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The San Juan islander. (Friday Harbor, Wash.) 1898-1914, May 29, 1914, Image 6

Image and text provided by Washington State Library; Olympia, WA

Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn88085190/1914-05-29/ed-1/seq-6/

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IT WAS GREAT JOKE
Engaged to Daughter, Fortune-
Seeker Changes Mind and
Marries Girl's Mother.
By B. J. KROMER.
(Copyright. 1914, by Daily Story Pub. Co.)
All the travel he nad indulged in,
all the bard work, all the business
absorption and worry, all the great
affairs of life which had occupied his
time during the strenuous years fol
lowing bis graduation from college,
had not erased from his mind and
heart the memory of dainty care-free
Laura Tolman, his old sweetheart of
the college days.
He bad suspected this before he re
turned to the old scenes; now that
he was here the conviction came to
him with crushing force. Every
shaded walk, every leafy retreat,
every part of the old college build-
Ings and the campus seemed to be
alive with her presence. As he
walked the old familiar paths he
seemed to hear the music of her girl
ish voice and to catch the very aroma
of her sweet presence.
With a groan he admitted it—he
had failed utterly in the task he had
eet himself out to perform. He had
gone away that day when her en
gagement to Bently was announced
determined to forget her. The strug
gle that afternoon had been a hard
one, and many times he had thought
of the river as the most peaceful
haven he could find. Finally his
pride had triumphed, and, setting his
teeth with that peculiar gritty motion
the fellows on the gridiron knew so
well, he had said to himself:
"Claude Belknap, brace up. Where
is the spirit of your forebears? Are
you to let a chit of a girl ruin your
life—especially a girl who throws you
over for a fellow who is only after
her money?"
And so he had gone bravely away
with a song on his lips, but with
gloom in his heart. He had worked
hard, and not without success. The
very whole-heartedness with which he
threw himself into his work and
which was born of his desire to so
occupy himself that he would forget
the laughing face and saucy eyes of
his college sweetheart, drove him on
to success. He had taken up a stren
uous profession, and it had carried
him to many climes and into much
danger.
In the stress and heat of the bat
tle with fortune he had flattered him
self that the old wound had healed,
and finding himself in the near vicin
ity of the college town, he had rash
ly decided to revisit the old scenes.
Then like the rush of the tide came
the realization that he ever would love
the sweetheart of his youth, wherever
she was and whatever her condition
or relationship. The realization
frightened him when the thought
flashed across his mind that she was
the wife of another.
Heartsick with his own reflections,
■he sought to escape them by calling
■on Miss Carrie Sample, who still lived
In the town, and who had been a
great chum in the old days. He was
given so warm a welcome as to make
him forget for the moment the bitter
pain in his heart. The conversation
naturally reverted to the old college
days and the old boys and girls. Bel
knap had been abroad so long and so
occupied with business that he had
lost track of them to a considerable
extent, but Miss Sample, having lived
all the years under the very eaves of
the old college, and being a gossipy
lady, knew where nearly all the old
classmates were, who they married,
how they were prospering, and all the
other details which so delight the
feminine heart.
The conversation was animated and
extended, and Belknap for the time
being forgot his heartache under the
magic of this clever and friendly lit
tle woman.
It was when she dragged forth from
a sacred drawer a bundle of old class
photographs that he was most pain
fully recalled to his great sorrow.
"Oh, but do you remember this pic
nic we had," Bhe exclaimed, shoving
a photograph in front of his very
nose.
Did he remember? The blood
rushed back into - his heart at the
memory until he thought he would
/aint. It was a snapshot of a group
at a picnic, the girls adorned with
the boys' hats, and the boys wearing
the feminine millinery. It was just
outside an apple orchard surrounded
by a high stone fence, over which but
at a perilous height hung a bough of
luscious fruit. In the very center of
the picture was Belknap, and perched
audaciously upon his shoulder was
Laura Tolman, supported by his strong
and steady arm, picking the apples and
throwing them down to the laughing
comrades below. Did he remember
that picnic? It was the day when
■maddened by the contact with her
painty self, he had poured forth his
love and then, frightened at his own
audacity, had stammered and failed
to ask the vital question.
The photograph brought back all
the memories of the afternoon and
aroused all his latent passion. As he
gazed at it he felt the full tide of his
passion sweep through him until It
seemed that he must burst
Miss Sample chattered on.
"We all thought you were awfully
sweet on Laura Tolman," she said.
Really, we did. In fact, the whole
* lass thought It was a match, and was
•11 fixed up. it was perfectly paralyz
in« when.- after commences*^ j^
plunged into business, and she got e»*
gaged to that Bently fellow."
"You can't always judge about
these college affairs," he replied, with
a fine assumption of indifference. "By
the way, whatever became of Miss
Tolman—of Mrs. Bently?"
"Oh, dear, didn't you hear?" she re
plied, with a shriek of laughter.
"No," he replied, gravely, and a
trifle shortly.
"Oh, my, it's the greatest joke,"
laughed the girl. "Let me tell you—
no, positively, I must read it to ycu.
Ei —never mind who, but one of tae ;
old class wrote it to me from Sara-,
toga. Wait, and I'll get the letter."
And away she danced, leaving her
caller wondering whether to be angry
or glad.
Presently she danced back in
again.
"Listen to this," she said, and then
she read:
"Oh, Carrie, just the funniest thing
happened here yesterday. You re
member Laura Tolman, of course.
Well, she has been here all the sea
son with her mother —who, by the
way, does not look much older than
Laura. Well, you remember she be-,
came engaged to Mr. Bently just aft
er she graduated, and Mr. Bently has
been here also all the season, and he
has been a perfect shadow to Laura.
She has seemed a trifle cool, and one
day, presuming on our old class rela
tions, I chided her about it.
" 'Ella,' she said, very solemnly—
and you know Laura never was very
solemn, 'I'm awfully afraid I've made
a mistake. There was another be
fore Mr. Bently, and I liked him very,
very much. But he seemed tongue
tied, and it made me angry that he
would not speak, and —and I accepted
Mr. Bently—and sometimes it seems
to me that it would be a sacrilege to
become his wife, when my heart is—
somewhere else.'
"While we were talking a messen
ger boy came with a note from her
mother that she had left for New
York with Mr. Bently, where they
would be married the next day, and
she hoped Laura would approve and
always treat h^r second father with
all due respect—and a lot of other
stuff; and she wound up by saying
that Aunt Julia would be a sufficient
chaperone during the brief honey
moon trip they proposed to take.
"Oh, my, Carrie, what a shock it
was to Laura. And really I don't know
whether she was more angry or more
glad. You see, Bently had found out
that the widow had old Tolman's
money, although everybody had been
led to believe that the bulk of the
estate had been left to Laura."
"Now, what do you think of that?"
asked Miss Sample, laughing until the
tears ran down her cheeks.
"What became of Laura?" asked
Belknap, with an indifferent show of
indifference.
"Oh, she's living an old maid's
ideal life at the old home In Cleve
land," replied Miss Sample, careless
ly. "The Bentlys moved to New York
and built a palace on the drive. Laura
preferred to live in the old home. Oh,
you must not go yet, Mr. Belknap.
Where in the world would you go at
this ridiculously early hour?"
"To Cleveland," he replied, regard
ing her steadily.
After he had left Miss Sample
looked off into space for a moment,
and then gave voice to a prolonged
whistle.
The Beautiful Cypress.
Of all the trees in America the cy
press is in summer the most beautiful.
Ever fresh and green, its tiny leaflets
resemble the choicest ferns. Young,
it is a thing of charm; mature, it be
comes majestic, towering, with a long,
straight, thick trunk, which makes the
best of durable lumber. It is a tree
of rapid growth. It is hardy any
where in the corn belt, and southward
it has no insect enemies or diseases.
A man could plant a cypress tree in
his lawn, enjoy its wonderful presencel
during his life, and his son might cut
it and with the proceeds send the
grandson to college for a year. What
other tree will afford shade, add
beauty and make fine lumber at the
same time? Cypress trees transplant
easily, though they should be mulched
the first year and looked after occa
sionally. Once established, they are
able to forage for themselves. Cypress
leaves have been found unchanged in
blocks of coal deep down in the earth
—Breeder's Gazette.
Being True to Nature.
The lady had been out shopping.
She returned home with a handsome
sable scarf. As recorded in London
Opinion, she remarked to her sister,
who was admiring the purchase:
"That stupid salesman tried to get
me to buy a fur with two heads. I
cannot tolerate the unnatural in any
thing. Who ever heard of an animal
with two heads?"
Her sister looked critically at the
scarf. Then a smile of amusement lit
up her face. "Yes," she remarked,
"you didn't buy a fur with two heads;
but you have bought one with thirteen
tails."
That* Different.
Mrs. Exe (complainlngly) — Such
servants as we get nowadays!
Mrs. Wye—Well, one can't expect
all the virtues for four dollars a week,
you know.
Mrs. Exe—But I pay five dollars.
Romance and Reality.
She (sentimental) —Three years 1
was engaged to him —three beautiful,
happy years—then It was all over!
He (sympathetic)— Oh, I suppose
you married him then?—FUegenda
Blaetter.
'-,'"-'.. ' COPYRIGHT 191Q -gy HAT?ggT? y BROTHERS ' ____
a
BYNOPSIS.
Cowboys of the Flying Heart ranch are
Heartbroken over the loss of their much
prized phonograph by the defeat of their
champion in a foot-race with the cook of
:he Centipede ranch. A house party is
in at the Flying Heart. J. Wallingford
Speed, cheer leader at Yale, and Culver
Tovington, inter-collegiate champion run
ler, are expected. Helen Blake, Speed's
sweetheart, suggests to Jean Chapin, sis
:er of the owner of the rancii, that she
nduce Covington, her lover, to win back
:he phonograph. Helen declares that if
Dovington won't run. Speed will. The
:owboys are hilarious over the prospect.
Speed and his valet, Larry Glass, trainer
it Yale, arrive. Helen Blake asks Speed,
ivho has posed to her as an athlete, to
race against the Centipede man. The
cowboys join in the appeal to Wally, and
fearing that Helen will find him out, he.
:onsents. He insist, however, that he
shall be entered as an unknown, figuring
that Covington will arrive in time to take
his place. Fresno, glee club singer from
Stanford university and In love with
Helen, tries to discredit Speed with the
ladies and the cowboys. Speed and Glass
put in the time they are supposed to be
training playing cards in a secluded spot.
The cowboys tell Glass it is up to him to
see that Speed wins the race. Willie, the
Efunman, declares the trainer will go back
east packed in ice, if Speed fails. A tele
gram comes from Covington saying he is
in jail at Omaha for ten days. Glass in
a panic forces Speed to begin training in
earnest. The cowboys force Speed to eat
in the training quarters and prepare him
a diet of very rare meat. Miss Blake
bakes a cake for Speed and Is offended
when Larry refuses to allow him to eat
it. Covington arrives on crutches. He
says he broke his toe in Omaha. Mrs.
Keap, engaged to Covington and in love
with Jack Chapin, exposes Speed to
Helen, because Speed had failed to pre
vent Covington from joining the party.
Bpeed decides to cripple himself, but
Skinner, the Centipede runner, appears
with a proposition to throw the race.
Glass attempts to escape at night, but is
captures. Fresno gives Gallagher, the
Centipede foreman, $500 to bet against
Speed for him. Helen Blake hears of It
and bets $500 on Speed.
CHAPTER XVll.—Continued.
"I haven't got you. My name is
Skinner."
"Nix on that monaker," Glass
smiled, indulgently. "I had a man in
that Sheffield Handicap six years
ago."
"You're in bad," asserted the cook
steadily, "but assuming that my name
Is Long—"
"I didn't say your name was 'Long.'
[ called you 'Whiz.' Glass chuckled
it the point as he' scored it "Now
:ome in; be good."
Skinner darted a look toward Gal
(agher and the Centipede men gath
ered about the shrilling phonograph,
stopped and tied his shoes, and
breathed softly:
"Spiel!"
"This little feller I'm tralnin'—does
tie win?"
"Without an upward glance, Skin
aer inquired:
"Did the man you trained for the
Sheffield Handicap win?"
"Never mind that. Does this frame
up go through?" It happened that
Speed, drawn irresistibly, had come
forward to hang upon every word,
and now chose this moment to inter
rupt.
"It's all right, Mr. Skinner—" But
Skinner leaped to his feet.
"Don't try anything like that!" he
iried in a terrible voice that brought
Sabby Gallagher striding toward
:hem.
"What's goin' on here? Are they
Iryin' to fix you, Skinner?"
"Not a bit like it," Glass protested
"This Little Feller I'm TrainirT—
Does He Win?"
Jtoutly. "I only asked him which side
led rather run on, and now he calls
.'or police protection."
"Don't try it again, that's all!" the
:ook warned, sullenly.
"I reckon I'll take a hand in this!"
lallagher was In a fine rage, and
jvould have fallen upon the offender
aad not Stover stepped in his path.
"I reckon you don't!" he said easily.
The two glared at each other, and
urere standing thus when Speed and
lis trainer moved gently off. They
made their way to the house in com
parative silence. "I—l made a mis
take," said Wally.
"You've been Jobbed like you was a
>aby," said Glass. "There ain't but
)ne "thing to do now. Go into the*
aouße and change your clothes, and
irhen you get ready to run, get ready
» run for your life—and mine."
Over on the race-course Gallagher
vac inquiring:
• "Who'» goin' to send these y'ere
athaletes away?"
"I am!" announced Willie without
hesitation. "Bein' perhaps the handi
est man present with a weepon, I'm
goin' to start this Journey." He
looked his foes squarely in the eyes.
"Has anybody got objections to me?"
The silence was flattering, and more
loudly now, so that Skinner might
hear, he added: "If your man tries to
beat the gun, I'll have him wingin'
his way to lands celestial before he
makes his second jump."
Gallagher acknowledged the fair
ness of this proposition. "This race
is goin' to be squar'," said he. "We're
ready when y'all are."
J. Wallingford Speed stepped out of
his clothes and into his silken run
ning-suit.. He was numb and cold.
His hands performed their duties to
be sure, but his brain was idle. All
he knew was that he had been be
trayed and all was lost. He heard
Glass panting instructions into his
ear, but they made no impression upon
him. In a dull trance he followed his
trainer back to the track, his eyes
staring, his bones like water. Not un
til he heard the welcoming shout of
the Flying Heart henchmen did he
realize that the worst was yet to
come. He heard Larry still coaching
earnestly: "If you can't bite him, trip
him up," and some one said:
"Are we ready?"
Glass held out his hand. "Good-by,
Mr. Speed."
Chapin came forward and spoke
with artificial heartiness, "Good-luck,
Wally; beat him at the start," and
Covington followed.
"Remember," he cautioned, sadly,
"what I told you about the start —it's
your only chance."
"Why don't you fellows think about
the finish of this race?" faltered the
runner.
Then, in a voice broken with excite
ment, Helen Blake spoke, holding out
her hand for a good-by clasp. "Dear
Mr. Speed," she said, "will you try
to remember this? —remember to run
before he does, and don't let him
catch up to you. If you do that, I just
know you'll win."
This magnificent display of confi
dence nerved the athlete, and he
smiled at her. He wished to speak,
but dared not trust himself.
Gallagher was calling; so he went
to the starting-point, whence he sur
veyed the course. There it lay, no
more than a lane leading down be
tween ranks of brown-faced men whose
eyes were turned upon him. On the
top rail of the corral perched Willie,
revolver in hand. The babble of
voices ceased, the £ trident laughter
stilled, Speed heard the nervous rus
tle of feminine skirts. Skinner was
standing like a statue, his toe to the
mark, his eyes averted.
"You'll start here and run a hun
dred yards out yonder to the tape,"
Gallagher announced.
"I refuse!" said Speed firmly.
For one breathless instant there
was a hush of amazement, then a cry
of rage. Still Bill Stover hurled the
nearest man out of his patch, and
strode forward, his lean face ablaze.
He wheeled and flung up his hand as
if to check some hidden movement,of
Willies.
"No voylence yet, Will! What d'you
mean, Mr. Speed?"
Speed uttered what he knew was
his final joke on earth. "I mean that
I refuse to run straightaway. I'm 'an
all-around athlete, and I must run all
around something."
Amid shouts of confusion, those who
had taken position along the course
came crowding back to the starting
point. Willie wrapped his legs about
the top rail of the fence and drew a
second revolver, while the two fore
men bellowed indistinguishable threats
at each other. Chapin lost no time in
withdrawing his guests out of the
turmoil, but Helen kept her place, her
face chalky but her eyes very bright.
"What are you tryin' to hand us?"
roared Gallagher.
Still Bill was quick to take a cue.
"Don't get hectic!" said he. "There's
nothin' in the articles about runnin'
straight. Let 'em run around the cor
ral."
But at this suggestion every voice
seemed to break simultaneously.
"Humpy Joe ran straightaway," de
clared Gallagher.
"Yes, an' he kept at it," piped Wil
lie. "I favor the idea of them runners
comin' back where they start from."
"Listen, all of you," Speed an
nounced. "I am going to run around
and around and around this corral.
If Mr. Skinner chooses to accompany
me, he may. trail along; otherwise I
shall run alone."
"Never heerd of such a thing!"
Gallagher' was dancing in his excite
ment, but Skinner calmed him by an
nouncing, curtly:
"I'll beat him any way he wants to
run."
"Ton couldn't beat a rug," retorted
Wally, and Glass suddenly smote Us
palms together, crying, blankly:
"I forgot the rug!"
"We don't want no arg'ment after
wards. Does the Centipede accept Its
fate?" Still Bill glared at the faces
ringed about him.
"We do if Skinner says so."
"Twice around the corral," agreed
Skinner. "But no accidents, under
stand? If he falls, I keep going."
Instantly there ensued a scramble
for grand-stand seats; the cowboys
swarmed like insects upon the stout
fence of the corral.
"Then you'll start and finish here.
Once y'all pass we'll stretch a string to
yonder post, and the first man to bust
it wins. Who's got a string?"
"Mr. Gallagher, won't you use my
sash?" Helen quickly unfastened the
long blue bow of ribbon from her cot
ton gown, and Gallagher thanked her,
adding:
"Moreover, the winner gets it!"
For the first time, then, Skinner ad
dressed Miss Blake.
"Hadn't you better make that the
loser, miss? The winner gets the
coin," and the assent came in a flash
ing smile from the sky-blue yes.
"Then the loser gets the ribbon!"
Gallagher announced loudly, and made
one end fast to the corral. "Which I
call han'some treatment for Mr. Speed,
an' only wish we might retain it at
the Centipede as a remembrance. Are
the runners ready?"
Those near the starting-point gave
room. Skinner stepped quickly out
from his blanket, and stamped his
spikes Into the soil; he raised and low
ered himself on his toes to try his
muscles. Speed drew his bath-robe
from his shoulders and thrust it to
ward his trainer, who shook his head.
"Give it to Covlngton, Bo; I won't
be here when you come back.'
"Get on your marks!" The starter
gave his order.
Speed set his spikes into the dirt,
"I'm Goin' to Shoot Twice This
Time!"
brought his weight forward upon his
hands. He whispered something to
Skinner. That gentleman straighten
ed up, whereupon Willie cried for a
second time:
"On your marks!" and again Skin
ner crouched.
"Get set!"
The crowd filled its lungs and wait
ed. Helen Blake buried her nails in
her rosy cold palms. Chapin and his
friends were swayed by their heart
beats, while even Fresno was bal
anced upon his toes, his plump face
eager. The click of Willies gun sound
ed sharp as he cocked it.
Into the ear close by his cheek
Speed again whispered an agonized—
"Don't forget to fall down!"
This time the cook of the Centipede
leaped backward with an angry snarl,
while the crowd took breath.
"Make him quit talking to me!"
cried Skinner.
Gallagher uttered an imprecation
and strode forward, only to have his
way once more barred by Still Bill
Stover. "He can talk if he wants to."
"There is nothing," Speed pointed
out with dignity, "in the articles to
forbid talking. If I wished to, I could
sing. Yes, or whistle, if I felt like
it.'
"On your marks!" came the rasping
voice of Willie as Wally murmured to
Skinner:
"Remember, I trust you."
Skinner ground his teeth; the tendons
in his calves stood out rigidly.
"Get set!"
Once more the silence of death
wrapped the beholders, and Willie
raised his arm.
Speed cast one lingering farewell
glance to the skies, and said, devout
ly: "What a beautiful, beautiful
day!"
Now the starter was shaking in an
ague of fury.
"Listen, you!" he chattered, shrilly.
"I'm goin' to shoot twice this time —
once in the air, and the next time at
the nearest foot-runner. Now, get
set!" and the speaker pulled the trig
ger, whereupon Speed leaped as if the
bullet had been aimed at him.
. (TO BE CONTINUED.)
Gen. Booth's Story of His Career.
General Booth thus epitomized his
career: "When I started my work I
gave up the friendship of the people
of the better class. I gave up the
hope of wealth and I abandoned am
bition. Now I have found all that I
gave up. Had I wished it I could be
wealthy. My publications have brought
me thousands of pounds, but every
cent of it has gone back as it came,
for the betterment of the conditions
of humanity, for making people happy.
Similarly, I have the best friends In
all classes, and, so far as ambition is
concerned, if I am not the best known
man in the world, I am prayed for the
most"
City of Cologne, Germ,
. Splendid StructureTo "L^
D '»P'ay oM-rea, 1
Appreciation of Asian* 1
ture and music is gX^lltei
this country, but noUoi^l*'
Europe, and in a certain 7|»*
city of Cologne, Ge^r^
Occidental world. This e^H
eminence is represented b? a T^
cent museum of Eastern 1^
was recently opened there
The basis of the display i 8 m,
derful collection of East aJ >
which Prof. Adolf Pischtg^!^:
city of Cologne four years alo?^
dmonthatasuitableCX DcS;
ed and donated by the Zn-, ect'
The new building i a near ,3.
Crafts museum, it ta a^?* 1
structure, four stories high 4
32 exhibition rooms. The ar ?
was Herr Franz Brantsky -■
A distinctive feature of the new S
scum was put in by a Japanese *
penter, in th 9 form of three charleS
istlc rooms of a Japanese monasten
In these rooms a magnificent coli
tion of Janpanese arts and curios!
housed. '
The historic development of Chinea
and Japanese painting from the dan
of history to the present day is clear*
depicted by the museum, due to flu
most excellent arrangement of tin
hundreds- of subjects. Only one or t*
ancient collections in China and Japan
surpass the display at Cologne
Worthy of special mention is the col,
lection of Chinese stone sculpt^
German artists are now consider!^
the advisability of building and equipj
ping a similar museum in Berlin.
■ . .. ■ ■ I
CLIPS FOR CLOSING WOUNDS
Busy Doctor Made Independent in
Large Measure of Sutures and
Needles— Works Rapidly.
A wound-clip forceps has been In
vented which makes the busy doctor
In a large measure independent of su
tures and needles and enables him to
secure perfect apposition of wound
edges without torturing his patient or
subjecting him to the danger of stitch
abscesses. With the forceps and its
magazine of aluminum clips goes an
apposition forceps with which the lips
of the wound are brought together,
New Clip Forceps.
says Popular Mechanics. The Jaw
of the suturing instrument then ride
the apposed edges and a single pres
sure of the surgeon's fingers fastens
the metal clamp in place. Another
movement of the thumb brings tie
next clip into position, and it ■
possible, under favorable conditions.
to suture a four-inch wound I
two or three minutes. The clips are
flexible and any degree of tension caa
be secured by elevating or depressing
the center of the band.
INVENTION
Chinese students have invented ii.
alphabet for their language.
• • *
Gold filled teeth have Uenfou^
jaws of skeletons exhumed in Pomp ,
;• Of English invention is a vert^
lapels which turn up and button
form a chest and throat muffler, M
Harness to ca^ry an umbrd^;
man. leaving his hands at ÜbeW . ,
been patented by a Kentuckian.
'vLenseshavebeengivensome FrenJ
lighthouses which enable hem
their light from fifty to sixty m *
P* * vented^
V A double eye cup has bee^J
which applies a lotion to »)0 0
at once as a rubber bulb at
Is pressed. ## , _|
i' The French army has v^Sl*l
mobiles equipped as «* dx^
wherein surgical operations an ; ,
work are possible.^ ,!
Using special' K^fiS;
lupplylng oxygen, three ,^^-1
recently ascended near* ,
thousand feet in a balloon
ferlng:imy 111 effects.

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