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The San Francisco call and post. (San Francisco, Calif.) 1913-1929, December 09, 1913, Image 12

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Persistent link: http://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn86064451/1913-12-09/ed-1/seq-12/

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Krazy Kat
fCopyrtgnt. 1813, International Ntwa Scrrte*)
Extremely Realistic, Too
Look Out!
•*. «,
Mrs. O. H. P. Belmont, at a luncheon
at her residence in Madison avenue,
said of Deauville, where she had spent
the summer:
■'Deauville is undobtedly the most
elegant summer resort in the world.
You will see nowhere else such pretty
women and such ravishing gowns.
You will eat nowhere else such ex
quisitely prepared dishes.
"The temperance of Deauville
pleases me. They are temperate there.
"The whole world. Indeed, is becom.
Ing more and more temperate. That is
a Kood sign. It is a sign we should
hold constantly before the eyes of
our youth."
She smiled and added:
"The swagger party is no longer
anywhere the stagger party."
The Dingbat Family
Polly and Her Pals
Us Boys
Continued From Yenterday
"With this piteous epistle was in
closed another:
"Dear Mr. Anson: I Join my
earnest supplication to my hus
band's that you will console his
last hour* with a visit. He blame*
himself for « hut has happened In
the pant. Yet tbe fault was more
mine than his-—far more. For his
sake I willingly admit it. And I
have been punished for my nln.
Ruined In fortune, with my hus
band at death's door, 1 am Indeed
n sorrowing; woman.
" You™ faithfully,
The angular Italian handwriting of
the second letter recalled a faded
script in the safe at that moment.
The address in each case was a vil
lage on the Yorkshire coast, a re
mote and in accessible place, accord
ing to Philip's unaided recollection of
the map. "Grange house" might be
a farm or a broken down manor, and
Lady Morland's admission or reduced
circumstances indicated that they had
chosen the locality for economy's
These appeals brought a frown of
indecision to Anson's brow. His
uncle, and his uncle's wife, had un
questionably been the means of short
ening and embittering his mother's
life. The man might have acted ln
Ignorance; the woman did not.
Yet what could he do? Refuse a
dying relative's last request! They,
or one of them, refused his mother's
pitiful demands for a little pecuniary
help at a time when they were rich.
And what dire mischance could
have sunk them into poverty. Little
more than two months had passed
since Bir Philip Morland was inquir
ing for his — Philip's—whereabouts
through Messrs. Sharpe & Smith with
a view toward making him his heir.
Was the inquiry Lady Morland's last
ruse to save an Incumbered estate?
Why was all pretense of doubt as to
his relationship swept aside so com
He glanced again at the address on
the letter, and asked a servant to
bring him a railway guide. Then he
ascertained that If he would reach
Scarsdale that day he must leave Lon
don not later than noon. There was
a Journey of nearly seven hours by
rail; no chance of returning the same
He went to the library and rang up
Sharpe & Smith on the telephone.
A clerk assured him that Mr. Sharpe,
who attended to Sir Philip Morland's
affairs, had been summoned to Devon
shire the previous day.
"To Devonshire!" cried Philip. "I
have Just received letters from Sir
Philip and Lady Morland from York
"Mr. Sharpe himself is puzzled about
the matter, sir. Lady Morland wrote
from Yorkshire, but told him to pro
ceed to Devonshire without delay."
"Has there been some unexpected
development affecting the estate?"
"I am sorry, sir, but you will see I
can hardly answer any further ques
Of course the clerk was right.
Philip had hardly quitted the tele
phone when a note reached him by
hand from Evelyn: "Please come at
once. Must see you."
He was at Mount street in three
Evelyn looked serious and began by
holding out a letter to him. He rec
ognized Lady Morland's writing.
"Philip—those people—who behaved
so badly to your mother"
"Have they dared to trouble you?"
"Oh, it is so sad. Your uncle Is
dying. They are wretchedly poor; an
unforeseen collapse; see." And she
"Of your pity, Miss Atheriey, ask
?onr afiinured hiinbanil to come to ua
and to help ua. I want nothing for
myself, but the mere aljcbt of a few
eheeka to pay tradespeople, doctor and
the rest will aoothe Sir Philip's last
honra. He is a proud man, and I know
he in heartbroken to think he la dying
a panper among MtrniiK<-r«."
So it ended, as might be expected.
Philip wired to Grange House, Scars
dale, to announce his coming. Accom
panied by his valet, he left Kings
Crops at 12 o'clock, but his parting
words to Evelyn were:
"See Mr. Abingdon after luncheon,
dear, and tell him what I am doing.
I will return tomorrow. Meanwhile
I will keep you informed by telegraph
of my movements."
After leaving the main line at Tork
there was a tiresome crawl to the
coast, broken by changes at Junctions
—wearying intervals spent in pacing
monotonous platforms.
At last the train reached Scarsdale
at 6:40. Afew passengers alighted.
The place was evidently a small vil
lage not given over to the Incursions
of summer visitors.
A tall man, with "doctor" writ
large on his silk hat and frock coat,
approached Philip.
"Mr. Anson?"
"I am Doctor Williams. I have
brought you a letter from Lady
Morland. Perhaps you will read it
now. I expect lt explains my errand.
"Sir Philip is still living?"
"Yes, but sinking fast."
Anson tore open the note. It was
"Thank you for your prompt kind
ness. Doctor Williams will drive you
to the house. If you have brought a
servant he might take your baggage
to the Fox and Hounds inn, where
Doctor Williams has secured room for
you. I regret exceedingly we have no
accommodation here, but. In any
event, you will be more comfortable
at the inn."
He looked at the doctor. In a
vague way his voice recalled accents
he seemed to recognize.
"Is there a telegraph office here?"
"Yes. We pass lt. It closes at
"I will not be back from the Orange
house before then?"
"Hardly. It is a half hour's drive."
"Thank you. You will stop a mo
ment at the telegraph office?"
The doctor hesitated.
"There is so little time. Is it of
great importance? Of course"—
"Oh I know what to do. Green—
take my traps to the Fox and Hounds
inn. Then go to the telegraph office
and send a message in my name to
Miss Atherley, saying: 'Arrived. Sir
Philip worse.' That is all."
Anson's valet saluted and left them
Dr. Williams said cheerfully:
"That disposes of a difficulty. Are
you ready, Mr. Anson?"
They entered a ramshackle dogcart,
for which the doctor apologized.
"These, hills knock one's convey
ances to pieces. I am having a new
cart built, but it will be done for in a
couple of years. Out in all weathers
you see. To carry you I had to leave
my man at home."
The doctor himself seemed to be
young and smart looking. Evidently
Scarsdale agreed with him, If not with
his vehicle. The horse, too, was a
good one, and they moved through a
scattered village at a quick trot.
They met a number of people, but
Doctor Williams was talking so
eagerly to his companion that he did
not nod to any of them.
As the road began to climb toward
a bleak moorland he became less vol
uble, more desirous to get Anson to
speak. Philip thought that the doctor
listened to him with a curious eager
ness. Probably Sir Philip and Lady
Morland impressed him as an odd
couple; he would be anxious to learn
what sort of relative this was who
had traveled from London to see them.
Philip was in small humor for con
versation. He looked forward to an
exceedingly unpleasant interview,
when his Hps would utter consoling
words to which he must strive to im
part a genuine and heartfelt ring;
that would need an effort, to say the
The road wound its way through
pines and heather, but ever upward,
until the trees yielded to an unbroken
range of open mountain, and the
farms that nestled in nooks of the
hillside disappeared wholly.
Glimpses of the sea were caught
where a precipitous valley tore a cleft
in the land. On a lofty brow in front
Philip saw a solitary and half dis
mantled building.
"Is that the Grange house?" he in
"Why on earth did two old people,
one of them an invalid, select such a
lonely residence?"
"That has been puzzling me for
"How long have they been here?"
"I can not say. I was only called
In four days ago."
They passed a policeman patrolling
his country beat. The doctor gave
him an affable smile. The man sa
luted promptly, but looked after them
with a puzzled air. He continued to
watch them at Intervals until they
reached the Grange house.
Anson noticed that the track, lt
was a gate guarded bridle path now,
niounted steadily to the* very thresh
"The place stands on the edge of a
cliff," he said.
"Yes. It was built by some recluse.
The rock falls sheer, indeed slopes
inward to some extent, for 300 feet."
"Some day, I suppose, it will fall
into the sea?"
"Probably, but not in our time.
Here we are. Just allow me to hitch
the reins to the gatepost."
He jumped lightly out of the dog
"Are there no servants?"
"Only an old woman and her daugh
ter. They are busy at this hour."
Philip understood that a meal might
be in preparation. He hoped not; per
sonally he could not eat there.
Dr. Williams pressed the latch of an
old fashioned door. He whispered:
"Be as quiet as possible. He may
be asleep; if he Is, it will not be for
long, poor fellow."
Indeed, he doctor himself betrayed
some slight agitation now. He per
spired somewhat, and his hand shook.
Anson followed him into a somber
apartment, crudely furnished, half
dining room, half kitchen. Though
the light of a June evening was clear
enough outside, the interior of the
house was gloomy in the extreme.
There was some dark curtains shroud
ing a doorway.
"Lady Morland is in there," mur
mured the doctor, brokenly. "Will
you go to her?"
I gill II dsIS^
The more critical your taste the I
more you'll appreciate I
%a J
He Awoke Too Late
"My Polly Goes in Silk Hose"
(Copyright. 1913. International New* Service)
The Pen and the Brick
Philip obeyed ln silence. He passed
through the curtains. It was so dark
that he imagined he must be in a
passage with a door at the other end.
"Can I have a light?" he asked,
partly turning toward the room he
had just quitted.
In the neglected garden at the land
ward front of the Grange house the
horse stood patiently on three legs,
ruminating, no doubt, on the steep
ness of hills and the excellence of
Nearly an hour passed thus. In sol
lemn quietude. Then a boy on a bicy
cle, red faced with exertion, pedaled
manfully up the hill and through the
"I hope he's here." thought he. It's
a long way to co' for nothln'."
Around the waist was a strap with
a pouch bearing the king's monogram.
He ran up to the door and gave a
couple of thunderous knocks, the priv
ileged rat tat of a telegraph mes
There waa a long delay. Then a
heavy step approached, and a man
opened the door, a big heavy faced
(Copyright. 1913. International News Service)
<Beglirered United States Patent Office)
man, with eyes that stared dreadfully
and a nose damaged in life's transit.
"Philip Anson, Esquire," said the
boy, briskly, producing a buff colored
The man seemed to swallow some
"Yes; he's here. Is that for him?"
"Yes, sir. Any reply?"
The man took the telegram, closed
the door, and the boy heard his re
treating footsteps. After some min
utes he returned.
"It's too late to reply tonight, isn't
it?" he inquired.
"Yes, sir. It coom'd after hours,
but they'd paid t' porterage 1* Lunnon,
so C postmistreses said ye'd mebbe
like to hex lt at yance. I've ridden
all C way frae Scarsdale."
Continued Tomorrow
White paint can be kept in good
condition if whiting is mixed to a
stiff paste with warm water and used
instead of soap. Rinse off with clear
water and dry with a duster or

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