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The San Francisco call. (San Francisco [Calif.]) 1895-1913, September 13, 1903, Image 4

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fancy she doesn't dream her plans have
merely succeeded ln setting us conspiring
to defeat her schemes. I'm almost sorry
for her."
"She's bo terribly tn earnest about It."
said the girl. "Every time she makes
those idiotic excuses and leaves us I
think I'll speak my mind plainly to her.
Then I go upstairs simply boiling, and
Bhe meets me with such a bless-you-my
chlld-dldn't-I-flx-lt-beautlfully sort of air
that I haven't tha heart to Bay a word.
Now," she said rising. "I shall leave you,
for you want to be alone and finish your
"Really. Miss Martin." he began.
"Now, don't spoil Jt all by saying
things which are generally expected at
such a time," she said. "I like you best
when you're perfectly frank."
"I wish you wouldn't go." he persisted.
"I want a promise from you before I
leave," she said. -"Don't go down ln your
catboat to-morrow to the picnic on Pop
lar Island with the fleet, will you?"
"Why?" he asked.
"It's high time we were taking the field
against Aunt Elizabeth. She counted on
our sailing down with you. I told her you
weren't going."
"And you're going back day after to
morrow," he said almost reproachfully.
"You must back my word." she said.
If it amounts to that I won't go," he
"Thanks. Good-night," she called and
was gone.
Fosdeck strode down the walk toward
the water. He was thinking of the girl
as she stood there on the veranda, the
moonlight on her copper-colored hair and
her dark eyes looking frankly Into his
own. Half way down to the water he
stopped suddenly and dug his too vicious
ly into the gravel.
"Oh. hang Aunt Elizabeth." he growled.
Fosdeck watched the fleet depart for
the island next morning, with them Miss
Martin and her aunt. He spent a miser
able day wandering about the woods be
hind the hotel. Late In the afternoon he
took the catboat and sailed down past
the island, where he eaw the fleet an
chored, and caught a glimpse of the
merry picnic party on the shore. Then
he sailed southward, and not until he
saw the fleet start for home did he turn
about to come back.
As he neared Poplar Island he saw
some one fluttering a handkerchief from
the pier. He ran ashore to find Aunt
Elizabeth asd Mlsa Martin on tho pier
"This Is rare rood fortune," Aunt
Elizabeth said Ingenuously, as tnay came
aboard. Presently she found an excuse
to go below.
"Oh, what made you sail down past
here." said the girl, when they were
alone. "Aunt Elizabeth recognized tha
boat by a queer pennant you fly. O£
course, ihen she contrived to hava us
left behind when the fleet sailed back,
and signaled you when you cam» along."
"Poor soul, I wanted to give her one
more chance," he returned.
"Let's go outside going back." sha sug
gested. "It'll be rough out there la tils
"Tour aunt," he began doubtfully.
what she deserves." she said
They went outside the chain of Islands
Into tho strong breeze and rough water.
Salt spray flew over tha bow ln bucket
fuls as they sped along, lliaa Martin sat
on the edge of the cockpit, her hair in
fine disarray ln the wind and hex eyes
"Isn't this glorious?" she said. "I'm
almost grateful to Aunt Elizabeth for
One little hand grasped the rail near
the wheel. Fosdeck watched It hungrily
and suddenly decided tha wheel needed
but one of his own brown hands. The
other closed over the littla hand on. the
rail. She looked up in surprise, but made
no attempt to withdraw it
"If Aunt Elizabeth hadn't preached yon
to ma on all conceivable occasions I'd
propose," he said. Ma voice husky w!ta
"If Aunt Elizabeth hadn't thrown me
at your head I'd accept you." aba re
"Let's call Aunt Ellzabeta nil," ha
"Let's," she replied rery softly.
His free arm drew her gently from th«
rail and close beside Mm. and at that mo
ment some ona cama up through tha
companlonway. Aunt Elizabeth stood be
fore them clutching tho little brass rail.
very white and shaky; but even la that
moment of physical anguish she beamed
upon them triumphantly as one who +*••
fought a good fight
"Ah. I knew it from tho vary first,"
she said weakly. • -' , •
"Last winter." he said Blowly, "when
your Aunt Elizabeth was preaching you
to me all the time I decided if I ever
met you to dislike you very much."
"I'm glad, after all, it hasn't made us
enemies," she said.
"So am I," he asserted, with a fervor
that made her glance up at him quickly.
"Poor Aunt Elizabeth!" he went on, "I
"A trifle chilly, though, Gertrude, dear,"
her aunt said. "If you'll both excuse ma
for a moment, I think I'll get a wrap."
"Shan't I get it for you, Mrs. Curtis,"
said Fosdeck.
"Oh. thank you, no," Aunt Elizabetft
returned. "I really don't know where
mine id. and I anticipate quite a hunt
before I finally run it to earth."
As Aunt Elizabeth disappeared around
the corner the girl sighed resignedly.
"Oh, dear," she said, "it's too absurd.
She invariably stampedes within three
minutes after you appear, and her mo
tive is so horribly obvious."
Fosdeck laughed. "Her methods are
a trifle open," he observed.
"I wanted you to hate me," she said.
"Ah, not dancing, I see," eald Fosdeck,
throwing away- tha newly lighted cigar
ette — with what inward thoughts may be
imagined— and taking the vacant chair by
Miss Martin.
"No," said the girl; "it's so delightful
William Fosdeck Stepped through the
low window to the veranda with a sigh
of relief and a sense of duty done.
As he turned the earner to claim his
favorite nook some one called: "Oh, good
evening, Mr. Fosdeck."
He turned and beheld 'Gertrude Martin
and her aunt ln the shadow of the ivy
vine. It . was Aunt Elizabeth who had
hailed him.
(Copyright, 1903, by T. C. McClure.)
JF i|i id^ HE orchestra leader
V. m -f4jM7~/ waved his baton, en
•^^jffiMWK er ee«cally. as if
VsS.V^Wl^ summoning his
*^3^^^Iw dro °P ln «" charges to
*~^^WMm*r »P urt ln th8 last
K \L * Quarter. Then, with
\ * V. a flnaJ roar « ln w bich
' f \ -^\ drums and cymbals
strove to outdo each other, the waits
came to.an end, while the perspiring- mu
sicians mopped their faces and cursed ln
guttural German these Wednesday night
By Cyrus DericKscm.
By Nicholas Nemo.
\L/ ><2\ i»/P HEN Alfred was
captured in the
(JJSIJs^JJ^^^r^^ Missouri jungles and
\\fX fv^VVj^'^*' brought Into the
v(C I i® J > '^~^? settlements he was
Mp^-fcj ¦¦ t£^> about tne best lml "
y(U& Xt'-A tation of & rough
\£2zL. £{•,] -*c^55r diamond that ever
. - ' came out of the tall
grass. He v as a child of nature and he
ifloried in It. His hair was cut a la Jo
fcann Most and his trousers had never
even Been his shoes, to say nothing of
having met them. His hat was of the
etanfiard soap-dish variety and his manly
throat was innocent of the clinging em
brace of a necktie.
Alfred had been shaken out of his na
tive tree by a philanthropist from the ef
fete East with a taste for collecting flint
arrowheads and other relics of the stone
ege; Alfred appearing to have all the ear
marks of a rough diamond, be had bid
fclra In along with the lot and taken him
East to have a little extract of culture In
jected Into him. After his hair had been
carefully manicured and a fifteen-dollar
cult of clothes had been hung on him he
was turned over to a dignified gentleman
¦with a black tie and a string of degrees
that looked like a hemorrhage of the al
phabet who was expected to chloroform
him and rub down some of the rough
places A bis Intellect
This was Alfred's first round with
the higher education tor which he
thirsted; we are led to believe that
thirst Is a necessary element In the
aforesaid higher education, at least in
the German kulturfests. Aside frcm
the thirst which he seemed to have in
herited along with his dislike of bath
tubs and other appurtenances of civil
ization, Alfred took to the culture-prop
osition about as kindly as a Governor
of Kentucky to undiluted spring water.
By degrees, however, ne came to see
the value of education. When the gen
tleman who presided over his intellec
tual destinies and made out the bills
pointed out to him that true greatness
was obtained only at the cost of much
cerebral perspiration; that no man could
wear a dress suit properly unless he
had a college diploma or was a waiter
in a German restaurant; that even the
President of the United States, the
chairman of the executive committee
of the steel trust, the gentleman who
mowed the lawn and shoveled the fam
ily Jewelry Into the furnace, and other
pillars of society were college gradu
ates; when the chief culture juggler
Indicated these things to him Alfred
gathered himself together and decided
that he would take a small portion of
the higher education on the half shell
even If It did do violence to all the tra
ditions of his ancestors.
After a sojourn of rour or five years
at the institution' presided oyer by the
gentleman with the black tie and the
monopoly of the alphabet Alfred was
There wasn't a feeling of brotherly love
between Silas and Reuben. Both wanted
to "run things," and naturally that
brought about a clash. Silas had some
thoughts of running for County Super -
of Silas Bebee, and Bat down to a boiled
dinner with him, and afterward held a
long and Interesting conversation. Mr.
Graves, as the stranger gave his name,
was one of tha partners In a big publish
ing house which made a specialty of pub
lishing the biographies of the old and
eminent families of America. The name
of Bebee, as he had discovered by long
and patient research, dated back to tha
year 90$ and had been , borne by princes,
dukes, counts, barons, poets and soldiers.
What Mr. Graves wanted was to bring
the Bebee biography down to Silas, and
let the world know that the family was
still on tap and as eminent as In days
of yore. The biography and the portrait
would be free, but in order to cover the
cost of the glue and the stitching Silas
would have to come down with J25 in
"I . don't think I'll trade," was tha re
ply when the caller had stated his case.
Mr. Graves seemed to have prepared
himself for Just such an answer, and he
turned away with:.
"Very well, i Mr.- Bebee. As you are tha
most prominent of the family I naturally
came to you first, but as you don't care
for the honors I shall go to Reuben. I
think he will jump at the opportunity,
being as he wants to be elected County
Supervisor next year. Good-day, Mr/. Be
bee." ' ¦ - ¦¦ ¦ ¦ ¦ • ¦ '
Accordingly his discoverer launched him
into the glad wild swirl of college life
There for four long happy years he lived
the Joyous, care-free life that all old men
like to look back to and tell harmless lies
about. There he learned many new meth
ods of Imparting the proper shade to a
meerschaum pipe, how to make a welsh
rarebit with a handful of cheese,' a bottle
of dandruff cure and three bottles of beer
and also how to pass a hard examina
tion without revealing the unfathomable
depths of '"his Ignorance. The last Is the
real art of college life that is never for
gotten by those who have once acquired
It Greek comes and goes, Latin rises
and sets, mathematics has its perihelion
and Its aphelion, but the ancient and hon-
declared to be ( ready for college, in
addition to a speaking acquaintance
with polite literature — not to mention
the impolite variety on tap at the vil
lage barber shop — he could smoke a
bull-dog pipe and select his own clothes
without doing serious damage to the
regulations of the Board of Health. But
this was only the beginning. He had
been made aware by the few glimpses
he had had of the young men who were
favoring the colleges of the land with
their occasional presence that there
were a great many different kinds of
slang that he was not familiar with,
as well as a number of weird and as
sorted brands of trousers. . Clearly his
education was far from complete as
long as these heights still loomed above
him unattained. He „ thirsted for still
more culture and other thtngs too num
erous to mention.
he could not have 'told him from Ward
McAllister, Harry Lehr or any other
bright and shining example to his kind.
The four years came to an end at last,
as everything does except trouble, and
Alfred was turned loose on an Innocent
and unsuspecting world, wrapped in his
diploma and an air of grand and unsubdu
able magnificence. ', He was educated— oh.
no doubt about it He knew exactly what
kind of tie to wear In the morning and
the exact variety of trousers that should
gladden the world in the afternoon. He
could wear a Prince Albert as one to the
manner born, nnd he was an expert wit
ness on the subject" of hats. Also, he had
a large acquaintance among the chorus
girls of half the theaters in town, and he
could order a dinner for four at the
Walledorff-Castoria without ever letting
the waiter susoect that In his early youth
he had orushed . his hair with a curry
comb and performed his morning ablu
tions in & tin pall. Running an automo
bile was as easy to Mm as running in debt
is to the average man, and he could pick
the winner at least once out of twenty
neven times In the Gravesend Embezzlers
*Th? dark secret of" Ms birth
forever buried In the recesses of Ms -own
bosom and no one could have told from
the way he spent money that he had been
born west of Hackensack. His education
was complete and he was fully as useless
as though his name had been hyphenated
from his iblrth. Alfred's meteoric career
is merely another example of the grand
truth that knowledge is not only power,
but an excellent preparation for the re
moval of disfiguring birthmarks.^ ¦¦
. (Copyright, 1903. by Albert Brltt.)
orablo art of cribbing passes not away.
Alfred's alleged benefactor had of ten told
him tnat he sent him to college to learn
how to work: and he did work— every one
in sight, up to and Including the afore
said alleged benefactor.
If any wanderer from his native wilds
had met him at this stage of his career
"Resolved. That while the Bebees date
back to the year 900, this year of 1900 saw
the whole durn caboodle making fools of
themselves without reason or excuse and
we won't do It again t"
"By gum, but I always knowed BUas
Bebee was a sneak, asd now it's proved.
Ha wants folks to think he's the big Be
bee. does heT Wants the world to bellove
that all tha ether Bebees stand around
and look at Mm with their mouths open?
"Wail, m bust «p his little circus for
The rest was easy, of course. There
was Salathlel, his wife and two sons and
two daughters, and all had to go into
that book regardless of Bpace or cost mT
Graves was not an Impetuous man. and
he took his time writing out his notes and
managed to got five days' free board and
lodgings. Then he departed to "work"
Moses. Abraham. Joab, Peter, Paul and
several other Bebees. securing victims in
each and every family, and In one in
stance taking in everything f rom the
grandmother down to the infant In the
cradle. He put ta a full month at hla
work, and ha had the best bads and the
best meals. After his coming the Bebees
no longer neighbored, and they passed
each other with their heads held high and
their noses turned up. In one or two cases
tha young men cama to blows, and law
suits were started over old matters.
Things were edging alon* toward a griev
ous state of affairs when Mr. Graves and
his notes and his money departed, and
three day* later a detective arrived In
¦ef«h of Mm jid exposed him as a
swindler. Tha Bebees didn't want t» and
couldn't believe It at first but the evi
dence submitted was too strong for them
to stand against, and after a due amount
of weeping and walling and swearing a
meeting of all tha families was held and
it was unanimously
course, and than he headed for the house
of Reuben. It was understood that he
must call there to ask Reubea Ma exact
age, but he must not go beyond that.
Reuben was la the corn field with his
hoe, and he leaned against the fenoe and
heard what the publisher had to say and
then replied:
_>—" —^v EBEE . Settlement
V M/Kk\\\ was bo called be-
/i R cause bo many
jf^^? la^ai'v^J larmcra of that
v^#fr|^ Phvl name, and all re
4™\$&s v$$t\\ lated> had Bettled
fSy&ZjfpJ f&FZ/l 'there. It was at
*2r^»v^ peace with all
T' <T4 mankind, -and th«
t ayners hoeing their corn, when some
thing like a cloudburst happened.
A stranger arrived- at the house
"Well, very seldom." was tha reply.
"I believe they hava mentioned Cleo
patra and ona or two others, but those
were exceptional cases. Still, as your
wife says — "
The result was that Mrs. Silas Bebaa
was given three pages and a portrait
in the book, all for the sum of $3 cash
In advance, and the clock had struck
midnight before she got through telling
how often she had had rheumatism, hys
terics and . bronchitis, and how many
yards of rag carpet and barrels of roft
soap she had made during her married
life. There was a 'son In the family
named Joe. Ha had nothing to say that
evening, but ha got up next morning to
claim his rights. As the son of Bebee.
and tho biggest Bebee of them all, he
wanted to be known or men, and It was
finally decided that he should have two
pages and a portrait for five dollars. It
was dog cheap, and Mr. Graves would
lose money on It. but he had started out
to see the Bebee family through and
must do it even if he went broke. It
took him three days to get through with
tha family, during which he had free
visor himself, and It was news to him,
and news he did not like, that Reuben
was planning to mix In. - Ha did some
rapid thinking. Mr. Graves had not
climbed Into his buggy when ha was
called back and a bargain concluded. Tha
rest of the afternoon and all tha evening
was spent In listening to Silas Bebea's
history, covering a period of some fifty
six years. Mr. Graves made copious
notes. and nodded. his head from time to
time, and all went well with the story.
Bedtime had coma, and Sllaa had given
In sufficient matter for his tan pages,
when his wife, who had all along been
doing a heap of thinking, rose up and In
quired :
"Silas, am I to ba left out of this
thing as If I didn't amount to shucksT
'If I haven't helped you to be tha biggest
toad in the puddle, who has?"
"They never say anything In books
about big women, do they?" he asked of
Mr. Graves.
He honestly believed himself in love, and
truly felt for her a tender fondness that
had begun when, a sturdy little lad, he
had guided her tottering baby steps. He
meant always to guide, guard and cher
ish her as became a gentleman, even
tion in putting the ring upon her finger
end even chafed a little over the fact
that, by her father's express desire, she
was to stay single until ehe was one and
pretty girl into an rifland queen. Millie
was. you see, a Spanish blonde, with vel
vet-dark eyfs and hair of the palest gold.
Email wonder— in the blue gown — she
swept John Eustace oft his feet and made
him forgtt some things he ought to have
His betrothed, Alice Ellison, for exam
ple. Alice was as good as her plentiful
gold, but f tubby, dull colored, and. on the
surface, Cull witted. Ehe was above all
things, dutiful. Duty was. Indeed, the
early root of her love for John. If she
had not han>*.ned \o be born the Ellison
fortune would have gone to John's father,
Ellison Eustace. Her father had married
•In a fit of pique when he was on the edge
'of 70. He lived to see his daughter 9
years old and to impress upon her that
ehe must marry her second cousin and so
keep the money In the Ellison blood.
John, five years older than Alice, had
accepted his fate philosophically. Until
chance Rung Millie across his path he
had never repined. An only child and
motherless, he had grown up his father's
Intimate comrade. Thus women, especial
ly young women, had never worn for him
the roseate glamour of unschooled youth.
Etlll. his father had by no means tried
to put an old head upon young shoulders,
nor to breed in his son contempt for wom
enklnd. It was only that love and wom
en were pushed to the background, reck
oned mere episodes beside the rush and
ecurry cf truly manly pursuits. Mar
riage was honorable in all men— marriage
¦with Alice v.-ould be thrice honorable,
cafe and profitable. Thus, when she
came to IS. John had a certain satisfac-
Copyright, 1903, by T. C. McClure.)
r *__— V—^t F Millie had not worn
fft£sEm^S?f h" *>!«• sown tha
ilu&R«5?u£ff story might have been
Is^'S&S j different Whether it
'"F'^F jV^' I *as the color or the
5T v G*5i^3 £\ I *V-rr of it, or the way
[ t§&^Jjafeffii j It clung to and molded
£gg£asnESK{$E<^M her film suppleness, no
bofly cou'.d ssy. but the fact was patent,
•cnehow it trasiformed her from a very
tare. Beside It was a briefer statement!
"Let It ba understood of all men, if I die*
I shall have died In' a man's quarrel.
founded on no personal grudge, but re
senting unjust asperilons upon my native
State." She almost smiled over It — tha
native State counted to Joe for so very
little in the ordinary course of life.
Twenty minutes later. Just as the sun
peeped over rimmlnjr trees, she came out
In a llttla clearing upon a wooded hilltop
and saw two men. standing weapon In
band, face to face, ten yards apart. Threa
other men. a little way off, had scared
white faces, but neither combatant had
lost wholesome color. Millie sprang be
tween them, white as a dawn wraith, but
with eyes like glowing coals. She flung
up her arms and «ald very clearly: "Fire,
gentlemenl If anybody deserves death I
"Millie! Go back!" Joe Cantrell thun
dered. Eustaca dropped his pistol and
leaped to tha girl's Bide. In her ear ha
whlspereu brokenly: "Darling, let him
kill me; It Is the best way out of it all."
Millie shrank from him a little. There
is no need for bloodshed." she said; then
raising her voice so tha seconds could
hear. "I call all hera to witness that I
hava not been deceived. I knaw at tha
very first of John Eustace's batrothaL
"We have done no wrong to anybody— we—
we love each other because we cannot
help it Oh. It Is hard that my own
brother brines ma to such open shame.
"Come homa!" Cantrell said, roughly,
flinging away bis pistol and clutching her
arm. Eustaca caught tha other hand,
saying: "Stay with me. Millie! The whole
world may go If I have you."
"Oood-by," Millie said, drawing away
her hand. "I shall love you always, John,
but your wife need not ba Jealous."
By the strange orderings of fata that
was a true word. John Eustaca went
straight to Alice and told her all the
truth She gava him back his freedom.
and would have given him half her money
only ha would not have it. But ha could
not oersuade Millie to marry hfcn until
Joe. the masterful, had wooed and won
Alice Ellison and her fortune.
though In his swelling visions of the fu
ture she was no more than a dumb, sub
missive shade. If she would never be a
brilliant figure, still less would she be
one of whom a husband must needs ba
ashamed. Indeed, he was altogether a lit
tle more than content with the ordering
of things until, six months before his
wedding day. he earner under Millie's spell.
He saw her first upon a spring morning
full of hot, shining and languid ruffling
airs. Dew still sparkled on the grass, and
overhead in the green gold of new leaf
age robins fluted delicately the Joy of life
and love. To hU enchanted eyes Millie
embodied the shining, the bird song, the
softness of the south wind, the warmth
of the sun. What they said Is immaterial
—for two hours they walked together over
the ragged lawn turf, or stood In rapl
contemplation of newly opened roses. And
then, in a safe seclusion of greenest
shade, he drew her within his arms and
kissed her. not lightly, but as one who
takes what is supremely his own.
Then followed a heavenly fortnight
Eustaca masterfully pushed out «f his
mind all thought that might mar this new
bliss. He rarely spoke his love, and after
that first kiss was sparing of demonstra
tion—there was no need of it when each
understood so perfectly what was the oth
er's heart Yet at the end of every day's
comradery Eustace had a sense of some
thing impending, ever drawing nearer. He
refused to let himself, look further than
the next day's end, but somehow, some
where, he knew he would be called to pay
a bitter scot
His chiefest care was for Millie. No
harm must touch her. however It fared
with him. She was so young, bo Inno
cently gay. so innocently foolish, h© was
doubly bound to protect her even against
himeelf. it was heaven to see her bloom
and sparkle at his approach; she left her
self so artlessly undefended, now and
again there cam* a Jump in his throat.
A man who could speak, who could even
think, lightly of her would deserve death
twice over.
So the Idyl drifted through hours,
sunlit and starlit Perhaps It was some
111 star In its course that brought home
Joe Cantrell, Millie's brother, who lived
out In the big world and knew Its ways.
He came unannounced. Just as dusk fell
down, making- his way through the de
vious side path all tangled with sweet
shrubs. When Millie met him a little
later her eyes were star-like, her cheeks
of damask bloom, but sight of her
could not win him from Icy anger. He
never explained anything. Tou will be
ready to go back wttb me two days
hence," he said, frowning heavily. Mll
llo got very white, but went silently
toward the stairfoot As she was
mounting it. her brother said, with a
taunting laugh, "Next time you choose
to kiss and fondle a man, take care that
I am not In sight, or that he Is not en
gaged to marry another woman."
She knelt shivering by her bedside
until she heard him go out, after a
leisurely supper. And she was still
kneeling when he came In. stamping
heavily, well toward midnight. Ha
stopped beside her father's high black
secretary, flung down the lid with a
bang, then, after a minute, came up
stairs, still moving ponderously. But
his footsteps did not mask another
sound — the clicking of pistol locks.
Intuitively, she understood — ho had
strolled over to the Country Club, picked
a quarrel with Eustace, and would have
him out at daybreak next morning.
No thought of appeal to him stirred
in her. Instead there cams a firm de
termination matching his own. Sh«
knew her name had not been mentioned
In the quarrel quite as well as she knew
herself Its real root. The men must
not fight — she could not have her
brother's blood upon her conscience, still
less her lover's. There was but one
way to stop them — a way bitterer than
death — still (the set her feet toward it
She sot up and sat by tbs window,
watching, with noteless eyes, the wheel
ing stars, the waning moonlight But
at the first pale dawn light she was
tensely alive. Below she heard a
stealthy stir, the cautious opening: of
a door, with muffled voices and cautious
steps outside. She got up and crept to
her brother's room.
Lighted candles still glittered there
upon the table there was a brief will, the
Ink not ury In the heavily scrawled slgna-
By T. Blair Eaton.

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