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The day book. (Chicago, Ill.) 1911-1917, December 22, 1915, LAST EDITION, Image 19

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

Persistent link: https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn83045487/1915-12-22/ed-1/seq-19/

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the kitchen table and took down a
jar. It held the nutmegs but some
sticky sugar grains prevented them
from shaking out Una squeezed
her shapely hand through the open
top to loosen them.
"Oh, dear!" she cried, "now I've
done it I can neither get my hand
further down nor out"
The mouth of the jar was fitted
to her wrist like a boxing glove. She
was dismayedly deciding that to be
released she must break the jar when
she turned like a shot
"Hey, there, my pretty!" a gruff
voice hailed her and the shadow of
a trampish intruder fell across the
Una stood petrified. The man was
fierce looking, the vicious gleam of
his eyes a menace. He held a small
lacquered and inlaid box in nis nana.
He thrust back its lid, drew from it a
small lady's jeweled watch and said
"Give me a dollar for that, young
lady, and it's yours."
At a glance Una realized that the
man must be a thief, for the little
watch was brilliantly set with dia-
"No," she said, "I can give you no
money." "You'll have to, or I'll slit that
pretty white throat of yours!" hissed
the man warningly. Aha! there is a
purse!" he shouted, as he made out
a small pocketbook lying on the
shelf of the dresser.
He snapped the lacquered box close
shut and placed in on the sink exten
sion, starting for the purse.
"I've got to get out of town quick
I've got to have money!" he mut
tered. Crash!
There was only one thing to .do,
for the intruder made a movement
to seize Una and thrust her out of
his path. And Una did that one force
ful, decisive thing. She swung
around her hand imprisoned in the
nutmeg jar. It landed on the head
of the intruder with such strong ,
I force that it not only drove the man
reeling, but broke into a hundred
pieces and sent the blood spurting
from a dozen cuts in his face.
Una uttered a terrified scream at
the sight of the man lying like a lump
of clay at her feet. Then she glanced
at her hand as a sharp pain shot
through it and a warm, trickly sen
sation accompanied it She waver
ed, faint and shocked, as she no
ticed that a piece of the flying glass
had cut a long, deep gash in her
wrist Mr. and Mrs. Wendell were
away from the house. She was
alone, she feared the man might re
cover. She mechanically snatched
up the lacquered box and started to
wards the open doorway.
"Did you cry for help?" was asked,
as she ran squarely into the arms of
a young man. "Why! What is this?"
he exclaimed , as he noticed the pros
trate man. "You are hurt your
hand is bleeding dreadfully!"
"He is a thief," began Una weak
ly. "He tried ta rob me and I
struck him, and "
"Why, you are nearly fainting,"
Spoke this new visitor solicitously.
"I know who you are Miss Prince.
My sister, Mrs. Mallory, next door,
spoke of you. I just arrived and
heard the scream. Go over there at
once," and the thoughtful young fel
low whipped a towel from a near
hook, wrapped it around her hand
and gently led her down the steps.
"I must secure this ruffian before he
wakes up."
Una struggled through the hedge,
but she was swaying unsteadily as
she reached a rustic bench and sank
to it, to be surrounded by half a dozen
of the startled guests of Mrs. Mal
lory. "Why, what is this?" spoke the
latter, as she noticed the toweled
hand, but Una had fainted away be
fore she could explain.
She awoke to find her wounded
hand neatly bandaged and herself ly
ing upon a couch of the Mallory
home. The kindly widow was fan-

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