Bellefonte, Pa., February 9, 1917. “18? Mary Roberts Rinehart x me ho =m (Copyright, by McClure Pubiications, Inc.) (Continued from last week.) SYNOPSIS. CHAPTER I—At her home in the Street Sidney Page agrees to marry Joe Drum- mond ‘‘after years and years” and talks to K. Le Moyne, the new roomer, CHAPTER II-Sidney’s aunt Harriet who has been dressmaking with Sidney's mother, launches an independent modiste’s parlor. Sidney gets Dr. Ed Wilson’s in: fluence with his brother, Doctor Max, the successful young surgeon, to place her ir the hospital as a probationer nurse. CHAPTER III-K. becomes acquaintec in the Street. Sidney asks him to sta) on as a roomer and explains her plans fol financing her home while she is in the school. CHAPTER IV—Doctor Max gets Sidney into the hospital school. Men, like jewels, require a setting. A clerk on a high stool, poring over a tedger, is not unimpressive, or a cook over her stove. But place the cook on the stool, poring over the ledger! Doc- tor Max, who had lived all his life on the edge of Sidney’s horizon, now, by the simple changing of her point of view, loomed large and magnificent. Perhaps he knew it. Certainly he stood very erect. Certainly, too, there was considerable manner in the way in which he asked Miss Harrison to go out and close the door behind her. Sidney’s heart, considering what was happening to it, behaved very well. “For goodness’ sake, Sidney,” said Doctor Max, “here you are a young lady and I've never noticed it!” This, of course, was not what he had intended to say, being staff and all that. But Sidney, visibly palpitant, was very pretty, much prettier than the Harrison girl, beating a tattoo with her heels in the next room. Doctor Max, belonging to the class ot man who settles his tie every time he sees an attractive woman, thrust his hands into the pockets of his long white coat and surveyed her quizzi- cally. “Did Doctor Ed tell you?” “Sit down. He said something about the hospital. How's your mother and Aunt Harriet?” “Very well—that is, mother’s never 1uite well.” She was sitting forward on her chair, her wide young eyes on him. “Is that—is your nurse from the hospital here?” “Yes. But she’s not my nurse. She’s a substitute.” “The uniform is so pretty.” Poor Sidney! with all the things she had meant to say about a life of service and that, although she was young, she was terribly in earnest. “It takes a lot of plugging before ont gets the uniform. Look here, Sidney; if you are going to the hospital be cause of the uniform, and with any idea of soothing fevered brows and all that nonsense—" She interrupted him, deeply flushed Indeed, no. She wanted to work. She was young and strong, and surely a pair of willing hands—that was absurc about the uniform. She had no silly ideas. There was so much to do in the world, and she wanted to help. Some people could give money, but she couldn't. She could only offer service. And, partly through earnestness and partly through excitement, she ended in a scrt of nervous sob, and, going tc the window, stood with her back tc him. He followed her, and, because they were old neighbors, she did not resent it when he put. his hand on he: shoulder. “I don’t know—of course, if you feel like that about it,” he said, “we'll see what can be done. It’s hard work, and a good many times it seems futile. They die, you know, in spite of all we can do. And there are many things that are worse than death—" His voice trailed off. When he had started out in his profession, he had had some such ideal of service cs this girl beside him. He sighed a little as he turned away. “I'll speak to the superintenden: about you,” he said. “Perhaps you'¢ like me to show you around a little.” “When? Today?” He had meant in a month, or a year it was quite a minute before he re plied: “Yes, today, if you say. I'm operat ing at four. How about three o'clock? “Then we'll say at three,” she saic calmly, and took. ar orderly and unflur ried departure. She sent K. a note at noon, with wor¢ to Tillie at Mrs. McKee’s to put it un: der his plate: Dear Mr. L.e Moyne—I am so excited 1] *an hardly write. Doctor Wilson, the sur: zeon, is going to take me through the hos- pital this afternoon. Wish me luck.—Sid- 1ey Page. K. read it, and, perhaps because the day was hot and his butter soft and the other “mealers” irritable with the heat, he ate little or no luncheon. Be fore he went out into the sun, he read the note again. To his jealous eyes | | came a vision of that excursion to the hospital. Sidney, all vibrant eager ness, luminous of eye, quick of bosom; and Wilson, sardonically smiling | amused and interested in spite of him- | self. He drew a long breath, and thrust ! the note into his pocket. As he went down the Street, Wil-| son's car came around the corner. Le | Moyne moved quietly into the shadow | of the church and watched the car go! by. CHAPTER V. “And so,” K. Le Moyne, “you liked it : all? It didn’t startle you?” ! “Well, in one way, of course—you see, I didn’t know it was quite like that: all order and peace and quiet, | and white beds and whispers, on top— | you know what I mean—and the misery there just the same. Have you | aver gone through a hospital?” i K. Le Moyne was stretched out on rhe grass, his arms under his head. : [For this excursion to the end of the street car line he had donned a pair. “l riaven’t Promised to Marry Him.” of white flannel trousers and a beltec Norfolk coaf. Sidney had been di vided between pride in his appearance and fear that the Street would deen him overdressed. At her question he closed his eyes shutting out the peaceful arch o1' leaves and the bit of blue heaven over | head. He did not reply at once. “Good gracious, 1 believe asleep !” said Sidney. But he opened his eyes and smiled af her. ! “I've been around hospitals a little. 1 suppose now there is no question about your going?” i “The superintendent said I was! young, but that any protegee of Doc | tor Wilson’s would certainly be given a chance.” “It is hard work, night and day.” “Do you think I am afraid of work? “And—Joe?” Sidney colored vigorously and sai erect. “He is very silly. He's taken all sorts | of idiotic notions in his head. I haven't promised to marry him.” “But he thinks you mean to. If you have quite made up your mind not to better tell him, don’t you think? What —what are these idiotic notions?” Sidney considered. “For one thing, he's jealous of you!” “I see. Of course that is silly, al though your attitude toward his sus picion is hardly flattering to me!” He smiled up at her. “I told him that I had asked you tc bring ne here today. He was furious. And that wasn’t all.” “No?” “He said I was {flirting desperately with Doctor Wilson. You see, the day we went thrcagh the hospital, it was hot, and we went to Henderson's for soda water. And, ¢f course, Joe was there. It was really dramatic.” K. Le Moyne was daily gaining the ability to see things from the angle of the Street. A month ago he could have seen no situation in two people, a man and a girl, dricking scda water to gether, even with a boy lover on the next stool. Now he could view things through Joe's tragic eyes. And there was more than that. All day he had noticed how inevitable the conversa: tion turned to the young surgeon. Sidney’s active young brain, turnes he’s inward for the first time in her life, was still on herself. : “Mother is plaintively resigned—and Aunt Harriet has been a trump. She's going to keep her room. It’s really ur to you.” “To me?” “To your staying on. Mother trusts you absolutely. I hope you notice¢ that you got one of the apostle spoons with the custard she sent up to you the other night. And she didn’t object to this trip today. Of course, as she said herself, it isn’t as if you were young, or at all wild.” In spite of himself, K. was rather startled. He felt old enough, God knew, but he had always thought of it as an age of the spirit. He rose to his feet and threw back his fine shoulders. “Aunt Harriet and your mother and Christine and her husband-to-be, what: ever his name is—we’ll be a happy family. But, I warn you, if I ever hear of Christine’s husband getting an apos: tle spoon—" She smiled up at him. “You are looking very grand today. But you have grass strains on your white trou. . of course ycu rather thrill. sers. Perhaps Katie can take them ' must look a sight.” Then, remembering | her manners, as the Street had it, she | out.” Quite suddenly of dress. It put him on his mettle, “How old do you think I am, Miss Sidney?” “Not over forty, I'm sure.” “I'm almost thirty. It is middle age of course, but—it is not senility.” Clearly the subject of his years did not interest her vitally, for she harkec back to the grass stains. “I'm afraid you're not saving, as yot | promised. Those are new clothes, aren’ they?” “No, indeed. Bought years ago ir England—the coat in London, trousers in Bath, on a motor tour. Cost something like twelve shillings. Awful ly cheap. They wear them for cricket.’ That was a wrong move, of course Sidney must hear about England; and i she marveled politely, in view of his poverty, about his being there. Poor Le Moyne floundered in a sea of men- dacity, rose to a truth here and there. clutched at luncheon, and achieved safety at last. “To think,” said Sidney, “that you have really been across the ocean! 1 never knew but one person who hac i been abroad. It is Dr. Max Wilson.” Back again to Doctor Max! Le i Moyne, unpacking sandwiches from s i rasket, was aroused by a sheer resent + ment to indiscretion. “You like this Wilson chap pretty well, don’t you?” “What do you mean?” “You talk about him rather a lot.” This was sheer recklessness, of course. He expected fury, annihilation He did not look up, but busied him self with the luncheon. When the si lence grew oppressive, he ventured tc glance toward her. She was leaning , forward, her chin cupped in her palms staring out over the valley thai stretched at their feet. “Don’t speak tc me for a minute or | . two,” she said. “I'm thinking over what you have just said.” Down through the valley ran a shal ' low river, making noisy pretensions to both depth and fury. He remembered | just such a river in the Tyrol, with this same Wilson on a rock, holding the hand of a pretty Austrian girl, while | he snapped the shutter of a camera. He had that picture somewhere now; but the girl was dead, and, of the three, Wilson was the only one whe had met life and vang ished it. “I've known him all my life,” Sid: ney said at last. “You're perfectly right about one thing: I talk about him and I think about him. I’m being candid, because whait’s the use of be | ing friends if we're not frank? I ad mire him—you’d have to see him in the | hospita¥, with everyone deferring tc him and all that, to understand. Anc when you think of a man like that who holds life and death in his hands I—I hon estly believe that’s all there is to it.” “If that’s the whole thing, that’s hardly a mad-passion.” He tried ic smile; succeeded faintly. “Well, of course, there's this, too. 1 know he'll never look at me. I'll be one of forty nurses; indeed, for three months I'll be only a probationer. He'll probably never even remember I'm in the hospital at all.” “I see. Then, if you thought he was in love with you, things would be dif- ferent?” “If I thought Dr. Max Wilson was in love with me,” said Sidney solemnly, “I'd go out of my head with joy.” To hide the shock with which he realized that she was, unknown to her self, already in the throes of a roman: tic attachment for Wilson, K. suggest- ed a descent to the river. She accept: ed eagerly, and he helped her down That was another memory that out lasted the day—her small warm hand in his; the time she slipped and he caught her; the pain in her eyes at one of his thoughtless remarks. “I'm going to be pretty lonely,” he said, when she kad paused in the de- scent and was taking a stone out of her low shoe. “I shall hate to come home at night.” And then, seeing her wince: “I've been whining all day. Foi heaven's sake, don’t look like that. Ii there's one sort of man I detest more than another, it’s a man who is sorry for himself. Do you suppose your mother would object if we stayed out here at the hotel for supper? I've or- dered a moon, orange-yellow and extra size.” “I should hate to have anything or-- dered and wasted.” “Then we'll stay.” “It's fearfully extravagant.” “I'll be thrifty as to moons while you are in the hospital.” So it was settled. And, as it hap- pened, Sidney had to stay, anyhow, For, ‘having perched herselr out 1n the river on a sugar-loaf rock, she slid slowly but with a dreadful inevitabil ity, into the water. K. happened to be looking in another direction. So it oc curred that at one moment Sidney sat on a rock, fluffy white from head tc feet, entrancingly pretty, and knowing it, and the next she was standing neck deep in water, much too startled tc scream, and trying to be dignified un: ! der the rather trying circumstances. K had not looked around. The splash hac been a gentle one. “If you will be good enough,” said Sidney, with her chin well up, “to give me your hand or a pole or something— because if the river rises an inch.) shall drown.” To his undying credit, K. Le Moyne did not laugh when he turned and saw her. He went out on the sugar-loaf, and lifted her bodily up its slippery sides. He had prodigious strength, in spite of his leanness. : “Well!” said Sidney, when they were both on the rock, carefully balanced. “Are you cold?” “Not a bit. But horribly unhappy. 1 K. felt that she: thought him too old for such frivolity | the | said primly: “Thank you for saving me.” i “There wasn’t any danger, really. | unless—unless the river had risen.” i And then, suddenly, he burst into de- | lighted laughter, the first, perhaps, for months. He shook with it, struggled i at the sight of her injured face to re- strain it, achieved finally a degree of sobriety by fixing his eyes on the river ! bank. “When you have quite finished,” said , Sldney severely, “perhaps you will take me to the hotel. I dare say I shall have to be washed and ironed.” He drew her cautiously to her feet. , Her wet skirts clung to her; her shoes . were sodden and heavy. She clung to ! him frantically, her eyes on the river ! below. With the touch of her hands . the man’s mirth died. He held her very tarsfulle vexr tenderly, as one holds something infinitely precious. (Continued next week.) St. Valentine. How the dear old Patron Saint of Lovers must sigh as he thinks of the changes that 100 years have wrought! ' A century ago he was Eros’ chosen henchman. A hundred years ago the fond Lover evoked him humbly, the { while pondering for months ahead as | to the best rhymes to accompany the | inevitable Bleeding Heart (personally ‘drawn and painted.) Not to write | burning verses to his Charmer’s eye- i brow or lily-white hand would in- deed have proved her wooer lacking ‘in the finer arts of Love. With quill in hand, and sand box near, every i Romeo burned midnight candle and i filled words to the measure of his : Passion. Circled 50 years. Again the Lover { sought upon St. Valentine’s day some | gallant way to prove his preference. i Progress was his ally. For a few | pence he migh buy his Heart (sore | pierced indeed) and flaming verses, compared with which his own were rustic drivel. To the Stationer’s he | ran, to find in lacy cages (of paper) | Love hidden, armed with cruel darts and o’er-burning words. From many, Lovelace chose the gem to suit his case, thereafter dropping it in the penny-post most gayly. Today at St. Valentine’s shrine few Lovers go to pray. Rather have they the air of Patrons who graciously re- member the Old Saint as do they childish myths to smile or scoff at. Occasionally they make him serve, as when they would offer a Dame of High Degree or Maid of Import cost- ly trophies or flowers worth their weight in gold. As St. Valentine knows, Lovers still love, but “not in the manner of long ago, humbly, doubting their prowess and putting it to the test in simple ways.” Mod- ern Wooers find their days are too short for dalliance, for verse-making or gentle wooing. The present-day Romeo finds a doz- en “beauties” or orchids, or a jeweled bauble, quite as effective and much more to his taste, and his Lady’s, than Bleeding Hearts and toil-won rhymes—if he remembers St. Valen- tine’s day at all. And yet to the heart of every woman not calloused by the vanities, the personal note strongly appeals. Verses written for Her by Him would be treasuered by the right sort of a girl as nothing that could be had for gold. Love is no less Love because its methods differ. The Eternal differ- ence between the man and the wom- (an in love is, the latter places her abiding trust in sentiment that is richly verbal. Unspoiled women love St. Valentine as fondly as cynical men despise him. True, there are today men—elderly men, those simple souls who give savor to humanity—who still write verses to living or dead ( loves, in honor of the Old Saint. And the children—they never forget him, as Postmen can vouch. Lovers of to- day, however, unless, as has been sug- gested, he furnishes an excuse for a frolic, a surreptitious offering, or an indulgence to a childish sweetheart or wife. This Barbarous System Was Used In Europe For Centuries. The use of torture in order to elicit information from persons accused of crime, barbarous as it is, was little practiced before mediaeval times. Une der Greek and Roman law torture was only allowed upon slaves, though in the latter days of the empire it was em- ployed against free citizens if they had been accused of treason to the emperor. It seems to have become part of the law in Europe about the thirteenth cen. tury. From the fourteenth century downward torture was a part of the legal system of most European coun- tries. The Italian municipalities used it to a very large extent. In Germany elaborate apparatus existed for its in. fliction in the dungeons of the feudal castles and in the town halls of the cities. It was used in the prisons of Ger- many when the philanthropist Howard visited them in 1770. In France it was part of the law until abolished by the revolution, and in Scotland it was used until the reign of Queen Anne. The use of torture seems never to have been wholly sanctioned by the law of Eng- land, although it was used frequently by order of the king in the Tudor pe- riod. The royal council claimed the power of directing torture warrants against state prisoners in the tower, and under James I, and Charles I. tor- ture was resorted to in state trials.— Chicago Herald. Fealty of Partners. A member of the New York supreme court, reproving a New York firm of architects for canceling an agreement, says, “Authorities unanimously agree that there is scarcely any relation in life which calls for more absolute good HAS NOT GONE UP IN PRICE EVERYTHING All the goods we advertise here are selling at prices prevailing this time last seascn. MINCE MEAT. We are now making our MINCE MEAT and keeping it fully up to our usual high standard; nothing cut out or cut short and are selling it at our former price of 15 Cents Per Pound. SWEET POTATOES. Finest Selected SWEET POTATOES at 40 Cents Per Peck. Fine Celery, Oranges, Grape Fruit, Apricots, Peaches, Prunes—All spices (Except Pepper). Breakfast Foods, Extracts, Baking Powders, Soda, Corn- starch. The whole line of Soaps and Washing Powders, Starches, Blueing and many other articles are selling at the usual prices. COFFEES, TEAS AND RICE. On our Fine Coffees at 25¢, 28¢, 30c, 35¢ and 40c, there has been no change in price on quality of goods and no change in the price of TEAS. Rice has not advanced in price and can be used largely as a substitute for potatoes. All of these goods are costing us more than formerly but we are doing our best to Hold Down the Bill on high prices, hoping for a more favorable market in the near future. LET US HAVE YOUR ORDER and we will give you FINE GROCERIES at reasonable prices and give you good service. SECHLER & COMPANY, Bush House Block, - - 57-1 - . - Bellefonte, Pa. Shoes. PRICES REDUCED PRICES REDUCED {EAGER SHOE STORE When the Time Comes to Purchase the Shoes and Slippers that you expect to buy remember you can save on each pair that is purchased at Yeagers. Compare the Prices Below with any other firm selling shoes, then you be the judge as to the better place to buy. Ladies’ Kreep-a-Wa Slippers, all colors, 93c Childs’ Kreep-a-Wa Slippers, all colors, SSC Men’s good quality Felt Slippers - - 75¢C Men’s Black and Tan Romeo Slippers - $1.75 Yadies’ 8-inch Kid Boots - - - - - $3.25 Boy's High Cut Shoes - -' - + = . #300 | Childs’ Champagne Kid Shoes - - - $1.50 Ladies’ Warm Shoes for cold feet - - $1.35 YOU CAN SAVE MONEY on anything you may need in the shoe line. YEAGER'S, The Shoe Store for the Poor Man. Bush Arcade Bldg. 58-27 BELLEFONTE, PA. A Bank Account Is the Gibraltar of the Home! If you are a man of family you must have a bank account. A BANK ACCOUNT IS THE BULWARK, THE GIBRALTAR, OF YOUR HOME, It protects you in time of need. It gives you a feeling of independence. It strengthens you. { faith than the relation of partners.” Also, “A purer and more elevated morality is demanded of partners than the common morality of the trade.” The meaning is that an individual who transacts business for himself may look out solely for himself, while a partner must never consider his own It Is a Consolation to Your Wife, to Your Children THE CENTRE COUNTY BANK, advantage apart from that of his asso- ciates.—~Exchange. BELLEFONTE
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