The Whitefish pilot. [volume], January 27, 1910, Image 3

About The Whitefish pilot. [volume] (Whitefish, Mont.) 1904-current

Image provided by: Montana Historical Society; Helena, MT

                
✓t
SN*
PA I
Novelized From
Eugene Walters
Great Play >
SYNOPSIS
CHAPTER I—Introduces Captain
Amos Williams, president of the Latin
American Steamship company, in very
bad humor over a threatened strike of
his dock laborers. Joseph Brooks, un
derpaid accountant and collector for
Williams, expresses his sympathy for the
strikers and is ridiculed by his fellow
clerks. II—The president sends for
James Smith, superintendent of the
campany's docks, and instructs him to
spare no expense in crushing the strik
ers. Smith advises pacific measures, but
is overruled and prepares to obey orders.
Ill—Mrs. Emma Brooks, the handsome
young wife of the discontented clerk,
tries to encourage him on his return to
their bandbox apartment, but he is bit
ter against his employer and also against
his wife's mother and sister, who dislike
him on account of his inability to gain
position. In his desperation he turns on
Ins wife and suggests that she must re
gret her choice of him when she might
have had Smith, who had offered him
self. IV—Smith, who is the intimate
friend of the family, makes his appear
ance on the scene, and Brooks continues
his bitter arraignment of his employer
and violent protest against his own im
poverished condition. The discussion
becomes rather personal, and Brooks
takes his hat and leaves the premises.
V—Accompanied by Captain Williams,
who is an old friend of the family, Mrs.
Harris and her daughter, Beth, mother
and sister of Mrs. Brooks, enter the
room. During the visit Brooks returns
and makes a scene, accusing Williams of
being the cause of his unhappiness. Mr3.
Brooks reminds her husband of his
breach of hospitality, and he apologizes
and leaves the house. VI—When Brooks
returns he astonishes his wife and Smith
by inviting them to go to the theater.
Brooks extracts $10 from a roll of money
collected for the company. VII—Smith
prevents strike. VIII—Williams and
Smith go to South America, and the
Brookes' prospects improve. Brooks
tells his wife that he has been promoted
and money is plentiful. The couple
move into an expensive apartment hotel,
and Mrs. Harris ceases to reproach them
for their poverty. IX—Smith makes
his appearance suddenly and informs
Brooks that Williams knows ot his dis
honesty and that the going to South
Americo was only a scheme to entrap
him and that he is shadowed by detec
tives.
Smith raised his hand in protest.
"No, Joe: it ain't the right time yet
and"—
"Why isn't it the right time? I'm
trapped, and Williams"—
"Joe, see here," he expostulated:
"you can't talk."
"What is it? What do you mean?"
demanded Mrs. Brooks, very pale.
Smith still sought to spare her. to
keep the dreadful truth from her.
"There's just been a little trouble.
Emma," he said evasively. "Joe here
Is all worked up—excited."
"I'll tell you what happened!" cried
her husband in a choking voice, stag
gering to the table. "You think I got
a raise. I didn't. You think that man
Williams gave me six months' back
pay. He didn't. All this money you've
been living on—all of it—I stole. I took
it from the company! Williams trap
ped me. He wanted me to steal. Now
he knows—now he knows, and I'm
done for!" ,
He fell into a chair and doubled for
ward. burying his face in his hands.
For once Smith was at à loss what
to say. *
Mrs. Brooks, paler than ever, stood
rigid, as though turned to stone, stal
ing at her husband.
"You mean." she articulated in low.
slow tones, "you mean that you"—
"I'm a thief." he moaned brokenly
without raising his head. "They know
It. Detectives are downstairs watch
ing-watching. Tomorrow—tomorrow
—I'll be in jail."
Another long, awkward silence en
sued. Smith ended it.
"You see. Emma, Joe here ain't so
much to blame. He"—
"And you didn't let me know?"
There was cold reproach In her voice
and In her gaze.
"It wasn't time," explained Jimsy
uneasily. "There's a chance things can
be squared—there's still a chance."
"Still, you didn't let me know?"
"The thing to do is to sit down quiet
ly and talk this over. To begin with"—
"No. Jimsy. Please go borne. I—I
want to be with Joe—alone."
Smith took up his hat reluctantly
and prepared to depart.
"Just as you say, Emma—just as you
say," he said. "I'll do all I can to
night and let you know. Maybe it'll
be all right
"I know, Jimsy. Good night"
"Good night"
F °.r*
hue
CHAPTER XI.
a long time Mrs. Brooks
stood gazing In silence at her
husband, her heart rent with
conflicting emotions. Her han
Tv.
EUGENE WALTER,
Author of "Paid In Full" and "The
Easiest Way"
piness of the past few months, then,
had been built upon the precarious
foundation of peculation. Oh, the hor
ror! Oh, the shame of it! On the
very morrow the name she bore would
be held up to disgrace and derision.
He would he cast into prison. The
misery of their struggles with poverty
was as nothing compared with that of
their sudden downfall.
Numbed though her heart was with
the shock, shrunk by the terror of
their ghastly position, it was yet not
Impervious to pity, and the hopeless
wretchedness of her husband inspired
It. She thought of how he had lavish
ed his stealings upon her. how he ap
peared to be moved by the one desire
to make her comfortable and happy.
She went to him and put her hand
on his head, smoothing his hair.
"Oh. Joe! Oh, my boy!" she said
brokenly. "How could you do it?"
Didn't you know sooner or later you'd
be found out? Now I know why you've
been interested in the races—you've
been betting on the horses."
"I—I wanted to get the money back,"
he sobbed.
"But didn't you know you couldn't?
Oh, why didn't you leave things as
they were—the flat, the struggle and
all that? Why did you bring me here
and show me all this—this happiness—
with money that you stole?"
His sobbing ceased, and he pushed
her away and rose.
"That's right. You call me a thief!
If there was one person in the world I
thought I could turn to it's you, and
you turn on me."
"Joe, you mustn't say that. I haven't
turned on you. Only I can't help but
think"—
"What? That man Williams drove
me to taking money."
"Drove you?"
"Yes. he did. He went away so I
could take it. I expected you to stand
by me. Do you know the hole I'm in?
There are three central office men
downstairs watching. If I make a
move I'll be nabbed. It's all very well
for you to stop and preach—you always
were so d-d saintly—but what of
me? That's the question—what of
me?"
He thumped his breast violently.
She drew back, hurt by his re
proaches.
"If I thought you were yourself I'd
never forgive you for saying that to
me," she declared.
"I'm not asking your forgiveness,
nor your mother's, nor your sister's.
What I want now is somebody to help
me out. I don't want to go to jail. It
would kill me."
"Do you think I want you to go to
jail? Do you think I want the dis
grace"—
"The disgrace—that's it! I knew
that would come sooner or later, but I
didn't think it would come from you.
There's always somebody to hammer
that into a fellow when he's down."
"I'm not trying to hammer anything
Into you. What I wa'nt to know is
what can be done, what are we going
to do?"
"I don't know—unless"—
"Unless we can get the money to
pay back. There's Jimsy."
"That won't do. It's too much. He
hasn't got it. Besides. It's too late
Williams means business. He wouldn't
take the money. He's not that kind."
"Oh. if I only knew a way—If 1
could only help!"
She wrung her hands and sank hope
lessly Into a chair by the table.
Brooks paced the room restlessly,
like a wild animal In a cage. Now and
then he shot a peculiar, furtive glance
in the direction of his wife. Finally
he sat opposite to her. leaned toward
her on the table and said in a low, In
tense voice:
"If anything la to be done It's got to
be done tonight, Emma. Williams Is
the only man. You con square It with
him."
"I can?"
"Yes, and no one but yon."
"What can 1 do?"
He looked at her meaningly.
"He likes you."
Startled, she returned his gaze in
quiringly.
"Yes, he does," he went on. "He al
ways did. Women are bis weak point.
He's liked you for years. That's why
he bancs uroujul. I've seen. .If f.r.l
JN.«
FULL
By
John W. H&rding
Copyright, 1908, by G. W. Dilling
ham Co.
heard what he said tonight about what
he'd do for a girl like you. He meant
that, Emma. He'll do anything you
ask him If—if you go to him right."
Beginning to understand what he
wanted of her, she rose slowly, in
credulous horror in her eyes. He rose
also and went toward her.
"He's home now." he urged eagerly.
"You can go. No one will know but
just Williams, you and me. And you
can do more than that—you can make
him give us money, more money, to
keep on living like this, and there won't
be any risk."
She recoiled from him. consumed with
rage and shame, her eyes blazing.
"I hope I don't understand aright!"
The words came in quivering gasps.
"You mean me to go to his apartment
tonight to see him—and—and"—
"No one will know the difference,"
he coaxed softly. "Y'ou can handle
him all right. Besides, yon know how
far you can let a man go—all women
know that."
"Oh, I can't believe I'm listening to
you! A husbaud to ask a wife"—
She stopped, pressing her cheeks
between her clinched hands, appalled
at his infamy.
"Then you won't do it?" he cried
angrily. "You won't come to the front?
I suppose you don't think I ought to
ask. Why shouldn't I? Who did I
steal the money for? I did It because
you made me!"
"That's a lie!"
"You know it's the truth. When I
married you your father was to help
me, and he died, and then you had to
do your own work, and you whined
and complained."
"That's another lie!"
"Oh, you never said so In so many
words, but I saw it—for four years
around the house. I saw you sighing
and moping because you didn't have
enough to live on. Then there were
that mother of yours and your sister—
they never stopped. You tried to make
yourself a martyr. Every moment of
your life was a mute protest against
our poverty—yes, it was, and you know
it. Do you remember that night when
you said you couldn't go to the theater
because you didn't have clothes? That
was the first time I took money. That's
when I began."
"You knew I wouldn't have gone if
I had known."
"But you did go—you kept on go
Ing, and I kept on stealing for you.
God, how I've suffered for you, for the
clothes on your back. Every night
has been a nightmare. Now I'm going
to jail, you know that. I'm going up
there on the river for years because
you won't do your part."
"I can't do what you want."
He became satantically persuasive
again.
"Why can't you?" he urged. "Other
women have for less reason—one to get
control of a transcontinental railroad
for lier husband. I've risked every
thing for you. If you go there tonight
I won't go to jail; I won't be hauled
Into court; no one will know but the
three of us. No one will think the less
of you. I've gone through to the limit
for you: it's up to you to go through
for me."
"Then if you go to jail you mean
that I've sent you there?"
"Yes, and down in your heart you
know you have."
Every instinct of her pure woman
hood, every fiber of her flesh, revolted
at this cynical exhibition of his vile
ness. She contemplated him with
loathing.
"Now that I see you naked in all
your nasty meanness, your contempt!»
ble viciousness, I wonder how I ever
made the mistake of thinking you even
half a man," she said.
This scathing denunciation made no
impression on his deadened sense of
honor and decency.
"You can't dodge the responsibility
with fine speeches," he replied, shrug
ging his shoulders. "I've gone wrong
for you. What are you going to do?
Be square with me and take this
chance—an easy chance—and you know
you're safe."
She did not nnswer, but stood there,
her face set In its expression of abhor
rence and indignation, deliberating as
to the best course to pursue toward
this unspeakable villain to whom she
was bound and who watched her with
anxious, cringing mien.
She addressed him finally in cold,
harsh tones:
"Whatever I may do or promise to
do, I promise simply because you
blame me."
"Emma, I knew you'd"—
"Don't make the mistake that I care
for you. Whatever I felt for you, and
I thought It was love, you've assassi
nated r the last ten minutes. But I
don't want you to go to jail pointing a
finger of accusation at me."
"Then you'll be square—you'll help—
you'll—
"You understand that If I bargalu
with Captain Williams for your free
dom I make the bargain."
"I know. I'll never ask."
"It will be my business alone."
"Yes, Just yours."
"Is he home?"
"Yes, I think so. He said he was
going there."
"Telephone and. ask him . if. he can
see me—now—alone."' **• . ; •
"You can ~^iakc liini.aivc us nlouey.'
He jurnpeu to'the instrument, but as
his hand grasped the receiver he hesi
tated, and a flush suffused his white,
drawn cheeks, brought there by the
first true consciousness of the enor
mity of his crime. He looked around
guiltily at his wife. She was standing
rigid, her back toward him. He took
down the receiver.
"Seven-six-eight-four Bryant," he
called.
CHAPTER Xn.
W HEN Jimsy Smith had told
Emma and Joe that Cap
tain Williams lived in a lit
tie south sea island nook
moved into his flat and that It was
dirty the description had done justice
to the place in a general way. It was
in a hotel not far from that in which
the Brookses had so recently taken up
their residence, and the living room
was a curious combination of natural
history museum and ship's cabin.
A wooden capstan in the center did
duty for a rouud table, and on it, in
addition to an electric reading lamp,
an untidy litter of papers and maga
zines, some writing paper, envelopes,
pens and ink, were a huge tin box of
tobacco and a rack containing pipes of
wood and meerschaum of all sizes,
shapes and colors. Remarkable among
the few chairs of rattan or rush was
one, a large rocking chair, partially
constructed of two small anchors, the
flukes forming the rockers. In a cor
ner over a comfortable lounge was a
canopy made of a piece of sail can
vas supported by south sea island
spears and decorated with leather
shields, warelubs, boomerangs and
other native weapons, together with
necklaces and various ornaments of
sharks' teeth. Covering the walls
were stuffed fishes of weird shape.
Over the entrance door was a ship's
wheel and on the mantel a model of
an old time trading schooner with all
sails set. Among other objects on the
mantel also was a faded daguerreo
type showing Captain Williams as a
young man. in uniform. On each side
of the capstan was a dirty cuspidor.
The carpet also was dirty and spotted,
and dust had settled thickly every
where. In this queer abode Williams
lived alone, save for Sato, a Japanese
valet, who had served him for many
years.
The massive form of the captain
himself, minus his coat, might have
been descried in the light of the lamp
through the cloud of tobacco smoke
that enveloped him as he sat reading
a magazine some time after his de
parture from the home of Mr. and
Mrs. Brooks. He was rather annoyed
When the telephone bell rang and had
he not been expecting Smith would
not have troubled to answer It. As it
was. he swore a little and rose lazily
to respond.
"Hello! Yes, this is Captain Wil
liams," he said in his usual stentorian
voice. "What, Brooks? I won't talk
with you over the plione—no—what?
Mrs. Brooks? What, here? Well,
well! Yes, I'm at home—yes. Right
away, you say? Yes, I'll wait."
Williams could hardly believe what
he had heard. He turned it over in his
mind for fully three minutes figuring
uut just what it eould'mean.
"Going to send his wife here! What
a skunk he is!" he grunted.
He ambled to the telephone again
and instructed the hotel clerk that If
any visitors called to see him they
were to be shown right up. From
there be went to the door of an ad
joining room and roared for his valet.
"Any beer on Ice?" he demanded
when the Japanese, who evidently had
been asleep, presented himself.
"Yes, saar."
"Got limes and rum — the kind I
brought up from the West Indies?"
"Yes, saar."
"Plenty Ice?"
"Yes, saar."
"That's all."
He could not get over the wonder
Brooks' telephone communication bad
caused blm.
"Told her he'd got a raise of pay. eb?
Wbat a skunk be Is! And what a fine
girl she is!"
He gazed abstractedly at the model
of the schooner on tbe mantel opposite
to him and became bnried in thought
so deep that he actually stopped smok
ing and let his pipe go out. Presently
he roused himself, fished a sheet of
writing paper from among the reading
matter on the capstan table and wrote
something upon It, after which be
folded the paper carefully and hid it
between the leaves of a magazine.
Than he shouted ata!o for his valat.
"Sato," he ordered."" "bring my slip
pers and smoking jacket. There's a
lady coming to see me." '*
The man grinned knowingly.
"Y'ou might as well take a walk.
Sato."
"Yes, saar."
"And you needn't come back right
away."
"No, saar."
"Here's a couple of dollars for you.
Take 'em and get to blazes out of here.
Sabe?"
"Yes, saar."
"And stay out," he recommended as
the Japanese prepared to obey.
When the valet had vanished the
captain took a survey of his domain
rather anxiously.
"It's a little dirty—a little dirty—
but It'll have to do," he muttered.
There was a knock at the door. Wil
liams wreathed his physiognomy in the
most amiable smile of which it was
capable, felt his tie to assure himself
that It had not slipped round toward
his left ear. as it had a bad habit of
doing when not hauled taut and clamp
ed in place, and went to let his vis
itor In.
The caller, however, was only Smith.
"Come in, but make your business
short," was Williams' blunt greeting
"I'm expecting an important visitor."
"All right, captain," responded
Smith tranquilly, entering and helping
himself to a chair.
"Have a pipe?" Invited the host
pushing the tobacco tin toward him.
"Too hot," was the laconic declination
"Well, how did you leave the Brooks
family?"
"She knows."
"Y'ou tell her?"
"No; Joe did."
"Didn't think he had the nerve."
"He hasn't."
"How's that?"
"It was because he lost it that he
told her. Busted right out the moment
the door was closed on you."
"Did they have a row?"
"Don't know. She took It like a
major and asked me to leave 'em
alone."
"That's natural."
"Have you got the exact figures?"
"What figures?".
"Of how much he took."
"I guess so—to the penny f " said Wil
liams, reaching for a memorandum
book and consulting it. "It was just
$10,800 three days ago."
"Any more now?"
"Not that I know of. Guess that
covers it."
Smith shook his head moodily.
"That's too bad—too bad," he mur
mured.
"That's right, it is too bad," agreed
the captain.
Smith thought for a minute, looked
straight at the captain, who was re
garding him curiously and said firmly
and more quickly than his employer
had ever heard him speak before:
"Williams, I don't think it'll take
three minutes for you and me to come
to an understanding about Brooks."
"What about him?"
"I want to square this thing for
him."
"Where do you come in. Smith?"
"In plain words. Williams, that's iny
business. But I want to square it."
"How do you think you can square
ft. Smith?"
As Jimsy prepared to answer tin*
question ho fell back into his old fa
miliar drawl.
"Well. Williams." he said, "you ain't
got any callous on your fingers from
handing out coin to the folks who'vc
worked for you, but I've always been
treated about right."
"Y'ou were always worth treating
right, Smith."
"Thanks."
"Always found you a fair mnn—do
ing things you said you'd do In a lidr
way."
"I ain't never been much of a spend
thrift, Williams. I've saved and been
n little lucky in Investing the little I've
had. I can raise about $14.000 by noon
tomorrow, and I'll give you my note
for the rest, with security—I mean col
lateral."
"So It nln't none of my business why
you do this?"
"Exactly."
"Smith, I don't think you can square
this little matter for Brooks."
"Don't think my note's good, eh?"
" 'Tain't that. Y'ou couldn't squure
this. Smith, if you had a million right
in your clothes this minute."
"Why not?"
"To tell the truth. I'm going to open
negotiations with another party."
"That so?"
"Mrs. Brooks."
"How?"
"She's coming up here to see me
I Boon. Maybe she and me can come to
some mutually pleasant arrangement
that will keep Brooks out of jail."
"When is she coming?"
The captain puffed at his pipe and
scrutinized Smith's face closely as he
replied :
"Expect her any moment."
"How do you kuow?"
"Telephoned."
If Williams expected to see any sign
In his vUitor of the utter amazement,
the. profound consternation, the impart
ing of this information caused, he was
doomed to disappointment. Smith re
mained as unreadable as tbe sphinx.
But it was sixty seconds before lie
spoke.
"I suppose that's a hint for me to be
on my way?" he interrogated.
"That's about tbe meaning I meant
to convey," admitted the eaptain, with
out circumlocution.
Jimsy rose slowly, took bis hat aud
went toward the door. Before he
reached It he turned.
"Williams," he said, "you know I've
known Emma—Mrs. Brooks—ever since
she was In short clothes and used to
come down to the office to go home
with her daddy." .
"So I've heard."
"She's always beg* t^e Jq Ipqk into
my face wltn tnem Dig 'bitte eÿeâ ana
smile . Some time—some day—if 1 get
OTHferrl'm going to make it my busi
ne s s to «-«««, her."
"All sight."
shouldn't happen to look
jap into my face and smile I'm going
to Williams, and I'm coming
beeI< m/f I
; The captain puffed his pipe placidly.
■ "What style heels might you be
wearing>' how, Smith?" he inquired,
with great deliberation.
"Well," answered the always delib
erate Jitosy, "If you should consult
'the ..particular shoemaker who fur
nishes them he'd describe that heel as
of 45 caliber."
"Good night. Smith," said the cap
tain dryly.
Smith did not reply.
Williams gazed in the direction of
the door after his superintendent had
closed it. There was an enigmatical
smile on his face. It slowly died
away, and bis pugnacious underjaw
protruded ominously. Reaching round
to his hip pocket, he brought out a re
V
"He'd describe that heel as of 40 caliber ."
volver. It was a formidable looking
weapon, with a long barrel. He broke
the breach, examined the cartridges
and replaced it in his pocket.
"Darned if he wouldn't do It, too,"
he muttered.
(Continued next week.)
A Queen's Will.
Queen Adelaide, the wife of William
IV.. was a woman of great piety and
exceptional humility, which was shown
in the directions for her funeral.
"I die in all humility," she wrote,
'îknowing well we are all nllke before
the throne of God, and I request, there
fore, that my mortal remains he con
veyed to the grave without any pomp
or ceremony. They are to be moved to
St. George's chapel, Windsor, where I
request to have a quiet funeral.
"I particularly desire not to be laid
out in state, and the funeral to take
place by daylight; no procession, the
coffin to be carried by sailors to the
chapel. I die in peace and wish to be
carried to the tomb in peace and free
from the vanities and pomp of this
world."—London Home Notes.
Ancient Egyptian. Jtones.
Stones were formed into the shapes
of beetles by the ancient Egyptians.
They regarded the beetle as an em
blem of immortality, and hence it was
the most popular of all forms of or
nament. Counterfeit beetles of com
mon stones were commonly burled
with dead persons, and it was custom
ary to engrave upon them the expres
sion of wishes for future repose and
happiness, dedications of the soul to
God and various hieroglyphs. Oue of
the latter was a hawk with a human
head, symbolizing resurrection. An
other. the vulture, meant maternity. A
goose was the son of a king.
The Proper Instinct.
"BIrdset seems to have the proper in
stincts for a married man."
"You mean that he can tell a grace,
fdl lie. has developed a keen sense of
conning and has learned to conceal his
real Income from his wife."
"Yes. and also to know that she real
ly knows just bow he Is deceiving
>set .' f &New York Herald.
Marital Persiflage.
"I must confess," remarked Mn
Crabbe, "I don't believe there ever was
a really perfect man."
"Well," replied Mr. Crabbe, "I sup
pose that's because Eve wasn't mad«
first"
"How do yon mean?"
"Well, If Eve had been made first
she would have bossed the job of mak
ing Adam."—Philadelphia
Don't Blame Her.
I did not know what ailed my girl—
She ne'er was cross before.
No matter prhat I tried to say.
It seemed to make her sore.
Her pretty brow was furrowed deep;
Her voice waa harshly curt.
*Twas Ions before I found out why—
Her shoes were tight and hurt
—New York Telegram.
The Bereaved Widow's Break.
A London life insurance company re
cently got this letter from a bereaved
widow: "I take pleasure in informing
you of the death of my husband, who
was assured in your company. Please
send me papers quick so 1 can provw
he la dead."