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HAL'S LONG ORDEAL
By FLORENCE LILLIAN HENDER SON. Click! Hal Duncan woke up from his slum ber on the sunny side of a pile of lumber at the sound, rubbed his eyes und stared suspiciously at a spruce appearing young fellow "shooting" him with a camera—and a smile. "Hey! what are you up to?" chal lenged the aroused sleeper. "Oh, I've got a famous story on you and I wanted your picture to make jit more interesting," explained Dave 'Lind. "I'm a reporter for the Star. One of your chums told me about you and piloted me here. 1 gave him a dollar to do it. I'll give you five to I go over what he's told me and add enough to it to make a two-column "special'—what do you say?" Hal Duncan looked bored. It was inot the first time he had been the subject of pictorial publicity. Hal was unique as a tramp and a good deal of a gentleman. Something of a mystery, too. It seemed that about two years since he had appeared among the hoboes. They made a favorite of him, for many a story was told of his care for poor sick fellows and homeless ones, many a stirring tale of some thrilling exploits in a ramble over half the country a fire discovered in time to save a whole business block, a knockout of foot pads who would have killed a victim but for his interference, the rescue of two little children from a burning building. 1 Hal shared everything with his fel low unfortunates except his moral na ture of his self-respect'. He never got down to rags. He was a reformer all through and had made a famous speech in behalf of the poor and op pressed that had got into the papers. But he was dead to the old world, where apparently he must have onco. led a life of what people call re spectability. Now for a moment he seemed about ito resent the proposal of the ener getic young newspaper reporter, then with his usual careless self-abandon ihe shrugged his shoulders resignedly and said: "All right. I need the money and 1 guess I can give you good value." Pathos, adventure, humor—through many unique shades of rare human in terest Hal led the interested reporter. |The Star Had Made a Fearful Mistake. [The latter regarded the narrator both pityingly and admiringly. "There's your money," he said, "and you've given me some good stuff. I say, though, it seems a pity to see ja man of your intelligence wasting your life like a common tramp. Why, !my friend?" "Call it the 'wanderlust,' disgust with the so-called respectable world!" laughed Hal. "I have found warmer Ihearts among the wreckage of human lity than I ever knew in society." The "why" of the reporter, who left 'Hal, with a cheery "Good luck," sent the latter into a sudden reverie. "Why," indeed! Before his mental vision passed a series of vivid pic tures of a small fortune left to him, of being "the best fellow" in his home .village. Then love—his head drooped sor rowfully as he thought of Hazel [Green. How he had loved her! how winsome she had been—but strong drink had not then relaxed its awful influence over him. He finally found •himself penniless. Pride, remorse tortured him. A man who had money and position became his rival. Hal knew that Hazel loved him, but a bet ter man had come between. Hal left the town desperate and became a homeless wanderer. With a sudden spurt of resolution he banished the memories that so tor mented him and arose to his feet. He placed the five-dollar hill in his pocket. Then he noticed some papers the reporter had thrown aside. They were political campaign documents reciting the views and giving a speech Df Rodney Walton, candidate for con gressman in the district. These also Hal thrust' into his pocket. He proceeded to a barber (Bhop and thence to a store where he purchased a hat and some collars and a tie. His clothing was not bad and, brisked up, he would scarcely have suggested the tramp to a casual ob server. Long since Hal had recognized the evil of strong drink and had elim inated that feature of his reckless life. fThe possession of money made a gen- erous meal at a restaurant luxury. Then he secured a cheap room at the hotel and slept in a real bed for the first time in months. There was a fair at Derby, a town sixty miles away at the extreme edge of the district. Hal felt like playing the gentleman while his money lasted. He bought a ticket for that place, the morning newspaper and selected a comfortable seat in the train. "Hello!" he ejacuated as he opened the sheet—"here's my story." There it was and next to it was a boom for Mr. Walton, the congression al candidate. And then Hal Duncan smiled broadly. The Star had made a fearful mistake. They had got the pic ture of Hal over the Walton article. There he posed as the lauded candi date for congress! The journey was a slow one and Hal was glad to put in his time look ing over the campaign literature he had picked up the day previous. A sample speech interested him. Evi dently Mr. Walton was reaching for the popular vote. A good many hu mane sentiments that he enunciated rather feebly were greatly in accord ance with Hal's ideas. "How I would like to set myself loose on that subject in a genuine free and easy way!" ruminated Hal. When he arrived at Derby he found the fair and a big political meeting the attractions of the day. Posters announced a mammoth mass meeting that fevening to boom a certain ticket in which Hal noticed the name of Rod ney Walton. It was late that afternoon, just as Hal came out of a restaurant that a prosperous looking man stopped, stared at him, drew a newspaper from his pocket, glanced at it and then went up to Hal. "Mr. Walton, surely?" he said. "I wouldn't have known you only for your picture in the paper. Why, yov, must come at once to headquarters. A speech frotii you will just about fill out our program." At once Hal comprehended the situ ation. A whimsical resolution seized him. He had been mistaken for Mr. Walton. He allowed himself to be introduced to the committee, he was given a royal banquet. Then the speeech! Hal Duncan let loose all the eloquence he possessed. "Why, the crowd just went wild!" enthused a committeeman. "Mr. Wal ton, you have carried the day for us. We wish to entertain you tomorrow—" but with the morrow Hal had gone. The masquerader was a good deal surprised when a month later the Star reporter ran across him in an other town. "Been looking for you for a week," declared the latter. "That speech of yours elected Mr. Walton. He wants you—bad." He wanted this natural orator so badly that when Hal returned with the newspaper man to Wellsville, he engaged him as his secretary forth with. Hal Duncan became a changed man. One day he stole away from Wellsville and visited the home of his childhood. It was to find Hazel waiting for him. Yes, true womanly love had disdained all new suitors. "I knew you would come back," she told Hal, serene in his cherishing arms. "My heart was with you through all the long ordeal that has shown you to be a man among men." And then there was a wedding and Congressman Walton gave away the beautiful bride. (Copyright, 1914, by W. G. Chapman.) TALES TOLD OF GREAT ARTIST Whistler's Peculiarities and His Fits of Anger Have Furnished "Copy" for Many Journalists. The well-known clash with Mr. George Moore brought forth many ab surdities, not the least of them being the correspondence ensuing on the of fended artist's challenge to a duel, which Mr. Moore refused on the sooth ing ground that Mr. Whistler was too old a gentleman and would be sadly worsted. The sequel of the duel farce was a happy play of Moore's upon Whistler's famous mot, when some one ranked him with Velasquez, "Why drag in Velasquez?" The two foregathered at the same atelier one Sunday afternoon. They nearly collided in entering, but Moore was the first inside. The hostess heard sounds irorn the hall something between china breaking and the stamping of Loots. She went out to find James in a mighty rage. "Dear me!" said the lady. "What Is the matter, dear master?" "Whistler won't come in! Whistler Won't stay under the same roof with that wild Irishman." Moore, in tjie inside, remarked in his sweetly nodulated voice, "Why drag in Whistler?" One of the most characteristic con versations with the great artist is re ported by Frederic Keppel. Mr. Keppel first called upon the art ist at the Tite street studio, where the famous portrait of Sarasate, "Black on black," stood at the end of the long corridor that he used to form a vista for proper perspective of his work. Laying his hand on Keppel shoulder, he said: "Now, isn't It beautiful?" "It certainly is," was the reply. "No," said he, "but isn't it beauti fui?" "It Is. indeed," said Keppel. Whistler raised his voice to a scream. "Damn it. man!" he piped, "isn't it BEAUTIFUL?" Adopting the emphasis, Mr. Keppel shouted: "Damn it, it is!" This was satisfactory. SOPHIE'S GENEROSITY I By EVELYN HÖGE. Sophie sat bolt upright beside her mother and listened with wide round eyes. In the first place there was a strange man in Doctor Stewart's pul pit and lie talked in a ringing resonant voice and his words rushed as if he were afraid lie would not have time to say all he wanted to say. Doctor Stew art almost drawled and did not lean over the pulpit edge with nervous hands outstretched as did this man. So this man was well worth watching. The man was telling an absorbing tale of his missionary work in a cer tain section of the country. When he ended he «aid simply but forcibly that the people among whom he worked needed anything and everything. "Not only money," he said, "but clothes, all the necessaries of life. Think of what I have told you and give freely!" Sophie hop-skipped alongside her mother when they reached the open air. "What are we goin' to give?" she inquired breathlessly. Sophie's mother laughed shortly. "I haven't any idea," she said. "We sent all our old clothes to the mission and I'm short of money. 1 need a great many It was the next day that Sophie sat thinking. Mother had said they mould send something, but mother was out for the day and nothing had been sent. Sophie slid down from the couch and wandered about, frowning. Maybe the poor people were freezing to death at that very moment. She decided that she might as well save her mother the trouble of sending things, inasmuch as her mother's con sent had been won. Sophie proceeded to her mother's large closet. For a moment she stood sniffing de lightedly the faint fragrance of violet sachet that emanated from all the She rubbed her hands delightedly over the violet velvet dress. That could go—mother had said the last time she wore it that she just hated it because Celeste had botched it. The poor folks would be glad of it even if it was botched. They could wear it to market or something. And that pink chiffon evening dress —hadn't mother remarked that she simply never would wear the thing again after what Mrs. Smith said about a woman of her age appearing in girl ish colors? There was the blue serge, too—cer tainly mother could give that when she had three other cloth dresses. And here were five coats—well, this looked most like being given away, the brown, silky one, with the nice fur collar and l'ur cuffs. It was remark able how easily everything com pressed into a suitcase. There would be plenty of room for some things of father's for some poor, freezing man. After searching through the gar ments in father's closet and anxiously studying them Sophie decided on a suit father didn't seem to care about At any rate, he never wore it. I Sophie carefully folded up the long tailed coat and the rest of the things and added them to the suitcase. She took a handful of socks for good meas ure. It happened that her hands land ed in the end of the drawer devoted to her parent's silken footwear. Then with a relieved eigh she snapped shut the suitcase and slipped out. "From mother" Sophie told the won en at the church who were receiving things for the missionary box. She beamed angelically. "What a good little girl to carry this all the way!" said one of the women. I things myself and if I do get any money there's that tea I must give—" Sophie's mind wandered. Teas were vague things that required little girls to stay upstairs. "That child is possessed," Sophie's mother said later in the day, when for the sixth time Sophie begged to know what they could give the missionary's people. "Goodness me! As if one wasn't driven nearly crazy with hands out on every side! Don't bother me now—oh, we'll send something." MSfcr We Goin' to Give?" "What Are things decorously clothed in overhang ere and hanging in a straight row on the brass rod that ran across the lit tle room. Then she set to work. That evening Sophie's mother had an excited conversation over the tele phone. Then she said to Sophie's fa ther: "It's only because the suitcase had my name on it that they knew whom to call up. Your dress suit—and my new marten trimmed coat—and my best gowns—why, it's perfectly dread ful!" Sophie's father chuckled. He medi tated on the dress suit. "I wish," he said, daringly, "that there 'hadn't been any name on the suitcase. Sophie's heart is in the right place, -anyway."—Chicago Daily News. is til- fixing up y. ib!e to help have in a spie. Couch Covers. 1 also hand I machine mi goods over be: TAk'INQ OFF A FEW LIMBS 1 SEE How's This We offer One Hundred Dollars Reward for any case of Catarrh that cannot be cured by Hall's Catarrh Cure. F. J. CHENEY & CO.. Toledo, O. 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