Pemorralf aca.
Bellefonte, Pa., March 16, 1917.
—— So——
“RR?
Mary Roberts Rinehart
hmm + re a maw —
4Copyright, by McClure Publications, Inc.)
(Continued from last week.)
SYNOPSIS.
CHAPTER I—At her home in the Stree
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’
mother, launches an independent modiste’s
Parlor. Sidney gets Dr. Ed Wilson's in
uence with his brother, Doctor Max, the
successful young surgeon, to place her iv
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 for
financing her home while she is in the
school.
CHAPTER IV—Doctor Max gets Sidney
into the hospital school.
CHAPTER V—S8idney and K. spend ar
afternoon in the country. Sidney falls
into the river.
CHAPTER VI—Max asks Carlotta Har.
rison, a probationer, to take a motor ride
with him. Joe finds Sidney and K. al
the country hotel, where Sidney is drying
her clothes, and is insanely jealous.
CHAPTER VII—While Sidney and K
are dining on the terrace, Max and Car-
lotta appear. K. does not see them, but
for some reason seeing him disturbs Car-
lotta strangely.
CHAPTER VIII—Joe reproaches Sidney
She confides to K. that Joe knows now
she will not marry him.
CHAPTER IX—Sidney goes to training
school and at home relies more and more
on K. Max meets K. and recognizes hii
as Edwardes, a brilliant young surgeor
who has been thought lost on the Titanic
K.’s losing cases lost him faith in him-
self and he quit and hid from the world
CHAPTER X.
A few days after Wilson’s recogni:
tion of K., two most exciting things
happened to Sidney. One was that
Christine asked her to be maid of
honor at her wedding. The other was
more wonderful. She was accepted,
and given her cap.
Because she could not get home that
night, and because the little house had
no telephone, she wrote the news to
her mother and sent a *note to Le
Moyne.
K. found the note on the hall table
when he got home that night, and car
ried it upstairs to read. Whatever
faint hope he might have had that her
youth would prevent her acceptance
he knew now was over. With the let:
ter in his hand, he sat by his table
and looked ahead into the empty years
Not quite empty, of course. She woulc
be coming home.
But more and more the life of the
hospital would engross her. He sur
mised, too, very shrewdly, that, had he
ever had a hope that she might come
to care for him, his very presence itr
the little house militated against him
There was none of the illusion of sep
aration ; he was always there, like Ka-
tie. When she opened the door, she
called “Mother” from the hall. 0
Anna did not answer, she called him
n much the same voice.
Sidney's letter was not the only one
ae received that day. When, in re
sponse to Katie’s summons, he rose
heavily and prepared for dinner, he
found an unopened envelope on the
table. It was from Max Wilson:
°
Dear Le Moyne—I have a feeling of deli-
sacy about trying to see you again sc
soon. I'm bound to respect your seclu-
sion. But there are some things that have
got to be discussed.
It takes courage to step down from the
pinnacle you stood on. So it’s not cow-
ardice that has set you down here. It’s
wrong conception. And I've thought of
two things. The first, and best, is for you
to go back. No one has taken your place,
because no one could do the work. But
if that’s out of the question—and only you
know that, for only you know the facts—
the next best thing is this, and in all hu-
manity I make the suggestion.
Take the State exams under your pres-
ent name, and when you've got your cer-
tificate, come in with me. This isn’t mag-
nanimity. I'll be getting much more than
1 give.
Think it over, old man. M. W.
It is a curious fact that a man who
{s absolutely untrustworthy about
women is often the soul of honor to
other men. The younger Wilson, tak-
ing his pleasures lightly and not too
discriminatingly, was making an offer
that meant his ultimate eclipse, and
doing it cheerfully, with his eyes open.
K. was moved. It was like Max to
make such an offer, like him to do it
as if he were asking a favor and not
gonferring one. But the offer left him
untempied. He had weighed himself
in the balance, and found himself
wanting. No tablet on the college wall
could change that. And when, late
that night, Wilson found him on the
balcony and added appeal to argu-
ment, the situation remained un-
changed. He realized its hopelessness
when K. lapsed into whimsical humor.
“I'm not absolutely useless where I
am, you know, Max,” he said. “I've
raised three tomato plants and a fam-
ily of kittens this summer, helped to
plan a trousseau, assisted in selecting
wallpaper for the room just inside—
did you notice it?—and developed a
boy pitcher with a ball that twists
around the bat like a Colles fracture
around a splint!”
_
* Wilson rose and flung his cigarette
into the grass.
«I wish I understood you!” he said
irritably.
K. rose with him, and all the sup-
pressed feelicg of the interview was
crowded into his last words.
“I'm not as ungrateful as you think,
Max,” he said. “I—you've helped a
lot. Don’t worry about me. I'm as
well off as I deserve to be, and better.
Good night.”
“Good night.”
Wilson's unexpected magnanimity
put K. in a curious position—left
him, as it were, with a divided alle-
giance. Sidney's frank infatuation for
the young surgeon was growing. He
was quick to see it. And where before
he might have felt justified in going
to the length of warning her, now his
hands were tied.
Sidney went on night duty shortly
after her acceptance. She tumbled
into her low bed at nine o'clock in the
morning, those days, with her splen-
did hair neatly braided down her back
and her prayers said, and immediately
her active young mind filled with
images—Christine’s wedding, Doctor
Max passing the door of the old ward
and she not there, Joe—and she puz-
zled over Grace and her Kind.
On her first night on duty a girl
aad been brought in from the Avenue.
She had taken poison—nobody knew
just what. When the internes had
tried to find out, she had only said:
“What's the use?”
And she had died.
Sidney kept asking herself, “Why?”
those mornings when she could not. get
to sleep. People were kind—men were
kind, really—and yet, for some reason
or other, those things had to be.
Why?
Carlotta Harrison went on night
duty at the same time—her last night
service, as it was Sidney's first. She
accepted it stoically. She had charge
of the three wards on the floor just
helow Sidney, and of the ward into
which all emergency cases were taken.
Tt was a difficult service, perhaps the
most difficult in the house. Carlotta
merely shrugged her shoulders.
“I've always had things pretty hard
here,” she commented briefly.
I go out, I'll either be competent
enough to run a whole hospital single-
handed, or I'll be carried out feet
first.”
Sidney was glad to have her so near.
She knew her better than she knew
the other nurses. Small emergencies
were constantly arising and finding her
at a loss Once at least every night
Miss Harrison would hear a soft hiss
from the back staircase that connect-
ad the two floors, and, going out, would
see Sidney's flushed face and slightly
crooked cap bending over the stair
rail.
“I’m dreadfully sorry to bother vou,”
If this girl was pumping her—
“I'll have to think that over,” she
said, with a glint of mischief in her
ayes. “When you know a person ter-
ribly well, you hardly know whether
he’s good-looking or not.”
“I suppose,” said the probationer,
cunning the long strands of Sidney's
hair through her fingers, “that when
you are at home you see him often.”
Sidney got off the window sill, and,
taking the probationer smilingly by the
shoulders, faced her toward the door.
“You go back to the girls,” she said,
“and tell them to come in and see me
when I am dressed, and tell them this:
1 don’t know whether I am to walk
down the aisle with Doctor Wilson,
but I hope I am. I see him very often.
I like him very much. I hope he likes
me. And I think he’s handsome.”
She shoved the probationer out into
the hall and locked the door behind
her.
That message in its entirety reached
Carlotta Harrison. Her smoldering
eyes flamed. The audacity of it star-
tled her. Sidney must be very sure
of herself. When the probationer who
had brought her the report had gone
out, she lay in her long, white night-
gown, hands clasped under her head,
and stared at the vaultlike ceiling of
her little room.
She saw there Sidney in her white
dress going down the aisle of the
church ; she saw the group around the
altar; and, as surely as she lay there,
she. knew that Max Wilson's eyes
would be, not on the bride, but on the
girl who stood beside her.
The curious thing was that Carlotta
felt that she could stop the wedding
if she wanted to. She’d happened on
a bit of information—many a wedding
had been stopped for less. It rather
obsessed her to think of stopping the
wedding, so that Sidney and Max
would not walk down the aisle to-
gether.
There came, at last, an hour before
the wedding, a lull in the feverish
activities of the previous month. Ev-
arything was ready. In the attic, in
the center of a sheet, before a toilet
| table which had been carried upstairs
“When |
i of days,
she would say, “but So-and-So won't |
have & fever bath;” or, “I've a woman
here who refuses her medicine.” Then
would follow rapid questions and
equally rapid answers. Much as Car-
lotta disliked and feared the girl over-
head, it never occurred to her to re-
fuse her assistance. Perhaps the an-
gels who keep the great record will
put that to her credit.
* * * * * * *
Sidney saw her first death shortly
after she went on night duty. It was
the most terrible experience of all her
life—it seemed to her that she could
not stand it. Added to all her other
new problems of living was this one
of dying.
She made mistakes, ot course, which
the kindly nurses forgot to report—
basins left about, errors on her rec-
ords. She rinsed her thermometer in
hot water one night, and startled an
interne by sending him word that Mary
McGuire's temperature was 110 de-
grees. She let a delirious patient 2scape
from the ward ancther night and go
airily down the fire escape before she
discovered what had happened! Then
she distinguished herself by flying
down the iron staircase and bringing
the runaway back single-handed.
* * * * * * *
For Christine’s wedding the Street
threw off its drab attire and assumed
a wedding garment. In the beginning
it was incredulous about some of the
details. The wedding was to be at
five o'clock. This, in itself, defied all
traditions of the Street, which was
either married in the very early morn-
ing at the Catholic church or at eight
o'clock in the evening at the Presbyte-
rian. There was something reckless
about five o'clock. The Street felt the
dash of it. It had a queer feeling that
perhaps such a marriage was not quite
legal.
The younger Wilson was to be one
of the ushers. When the newspapers
came out with the published list and
this was discovered, as well as that
Sidney was the maid of honor, there
was a distinct quiver through the hos-
pital training school. A probationer
was authorized to find out particulars.
It was the day of the wedding then,
and Sidney, who had not been to bed
at all, was sitting in a sunny window
in the dormitory annex, drying her
hair. :
The probationer was distinctly un-
easy.
“I—I just wonder,” she said, “if you
would let some of the girls come in
to see you when you're dressed?”
“Why, of course I will.”
“It's awfully thrilling, isn’t it? And—
isn’t Doctor Wilson going to be an
usher?”
Sidney colored. “I believe so.”
The probationer had been instructed
to find out other things; so she set to
work with a fan at Sidney's hair.
“You've known Doctor Wilson a long
time, haven't you?”
““ Ages.”
“He's awfully good-looking,
he?”
Sidney considered. She was not ig-
norant of the methods of the school.
isn't
-
for her benefit, sat, on this her day
the bride. All the second
story had been prepared for guests
and presents. Christine sat alone in
the center of her sheet. The brides-
maids had been sternly forbidden to
come into her room.
“T haven’t had a chance to think for
a month,” she said. “And I've got
some things I've got to think out.”
But, when Sidney came, she sent for
her. Sidney found her sitting on a
stiff chair, in her wedding gown, with
her veil spread out on a small stand.
“Close the door,” said Christine.
And, after Sidney had kissed her:
“I've a good mind not to do .t.”
“You're tired and nervous, that’s
all.”
“I am, of course. But that isn’t
what's wrong with me. Throw that
veil some place and sit down.”
Christine was undoubtedly rouged, a
very delicate touch. Sidney thought
brides should be rather pale. But
under her eyes were lines that Sidney
had never seen there before.
“I'm not going to be foolish, Sidney.
I'll go through with it, of course. It
would put mamma in her grave if I
made a scene now.”
She suddenly turned on Sidney.
“Palmer gave his bachelor dinner at
the Country club last night. They all
drank more than they should. Some-
body called father up today and said
that Palmer had emptied a bottle of
wine into the piano. He hasn't been
here today.”
“He’ll be along. And as for the
other—perhaps it wasn’t Palmer whe
did it.”
“That’s not it, Sidney. I'm fright
ened.”
Three months before, perhaps, Sid-
ney could not have comforted her: but
three months had made a change in
Sidney. The complacent sophistries
of her girlhood no longer answered for
truth. She put her arms around Chris-
tine’s shoulders.
“A man who drinks is a broken
reed,” said Christine. “That’s what
I’m going to marry and lean on the
rest of my life—a broken reed. And
that isn’t alll”
She got up quickly, and, trailing her
long satin train across the floor, bolted
the door. Then from inside her cor-
sage she brought out and held to Sid-
néy a letter. “Special delivery. Read
1 ”
It was very short; Sidney read it
at a glance:
Ask your future husband if he knows 8
girl at 213 avenue.
Three months before, the Avenue
would have meant nothing to Sidney
Now she knew. Christine, more so-
phisticated, had always known.
“You see,” she said. “That's what
I’m up against.” '
Quite suddenly Sidney knew who
the girl at 213 Avenue was. The
paper she held in her hand was hospi-
tal paper with the heading torn off.
The whole sordid story lay before her:
Grace Irving, with her thin face and
cropped hair, and the newspaper on
the floor of the ward beside her!
She picked up her veil and set the
coronet on her head. Sidney stood
with the letter in her hands. One of
K.'s answers to her hot question had
been this: “There is no sense in look-
1g back unless it helps us to look
ahead. What your little girl of the
ward has been is not so important as
what she is going to be.”
“Even granting this to be true,” she
said to Christine slowly—*and it may
only be malicious, after all, Chris-
tine—it’s surely over and done with.
It’s not Palmer’s past that concerns
you now—it’s his future with you, isn’t
it?
Christine had finally adjusted her
veil. She rose and put her hands on |
Sidney's shoulders.
“The simple truth is,” she said qui- |
etly, “that I might hold Palmer if I
cared—terribly. I don’t. And I'm
afraid he knows it. It's my pride that's
hurt, nothing else.
And thus did Christine Lorenz go
down to her wedding.
Sidney stood for a moment, her eyes
on the letter she held. Already, in
her new philosophy, she had learned
many strange things. One of them
was this—that women like Grace Ir-
ving did not betray their lovers; that
the code of the underworld was “death
to the squealer;” that one played the
game, and won Qr lost, and if he lost,
took his medicine. If not Grace, then
who? Somebody else in the hospital
who knew her story, of course. But
who? And again—why?
Before going downstairs, Sidney
placed the letter in a saucer and set
fire to it with a match. Some of the
radiance had died out of her eyes.
To K., sitting in the back of the
church between Harriet and Anna, the
wedding was Sidney—Sidney only.
Afterward he could not remember the
wedding party at all. The service for
him was Sidney, rather awed and very
serious. beside the altar.
It was Sid-
Sidney Read It at a Glance.
ney who came down the aisle to the
| triumphant strains of the wedding
march, Sidney with Max beside her!
On his right sat Harriet, having
reached the first pinnacle of her new
career, The wedding gowns were suc
cessful. They were more than that—
they were triumphant. Sitting there
she cast comprehensive eyes over the
church, filled with potential brides
But to Anna, watching the ceremony
with blurred eyes and ineffectual
bluish lips, was coming her hour. Sit
ting back in the pew, with her hands
folded over her prayerbook, she said
a little prayer for her straight young
daughter, facing out from the altar
with clear, unafraid eyes.
As Sidney and Max drew near the
door, Joe Drummond, who had been
standing at the back of the church,
turned quickly and went out. He
stumbled, rather, as if he could not
see,
(Continued next week.)
Red Cross Seals Raised a Million.
Red Cross Christmas seals raised in
the 1916 sale $1,000,000 for the tuber-
culosis campaign, according to the
National Association for the Study
and Prevention of Tuberculosis, which
has just announced the results of the
recent holiday campaign. All reports
are not in, but carefully revised esti-
mates of the few yet outstanding in-
dicate that more than one hundred
million seals were sold.
All the proceeds of the sale, amount-
ing to a tax for health work of one
cent on each person in the country
except the insular possessions, are
devoted to preventive tuberculosis
work in the States and communities
in which the seals are sold.
The National Association points
with gratification to the fact that it
realized its slogan “one seal for each
inhabitant in the United States.”
Seals have been sold annually at the
holiday season, beginning with 1908.
They have been the means of raising
a total of $4,206,061 for tuberculosis
work. In addition to the thousands
of tuberculosis beds which this sum
has made possible, the seals have also
aided in the establishment of hundreds
of open-air schools, employment of
thousands of tuberculosis visiting
nurses, and have been an indirect
cause of tremendous advances in the
whole field of public health work.
Last fall agents sold seals in every
State and territory of the United
States, except Guam, Tahiti and
Samoa. Counting the school children,
some 300,000, the total number of
agents of the country approached
500,000. These included club women,
school teachers, merchants, bankers,
postmasters, and in fact, every kind
of business men and women.
——For high class job work come
to the “Watchman” office.
CASTORIA
Bears the signature of Chas. H.Fletcher.
In use for over thirty years, and
The Kind You Have Always Bought.
eee
HAS NOT GONE UP
IN PRICE
EVERYTHING
All the goods we advertise here are selling at prices prevailing
this time last season.
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.
Fine Celery, Oranges, Grape Fruit, Apricots, Peaches, Prunes, Spices,
Breakfast Foods, Extracts, Baking Powders, Soda, Cornstarch. The whole
line of 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¢, 30¢c, 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 Lid 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. Shoes.
Big Reduction on the Price of Shoes
YEAGER SHOE STORE
For One Day Only,
March 17th.
Saturday,
I will reduce the prices on certain lines of Shoes.
This reduction does not cover all Shoes, just
Shoes listed below. It is a case of I need the
money, you need the Shoes.
Soft-sole Shoes for the baby - - 20C
Men's $4.00 Dayton Shoes - - $3.00
Men’s $3.50 Moose-hide Shoes - - $2.50
Men’s $3.50 Scout Shoes = = - $2.50
Boys’ $3.00 Scout Shoes - - - $2.25
Ladies’ $4.00 Nurse Shoes . - - $3.00
Childs’ $2.50 Tan Shoes - - $1.75
Men’s $7.00 Dress Shoes - - - $5.00
This is a bonafide reduction; every pair of shoes is
worth just one dollar more than I am selling them for
on this special day. Remember the day—
SATURDAY, MARCH 17 ONLY.
YEAGER'S,
The Shoe Store for the Poor Man.
Bush Arcade Bldg. 58-27 BELLEFONTE, PA.
A Bank Account HE
Is the Gibraltar of the Home!
It protects you in time of need.
It gives you a feeling of independence.
It strengthens you.
to Your Children
THE CENTRE COUNTY BANK,
BELLEFONTE
ET A EE ERE,
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 Is a Consolation to Your Wife,
J
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