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The Man Nobody Knew fOspyHght by Dodd. M—4 A Ob., I pc.) “LET 'EM MAKE ME LOOK LIKE THAT!” Everyone knows about the Legion Etrangere—the famous Foreign Legion of the French army. Well, Rich ard Morgan of Syracuse, N. Y., enlisted in the Foreign Legion in the great war under the name of Henry Hilliard. So you can guess that the hero was not in love with him self or with life. The Hun sent him to the hospital with a wounded knee and arm and a face pretty much shot away with shrapnel. The surgeons fixed up his knee and his arm. When they proposed to restore his features, he lied and said he had no photograph of himself. And in his rage against life he caught up a picture postcard bearing the radiant face of Christ and cried: “Let ’em make me look like that! Or anything else, either—I don’t give a d—n!” The French surgeons were interested and did a good job. And presently “The Man Nobody Knew” is back in Syracuse, telling of the death of Dick Morgan and selling mining stock and falling deeper in love with Carol Durant, the “only girl” of his old life who had refused to marry Diok Morgan, the failure. Complications! Well, rather—especially when the mining stock apparently turns out to be worthless and the only man in the world who knows Hilliard’s secret dies of apoplexy and the hero finds out that the heroine did love Dick Morgan. And Holworthy Hall handles these compli cations and these real, human characters and this Ameri can community in the masterly way that makes him read from one end of the country to the other these days. Good reading! CHAPTER I. 11l the beginning of things, he was merely a number; but even that was creditable, because his number was low enough to signify that he had re sponded pretty promptly to the rally ing call. After that, and with the cataclysmic suddenness which marked all changes of military status on the western front, he became, one frosty morning, a Case, and got himself roughly classified (and tenderly han dled) as a Stretcher Case, a Grand Blesse, uml. In consequence, a proper temporary Inmate of a field hospital en the Belgian plains. There, he was unofficially known as Joyeaux, or Joyous One; not because he displayed a very buoyant disposi tion —far from it I —but because he be longed to the Foreign legion; and in the course of another day or two he was routine-ticketed as an Evucue, and provided with a lukewarm hot water bottle and a couple of evll smelllng cigarettes to console him on the road to the buse hospital at Neu- Uly. At Neullly he became, for the first time since his enlistment, an Individ ual, and at the very outset ho was dis tinguished by certain qualities which had passed unnoticed in the frying pan and fire of the trenches. For one thing, he was obviously immune to kindness; and for another, he was ap parently immune to hope. He was u man of Inveterate silence; not the grim silence of fortitude In suffering (which Is altogether too common a vir tue In base hospitals to earn any es pecial merit), but rather the dogged reticence of black moods and chronic bitterness. To be sure, speech was physically difficult to him, but other men with similar misfortunes spoke blessings with their eyes, and gave back gratitude In voiceless murmurs. Not so. the Joyous One. From the day of his arrival he derauuded nothing, desired nothing, but to brood sullenly aloof; and so, when he became an In dividual, he also became a mystery to the nursing staff. It was rumored that he was an implacable woman hater, and there seemed to be something In it Regardless of the care of the Amer ican nurses (all hoverlngly attentive to one of their own nation who had fought for France), his spirit remained abysmal and clouded In gloom. Only twice. In the Initial month of his con finement, did he betray the weakness of an ordinary emotion; on each occa sion a gold-laced general had come to salute. In the name of the republic, one of the Individual’s neighbors, and to deliver a bit of bronze which dangled from a ribbon striped red and green. It was said (and doubted by those who hadn't seen It) that at these ceremo nies the Individual had grown fever ish. and let tears come to his eyes, but subsequently he had relapsed Into still greater depths of stoicism than before; his own bed-jacket was inno cent of cross or medal, and his depres sion was apparent, and acute. The nurses, arguing that perhaps his pride was wounded as seriously us his flesh, offered quick condolence and got them selves rebuffed with shrugs of the In dividual’s shoulders, and Inarticulate sounds which hnd all the earmarks of suppressed profanity. He didn't even soften when Pierre Dutout, u hard-hit territorial In the next bed, squandered a day’s supply of energy to lean across and whisper sympathetically to him : “Old man . . . Vleux espece de choux croute ... I know how It Is . . . and I haven’t got any friends either. * I want you to take ray Croix de Guerre. . . . When I go nowhere.” Even when speech returned to the Individual he was a man of curt re sponses and stinging monosyllables— a problem to the surgeons, a problem to the nurses and (If the expression In his eyes meant anything), an over whelming problem to himself. It ap peared that, after all, It wasn’t simply women that he hated—lt was the uni verse. His military book implied that he had no parents, no close relations, no friends to notify, no fixed abode. He received no visitors, no letters, no packages freighted with magical de light. But to those who pitied him In all his loneliness he was utterly con temptuous ; he even went so far as to fillip sidelong to the floor a religious post card tendered him by a devout und sentimental passer-by. and he did it in her presence, unashamed. Later, when a smiling orderly picked up that post card and tucked It under his pil low he was no less contemptuous In permitting It to remain. But the one stupendous fact which, more than all else combined, mude him an object of bewildered curiosity was this—that of the scores and scores of men with head-wounds who were reborn at Neu llly that spring and summer, he was the only one who had never asked for a mirror. This, of itself, wouldn’t have been astonishing as long us he delayed In the preliminary stuges of recovery, for now and then a man with head-wounds proves to be super-sensitive; but In the second stage It was remarkable, and In the third stage It was unique. The staff held It to be extraordinary from u social as well as from a path ological viewpoint, that a man so ter ribly disfigured should have no Inter est—not even a morbid interest—ln his own appearance. And It wasn’t that the Individual was simply Indif ferent to the mirror; on the contrary, hls aversion to it was active and ener getic ; he flinched, and motioned It frantically away as though the mere conception of seeing himself as others saw him was too repellant, and too unthinkable to endure. There came a day In April when a photograph was requested of him. Surely he knew where there was a likeness of himself, didn’t he? Hls old passport photograph, which had mysteriously disappeared, or— The Individual glanced up from hls present task; the weund Id hls arm waa still annoying and he was ab sorbed In learning to write with his left hand. “What for?” he muttered. "Why,” said the nurse, cheerfully, “for a model. To help the surgeons. They’ll take your picture for a guide and make you look almost exactly the way you did before.” The Individual from America sat up straight, so that the nurse was startled by hls animation, which was without a parallel in hls local history. “What 1” he said. "Certainly 1” The nurse spoke In the tone one uses to an ailing child " You’ve known that, haven’t you?” The Individual’s voice was queerly unmanageable and strained. “You mean to say they’re going to make me look the way . . . Could they do that? Could they? Even now?” "Why, of course,” she assured him. “You never teld me that I” he said, passionately. “Why didn’t you? Why couldn’t you have told me I And here I’ve been . . He put hls hands to hls bandaged face and seemed to shrink within himself. Then all at once KT.RERT COUNTY TRIBUNE: ELBERT COUNTY BANHEE By HOLWORTHY HALL he burst out: "Well, there’s nothing to prevent . . . Then they could make me not look like ltj if they wanted to 1 Isn’t that so?” , She regarded him In vast perplexity, and thought of summoning a surgeon, for the man had begun to quiver as though from shell shock—which he hadn’t undergone. “Why, I don’t understand what you mean,” she said soothingly. “But If you’ll Just be calm and —” The Individual gestured with fierce Impatience. “If they can do what you say, and make me look like any old thing they choose to, then what In the devil are they ask lug for a photograph for?” “Why, to go by,” she said helplessly. "You want to look like your old self, don’t you?" “No, I don’t I” The nurse gasped. Hls tone had been churlish, but the echo of It vaguely suggested triumph and relief. Hla symptoms hnd subsided . . . could It be that he actually was relieved? Dumfounded. she made another effort to convince him. “But you want to look Just as near ly like —” “Don’t you suppose I know what I want?” he Interrupted rudely. “But haven’t you a photograph, any way. that I can —” “No, I haven't I" he snapped. “I haven’t.” It was a He; the passport photograph was In the lining of a cer tain wallet, and he had hid it there for reasons of hls own. But now that one great danger was definitely past, and a still further bulwark of protec tion offered. Of the nurse spoke truth, the Individual could afford to come out from ambush. "And I don’t want to look the way I did before, and what’s more I never did! But If your doctors are half as smart as they think they are let 'em make me look like that! Or anything else either— I don’t give a d n!’’ Bhocked and horrified, she was gaz ing at a picture postcard he had snatched from under his pillow and thrust upon her. It was a reproduc tion of a religious painting by Rem brandt. It was the radiant face of the Christ. CHAPTER 11. Nine o’clock on a night in June —not a June evening, heavy-starred on vel vet, but a furious June night, with Stygian blackness looping overhead, and Stygian water battering and boil ing against the hull plates. The ship was dark as the night Itself; blind dark, without a single ray to play the traitor. On deck a solitary venturer hugged the rail, and apathetically watched the waves tear past. Out of the warmth and cheer and the vitiated atmosphere of the smok ing room came Martin Harmon, big, florid, exuberant. A henvlng lift of the deck sent him lurching sidewise; he saved hls balance by struggling “Let Them Make Me Look Like That 1 * toward the rail, when suddenly the slope was reversed, and he slipped and slid to the barrier of safety, clutched it, and found himself at arm’s length from the lonely watcher, who hadn't stirred, or even turned hls head. “Hello I” said Hannon, hls surprise tinctured with easy familiarity. “Some night I” “Yes, It Is.” The tone of the re sponse was curt, so curt thnt Harmon Instinctively leaned forward to dis cover what expression of countenance went with It. The night was so black that he might as well have tried to penetrate a curtain of solid fabric. “Seen nny U-bonts yet?” he asked humorously. “Not yet.” The taciturn one moved a trifle away; a man less thin-skinned and less dined and wined than Har mon would probably have taken the hint and removed himself, but Har mon's was nn Inquisitive disposition, and he never attempted to curb It— he was the sort of traveling compan ion who mukes Christians reflect up- on the definition of Justifiable homi cide. "What Is your line?” he Inquired after a pause. The other man laughed queerly. "The first ... If It makes so much difference to you.” “Beg pardon? I don’t quite get you. You said . . .” “I said the first line. I meant the first-line trenches. I’ve been In It.” Hannon Jerked hls head upward In comprehension. "Oh, I see! You mean the war! And you’ve been right on the spot where the fighting is? Pretty lively up there, Isn’t It? Something stirring most all the time?" "I imagine so.” The other man’s accent was amazingly diffident, and Hannon peered at him, incredulous. "Good Lord, don’t you know?" "Not a great deal. I happened to get hit the first day I was in the trenches.” “But you got In it again afterward. I suppose? I’ll bet you did!” "No.” "What! You never got back at all? Just one day, and you’re through?” "Yes. After I was discharged from hospital I was discharged from the army too. Permanently unfit.” "English army?” "No—French." "Well, that’s some record 1” said Harmon appreciatively. “That cer tainly Is some record! Not to say tough luck—the toughest kind. Going back home. I take It?” "Looks that way. doesn’t It?” Harmon Ignored the sarcasm. "Back to work, eh? What did you say your line Is?” "T didn’t say. I haven’t any Just now.” Harmon pondered a second. “Oh! Gentleman of leisure? Sol dier of fortune, eh? Well, I wouldn't worry If I were you. You’re disap pointed ; that's natural . . . but the world hasn’t come to an end yet. Of course It Is something of a come-down to leave the army and get Into harness again, but after all there’s plenty of excitement right In the United States. Big work to be done, son 1 Big money to make. And It helps the war along, too. I tell you there never was a big ger opportunity to make money than there Is right this minute. The hard Job Isn’t to find the scheme; It’s to find the men to run it. Don’t you worry . . . you’ll land something right off the bat!” "Thanks for the compliment I” "Oh. It’s no compliment! Anybody can make money these days. It’s a plain statement of fact . . . Say, let’s go In and have something. Come In and be sociable. What you want’s a drink. Am I right or am I wrong?” "Well—” "And that’s what the doctor or dered 1 Come on 1 It’s on me.” The other man hesitated, and at last succumbed, out of sheer uncon cern. to a companionship he realized In advance would be distasteful. "All right,” he consented briefly; and together, arm In arm. they stum bled nnd tacked across the treacherous deck, and presently crossed the thresh old Into the hazy light of the smoking room. Harmon, smiling broadly, wiped the brine from hls smarting eyes. "Now. then," he said, "what particu lar brand of poison do you—” And broke off short and stared, fascinated, at the extraordinary young man In front of him. He was anywhere from twenty-five to forty, this American from the dis tant trenches, and hls age was as hard to guess as a clever woman’s; there was something about him peculiar to youth, end yet when hls face was In repose, he might easily have claimed two score of years and gone undis puted. It was a face which suggested both the fire of Immaturity and the drain of experience; there was breath taking gravity about It, a hint of the dignity of marble, of ageless perma nence. It was a slightly thin face, scarred by a heavy line or two, and indelibly stamped with the evidence of Intense thought and Inward suffer ing; but It lacked the hollows which, at the first glance, should have sup ported the evidence. It was a thin and oval face, with a mouth of large and sympathetic sweetness, a forehead white and high, a prominent, delicate nose, and Irises of clear, luminous gray. It wasn’t altogether an Anglo- Saxon type of countenance, nor was it definitely European; It seemed rather to have taken all the better qualities from several races. It was a face to Inspire Immediate trust and confidence and respect, and Harmon, despite hls lack of practice In all three of these reactions, was evidently at tracted by It. "Vichy-Celestlns for me," said the old-young man Indifferently. ‘Til ... I guess I’ll have vlchy too,” said Harmon, relating. "If It wasn’t for something I can’t Just de scribe I’d say . . well, never mind. Er . . . what business have you been In, by the way?” The younger man’s reply was tardy and not particularly gracious. "Why, the longest time I ever put In at any one business was selling In surance. The last thing I did was to sell bonds. Why?” Harmon stiffened. "A salesman ! Good Lord! That’s the last thing In the world I’d have . . but. ssy! You must have been a whirlwind 1 Why, a man with a presence like yours would hardly have to open hls mouth) You’ve got a sort of . . . I’ll be hanged If I know what to call It . . but a kind of feeling. If you know what 1 mean. Salesman! Why. all you need Is an Introduction and a dot ted line!” The young man laughed rather for lornly and sipped hls vlchy. “Just at present I haven’t either.” Harmon’s gaze was unfaltering, and hls interest and admiration bounded higher. Mechanically. In accordance with hls habits, he was striving to dis cover how this new acquaintance might be put to practical use. “Was “Meaning What7” I right, or was I wrong? Playing in hard luck don’t strengthen u man’s courage much, even if he tries to bluff himself into thinking It does. Cut out the regret stuff; that's my advice, and you can take it or leave It. Forget all that tough luck you had over here, and get busy figuring out how you’re going to cash in on all your experi ence. America’s full of chances— you’ll land something big in no time. Can’t help It if you try. Salesman! Son, you’re carrying your best recom mendation right on top of your own shoulders!’’ The young man gave him back a wry smile und finished his vlchy. "I only hope It comes true,’’ he said. Harmon looked at him steadily, and fnlllng under the spell of those radiant features stared and stared until he came to himself and all at once brought hls fist down on the table, so that the glasses rang again. “Well, why shouldn’t It? As a mat ter of fact, why shouldn’t It?” The younger man's expression hadn’t changed. "Meaning what?” “Meaning," said Harmon deliberate ly, “that the first thing I’ve got to do when I get home Is to hunt up a couple of good salesmen myself. Are you hunting for a good Job, or aren’t you?” “Aren’t you a little hasty?" The young man's Intonation was sardonic. “I’ve cleaned up most of my money,” said Harmon very slowly to the cell ing, “by making quick decisions. I make up my mind pretty fast. If you can Interest me on short notice you can Interest other people. Mind you, we’re Just discussing this—sort of thinking out loud. No obligation on either side. Doesn’t do any harm to talk about It, does it?” “Then suppose," said the young man placidly, “you define your Idea of a good Job. I’m rather particular.” “But you admit you’re out of luck, and —” “But you admit I’m a whirlwind.” The young man smiled with faint amusement. “I said you ought to be —with train ing.” The young man’s mouth turned up ward at the corners. "Go ahead and describe the Job.” "Well, my Idea of a pretty sweet Job for a man of your age is—to start, of course—-about twenty a week and commissions.” "Yes? What per cent commission?" "Oh. eight to ten per cent.” The young man glanced at Harmon and laughed quietly. “You’re a broker, of course, but that doesn’t sound much like conservative Investment securities to me. What Is It —Industrials?" Harmon grimaced. “Yes, I’m a broker.” He set down hls glass and fumbled for a card. “There! But I was thinking more about stocks than bonds. Some new Montana properties—copper and zinc. Metals are the big noise these days. I guess you realize that, don’t you? Munition work.” “I’ll show ’em whether** I can make good or not!” (TO CONTINUED.) FARM ANIMALS KILL ALL HARMFUL ANIMALS Annual Loss Wrought by Predatory Wild Beasts and Rodenta Mounts Up Into Millions. Live stock and wool valued at $20.- 000.000 are lost annually through the depredations of wild animals. The value of farm produce and forage de stroyed each year by rodents Is approx imately $300,000,000. It Is esti mated that the households of this country sustain nn annual loss from rats and mice of $200,000,000. These figures sum up certain of the larger losses due to destructive wild life which the biological survey of the United States department of agricul ture Is engaged In reducing as rapidly as possible. A force of between 400 and 500 experienced hunters was em ployed by this bureau during the past year to kill predatory animals, many of which were infected with rabies; Live Stock and Wool Valued at Mil lions of Dollars Are Destroyed An nually by Predatory Animals, Chief of Which Are Wolves and Coyotes. this disease often is spread from the wild creatures to domestic animals, and frequently endangers humans. In this work of extermination the states nnd numerous private organizations have hud nn Important share. The work of killing rodents—prairie dogs, ground squirrels. Jack rabbits nnd cottontails, pocket gophers, native mice, wood ruts, cotton rats. etc.—is also carried on with the co-operation of rhe states. During the past fiscal year ground squirrels were poisoned on more than 14,000.000 acres. In one Idaho county alone 40,000 rabbits were killed. In the same period from 75 to 95 per cent of the prairie dogs found on a total of 2,200.000 acres were de stroyed. BANK FAVORS BETTER SIRES Concern at Fond du Lac, Wis., Urges Its Patrons to Improve Qual ity of Stock. With the publication of a four-page farm news leaflet, of which a current copy Is a “Duroc Sale and Pig Club Number." a bank at Fond du Lac, Wis., is encouraging Its patrons to Im prove their live stock. The editor*of the sheet has the unique title of “bank agriculturist.” nnd ills activities are devoted largely to financing fanners who wish to acquire well-bred animals or to become Joint owners in valuable sires. In a letter to the United States de partment of agriculture the bank ag riculturist calls attention to the sup port being given hog-cholera control, pig-club work, and other activities In which the government Is active. The leaflet contains a "For Sale and Want Column." relating especially to live stock, gives current news among breeders, and contains discussions ranging from the cure of cattle to the handling of bees. An expressed pur pose of the bank’s activities Is “to make Fond du Lac county a land where milk and honey flows.” RATION OF COTTONSEED MEAL One Pound Per Day for Each 1,000 Pounds Live Weight Is Most Satisfactory. One pound of cottonseed meal per day for each 1,000 pounds live weight is the most satisfactory quantity to feed work unlmals. according to re cent experiments conducted by the Uni ted States department of agriculture. A test In feeding cottonseed meal to work horses nnd mules at the govern ment farm, Beltsvllle, Md., was begun In 1918, nnd continued last year. When the meal was fed In large quantities harmful effects were apparent, how ever, indicating that cottonseed meal, like any other hlgh-proteln feed must be fed with care to horses and mules. BLACKLEG VACCINE IS FREE Department Report Shows That 3,339,- 815 Doses Were Distributed During Last Year. Vaccine for immunizing cattle against blackleg is still in great de mand. A report of the bureau of an imal Industry. United States depart ment of agriculture, shows thnt 3.339,- 815 doses were distributed free to stock owners during the last fiscal year. The vaccine sent out by the bu reau :s in the powdered form.