Indiana daily times. [volume], August 20, 1921, Last Home Edition, Page 4, Image 4

About Indiana daily times. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1914-1922

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4
JnMana Jlmlu STimrs -
INDIANAPOLIS, INDIANA.
Daily Except Sunday, 25-29 South Meridian Stret.
Telephones—Main 3500, New 28-351.
MEMBERS OF AUDIT BUREAU OF CIRCULATIONS.
. . .... . ( Chicago, Detroit, St. Louis, G. Logan Payne Cos.
Advertising ornces } New York, Boston, Payne, Burns & Smith, Inc.
WHAT would life be without a sensational murder case?
CHEER UP, Congress will take a recess next year when the members
come back for re-election.
THAT SPEECH might have sounded better If It had come from some
one besides Senator Reed.
A PAGEANT known as the evolution of the dance was given at Brook
side park. Needless to say, the present day ballroom wiggles were not
included.
AT THAT, the Wichita man found in woman’s clothes and who values
the clothes at only $3.11, seems to have worn more than the average flapper
appears to be wearing.
NOT ONLY have we an abundance of woman murderers, but a mob
which Included women has attempted to stage a lynching party in the
conservative State of Massachusetts.
HERE Is an example of consistency: On one day Senator Lodge is ap
pointed a delegate to the disarmament conference and on the next he makes
a statement opposing the cutting of Army and Navy appropriations.
AT THAT, Woodrow Wilson Is probably satisfied not to be a delegate
to the disarmament conference so long as his ideas, proclaimed while he
was In office, continue to be carried out, even though they aro referred to
by another name.
A FOREIGNER has been held In Jail for sixty-five days without trial
because he didn't use discretion in attempting to obtain an interview with
the Governor. It is a safe presumption that before he came here he was
told America was a free country.
The Sam Brown Belt
Since General Pershing issued the order permitting officers to wear
the leather suspender-belt known as the Sam Brown belt, civilians have
been considerably puzzled. Perhaps they should not inquire into military
strategy, as so few outsiders really understand it, but curiosity will natur
ally arise concerning the accouterment.
Some hero of battle might explain its use, also from whence it came
and why. It is said a pessimist is one who wears a belt and suspenders.
Officers appear on the street now, ail dolled up, with the shining leather
over one shoulder and around the waist.
It is a military axiom that everything useless must be discarded. Even
the wife of an officer must remain at home. Therefore, it is fair to assume
that the belt is a thing of use. rather than an ornament. It is a question
how the Army got along without this article heretofore. As soon as per
mitted, its wear began, thereby testifying to its utility and its comfort. It
must be remembered victory came when wearing these in France.
War changes so many things that it may not be bad form to support
the trousers from outside the coat or jacket and the belt may do that. The
shoulder strap would supplement the safety, in case the belt broke or was
loosened after a full meal. No one can tell whether or not the military
man wears suspenders under his coat. The Jacket’s contents are mystery
since the fastenings extend to the chin and the secret is well kept No
one ever saw an officer with a button off or the coat open, even on a hot day.
These belts are so constructed they are not good for correcting younger
members of the family and thev can not be used as razor strops- Officers
no longer carry arms nor do raey fasten drinking cups to the belt. Foch
or Pershing or Wood surely can demonstrate the necessity of the belt
however, if requested.
It may be readily seen that in case an officer were drowning the belt
would be of great utility to a good swimmer who could tow him to shore by
a good hold. Otherwise, it would be impossible with such tight fitting uni
forms as are now worn.
It has been ventured that these belts are bits of vanity, worn for looks
only, but this suggestion was by someone unacquainted with Army affairs —
or with brave officers who are present to save the Constitution and serve
the State.
Time for Action
Almost a year ago a committee of one hundred citizens was appointed to
study the civic need and the beautifying of Indianapolis. No report is made
but several significant happenings have occurred in the Interim.
The first is the action of numerous citizens of West Indianapolis, in
seeking disannexatlon from the city.
The second is the widespread complaint of smells arising from insani
tary places on the south side.
Neither should have been possible, but, both having arisen, should be
remedied immediately.
It Is a curious situation where a hundred people are at least studying
how to make the city better and more livable and a whole section of the
community seeks to withdraw itself from its organization at the same time.
When one can not stand and say he Is a citizen of no mean city, with
the full consciousness that he is telling the truth, that person misses some
thing from life. It may be the fault of the citizen, or of the party in pow er,
or of a group of individuals, but without regard to who is to blame, thft re
sult is deplorable.
Sufficiently bad things have occurred in the last three years in •civic
life, but the darkest is the demonstration of citizens that they wish to get
away from the city administration: that they do no prize citizenship and
can not cooperate to get the most good out of life.
It is said smells are unnecessary, in disposal of waste matter, if they
are essential, it is a greater shame that they are permitted near residences,
to the annoyance of a city.
The south side has suffered, this summer, almost worse than ever be
fore, but without any relief.
If any one thinks the citizens of West Indianapolis are not long suffer
ing and patient, or that they should show greater civic pride, let him go
where smells are ever present and determine for himself.
At least a few conditions ghould be made just as agreeable for the
south side and west side as for any other part of the city. Residents there
are Justly entitled to them. Where the city administration has forgotten
this, it is to be condemned, for residents everywhere should be proud of
citizenship in Indianapolis.
Experience
The president of the Italian Senate, in an address before the institute
of politics at Williams College recently, conveyed the happy thought that
communism lost ground daily in his country, by the actual workings of its
adherents. Their adventures in Italy were before the picture of Russia's
plight became so vivid.
Generally, the best teacher is experience. Its' lessons are always well
Impressed, and usually severe, even if they have many faults- A child w:ill
not realize until burned. A nation may be biased or prejudiced until it
tries some innovation and finds its real workings.
Reason and deduction should direct men s aljfalrs. They are better
than the blindness of experience. This is always realized afterwards, by
those who will not look ahead.
me French revolution could have well met all demands in advance.
Russian serfs if treated fairly would have presented no ground fertile for
blind revolution. The South might have sold all slaves and been richer
and the North could have purchased them cheaper than to make four years’
civil war.
Certain war lords in Germany carried a nation off its feet, mentally
and morally, when all fell to glorifying war. Then they got more than
was wanted and will pay for at least a generatibn, in damages.
The Italian communists seized factories to run them, but In the lan
guage c ft Tittoni, "From the day the workers occupied the factories and
were obliged to realize the impossibility of their taking over the entire
administrative control, communism lost ground daily among the great
mass of the people.’’
Almost the same may be said of Russia.
Today's conditions, political and industrial, are a growth. They can
Lnot be unduly forced nor retarded. If either is done, results are bad and
■he work will not stand-
BURIED TREASURE
n TTT'AT'nA/' Copyright, 1920, by Doubleday, Page
• | I I—l fV r% I * Cos. Published by special
Uj • A AJL-/X xl xv X ment with the Wheeler Syndicate, lno.
had all the attainments to be found In
books—Latin, Greek, philosophy, anil es
pecially the higher branches of mathe
matics and logic.
If It hadn't been for his habit of
pouring out this informatlqt and learn
ing on every one that he airessed, 1 and
have liked him pretty well. But, even
as It was, he and I were, you would have
thought, great pals.
We got together every time we could
because each of us wanted to pump the
other Tor whatever straws we could find
which wav the wlDd blew from the heart
of May Martha Manguin—rather a mixed
metaphor; Goodloe Banks would never
have been guilty of that. That Is the
way of rivals.
You might say that Goodloe ran to
books, manners, culture, rowing. Intellect,
and clothes I would have put you In
mind more of baseball and Friday night
debating societies —by wav of culture—
and maybe of a good horseback rider.
But In our talks together, and In our
visits and conversation with May Martha,
neither Goodloe Banks nor I could find
out which one of us she preferred. May
Martha wag a natural-born non commit
tal, and knew lu her cradle how to keep
people guessing.
As I said, old man Mangum was absent
minded. After a long time he found out
one day—a little butterfly must have told
him—that two young men were trying
to throw a net over the head o£ the
young person, a daughter, or some such
technical appendage, who looked after
his comforts.
I never knew scientists could rise to
such occasions. Old Mangum orally
labelled and classified Goodloe and my
self easily among the lowest order of
the vertebrates; and in English, too,
without going any further Into Latin
than the simple references to Orgetorlx,
Rex Helvetii—which Is as far s I ever
went, myself. And he told us that if he
ever caught us around his house again
he would add ns to his collection.
Goodloe Banks and 1 remained away
five davs, expecting the storm to sub
side. When we dared to call at the
bouse again May Martha Mangum arid
her father were gone. Gone! The house
they had rented was closed. Their little
Ye TOWNE GOSSIP
Copyright. 1921. by Star Company.
By K. C. B.
IN A small town.
• • •
WITH ITS one Main street.
• • *
I WAS Sitting ther*.
• • •
IN THE little hotel.
• • ft
TRYING TO figure out.
• • ft
IF THE dejected man.
• • •
nno HAD rassed Inside.
jrsT A moment before.
AND HAD then corae^out.
WITH HIS face lit up^
HAD HAD a drink.
ft ft •
WHEN ALL at once.
* • •
there CAME bounding In.
ft ft
\ LITTLE white dog
• • •
that LOOKED about.
• • •
AND THEN chose roe.
• ft •
AND I/OOKED up st me.
• • •
AND WENT to the door.
• • ft
AND CAME back agnln.
ft ft •
AND RETURNED to the door.
• ft •
AND I know dog*.
• • •
AND I arose.
• • •
AND WENT to the door.
• s •
AND HE bounded out.
ft •
AND ONTO the street
• • ft
AND RAN/a little distune*.
• • •
AND THEN came back.
• * *
AND WENT on again.
ft ft •
AND, OF course, I followed.
ft ft ft
AND I didn’t know.
• • •
WHOSE DOO it was.
ft ft ft
OR WHERE 1 wns going.
• •
BET I’VE long since learned.
ft ft ft
TO TRUST a dog
• •
AND WE went along.
ft ft •
AND CROSSED the street.
• • •
WITH THE dog ahead.
* •
AND HE disappeared.
ft ft ft
IN THE town drug store.
# # ft
AND CA3IE out a gn\n.
ft • ft
AND I went In.
• • •
AND THE druggist smiled.
ft • •
AND SAID to me.
• •
“HE WANTS a ball.*'
• ft
AND I told the druggist.
ft *
TO GIVE him one.
ft ft
WHICH THE druggist did.
• •
FOB FIFTEEN cents
* • *
THE WHICH I paid
ft * ft
AND THE darn little dog.
• * •
BEAT IT out of tho door.
• ft ft
AND DOWN the street.
AND WHEN I got out.
• ft •
HE HAD disappeared.
• •
AND i never saw him again.
ft •
I THANK you.
BRINGING UP FATHER. BKOfRTEKKP P S PATENT OFFICII
j i“b MR WELL -WELI •NP r
I 1 WArsT YOU to C.O I f ' A vJ< ( <‘b■ .'M TO AbIWUZ ‘ ***7
'' 11 - ** -- J^l ''
' ©mi f i~> l rt>'U"< f"" l _c
INDIANA DAILY TIMES, SATURDAY, AUGUST 20,1921.
(Continued From Page One.)
store of goods and chattels was gone alsrf
And not a word of farewell to either
of us from May Martha—not a white,
fluttering note pinned to the hawthorn
bush; not a chaH-mark on the gate
post nor a postcard In the postol'flce to
give us a clew.
For two months Goodloe Banks and
I—separately—tried every scheme we
could think of to track the runaways.
"* u*ed our fritidship and influence
with the ticket agent, with llver.vstable
men, railroad conductors, and our one
lone, lorn constable, but without re
sults.
Then we became better friends and
worse enemies than ever. We fore
gathered In the back room of Snyder’s
saloon every afternoon after work, and
played dominoes, and laid conversational
crape to find out from each other if
anything had been discovered. That Is
the way of rivals.
Now, Goodloe Banks had a sarcastic
way of displaying hls own learning and
putting me in the class that was read
ing "Poor Jane Ray, her bird is dead,
she cannot, play." Well, I rather liked
Goodloe, and I had a contempt for his
college learning, and I was always re
garded as good-uatured, so 1 kept my
temper. And I was trying to find out
if he knew anything about May Martha,
so I endured his society.
lu talking things over one afternoon
he said to mad
"Suppose you do find her. Ed. whereby
would you profit? Miss Mangum has a
mind. Perhaps It Is yet uncultured, but
she Is destined for higher things than
you could give her. 1 have talked with
no one who sasmed to apprlcate more
the enchantment of the ancient poets and
writers and the modern cults that have
assimilated and expended their philoso
phy of life. Don't you think you are
wasting your tlms looking for her?”
“My Idea," said I. “of a happy home
Is au eight room house In a grovo of
live-oaks by the side of a charco on a
Texas prairie. A piano," I went on,
“with an automatic player In the sitting
room. 3.000 head of cattle under fence
for a starter. a buck board and ponies
always hitched at a post for ‘the missus'
—and May Martha Mangum to spend the
profits of the ranch a* she pleases, and
to abide with me, and put my slippers
and pipe away every day in places where
they cannot he found of evenings, That,"
said I. “Is what Is to be; and n fig—a
dried. Smyrna, Dago stand fig—for your
curriculum*, cults and philosophy " ■
"She Is meant for higher things," re
peated Goodloe Banks.
“What she Is meant for." I answered,
"Just now she is out of pocket. And I
shall find her as soon as I can without
the nid of the colleges."
“The game Is blocked," said Onodloe,
putting down a domino; and we had the
beer.
Shortly after that a young farmer
whom 1 knew enme into town and
brought me a folded blue paper lie
said his grandfather had Just died. I
concealed a tear, and he w.-nt on to gay
that the old man had Jealously guarded
this paper for twenty years. lie left
THE STORY OF NINETTE
Synopsis of Preceding l hapters.
Ninette, a tiny wa:f who first saw the
light of day In cheap lodgings in a dull
road In the worst part of Hnlhaut, is
adopted by “Josh" Wheeler, who shares
his meager earnings as a s-rlbe on a
I.ondon paper, with the friendless babe.
Under his tender care Ninette grew t<>
girlhood and together they planned for
the future! Josh contracts pneumonia.
Ninette pawned everything they had and
finally, In desperation, trios !or hau l
at writing. ■ Dg ■ • •••name "Wt -
Her efforts brought a curt note from
Peter Nothard. an editor. She calls at
his office, but lie does not accept the nr.
tide. Hopelessly, Ninette turns Into the
street and after 4 long, long walk (lnm
herself In a far better class neigh
borhood than that In which she and Josh
live. Two men come from one of the
houses. They have left the latchkey In
the door. Bhe finds It easy to enter and
her only thought Is to holp Josh. Just
as she picks up- a costly watch she Is
confronted by Peter Nothard Ninette
explains everything to him. lie decides
to help Wheeler, but when they reach
hltn h is dead Ninette faints. Nothard
takes Ninette to his home. Ninette gets
brain fever. Ninette recovers and prep
aration Is made to send her to Noth
ard's sister In the country for complete
recuperation.
CHAPTER X—Continued.
It was the.second week In November
before Ninette was well enough to leave
Peter N'othard's house. She had been
slow In her recovery, chiefly so, the doc
tor told Nothard, because she seemed to
nave no desire to get well, or to face
life again.
Everything was an effort to her, every
thing a trouble; she took no Interest in
her future or her surroundings. She
would sit for hours at the window, her
hands lying Idly In her lap. her eyes
tilled with tj few away expression.
It was not that she was particularly nu
hnppy, but she seemed to have lost a
great deal of the power to suffer. With
•Tosh Weeler's death her youth seemed to
have deserted her, and although she still
looked little more than a child, she felt
herself at heart to be a grown woman.
It was true that she disliked Nothard,
true that whenever she looked at or spoke
to him, she thought of that first meeting
in his office when he had sent her away,
and, unreasonable as It was, sho put
Wheeler's death down to him.
There were times when she, forced her
self to look ahead and to pretend thnt
n great future awaited her, and perhaps
it was this game of make-believe that
really saved her.
She would have a great deal of money,
though how or from whence It was to
come she had not the faintest Idea. She
would be able to pay Nothanf all she had
cost him and free herself from her obli
gations; this was the one dream of her
life, her one ambition, if she had any
at nil. But more often than not. sho
Just lived on apathetically from day so
day, and let herself drift with the tide.
CHAPTER XI.
7 Shall Marry a Rich Man.'
She had said that she did not want
to stay in Nothard's house, and yet
when all arrangements were made for
her to leave It, she shrank from going.
it to his family as part of his estate,
the rest of which consisted of two mules
and a hypotenuse of non-arable land.
The sheet of paper was of the old, blue
kind used during the rebellion of the
abolitionists against the secessionists. It
was dated June 14, 1S(!3, anil it described
the hiding place of ten burro loads of
gold aud silve* coin valued at $300,000.
Old Rundle —grandfather of his grandson.
Sam —was glveix the information by a
Spanish nriest who was in on the treas
ure-burying, and who died many years
before —no, afterward —in old Bundle's
house. Old Kuudle wrote It down from
dictation.
"Why dln’t your father look this up?”
I asked young Rudnle.
“He went blind before he could do so,”
he replied.
"Why didn’t you hunt for It yourself?”
I askea.
“Well,” said he, "I’ve only known about
the paper for ten years. First there was
the spring ploughin’ to do, and then
cboppin’ the weeds out of the corn ; and
then come takin’ fodder; and mighty
soon winter was on us. It seemed to
run along that way year after year.”
That sounded perfectly reasonable to
me, so 1 took It up with young Lee
Rundle at once.
The directions ou the paper were
simple. The whole burro cavalcade laden
with the treasure started from an old
Spanish mission in Dolores County. They
traveled duo south by the compass un
til they reached the Alamito River. They
forded this, and buried the treasure on
the top of a little mountain shaped like
a packsaddle standing In u row between
two higher ones. A heap of stones mark
ed the place of the buried treasure. All
the party except the Spanish priest were
killed by Indians a few days later. The
secret was a monopoly. It looked good
to me.
Lee Rundle suggested that we rig
cut a camping outfit, hire a surveyor
to run out the line from the Spanish
mission, and then spend the three
hundred thousand dollars seeing the
sights in Fort Worth. But, without
being highly educated, I knew a way to
save time and expense.
We went to the State land office and
had a practical, what they call a
“working,” sketch made of all the
surveys of land from the old mission
to the Alamito River. On till* map
1 drew a line due southward to the
river. The length of lines of each
survey and section of land wa sac
curutely given on the sketch. By these
we found the point on the river and had
a “connection" made with It and in im
portant, wll-ldentified corner of the Los
Anlnios five-league survey—a grant made
by King Philip of Spain.
By doing this we did not need to have
the line run out by a surveyor. It was
a great saving of expense and time.
So, Lee Bundle and I fitted out a two
horse wagon team with ull the
accessories, and drove a hundred and
forty nine miles to Chico, the nearest
town to the point we wished to reach.
There we picked up a deputy county
surveyor. He found the corner of the
I.os Anlmos survey for us. ran out the
five thousand seven hundred and twenty
vara* west that our called for.
laid a stone on the spot, had eoffee and
bacon, and caught the mail stage back to
Chico.
I was pretty sure wo would get that
three hundred thousand dollars Lee
Randle's wag to he Only one third, be
cause 1 was paying all the expenses.
With that two hundred thousand dollars
1 knew I could find May Martha Mangum
If sho was on earth. And with It I could
f litter the butterflies In obi man Man
gums dovecote, too. If I could find
that treasure:
Blit Lee and I established camp. Across
the river were a dozen little mountains
Anything fresh was an Intolerable ef
fort, atid on the morning that she was
to leave London siio went down to
Nothard s study—the room where tie
had caught her that night with his
watch In h r hand and stood trembling
In the doorway.
“I don’t want to go," *he said faint
ly. “Must I go?"
Nothard looked up from some papers
he was sorting, great surprise in his
eyes He had never heard her speak
ho humanly before, so childishly, and
involuntarily lie took a quick step to
wards her.
"Yon don't want lo go? What do you
mean. Ninette?”
"I would rather stay here. I hate
s,rangers. Can 1 stay here'/"
He looked troubled.
"Only the other day yoii were long
ng to get away," he reminded her.
“What am I to do with you, If you keep
changing your mind like this?"
“I shall not change it again, if yon
will let me stay, and I nra quite willing
to go Into .an office, ns you said, or
anywhere else, if I can stay here.”
He colored distressedly. He had
tried hard to understand this girl and
utterly failed; and now. Just ns he was
congratulating himself that she was dis
posed of for the present at least, she
upset all his calculations In tills mail
in' r.
There were tears In her eyes, and
her lip trembled as she waited for his
reply.
“Can I stay? I'll help in the house;
I’ll do anything.
The housekeeper came to the door.
“I'lease, sir, James has brought the
car round.”
Nothard's face hardened. Was he to
be made to look foolish before his own
servants?
“lain sorry, Ninette," he said grave
ly, “hut It's too lato to change our
plans now. My sister Is expecting you.
I’lease go and put your hat on."
N'inctto flusliod crimson, then paled
as suddenly .
“Very well," she said shortly. "But I
shall never come back.”
Sho walked out of the room and up
stairs.
Nothard stood staring after her frown
lngly. What the dickens was a man to
make of her? He shrugged his shoulders,
bundled the papers |nto a drawer and
went out to the car.
When Ninette came downstairs dressed
for the journey she looked Just as wearily
Indifferent as usual, and glancing nerv
ously at her, Nothard could not believe
that she had ever made her trembling
app'-al to be allowed lo stay.
She sat beside him as they drove
away, her hands clasped loosely In her
lap, the big collar of her coat fastened
warmly around her throat.
The sun was shining but the atr was
damp and cold, and Nothard stooped and
wrapped the rug more closely round her
knees.
“You must not take cold again,” he
said.
She made no answer, and when pres
ently she spoke. It was to ask quite an
Irrevolent question.
densely covered by cedar-brakes, but not
one shaped like a pack-saddle. That did
not deter us. Appearances are deceptive.
A pack-saddle, like beauty, may exist
only lu the eye of the beholder.
I and the grandson of the treasure ex
amined those cedar-covered hills with the
care of a lady hunting for the wicked
flea. -We explored every side, top, cir
cumference, mean elevation, angle, slope
and concavity of every one for two miles
up and down: the river. We spent four
days doing so. Then we hitched up the
roan and the dun, and hauled the re
mains of the coffee and bacon the one
hundred and forty-nine miles back to
Concho City.
Lee Rundle chewed much tobacco on
the return trip. T was busy driving, be
cause I was In a hurry.
As shortly as could-he after our empty
return, Goodloe Banks and I foregathered
In the back room of Snyder's saloon to
play dominoes and first for Information.
I told Goodloe about my expedition after
the burled treasure.
“If I could have found that $300,000,"
I said to him, “I could have scoured and
sifted the surface of the earth to find
May Martha Mangum.”
“She is meant for higher things,” said
Goodloe. "I shall find her myself. But,
tell me how you went about discover
ing the spot where this unearthed in
crement was Imprudently buried.”
I told him In the smallest detail. I
showed him the draughtsman’s sketch
with the distances marked plainly
upon It.
After glancing over It in a masterly
way, he leaned back in his chair and
bestowed upon me an explosion of sar
donic, superior, collegiate laughter.
“Well, you are a fool, Jim," he said,
when he could spenk.
“It's your play," said I, patiently, lin
gering my double-six.
“Twenty,” #ald Goodloe. making two
crosses on the table with his chalk.
"Why am Ia fool?” I asked. “Burled
treasure has been found before in many
places.”
"Because." said be, “in calculating the
ppolnt on the river x here your line would
strike you neglected to allow for the
variation. The variation there would be
9 degrees west. Let me have your
pencil "
Goodloe Banks figured rapidly on the
back of an envelope.
"The distance, from north to south, of
the line run from the Spanish mission."
said he, “is exactly twenty-two miles it
was run bv a pocket-compass, according
to your story. Allowing for the varia
tion, the point on the Alamito River
where you should have searched for your
treasure Is exactly six miles and nine
hundred and forty-five varas farther
west than the place yon hit upon. Oh,
what a fool you are. Jim:”
"What is this variation that you speak
of?" I asked. "1 thought figures never
lied."
“The variation of the magnetic com
pass.” said Goodloe, Vfrom the true me
ridian.”
He smiled in his superior way: and
then T saw come out in his face the
singular, eager, consuming cupidity of
the seeker after buried treasure
"Sometimes." he said with the air of
the oracle, “these old traditions of hid
den money are not without foundation.
Suppose you let me look over that paper
describing the location. Terhaps togeth
er we might "
The result was that Goodloe Banks
and I. rivals in love, became companions
In adventure We went to Chico by
stags from Huntersburg, the nearest
railroad town. In Chico we hired a team
drawing a covered spring wagon and
“Who else will be there beside your
sister ?"
Nothard shook his head.
"Her husband, I suppose, and perhaps
some friends. She has a big house. a*J
she likes people staying with her.”
Ninette glanced swiftly upwards.
"Sho Is not like you. then.” she said.
“What do you mean?" .
“I mean that you don't like people
staying with you.”
He colored at the bitterness In her
voice.
"1 don't think It Is quite fair to say
thnt. Ninette.” *
"Isn't it? It’s only what I heard you
say. I heard you say to someone in
your study the other night, ‘I can't
think what will become of the girl. She
can t stay here, and that's a fact.' ”
Nothard bit his lips.
"That was not meant unkindly. It's
rath.er an awkward thing, you know, for
a man like—like me to have a —a young
girl like you In his house.”
•'’’The thought had never occurred to him
before and he stumbled badly over the
halting explanation.
Ninette looked at him with blank eyes.
"Why?" she asked.
Nothard shrugged his shoulders.
"oh. well, people might talk !"
"What could they sly?" she de
manded. “I lived with Josh Wheeler for
years, and it was all right."
Ho checked a smile. Sometimes she
surprised him with her Innocence, and at
other times he was exasperated by her
worldly wisdom.
"Josh was u good friend to you,” he
said.
No answer to that, anil he said again,
gently:
“Ninette, have you ever found out any
thing about your people—your mother
and father, I mean?”
“No, Josh used to try, but It was so
hard. AU we had of mother’s was a
book with her name in It—just 'Ninette,'
that's all. It doesn't tell you very
much, does it?”
"No.”
"And if I ever could find out any
thing about them,' Ninette went on, with
her old bitterness, "they wouldn't want
me. I am sure of that.”
"You can't be sure. They might be
only too pleased to have you."
She shook her head and relapsed into
silence.
"The country looks beautiful," Noth
ard said presently. "Look at those trees
on the hillside.”
Ninette glapced In the direction Indi
cated, but made no comment, aud pres
ently she said abruptly:
“When I'm rich 1 shall have a ear like
this."
“Will you?”
“Yes.” Slip looked up with swift sus
picion. “You’re smiling. I suppose you
think 1 never shall be rich.”
“I think it's a pity to think so much
of money. There are other things in the
world.”
“What things?” she demanded.
He did not know how to answer, and
presently she said, resentfully:
“Money's all you think about, any
wav.”
“Is It?"
camping paraphernalia. We had the
same surveyor run out our distance, as
revised by Goodloe and his variations,
and then dismissed him and sent him on
his homeward road.
It was night when we arrived. I fed
the horses and made a fire near the ban
of the river and cooked supper. Goodloe
would have helped, but his education
had not fitted him for practical things.
But while I worked ha cheered me with
the expression of great thoughts handed
down from the dead ones of old. He
quoted some translations from the Greek
at much length.
“Anacreon,” he explained. “That was
a favorite passage with Miss Magnum—
as I recited it.”
“She is meant for higher things,” said
I, repeating his phrase.
"Can there be anything higher," asked
Goodloe, “than to dwell in the society
of the classics, to live in the atmosphere
of learning and culture? You have often
decried education. What of your wasted
efforts through your ignorance of simple
mathematics? How soon would you have
found your treasure If my knowledge had
nor shown you your error?”
“We’ll take a look at those hills across
the river first," said I. “and see what we
find. I am still doubtful about varia
tions. I have been brought up to believe
that the needle is true to the pole.”
The next morning was a bright. June
one. We were up early and had break
fast. Goodloe was charmed. He recited
—Koats, I think it was, and Kelly or
Shelley—while I broiled the bacon. ‘ We 1
vrere getting ready to cross the river,
which was ittle more than a shallow
creek there, and explore the many shurp
peaked, cedar-covered hills on the other
side.
“My good Ulysses,” said Goodloe. slap
ping me on the shoulder while I was
washing the tin nreakfast plates, “let
me see the enchanted document once
more. I believe it gives directions for
climbing the hill shaped like a pack
saddle. I never saw a pack saddle. What
Is in like, Jim?"
"Score one against culture,” said I.
"I'll knon* It when I see it."
Goodloe was looking at old Rundle's
document when he ripped out a most un
collegiate swear-word.
"Come here.' he said, holding the paper
up against the sunlight. "Look at that,"
he said, laying his finger against it.
On the blue paper—a thing I had never
noticed before—l saw stand out In white
letters the word and figures: "Malvern,
1898."
"What about It?” 1 asked.
“It's the water mark,'’ said Goodloe.
“The paper was manufactured in 1898.
The writing ou the paper Is dated 1883.
This is a palpable fraud."
“Oh. I don’t know ” said I. "The Run
dles are pretty reliable, plain, unedu
cated people. Maybe the paper manu
facturers tried to perpetrate a swindle."
And then Goodloe Banks went as wild
ns his education permitted. He dropped
the glasses off his nose and glared at
me.
■'l've often told you you were a fool,"
he said. “You have let yourself be im
posed upon by a clodhopper. And you
you have Imposed upon me."
"Hoxv,” I asked, “have I Imposed upon
you ?”
“By your Ignorance.” said he. “Twice
I have discovered serious flaws In your
plans that a common school education
should have enabled you to avoid. And."
he continued, “I have been put to ex
pense that 1 could ill afford in pursuing
this swindling quest. I am done with
It."
I and pointed a large pewster
spoon at him, fresh from the dish
water.
"Goodloe Banks," I said, "I rare not
one parboiled navy bean for your edu
cation. I always barely tolerated it in
any one, and I despised it In you. What
"Well, isn't If?" You haven't got any
thing else."
He turned her words over In his mind;
they seemed unpleasantly true.
‘‘l've got friends,” he said.
“You wouldn’t have if von weren't
rich." she told him, with terrible cou
viotion. “Josh and 1 nri>r had any
friends, and he always said it was be
cause we were too poor.”
They drove some way in silence.
"When I am rich,” Ninette broke out
again presently. “I shall choose all poor
people for my friends."
"And marry a poor man?” he asked.
“No," sabl Ninette. "1 shall marry a
rich man. just to get bis money,”
CHAPTER XII.
An Awkward Meeting.
“That will not make you happy."
Nothard brought the car to a stand
still and half turning in his seat, looked
down at her.
"Ninette, when you talk like- this, do
you really mean it all; or do you just
say It because you think It sounds
clever?"
She flushed sensitively.
“I mean it. of eoure. I shall marry
a rich man. and 1 shall spend his money,
and I shall ”
“You will be thoroughly wretched," he
said vehemently.
"How do you know? You are not mar
ried." she answered.
"Perhaps because I am wise enough
to remain single."
“Perhaps some woman refused to have
you." Ninette said blindly.
He flushed and shrugged his shoulders.
"Perhaps. And I suppose if that was
so, you would think she is to l>e con
gratulated."
"I don't think about It," Ninette said
Indifferently. She shivered a little In the
keen country air. "Can't we go on? It's
so cold."
Notified began to speak, then checked
himself. Afte r at], of what use was it
to argue with this girl? What ever he
said she would still stick to her own
convictions and go her own way.
“We shall he at my sister's house in
a quarter of an hour,” he said, as he
started the car again.
"I am glad," Ninette answered. “I am
ever so hungry.”
He looked down at her curiously, her
face was quiet and Impassive; and again
it seemed incredible that she had ever
stood at his study door and made her
appeal to be allowed to stay.
What impulse had prompted her? No
sudden affection for him. he was very
sure; but he was driven to ask one last
question ns they neared their deslnation.
"Will you write and let me know how
you get on. Ninette?”
She shook her head.
"No. 1 don’t think so. I oan'r write
letters. I never know what to say.”
He shrugged his shoulders.
"As you like. I dare say I shall hear
all about yon from my sister."
But he felt curiously hurt. After all,
he had done his best for her, and it
would have been nice to know that she
was a little grateful.
He did not speak again t’ll they
reached his sister's house—a square built.
has your learning done for you? It Is a
curse to yourself and a bore to your
friends. Away," 1 sald—'away with
your water-marks and variations, ,-bey
are nothing to me. They shall not de
flect me from the quest."
I pointed with my spoon across the
river to a small mountain shaped like a
park-saddle.
“I am going to search that jnountain,”
I went on, “for the A treasure. Decide now
whether you are in it or not. If you
wish to let a water-mark or a variation
shake your soul, you are no true ad
-venturer. Decide."
A white cloud of dust began to rlsa
far clown the river road. It was the
mail wagon from Hesperus to Chico.
Goodloe flagged it.
"I am done with the swindle," said
he sourly. “No one but a fool would
pay any attention to 'that paper now.
Well, you always were a fool, Jim. 1
leave you to your fate."
He gathered his personal traps, climbed
Into the mail wagon, adjusted bis glasses
nervously, and flew away in a cloud of
dust.
After I had washed the dishes and
staked the horses on new grass, I crossed
the shallow river and made my way
slowly through the cedar brakes up to
the top of the hill shaped like a pack
saddle. •
It was a wonderful June day. Never
in my life had I seen so many birds, so
many butterflies, grasshoppers and such
winged and stinged beasts of the air and
fields.
I investigated the hill shaped like a
pack-saddle 'from base to summit. I
found an absolute absence of signs re
lating to buried treasure. There was no
pile of stones, no ancient blazes on the
• es, none of the evidences of the
$300,000, as set forth in the document of
old man Rundle.
"I came down the bill In the cool of
the afternoon. Suddenly, out of the
cedar-brake I stepped into a beautiful
green valley where a tributary small
stream ran into the Alamito River.
*
And there I was startled to see what I
took to be a wild man, with unkempt
bear! and ragged hair. pursuing a
giant butterfly with brilliant wings.
“Perhaps he is an escaped madman,”
I thought; anil wondered how he had
strayed so far from seats of education
and learning.
And then I took a few more steps and
saw a vine-covered cottage near the
small stream. And in a little grassy
glade I saw May Martha Mangum pluck
ing wild flowers.
Khe straightened up and looked at me.
For the first time since I knew her I
saw her face—which was the color of
the white keys of anew piano—turn
pink. I walked toward her without a
word. She let the gathered flowers trickle
slowly from her hand to the grass.
“I knew you would come, Jim.” she
said clearly. "Father wouldn't let me
write but 1 knew you would come.”
IVhat followed, you may guess—there
was my wagon and team Just across the
river.
• • • *
I've often wondered what good too
much education is to a man if he can't
use It for himself. If all the benefits of
it are to go to others, where does It
come in?
For May Martha Mangum abides with
me. There is an eight room house In a
live-oak grove, and a piano with an au
tomatic player, and a good start toward
the 3.000 head of cattle is under fence.
And when I ride home at night my
pipe and slippers are put away in place*
where they cannot be found.
But who cares for that? Who care*—
who cares ?
by
RUBY M. AYRES
] comfortable looking building, with wide
1 gardens surrounding it, and a sweeping
| carriage drive leading up to the front
| door.
j "I suppose your sister Is rich?" Nin
ette said.
"She is quite well off,” he answered
Indifferently.
He stopped the car with an angry little
jerk and got out, leaving Ninette t*
follow.
“I should like to shake her,” was the
thought In his mind as she stood calmly
beside him in the hall, she looked so
utterly cool and unconcerned.
Shemight have been accustomed to
visiting country houses all her life, and
yet, only two hours ago. she had begged
him, with tears in her eyes, to be allowed
to stay in London.
“My dear Peter!" Someone came
running down the stairs aud across the
ball, and into Nothard's arms. "My
dear Peter. I didn't expect you fior an
other half hour, but I'm ever so glad to
see you. And Is this "
She turned and looked at the girl be
side him.
“This is Ninette," said Nothard's sis
ter.
She held out both hands to Ninette.
“Are you better? I am pleased to see
you.”
Ninette's dark eyes searched the pretty
face half suspiciously.
“Are you?" she said. “Nobody has
ever said that to me before.”
But she submitted to being kissed, and
even returned the kiss, and she followed
readily enough when Margaret Delay led
the way across the hall to a sunny room,
where a canary chirped 1n the window
and a fire burned in the wide grate.
“Luncheon is really ready, though I
told them to keep it'back for half an
hour," she said. “Are you cold?” She
felt Ninette's hands, “reter, her hands
are like ice.”
“We had a rug,” Peter said.
He felt vaguely annoyed because
Ninette was already on far more friendly
terms with his sister than she had ever
been with him. He looked around the
room. Luncheon was laid%or six people.
"Who Is staying here?" he asked.
Margaret flushed a little.
“Only two people—Dick Felsted and a
girl friend of mine. Will you have a
drink, Peter? Help yourself and I'll
take Ninette to her room.”
(To be continued.)
Manager of the Murat
Rejects Boston Job
Nelson Trowbridge, manager of the
Murat Theater, who is now attending a
convention of the International Theatrical
Association, Inc., in New Y’ork city, has
refused an offer to be general manager
of the six Shubert houses in Boston.
ui making his decision to remain at
the Murat, Mr. Trowbridge decided In
dianapolis was “the best 'city in the
world.”
Mr. Trowbridge will return to Indian
apolis In time to see the opening per
formance of “Honor Bright" at the Murat
Monday night.