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WEBSTER -MAN'S MAN Peter B. Kyne Author of "Cappÿ Ricks," "The Valley of the Giants," Etc. CopyfkWTfWwtl Yyn* Two of Ricardo's imported fighting men stepped to the prisoner's side, seized him, one by each arm, and lift ed him to ids feet; supported he tween them, he limped away to his doom, while ids youthful conqueror remained seated on the dead horse, his gnze bent upon the ground, his mind dwelling, not upon his triumph over Sarros but upon the prodigious proportions of the task before him; the rehabilitation of a nation. After a while he rose and strolled over to ward tlie gate, where lie paused to note the grim evidences of the final stand of Webster and Don .Tuan Cafe tero before passing through the por tal. Ricardo had now, for the first time, an opportunity to look around him ; so he halted to realize his home-corn- ! ing, to thrill with this, the first real view of the home of his boyhood. The spacious lawn surrounding the palace | had been plowed and scarred with ! bursting shrapnel from the field guns captured in the arsenal, although the building Itself had been little damaged, not having sustained a direct hit be cause of Ricardo's stringent orders not to use artillery on the palace un less absolutely necessary to smoke Sarros out. Scattered over the grounds Ricardo counted some twenty-odd government soldiers, all wearing that pathetically flat, crumpled appearance which seems inseparable from the bodies of men killed in action. The first shrapnel had probably com menced to drop in the grounds just as a portion of the palace garrison had been marching out to join the troops fighting at the cantonment barracks Evidently the men had scattered like quail, only to be killed as they ran. From this grim scene Ricardo raised his eyes to the palace, the castellated towers of which, looming through the tufted palms, were reflecting the set ting sun. Over the balustrade of one of the upper balconies the limp body of a Sarros sharpshooter, picked off from the street, drooped grotesquely, his arms hanging downward as if in iron'cal welcome to the son of Ruey the Beloved. The sight induced in Ricardo a sense of profound sadness; his Irish imagination awoke; to him that mute flfcura seemed to call upon him for pity, for kindness, for for bearance, for understanding and sym pathy. Those outflung arms of the martyred peon symbolized to Ricardo Ruey the spirit of liberty, shackled and helpless, calling upon him for de liverance; they brought to his alert mind a clearer realization of the duty that was his than he had ever had be fore. He had a great task to perform, a task inaugurated by his father, and which Ricardo could not hope to fin ish in his lifetime. He must solve the agrarian problem ; he must de velop the rich natural resources of his country; he must provide free, com pulsory education and evolve from the ignorance of the peon an Intelli gence that would build up that which Sobrante, in common with her sister republics, so wickedly lacked—the great middle class that stands always as a buffer between the aggression and selfishness of the upper class and the helplessness and childishness of the lower. Ricardo bowed his head. "Help me, O Lord," he prayed. "Thou hast given me in Thy wisdom a man's task. Help me that I may not prove unworthy." ******** Mother .Tenks, grown impatient at the lack of news concerning Webster, left Dolores to lier grief in the room across the hall and sought the open air, for of late she had been experiencing with recurring frequency a slight feeling of suffocation. She sat down on the broad granite steps, helped herself to a much-needed "bracer" from her brandy flask and was gazing pensively at the scene around her when Ricardo came up the stairs. " 'Elio !" Mother Jenks saluted him. "We're 'ave you been, Mr. Bowers?" "I have Just returned from capturing Sarros, Mrs. Jenks. He is on his way to the arsenal tender guard." "Cor' strike me pink!" the old lady cried. " 'Ave I lived to see this day !" Her face was wreathed in a happy smile. "I wonder 'ow the beggar feels to 'ave the shoe on the other foot, eh— the 'eartless 'ound ; Tm 'opin' this General Ruey will 'ave the blighter shot." "You need have no worry on that score, Mrs. Jenks. I'm General Ruey. Andrew Bowers was Just my sunimei name, as it were." "Angels guard me! Wot the bloom in' 'ell surprise won't we 'ave next Wot branch o' the Ruey tribe do you belong to? Are you a nephew o' him that was president before Sarros shot 'im? Antonio Ruey, who was 'art brother to the p: ' -ident, 'ad a son '■ called Ricardo. Are you 'im, might I arsk?" "I am the son of Ricardo the Be loved," he answered proudly. "Not the la-1 as was away at schoo' when 'is fath. . : - "I am that same lad, Mrs. enks And who are you? You seem to know a deal of my family history." "I," the old publican replied with equal pride, "am Mrs. Col. 'Enery Jenks, who was your father's chief of hartillery an' 'ad the hextreme honor.! o' (lyin' in front of the same wall with 'im. By the w'y, 'ow's Mr. Webster?" j site added, suddenly remembering the j subject closest to her heart just then. \ "His wounds are trilling. He'll live, i Mrs. Jenks." "Well, that's better than gettln' | poked in the eye with a sharp stick," ! the old dame decided philosophically, j "Do you remember my little sister, Mrs. Jenks?" Ricardo continued. "Site! S 5§L' tm & - sV* 0 : r - Am General Ruey." was In the palace when Sarros at tacked it ; she perished there." "I believe I 'ave got a slight recol lection o' the nipper, sir." Mother Jenks answered cautiously. To herself she said : "I s'y, 'Enrietta, 'era's a pretty go. 'E don't know the lamb is livin' an' in the next room ! My word, wot a riot w'en 'e meets 'er !" "I will see you again, Mrs. Jenks. I must have a long talk with you," Ri cardo told her, and passed on into the palace; whereupon Mother Jenks once more fervently implored the Almighty to strike her pink, and the iron re straint of a long, hard, exciting day be ing relaxed at last, the good soul bowed her gray head in her arms and wept, moving her body from side to side the while and demanding, of no one In particular, a single legitimate reason why she, a blooming old bag gage and not fit to live, should be the recipient of such manifold blessings as this day bad brought forth. In tlie meantime Ricardo, with bis hand on the knob of the door leading to the room where Webster was having his wounds dressed, paused suddenly, ! his attention caught by tho sound of a sob. long-drawn and inexpressibly pa tlietie. IIo listened and made up bis mind that a woman in tho room across tho entrance hall was bewailing the deatli of a loved one who answered to the name of Caliph and John, darling. Further eavesdropping convinced him thnt Caliph. John, darling, and Mr. 1 John Stuart Webster were one and tlie ■ same person, and so he tilted his bead ; on one side like a cock robin and con- i sidered. "By jingo, that's most interesting," ; he decided. "The wounded hero has j a sweetheart or a wife—and an Amer- ' lean. too. She must be a recent nc- ; quisition, heenuse all the time we were I together on the steamer coining down 1 here he never spoke of either, despite 1 the fact that we got friendly enough ! for such confidences. Something fun-1 ny about this. I'd better sound the old hoy before I start passing out words of comfort to that unhappy female." He passed on into the room. John Stuart Webster had, by this time, been washed and bandaged, and one of the Sarros servants (for the ex-dlctatoi*s retinue still occupied the palace) had, at Dr. Pacheco's command, prepared a guest chamlier upstairs and furnished a night gown of nmple proportions to cover Mr. Webster's hebandaged hut otherwise naked person. A stretcher j had just arrived, and the wounded man I was about to be carried upstairs. The | late financial hacker of the revolution ! ■ as looking very pale and dispirited ; for once in his life his w! ' -fenl, ban tering nature was subdued. His eyes were closed, and he did not open them when Ricardo entered "Well, I have Sarros," the latter de dared. Webster paid not the slightest arten Reduced Below Cost WE NEED THE MONEY Offering All Furniture at prices that cannot be duplicated by us or anyone when the overstock of goods we have on hand now are sold out. We are offering these goods at much less than they cost and in fact less than they can be sold at if bought at the new prices now. IF YOU HAVE THE CASH you can buy any of our furniture mighty cheap. If you are contemplating any kind of furniture, a rug, linoleum or window shades, buy it now; you will save--not lose money. Bed Room, Dining Room, Liv ing Room, Odd Rockers Kitchen Cabinets, Oil Stoves , Rugs, Linoleums Prices awav down. We want to prove we mean what we say by showing you the goods and prices. COME IN. BIETHAN'S bent over him. "Jack,' oFT boy,' - in queried, "do you know n person of feminine persuasion who calls you Ca liph?" John Stuart Webster's eyes and mouth flew wide open. "What the devil!" he tried to roar. "You haven't been speaklDg to her, have you? If you have, I'll never forgive you. be cause you've spoiled my little surprise party." "No, I haven't been speaking to her, but she's in the next room crying fit to break her heart because she thinks you've been killed." "You scoundrel! Aren't you human? Go tell her It's only a couple of punc tures, not a blowout." He sighed. "Isn't it sweet of her to weep over an old hunks like me !" he added softly. "Bless her tender heart !" "Who is she?" Ricardo was very curious. "That's none of your business. Yon wait and I'll tell you. She's the guest I J' ou I was K°ing to tiring to din ner - and enougli for you to know T or P resen t- Vaya, you idiot, and bring her in here, so I can assure lier m >' bead is bloody but unbowed. Doc tor, throw that rug over my shanks and make me look pretty. I'm going to receive company." His glance, bent steadily on tho door, hnd in it some of the alert, bright wist 1 fulness frequently to be observed in ■ the eyes of a terrier standing expcc ; tantly before a rat hole. The instant i the door opened and Dolores' tear stained face appeared, he called to lier ; with the old-time camaraderie, for lie j had erased from his mind, for the ' nonce, the memory of the tragedy of ; poor Don Juan Cafetero and was con I cerned solely with the task of banish 1 Ing the tears from those brown eyes 1 and bringing the joy of life back to ! that sweet face. "Hello, Seeress," he called weakly. "Little Johnny's been fighting again, and the hnd boys gave him an all-fired walloping." There was a swift rustle of skirts, and she was bending over him, lier hot little palms clasping eagerly his pale, rougli cheeks. "Oh, my dear, my dear!" she whispered, and then her voice choked with the happy tears and she was sobbing on his wounded shoul der. Ricardo stooped to draw her away, but John Stuart bent upon him j n look of such frightfulness that he I l r ew h n ck nbashed. After all, the past | 24 hours had been quite exciting, and ! Ricard-- n fleet- ' th- * -Tr im's inamora ta was tired and frightened and prob ably hadn't eaten anything ' ' ' ; long, so «-here was amide e; cuse for : her , i-. ; j_________ J Continued Next Friday '__ 1 üur phone is number 31. The Difference of 150 Years Y OU'VE heard tlie story of Paul Bevere—how lie clattered out of Boston and spread the alarm to every Middlesex village, etc. That was in April, 1775. It was an till night job. Today the Boston papers would slap extras on their presses and in the shake of a little lamb's tail the whole thrilling message would be in each home of the well known county. This represents the advance of 150 years in the important busi ness of spreading news. The cry of "Extra—Extra'' on the midnight air brings startled folks to their doors as once did the pound of a horse's hoofs and the breathless shout of the rider. Papers have supplanted the courier-—multiplied his effectiveness many times—increased his speed a hundred fold. How far back we would go without newspapers! We would remain in ignorance not only of events at home and abroad—but also of much that concerns us .just as vitally—news of the very things that have to do with the personal, every-day life of each one of us. Somebody might be selling a new, better and more economical food; or a utensil that would add immeasurably to our comfort and well-being; or some better material for making shoes or cloth ing—but we would never know it. Modern advertising is a boon. It keeps our information up-to date on the many things we need in order to live a profitable, hap py and useful life in this age of progress. Ho you take full advantage of the advertising? Read it! — It pays!