
who curtly refused him information.
Then he thought of his lawyer, old
Harry Flynn, his "best friend in his
college days, when he had stood be
tween him and an irate father. He
hardly expected that the old man
would be alive, but the office boy in
fprmed him that Mr. Flynn would see
him. He had sent in no card. When
he entered the old man's office re
cognition was mutual.
Flynn shook hands with him. "Sit
down, Roger," he said. "I always
knew that you would turn up some
day. But my boy you should have
"I don't understand," said Roger.
"What do people think?"
"They think," said Flynn, "that
you were killed in the .San Jose rail-
road wreck twelve years ago, that
you are buried beneath the mountain
The words revived Roger's mem
ory. He recalled now the disaster.
Three cars had fallen through the&t
broken bridge into the stream. Heif
had been in the smoker, he hadt
crawled, agonizing, through the deb
ris into the undergrowth and fainted.'
That was all that he knew.
"Listen, Mr. Flynn. I want to tell i
you my story," he began, and told it i
The old man listened increduously,
laid his hands on Roger's shoulders i
and looked keenly into his eyes.
"I love Lucy," said Roger, "but r
where" does my duty lie? How abouti
"She is alive. She is provided for,"
"My fortune?" J
"Much of it was lost after yourX
death. But your wife did not suf-t
fer." ' r
"I must see her." ?
"Roger, take an old man's advice.
You are a bigamist, but an involun-1-tary
one. You have not sinned in the
eyes of God. As I am your lawyer,.
I say, claim what you can and stay.
As a man, I say go go at once."
"I owe a duty o my wife."
A voice was heard In the outer of-,
fice the hard voice of a worldly
woman. It was Marian's! Roger'
caught a glimpse of her through the
doorway. The old lawyer motioned
imperceptibly to a screen, and Roger
darted behind it, just as MarianJ
came through the doorway. i
"Well, Mr. Flynn, how about those
papers?" she demanded, and the
tones of her voice made Roger shiver
with unhappy recollections.
"It is all arranged, Mrs. Williams,"
answered the lawyer.
Roger stared through the flimsy
screen; he felt his heart beating mad
ly; he could hardly restrain himself
from leaving his hiding place,
"My first husband was ahappyi