14
agUnreftes
Why We Quarreled
WHY WE QUARRELLED
By Virginia Terhune Van De Water
(Copyright, 1915, Star Company)
One of the hardest problems X have
had to face in my married life is try
ing to reconcile my duty to my hus
band with that to my mother.
Looked at calmly and dispassion
ately, I know the fault is not my par
ent's. Her one desire is for my hap
piness, although it is entirely natural
that she should long to have me
with her often. Yet my husband re
cards this wish of hers as a form of
selfishness and feels that my indul
gence of her is weakness on my part
and equivalent to neglect of him.
Last month when my mother was
ill and I ran in to see her several
limes each day, and the last thing
at night, John expressed his dissat
isfaction at this state of affairs.
"Your care of her wearies you so
that you are not in a fit condition to
attend to your regular duties," he
complained.
"She is one of my regular duties,"
T rejoined. lam her only child, and
it is my right and pleasure to be of
service to her."
"And she imposes upon you!" he
insisted. "I really think that a man
has some rights. You woman are
fond of quoting to us. 'For this
cause shall a man leave father and
mother and cleave unto his wife.'
But it is only fair for a wife to do
the same thing."
Don't I?" I asked. Would you re
spect me if I neglected the mother
to whom I owe a debt of gratitude I
can never pay?"
"You mean for caring for you
when you were a kid?" John queried.
"Well, since she brought you Into
the world that is the least she could
do. I do not see that she had done
such lots for you that you need be
her slave now."
I looked at him in wonder at the
case with which a • man forgets. I
hesitated to remind him that two
years after oivr marriage when he
failed in business my mother lent
him money to put him on his feet
again and that she would not allow
him to pay any interest on this loan.
"You are like a son of me," she
told him then. "I have no boy of my
own, and I feel as if you belonged to
me."
Even now she is paying the tuition
of our ten-year-old lad at the pri
vate school to which John went as a.
hoy and where he has always longed
to have his son go. The boy is my
father's namesake, and my' mother
never forgets this.
"Well, what are your thoughts
about?" John demanded, as I kept si
lent while T pondered on these facts.
"I was just thinking," I said, "of
the many obligations we are under to
mother. Since you ask me, I tell you
this— although I did not mean to
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Save This Coupon for J
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mention it."
"Obligations!" he exclaimed. "Is
that what you call them? T don't! I
suppose you mean that she helped me
with money at one time. Well. I paid
It back. And she is paying Lawrence's
tuition but she insisted on doing
that. X never asked her to send the
lad to a private school. I always sup
posed he would have to go to a pub
lic school—as thousands of others nice
lads do. She loves the boy and likes
to do things for him."
"But you benefit by her love for him
and us." I insisted.
"If T do, I pay well for it in the
lack of my wife's society whenever
her mother wants her," he retorted.
Yes, only last week, when he asked
me to take a little trip to the moun
tains with him, and 1 protested that I
could not leave the children, he said
easily. "Oh, send them over to your
mother."
"They might worry her." I ventured.
"She is not very strong now, you
know."
"Nonsense! She would love to have
them. It will be a real kindness to
her, to Jet them go there and amuse
her and get her out of herself. Of
course the nurse will accompany them
so she'll have no work to do for them."
That is the way he regards the
matter. He takes all that my mother
does for granted, because she is my
mother and loves me and mine. Yet
he rebels if she takes much of my
time.
Another phase of the subject over
which we quarrel occasionally is his
habit of making silly jokes about
mothers-in-law. 1 consider these in
wretched taste as long as his wife's
mother lives. But John thinks me
absurdly sensitive on this point.
"There you go again, looking at
everything through your mother's
eyes, and seeing harm and taking of
fense where none in the world was
meant," he accuses.
The strangest phase of it all is
that he protests that he is fond of
my mother. If this be so, why can't
he be nicer to her?
He is polite to her with a patron
izing tolerance that would drive me
to the very verge of exasperation were
I in her place, and which actually
makes me ashamed of him. Tf she
notices it she hides from me the
knowledge that she does.
Yet he is quick to call my atten
tion to any fault of hers.
"Did you notice," he asks, "that
mother was cross to-night?"
or, "Why must your mother tell the
same story over again and again?"
All of whtch only proves to me the
truth of my contention that a moth
er's love is on a higher plane and of
a less selfish nature than is a hus
band's. My mother wants my happi
ness above all else: my husband
wants me, myself."
Neal of_ t]
Bp
WILLIAM HAMILTON OSBORNE
Author of "Red Mouse," Novelized from the Photo Play
"Running Fight," "Cats- of the Same Name Produced
paw," "Blue Buckle," etc by the Pathe Exchange, Inc.
fCoprrlgbl 18U. by WUUaa Hamilton OrtorseJ
Ponto shaded his mouth with his
hand. "Whisper," he returned, "whis
per. No one —not even he—shall
hear."
For a moment he whispered into the
ear of Hernandez. When he had fin
ished Hernandez rose to his feet—with
glittering eyes.
"It's here." he said, in his turn tap
ping his forehead. "I have it. By
heaven, this time they shall not get
away."
CHAPTER XLIII.
Perilous Places.
Ten days later Annette Ilington.
now called the little white angel even
by the shore squad from the cruiser,
felt her skirts plucked by a clutching
hand. She looked down. A native —a
mere bag of bones in a jumble of rags
—crouched at her feet.
"Little white angel," whined the na
tive in Spanish—and Annette had
learned enough of. the tongue to listen
to appeals for help—"my daughter-
Just like you—so kind, and pretty.
She lies at death's door. You have
food, you have medicine —and you can
lay your hand on her. She will get
well. What you have done for oth
ers you can do for her."
An officer from the Albany turned
the corner. Annette's heart leaped.
The man was Neal Hardin.
"Neal," she cried, "listen to him —
talk to him for me. Ask him where
his daughter is—l'll go unless it's too
far."
Neal spoke to the man in his native
language. The man Jabbered back
eloquently.
"Only a short distance out of town,"
said Neal, "over that hill."
"I'll go," said Annette.
Neal pondered fcr a moment. "All
right," he said, "and I'm free Just
now. I'll go with you."
The native leaped to his feet with
alacrity and ran crookedly ahead of
them. Outside of the town they
plunged into undergrowth and then
through woods—but the ground was
dry and the trail was fairly good.
At the door of a hut the native
paused and motioned them in.
Neal and Annette entered side by
side. In a dark corner was a huddled
shape under a filthy cloth. Annette
sprang toward it. At that instant the
native dropped to the ground and
clutched Neal's ankles tightly in each
hand. At the same Instant the hud
dled figure in the corner leaped to its
feet —it was no stricken girl—it was
Hernandez, with the light of triumph
in his eyes. And at the same instant
Ponto and the brute sprang into the
fray. . . ,
It was only a matter of a moment
before Annette and Neal found them
selves bound and lying on the floor.
Neal, after a few gasps for breath, |
smiled at Annette forlornly.
Hernandez stamped his foot. "I j
will give you two minutes to produce i
the map of Lost Isle," he said, "and j
if it Is not then forthcoming. . . j
He paysed. "Go on," said Neal, j
"what then?"
At the end of two minutes he
thrust his watch oack into his pocket.
He signed to Ponto. "The helmets,'
he commanded, "and the gloves."
Ponto produced two sets of crudely
fashioned head nets and hand gloves
made of mosquito netting. Inez had
told him how to make them. Hern
andez donned one set and Ponto
donned the other.
Neal and Annette, each with a
guard of two behind, were forced to
leave the hut. and forced down the I
trail on the farther side of the small !
hill. j
After fifteen minutes' walk they
halted. Ponto spoke sharply to the
native who was with them.
"Lead on," he commanded; "you
know the way."
"Ah," said the native, "I and mighty
few beside. Be careful now."
Ponto turned to Hernandez. "This,"
he said, "is the cause of all the pesti
lence —this is the quagmire at the bot
tom of our hill—mosquito swamp—"
"There are not so many mosquitoes
here," returned Hernandez, "not
enough in fact."
The native grinned. "Not now —but |
at night—at night they are
they are fiends, foul fiends. And they
breed pestilence. On. Follow me."
Back at the Inn of the Spanish Don
Neal Hardin's mother began to grow
restive —Annette had not returned —
Neal was novrhere to be seen. Once
the surgeon stepped in and
for Neal. After that Mrs. Hardin
made inquiries of her own. No one
knew where he was—no one had saen
the little white angel. . . .
Out in the swamp Meal and Annette
were conducted to a small, swamp j
Islet, green with dark growth—upon '
which there was barely foothold.
"This," said the native to Hernan
dez, "is the place of which I told.
From this there is no escape.
Hernandez bowed. "You have chos
en pests and pestiler.ee, your friends,"
he said. "Good-night, and pleasant
dreams. Now take us back."
Back at the hut, the native was bow
ing low. Hernandez poured much i
coin into his hand. "And mind," said
Hernandez, "close mouth for two days 1
at any rate, you dog."
In one way he was close-mouthed, j
In another way he . . . well, he j
started for the nearest tavern, and
bent his elbow with great frequency i
and every time he bent his elbow he j
opened his mouth —and to some pur
pose . . . after awhile he began to
treat—and talk—and show his money.
And then, to urove he waa aa hnrniiL
HARRISBURG t&SfjSk I TELEGRAPH
man and no thief, like others there, he
began to tell just how he had become
BO very, very i;ich In such a short space
of time . . . they listened to him
open, mouthed. Ampng them were
men, sober men, whose families had
been ministered to by the angel sent
from heaven —a little white angel,
One of these men suddenly sprang to
his feet and grabbed the boaster by
the scruff of the neck —and, notwith
standing struggles, carried him, pell
mell, from the wine shop. . . .
Back in the Inn of the Spanish Don,
the proprietor was protesting that he
had not seen Gunner Neal —had not
learned of the whereabouts of the lit
tle white angel—L'enorita Annette ll
lngton. A dozen bluejackets were on
hand —the surgeon was there. Mrs.
Hardin, wild-eyed In the glare of t*ie
sinoky lamps, was sobbing hysterical
ly. Inez looked on calmly. Suddenly
into the midst of this company was
propelled an intoxicated native —a bag
of bones clad in a Jumble of rags
Another native pounced upon him and
shook him like a terrier shakes a rat
"This man. senor," said the sober
native, "curses on him —he knows
where the little white angel is. Come
he will guide us there. Tell them, you
dog."
The dog told. He didn't want to
but neither did he like the prick of
bayonets through his hide —so he told,
and then he led the way. By the time
they had reached the outskirts of the
town, the whole town was with them
Hernandez, in his hut, heard the
commotion. He knew in his bones
what it was. "Come on," he cried to
Ponto, "we're going back into that
swamp—l swore they should not get
away—you swore it, too."
"How will we get there," shivered
Ponto.
"The Brute is a brute," said Hernan
dez, "where he has been once, he
can always find the way. Come. Lead
on—lead on."
The Brute, under the usual stimulant
of cuffs and blows, led on. Ponto fol
lowed. At the edge of the swamp,
Hernandez, with a wicked smile,
dropped silently to one side and
crawled behind a clump of bushes.
Out on that fateful islet in the cen
ter of the quagmire, Neal, his eyes
heavy lidded with sleep, was hplding
Annette in his arms. She was ob
livious. Suddenly he woke her up and
sprang to his feet, drawing her with
him.
"Someone comes." he whispered.
No sooner had he said it than the
Brute was upon them. He seized Neal
as in a vise. But Neal—a trickster in
a wrestling match—wriggled out of
his grasp. He seized a heavy stick
and lunged at the 3rute. The Brute
engaged him once again. Ponto tore
the stick away from Neal. and whirl
ing it about his head, brought it down
with a resounding crack upon Neal'a
head.
Neal dropped like a log.
Ponto, knowing the reason for haste,
turned and looked about him. He
was puzzled by Hernandez' absence,
but this was no time to wonder. He
drew a knife and started toward
Annette
(To Be Continued.)
I "BELGIUM" . |
this tragic land visiting Liege, , MONDAY EVE >,
Namur, Brussels and all places of inter- A
1 est—showing them as they were before the war a* AII UI I |\l I A
and SINCE. I.XUUII; VlVll XXX 4
Combined with a delightful and the EXPOSITION Js
jaunt across quaint * *
OLD HOLLAND. Your Chance to Visit the Fair!
~— A travelogue covering the home- j
ROBERSON S TRAVELOGUE land from the Rockies to the Pa-
Ill vfews- with graphi ° motion picturcs and col ° rcd c & c > featuring pictures of the Ex- 1
TONIGHT CHESt NUT ST P° s^i°n taken within the past two
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_ _ Miss Sara IjCiner. violin, and
The Harrisburg Telegraph Mr * ,tarl ™ Ma< kCY '
For benefit of readers. ~COMING==
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I THE ANTIC
Pittsburgh and vL
IjvJ
BISHOP SWENGEL TO PREACH
Special to The Tclegrapti
Mlilersburg, Oct. 30. Bishop U. F.
Swengei, of Harriaburg, will preach at
both morning: and evening services In
Grace United Evangelical Church to
morrow. The Rev. G. W. Hangen, pas
tor of the church, will be the rally day
speaker at the United Evangelical
Church, at Quakertown, Pa.
OCTOBER 30. 1915.
RECEIVERS NAMED
Chambersburg, Oct. 30. Judge Gil
lan has named Luther A. B. Fleming,
W. Scott Fleming and Jacob Shank j
temporary receivers for the Flinch -
baugh Manutacturing Company. of
Greencastle, on application of Henry
M. Itiddlesberger, who tiled a suit in
equity.
UNION THANSGIVING SEnVll'i;
Special to The Telegraph
West Fatrview, Pa.. Oct. 30.—Minis
| ters of the borough have arranged to
hold union Thanksgiving Day services
in the United Brethren Church. The
Rev. S. B. Bidlack, ot the Methodist
Church, will preach the sermon.