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The day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, May 31, 1917, LAST EDITION, Image 18

Image and text provided by University of Illinois at Urbana-Champaign Library, Urbana, IL

Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83045487/1917-05-31/ed-1/seq-18/

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THE DOTTED "I"
By Florence L. Henderson
(Copyright, 1917, W. G. Chapman.)
Lura Branscombe was in the power
of a human wolf and never suspect
ed. She was too artless and innocent
to think ill of others and whenever a
shadow of doubt crossed her mind it
was speedily dispelled. Her evil ge
nius was Isaac Wickham, but she
knew him only as her legal guardian,
and because her father had left him
administrator of his large estate,
while Wickham rather repelled her
with his elfish, avaricious face, tura
experienced a certain sense of duty
toward him and was obedient to his
direction as the legally appointed
protector of her interests.
In the olden days Wickham had
been a fairly honest and capable man.
Bankruptcy had soured him. Then
when Mr. Branscombe selected him
to act as guardian for Lura the whole
nature of the man had changed. He
now thought of but one thing to
make all he could out of his appoint
ment as administrator. He was stern,
Bervile, exact, indulgent with his fair
young ward, just as it occurred to his
politic mind he might best influence
certain ends which he had in view.
He had control of large liquid funds
and a portion of these he had sur
reptitiously used to establish Purdue,
a distant relative, in the loan-shark
business which Wickham financed
and from which he was receiving an
opulent revenue.
"I've got to break it up!" muttered
Wickham one morning, as he sat in
the library of the handsome home of
his client "This Gwynn Bartlett is
certainly favored by Lura. If they
marry, my mission lure practically
ends. I don't know how far they
have gone in their lovemaking, but I
must block further progress in that
direction."
The sordid old moneymaker sat
gnawing his mustache, his eyes rest
t ing, roving, Riding a
scheming glow. Then suddenly they
scintillated keenly. He took up the
receiver of the telephone on his desk.
"Long distance," he ordered with
a snappiness that bespoke urgency
and resolve.
"Maurice Wickham, Springfield,"
he called a minute later, and then,
"Hello! This is Uncle Isaac. You got
my letter? Why do you delay? You
are imperiling my position and your
"All You Have to Do Is to Win the
Girl."
own prospects. Come on af once.
The girl has taken a fancy to a fel
low we have to sidetrack and you
must try to win her before the im
pression gets too strong."
Then something from the other and
of the line, and then:
"Very good. I'll expect you Mon
day and we'll start the campaign
forthwith." What Isaac Wickham
hateXulJ.had- done was entirelyjn accord with

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