-
© Ben Ames Willams.
CHAPTER XII—Continued
ee Ben
Phil watched Barbara, flushed
and happy, moving easily about the
court; and he thought, astonished:
Mother doesn't seem to mind! She
seems glad!
He said guardedly,
so?"
“Of course!
young man."
“Well—I like him,” Phil agreed.
She smiled a little, wisely.
“You're surprised at my-—at the
way I take it, aren't you, Phil?”
“Why, I know what you think of
newspapers and ref®rters. And—I
know you think marrying the right
people is pretty important.”
She nodded. “I've spoken my
mind often enough, Phil,"”’ she as-
sented. ‘“‘But I'm not at all sure
my—mind was right. You remem-
ber, Phil, I—discovered something
during your father's trial.” He
looked at her and she said: ‘I real-
ized that I loved him.”
“Of course, mother.”
‘““Not at all, Phil. There's no ‘of
course’ about it.” She said, half to
herself: “I didn't love him when we
were married. I lived down on the
Cape, and his father had a cottage
there. He was rather a splendid fig-
ure. I thought I was marrying well,
marrying money and family and
position.
“You think
And Dan's a fine
But almost at once after
we were married I fell—passionate-
ly in love with him. Brides often
do, you know. If their husbands
are wise,
“And I loved him till seven weeks
before Barbara was born," she said
explicitly. “And 1 haven't loved
him since, till—"" After a moment
she said steadily, “Till I knew they
would convict him and kill him,
Phil.”
He could not move or speak. He
had only the vaguest understanding.
He stammered something; and she
said:
“It's curious, too, that there's no
~—desperation in my love for; him
now. At first the thought of what
was to happen was terrible. And
then it became unimportant. I have
him now, and he has me; and no
one, nothing, can separate us.”
Phil said automatically, ‘Yes,
mother!"
And she smiled like sun after
rain. “So now nothing matters ex-
cept that,” she said. *‘‘But—I think
when he is gone I shall join him
pretty soon.”
“Mother!”
“So I want Barbara to marry
whom she loves,” she said. “If it is
Dan, it is Dan.” She added, in a
moment's weakness,
need you both terribly for a little
while.”
“Gosh, mother—" He said that
and no more; but suddenly he was
afraid, thinking: She's lost weight
lately. She looks-—frail. Not tired.
Strong—inside, but frail outside. He
started to speak again, then saw her
smile as the set ended and Dan and
Barbara, laughing together, came
toward them here. They went into
the house, and Linda arrived, and
Mrs. Sentry left the four young peo-
ple alone downstairs. They had
tea; and talked idly for a while,
and Barbara was more and more
silent till Dan spoke to her.
“What's on your mind, Barb?
Penny for your thoughts.”
“I was thinking about Mae,” she
confessed. No one, for a moment,
found anything to say; and she went
on: “And about father. You all
think he's guilty, don’t you?"
She smiled a little, at their quick
protestations. ‘All right, but I don’t,
you know,” she said; and she con-
fessed: “Oh, at first I did. I saw
him come home that night, and I
went into a sort of panic. We all
did, I guess. I mean when he was
arrested, and everything. We all
lost our heads, believed all sorts of
things.
“But I don’t, now. I don’t believe
father would kill anybody! Not on
purpose, anyway."
“Neither do I,”” Phil assured Lor,
and she said:
“I don’t see how the jury could
think he did. But of course, I wasn’t
at the trial.” And she asked direct-
ly: “What happened? Tell me about
in”
Dan urged, “You'd better forget
it, Barb.”
But Phil said honestly. ‘Father
admitted he killed her, Barbara. He
said it was an accident, but the jury
didn’t believe him.” And he urged:
“But—there’'s no use talking about
it. You'll just—get yourself sick
again.”
Barbara half smiled. “You're
both awful cowards,” she told them.
“Like ostriches.” And she appealed
to Linda. “Lin, you tell me about
rn
Linda shook her head. “I didn’t
even read the papers, most of the
time, Barb. I just—stayed here with
you, or stood by in case Phil wanted
me.”
Barbara nodded. “I know.” She
smiled in affectionate derision.
“You and your Phil!” She appealed
to Dan. “You were there in court
every day,” she remembered, and
she began, persistently, to question
him, and Dan perforce to answer,
till little by little she drew from
him the whole dark tale. Except
that he did not speak of the uglier
part of Mr. Sentry’s testimony.
She urged at last, acutely, ‘“‘But
Dan, if father did shoot her, and the
revolver was touching her, he would
have felt it, would have known.”
‘‘He said he didn't feel anything.
“Then if he didn't, someone else
shot her. She must have been al-
ready dead, before he got upstairs
there.”
Phil said unhappily:
ther shot her all right. He said it
was an accident, and—I think it
was. I believe him; but the jury
didn’t, and they were the ones to
decide. That's what juries are for.”
‘“‘But suppose they found another
bullet?’ she argued. ‘‘Then every-
one would have to believe him!"
Phil caught Linda's eye. ‘Lin and
I have already looked,” he said. We
went over the place with a fine-
tooth comb; but we didn't find a
thing.”
“Barb, fa-
And suddenly it was June. In
May, July had seemed far away;
but now it was just around the cor-
ner.
“Read That, Old
see Phil and Mrs. Sentry that eve-
ning. Mrs. Sentry bade him come.
Mr. Hare had suggested to Phil
long ago that a commutation might
save Mr. Sentry’s life. Phil had not
mentioned the possibility to his
mother; but when she told him, on
his return from the office that day,
wondered why,
Hare's
evening, and
remembered Mr.
months before.
“1 expect,” he said, “he wants to
discuss asking the Governor to com-
mute the sentence to life imprison-
ment.”
Her pupils dilated; her eyes wid-
ened. “Oh!” she murmured
He reflected: “We don't want Bar-
bara here when he comes. I'll ask
Linda to—take her away some-
where, on some excuse.” And at his
mother's assenting nod he went to
the telephone,
Linda was quick to do what he
asked. So when at a little after
eight Falkran rang the bell, Phil
and his mother were alone; and
Phil himself went to the door.
“During the trial, I did my full
duty as I saw it," Falkran said. *'I
used every means I could discover
to secure at least a disagreement,
Regardless of a client's guilt or in-
nocence, he is entitled to every legal
protection. If his fate is in a jury's
hands, then he has a right to expect
that every possible means shall be
used to create a doubt of his guilt
in the jury's mind. I did all I
could.”
Mrs. Sentry nodded. “I know.”
She smiled. *‘I did all I could too,
Mr. Falkran.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “We all did.
Barring the possibility that higher
courts might have found some error
by the State, Mr. Sentry had every
protection. But he didn’t want to—
appeal on technicalities. And the
jury believed him guilty.”
He hesitated, then went on: “Yet
there are grounds for asking mercy
for him too. Not a pardon. We can-
not hope for that. But a commuta-
tion is possible. District Attorney
Flood will not oppose it Of course,
he cannot support our petition; but
he will stand neutral. Mr. Sentry’s
character, his long and honorable
life, all count in his favor. And
it is always possible that the tragedy
might have been an accident, as
Mr. Sentry testified.”
Mrs. Sentry considered for a
while, sitting very quietly; so that
Phil came to her side and she held
his hand while she faced the lawyer.
“What would we do?” she asked
then. “What is the procedure?”
“I want you to understand,” Falk-
ran explained, “that Mr. Hare
agrees with me that an appeal to
the Governor is justified. Mr. Flood,
as I said, will not oppose it; and I
have consulted a number of Mr.
Sentry’'s friends."
And he went on, “The first step
would be to have a hearing before
the Governor and Council; to pre-
sent evidence as to Mr. Sentry’s life
and character, and to call atten-
tion to some points in the evidence
at the trial—the possibility of acci-
dent.”
‘A public hearing?"
“Yes.” He added quickly: “But
you would not need to attend that.
Only afterward, you would want to
make a personal appeal to the Gov-
ernor."”
She passed her hand across her
eves. ‘“When?" she asked, in a
whisper.
He said thoughtfully: “I should
first lay the groundwork. Perhaps in
two or three weeks. Say the third
week in June.”
Mrs. Sentry rose, clinging for a
moment to the arms of her chair,
then standing erect. She caught
Phil's arm, supporting herself so.
“Very well,”” she promised. “If
you advise it, I will do it.”
But when Falkran was gone—she
Man!" He Cried.
had held fast to Phil, so that the
lawyer went alone to the door-—she
said in a low tone, “Don’t leave me,
Phil."
“Of course not. I won't.”
“I'm right,” she whispered,
“as long as I have you and Bar-
bara.” She added, smiling weak-
ly: “At least I think I am. But it
will seem strange to me to beg!"
“Father wouldn't want you
mother!"
“I think I shall be proud to do it,”
she replied.
They had another letter from
Mary: this time from Paris, brief,
defiant. She wrote:
Dear Mother:
This is just to keep you all in touch
with my progressing career. Of course
I have occasional news of you, viva
voce and in the wellknown public
prints; but I haven't broken into the
newspapers-yet
I ran into Jimmy Endle the other
day. He's not a bad chap unless you're
married to him. Also Gus Loran is
here. Mrs. Loran is treating herself to
a Paris divorce I seem to fascinate
Gus. My fatal beauty, no doubt. But
of course, Argentine, my preity little
beef baron—did 1 tell you we were mar.
ried—fs terribly jealous Maybe he'll
take me home and make me eat pampas
and tangos and things. 1 don't even
know whether you fry them or boll them,
Having a fine time. Wish you were
here, Mary.
all "”
aii
to,
Mrs. Sentry read the letter and
handed it to Phil; and this time she
did not protest when he threw it
into the fire.
The days were gone like the
fanned pages of a book, so swiftly
that it was scarce possible to name
them as they passed. Twice or
thrice Falkran came to report that
the foundations for the appeal to the
Governor were being laid. Phil
could see his mother muster
strength for that ordeal.
Till at last the lawyer telephoned,
late one afternoon, spoke to Phil.
“Can Mrs. Sentry see the Governor
tomorrow?’’ he inquired. “If she
can, I will make the appointment,
come to fetch her.”
Phil asked dumbly: “What time?”
Falkran said: ‘‘At two, if that is
convenient for both of them. Will
that suit her?”
Barbara at the moment was up-
stairs; but Mrs. Sentry was in the
living-room and Phil went to ask her
decision. He saw her quiver at his
words, as though staggered by a
physical blow; but then she nodded.
“Will you go with me, Phil?"
“Of course,” he assured her, re-
turned to tell Falkran her answer.
While he was at the phone, he heard
the doorbell ring, wondered who
was there, heard Nellie go to open
the door.
When he came again to his moth-
er, Mrs. Sentry said: “But I don’t
want Barbara to go with us. She
need not even know. She must stay
here. I will want to—come home to
her, afterward.”
Phil had time to nod, and then
he saw Dan striding toward them
through the hall. “Hullo!” Dan
cried, and his eyes were shining.
“Where's Barbara?" He snatched a
telegram from his pocket, thrust it
into Phil's hands. ‘“‘Read that, old
man!" he cried. “I've been work-
8, trying for
that or something like it."
The message had been sent, Phil
saw, from Cleveland. He read,
aloud:
“Salary O. K. Start July 1.”
“W. E. Robinson."
He looked at Dan. ““What is it?”
he asked.
“Plenty!” Dan told him exultant-
ly. “It's the city editor's job on the
Swift-Towne paper in Cleveland, and
a salary to match. Enough to get
married on. Where's Barbara?”
“Barbara?’’ Mrs. Sentry spoke in
a whisper.
“Of course!" Dan hesitated. “I'm
sorry, Mrs. Sentry. I forgot you
didn't know. I've been trying for
weeks to land a job somewhere, so
I could take her away from here.”
“Away?”
“We're going to be married, Mrs.
Sentry.”
Mrs. Sentry seemed to sway a lit-
tle. She extended her hand toward
Phil, as though for support; but,
misunderstanding, he gave her the
telegram, and saw her read it
dumbly, and saw her clasp her arms
tight across her bosom as though
to crush down a sickening pain. He
turned again to the other man, argu-
ing in an empty futility:
“But Dan—right now—What's the
hurry?”
Dan gripped his arm. “Plenty!”
he said soberly. “You know it,
Phil.” He looked at Mrs. Sentry.
“You know what I mean. It's al-
most—July. I've got to get Barbara
away before that!”
And when they did not speak, he
urged: “Come on, Phil, Mrs. Sentry.
I know you're with me! Please!”
Mrs. Sentry smiled. “Yes, Dan,”
she said. ‘‘Barbara’s upstairs. Go
to her!”
Dan gripped her hand, races
away. Phil looked after him for a
moment, not daring to look again
toward his mother.
{TO BE CONTINUED)
Six automatic computing ma-
for two years in Columbia univer-
sity’'s astronomical laboratories,
have verified the modern theory of
the motions of the moon, which was
developed after lunar research and
calculations by Prof. Ernest W.
Brown, Yale university astronomer
and mathematician.
Professor Brown’s theory has en-
abled astronomers since 1923 to
make accurate predictions of
eclipses and calculate the position
of the moon at any instant. The
Yale scientist collaborated with
Prof. Wallace J. Ekert of Columbia,
who supervised the system of auto-
matic astronomical computation, in
proving the original findings.
The machines, according to Pro-
fessor Eckert, showed that Newton's
law of gravitation had beén applied
accurately in the lunar theory and
that the mathematical tables of
the moon's position and motion, pub-
lished by Professor Brown more
than 15 years ago and used since
then by navigators throughout the
world, were entirely correct.
Operation of the machines, per-
fected two years ago by Professor
cate astronomical work, is based
on the “punched card” method of
tabulation, first devised by Herman
senting mathematical
punched into small cards, which
are fed into a tabulating mechanisrg
at the rate of 7,000 to 8,000 an hour.
The cards move from the sorting
machines to other machines which
add, subtract, and multiply be
means of electrical contact. More
than 250,000 such cards were em-
ployed in the lunar research. The
first 5,000 cards were hand-punched
from Professor Brown's data, and
the rest were perforated by the
machines,
Whales Named for arance
The bottlenose whale and the
humpback whale are named for
their appearance, but the largest
creature that ever lived on earth,
bigger than elephant or prehistoric
monster, is the biue whale or Sib-
bald’s Rorqual, named after the
Scottish naturalist, Sibbald, who
first described it. It sometimes ex-
ceeds one hundred feet.
WORTH CONSIDERING
The shopkeeper was very anxious
to sell his prospective customer a
very keen on this type of dog.
“What is it about a dachshund
you don't care for?’ asked the shop-
keeper.
“They make such a draft when
they come into a room,” complained
the man. “They always keep the
door open so long.”
Nice Lonesome
Grandma was a member of a
large, noisy, jolly household, which
she enjoyed thoroughly. One day
when the whole family was going
out, she begged off, saying she was
tired.
“I hate to leave you all alone;
you'll be lonesome,”” her daughter
said.
“Well, it'll be the kind of nice
lonesome,’ she replied.
EXPERIENCED
He—If | married that beautiful
divorcee, do you think she'd prove
to be a good housckeeper?
Friend She succeeded in keep-
ing two very good houses owned by
her first husband. I've heard.
Larmn’
Eastern Visitor—Has the advent
of the radio helped ranch life?
Pinto Pete--I'll say it has. Why,
we learn a new cowboy song every
night, and say, we've found out that
the dialect us fellers have used fer
years is all wrong.—Wall Street
Journal.
Political Pie
Jackie—Daddy, you just said a
lot of successful candidates would
soon be eating political pie. What
is political pie?
Dad-—Well, son, it's composed of
applesauce and plums.—Wall Street
Journal
Sigh of Relief
Little Dorothy — There was a
strange man called to see you today.
Father—Did he have a bill?
Dorothy—No, papa, he just had a
plain, ordinary nose.—Grit.
Good Appetite
“My goodness!” exclaimed grand-
mother, after a hearty dinner. “I
certainly enjoyed that food. I ate
like a growing boy.”
“You are growing,”
grandpa, ‘‘growing fatter
day."
grinned
every
Make it Worthwhile!
Father-—No, son. If I give you a
quarter it would shrink at once
to a nickel.
Son-—Then give me a dollar so it
will be a quarter by the time it gets
done shrinking.
Some Drouth
on with his reducing exercises?”
“You'd be surprised-—that battle-
is now only a rowboat.”
Whoooo—Hooooh!
Big Sister—Billy, why are you
making such a racket in the pantry?
Billy—I'm fighting temptation.
ILLUMINATING
“How illuminating she is on
dramatic themes.”
“l suppose you know she's a
theatrical star?”
Ambiguous
“Do Englishmen use American
slang?”
“Some of them do. Why?"
“My daughter iz being married
in London, and the duke just cabled
me to come across.”
Had Seen the Result
Mother—Johnnie, you must
down and see the new nurse.
and give her a nice kiss.
Johnnie—No fear! I don’t want
my face slapped like daddy's was.-
Stray Stories.
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He Was It
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mother in Berlin.”
“l thought you said
born in London.”
my
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