i"THE INSIDER"!
♦ L J
* •
CHAPTER XXVII
Mr. Brewster Norton did not ac
company me uptown. After putting
ine into a taxicab he explained that
lie had an errand to attend to, and
would take the subway home.
I.eaning back comfortably In the
cab. I was glad that my epiployer
iad the tact not to appear at his
house in my company. It might have
caused comment from Mrs. Gore or
the servants had he done this. I felt
thoroughly satisfied with the result of
tuy conversation of the past hour.
1 had kept my promise to Tom. I
would not tell the lad yet. for I did
not want him to know that his father
and I had met at the Waldorf, since
Mr. Norton had not intimated to his
sister-in-law that we were to do this.
The slight duplicity made me a bit
uncomfortable, yet 1 could not go be
yond Mr. Norton's wishes. And, after
all. whose business was it?
This question was one that I put
to myself often during my sojourn in
the home of Mr. Brewster Norton.
Grace was still at the supper table
in the dining room when Julia opened
the front door for me. As the child
heard mv voice, she ran out into the
hall.
"Goody! goody!" she exclaimed.
"You're back home!"
"Yes, dear. I am," I said as I
kissed her. "Have you finished your
supper?"
"I'm just through," she informed
me. "Don't you want some?"
1 recalled Mr. Norton's declaration
that 1 was to dine with the family
to-night. I did not care to do this.
1 feared that Mrs. Gore's suspicions
might be aroused if, on top of the
mysterious "business" on which 1 had
gone, I were to accede to her brother
in-law's request and appear at dinner
without her having been informed
that I was to do so. But I did not
want to face my employer and refuse
to do his bidding.
"I am not hungry," I told Grace
truthfully as we went upstairs.
Mrs. Gore was in the door of her
room and heard this statement.
"But you must eat something," she
argued. "You have had nothing since
luncheon."
One Admission
"I had a cup of tea while I was
out," I said without pausing to con
sider the effect of this admission.
"Oh, did you!" The exclamation
was indicative of strong surprise.
"I thought you would have time
only for the matter my brother wish
ed attended to. Where did you get
your tea?"
"At a restaurant," I replied.
I fancied that she looked after me
suspiciously as I went on upstairs
with Grace.
Although I talked while I helped
the little girl to undress, my mind was
busy with the information I had
thoughtlessly given Mrs. Gore. Why
had I been off my guard to such an
extent? She had remembered that
Mr. Norton had said the "business"
I was to attend to for him would take
ft all my time. How, then, was I able to
stop for a cup of tea?
My mistake strengthened me in my
resolution not to dine downstairs to
night. Were I to appear at the family
board after my indiscreet speech, Mrs.
Gore might jump at the conclusion
that I hail seen >lr. Norton this after
noon and that he had asked me to
come down to dinner.
As I heard the front door close I
hastened Grace's preparations for bed.
A tap at the door made me start.
Maggie stood there, a covered tray in
her hand.
"Mrs. Gore has sent you up your
supper. Miss Dart, as you wasn't in
when Mtss Grace had hers. If you're
not rea4y for it yet I'll take it back
to the kitchen and keep it hot for I
you."
"No, indeed," I told her: "you can
put it in my room, please."
I had not stopped to remove my!
hat and jacket before getting GriiPe i
into bed. Now, as I drew the cov- j
ers up over her, 1 spoke slowly and i
distinctly:
"Listen, dear. I am going into my j
own room to change my street dress
for a house gown. As I shall be busy,
1 would rather not be disturbed. Will
you remember that?"
A Useless Precaution
"Yes," she agreed. "And I will not
call you."
"Not unless you need me very j
much," I supplemented. "Rut if you
do really need me, call me."
"I will," she promised.
Then, as I heard her father's step
in the upper hall, I kissed her good
night and slipped into my room, clos
ing the door softly but tightly.
The little girl obeyed my instruc
tions. Ten minutes later, when I had
donned a comfortable house gown and
was about to seat myself at my table
before my rapidly cooling supper, 1
heard Mr. Norton say as he left the j
nursery:
"Good-night, little daughter. I sup
pose Miss Dart is in her room? i!
want to speak to her."
I held my breath anxiously and
drew a sigh of relief as my small
charge informed her father that Miss
Dart had "gone to her room to change
her dress and must not be disturbed."
"Oh, she mustn't, eh?" the man in
quired with a laugh. "All right
then!"
Five minutes after he had gone
downstairs, there was a knock at my
door, and Julia entered.
"Please, ma'am, Mr. Norton sent
me up to say that he would like you
to come down to dinner with him I
and Mrs. Gore," the girl announced. '
I had foreseen 4his situation, and I
had my answer ready.
"Thank Mr. Norton. Julia," I order-!
Ed, "and say that I have had my din-1
ner. Mrs. Gore kindly sent it up to!
me some time ago."
The girl smiled. "Yes'm. But Mr. i
Norton didn't know that."
"I suppose not," I rejoined. "By
the way, thank Mrs. Gore for her!
thoughtfulness, please. Julia."
"Yes'm," I will," she said. There
was a shrewd smile on the maid's
face. It made me wonder what she i
jff was thinking of.
(To lte continued)
SATURDAY EVENING,
The Scribb Family— They Live Right
I!WTi!VrtWFvIl ~AWET fld I 1 ®Na 'post I w'u NEVEI? W T*'T
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I Nan ef I
| Music I
I Mountain 1
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| Er | i
Y FRANK H. SPEARMAN J |
Author of "WHISPERING SMITH" '£
Y J ,
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(Copj rlgbt bv Cfc" Scibn-ir't Sor.>
(Continued)
SYNOPSIS.
CHAPTER I—On Frontier day at Sleepy
Cat. Henry de Spain, gunman and train
master at Medicine Bend, is beaten at i
target shooting by Nan Morgan of Music (
Mountain. Jeffries, division superinten
dent. asks De Spain to take charge of the
Thief River stage line, but he refuses.
CHAPTER ll—De Spain sees Nan danc
ing with Gale Morgan, Is later derisively
pointed out to Nan on the street by Gale,
ai&J is moved to change his mind and ac
cept the stage line Job.
CHAPTER III—De Spain and Eefever
ride to Calabasas inn and there meet
Gale Morgan with Deaf Sandusky and
Bassoon, gunmen rind retainers of the
Morgan clan. Morgan demands the dis
charge of a stage driver and De Spain re
fuses. De Spain meets Nan but fails to
overcome her aversion to him.
CHAPTER IV—Sassoon knifes Elpaso,
the stage driver, and escapes to Morgan's
gap, the stronghold of the Morgans. De
Spain. Lefever and Scott go in after him,
and De Spain brings out Sasson alone.
CHAPTER V—He meets Nan, who de
lays him until nearly overtaken by the
Morgans, but lands his captive in Jail.
CHAPTER Vl—Sassoon breaks Jail. De
Spain beards the Morgans in a saloon
and is shot at through the window. He
meets Nan again.
CHAPTER VII—He prevents her going
Into a gambling hall to find her Uncle
Duke and Inside faces Sandusky and Lo
gan, who prudently decline to fight at
the time.
CHAPTER VIII—De Spain, anxious to
make peace with Nan. arranges a little
plan with McAlpln, the barn man, to i
drive lier out to Morgan's gap, and while
waiting for her goes down to the Inn to 1
get a cup of coffee.
De Spain looked now shamelessly at
his ready-witted aid. "See that her
pony is lame when she sets here—
can't be ridden. But you'll take good
eare of him and send him home in I
a few days—get it?"
MeAlpin half closed his eyes. "He'll
be so lame it would stagger a cowboy
to back him ten feet—and never be I
hurt a mite, neither. Trust me!"
"If she insists on riding something, |
or even walking home," continued Dt!
Spain dubiously, for he felt instlne j
tively that he should have the task ol
his life to induce Nan to accept an> !
kind of a peace-ofTering. "I'll ride 01
walk with her anyway. Can you sieej :
me here tonight, on the hay?"
"Sleep you on a hair mattress, sir
You've got a room right here upstairs;
didn't you know that?"
With arrangements so begun, D<
Spain walked out of doors and looker
reflectively up the Sleepy Cat road.
One further refinement in his appeal
for Nan's favor suggested itself. She
would be hungry, possibly faint in the
heat and dust, when she arrived. Ht!
returned to MeAlpin: "Where can 1|
get a good cup of coffee when the i
stage conies in?"
"Go right down to the inn, sir. It's
a new chap running it—a half-witted
man from Texas. My wife is cooking
there off and on. She'll fix you up u
sandwich and a cup of good coffee."
It was four o'clock, and the sun bestj
' fiercely on the desert. De Spain walked
down to the inn unmindful of the heat.
In summer rig, with his soft-shirt col
j lar turned under, his forearms bare,
and his thoughts engaged, he made his
way rapidly on, looking neither to the
right nor the left.
As he approached the weather-beaten
pile it looked no more inviting in sun
shine than it had looked in shadow;
and, true to its traditions, not a living
being was anywhere to be seen. The
door of the oflice stood ajar. De Spain,
pushing it all the way open, walked in.
■ No one greeted him as he crossed thg
threshold, and the unsightly room was
still bare of furnishings except for the
bjir, with its two broken mirrors.
| De Spain pounded on the bar. His
effort to attract attention met with no
i response. lie walked to the left end
of the bar. lifted the handrail that
Inclosed the space behind it. and
i pushed opeu the door between the mlr
| rors leading to the l ack room. This,
too, was empty. He tv.lled out—there
i was no response Mrs. MeAlpin had
apparently gone horn? for a while.
Irritated at the desertion of the
place, due, he afterward learned, to
the heat of the t.ff rru,on, and disap
pointed at the frii.-: ration of his pur
pose, he walked back to the oflice. As
he lifted the handrail and, passing
through, lowered it briiind him, he
took out his watch to see how soon the
stage was due. While he held the time
piece in his hand he heard u rapid
clatter of hoofs a;aching the place.
Thinking it might be Scott and Lefe
ver arriving from the south an hour
ahead of time, he -rafted toward the
| front door —which was still open—to
1 greet them. Our<> hurried footsteps
reached the door just ahead of him
and a large mm, stepping quickly into
the room, confront '■ 1 Spain. One
of the man's hands rested lightly on
his right side. I> * Spain recognized
him instantly; the rniull, dropping
head, carried well firwurd, the keen
eyes, the loud-potr i i shabby waist
'coat proclaimed beyond doubt- , ;
Sandusky.
CHAPTER IX.
The Button.
Even as the big follow stepped light
!ly just inside and to the left—as De
Spain stood—of tie door and faced
him, the encounter seemed to De Spain
accidental. But before he could speak,
a second man appeared in the door
way, and this man appeared to be jok
ing with a third, behind hint. As the
second man crossed the threshold, De
Spain saw Sandusky's high-voiced
little fighting crony, Logan, who now
made way, as he stopped within to the
right of the open door, for the swing-
I ing shoulders and roiling stride of
Gale Morgan.
Morgan, eying Do Spain wltl) Inso
lence, as was his wont, closed the door
behind him with a bang. Then he
backed his powerful frame significant
ly against it.
A blind man could have seen the
completeness of the snare. An unpleas
ant feeling flaslipd across De Spain's
perception. It was only for the Ira
| measurable part of a second—while
i uncertainty w .s resolving itself Into a
rapid certainty. When Gale Morgan
stepped Into the room on the heels
of his two Calabasas friends, De Spain
j would have sold for less than a cup
j of coffee all his chances for life. Nev
i ertlieless, before Morgan had set liis
HARRISBURG TELEGRAPH
back fairly against tne door ami the'
trap was sprung, De Spain had
mapped his fight.
He did not retreat from where he
halted at the instant Sandusky entered.
His one slender chance was to hug to
the men that meant to kill him. Mor
gan, the nearest, he esteemed the least
dangerous of the three; but to think
to escape both Sandusky and Logan j
at close quarters was, he knew, more
than ought to be hoped for.
While Morgan was closing the door,
De Spain smiled nt his visitors: "That
isn't necessary, Morgan—l'm not ready
to run." Morgan only continued to;
stare at him. "I need hardly ask." j
added De Spain, "whether you fellows
have business with me?"
He looked to Sandusky for a reply;
it was Logan who answered in shrill
falsetto: "Xo. We don't happen to
have business that I know of. A
friend of ours may have a little, may.
be!" Logan, lifting liis shoulders with
his laugh, looked toward his compan
ions for an answer to his joke.
De Spain's smile appeared unruffled: I
"You'll help him transact it, I sup
pose?"
Logan, looking again toward San
dusky, grinned: "lie won't need any
help."
"Who is your friend?" demanded De!
Spain good-naturedly. Logan's glance
misled him; it did not refer to San*
dusky. And even as he asked the ques
tion De Snain heard through the half
open window at the end of the bat
the sound of hoofs. Hoping against
hope for Lefever, the interruption
cheered him. It certainly did not seem
that his situation could be made worse,'
"Well," answered Logn, talking;
again to his gallery of cronies, "we've
got two or thre.> friends that want to
see yoA. They're waiting outside to i
see what you'll look like in about live
minutes—ain't they. Gale?"
Someone was moving within the reai
room. De Spain felt hope In every
footfall he hoard, and the mention ol
Morgan's name cleared his plan oi
battle. Before Gale, with an onth, |
could blurt out his answer, De SpaiD 1
had resolved to fight, whore lie stood, j
taking Logon first, and Morgan as he i
should jump In between (hp two. II
was at the best a hopeless venture
against Sandusky's first shot, which i
De Spain knew was almost sure tc I
reach a vital spot. Hut desperate men I
cannot be choosers.
"There's ro time for seeing me like !
the present," declared De Spain, ignor> j
ing Morgan and addressing his words j
to Logan. "Bring your friends in.!
What are you complaining about, Mor- j
gon / he asked, resenting the stream j
of abuse that Gale hurled at him when-1
ever he could get a word in. "I had !
my turn at ycu with a rifle the other j
day. You've got your turn now. And j
I call it a pretty soft one, too—aou'l '
jou, Sandusky?" he demanded sud- j
denly of the big fellow.
Sandusky alone through the talk had |
kept an unbroken silence. He was
eating up De Spain with his eyes, and !
I'e Spain not only ached to hear him
speak, but was resolved to make him. I
Sandusky had stood motionless from
the instant he entered the room. His !
eyes rested Intently on De Spain, and
at his side the long fingers of his right
hand beat a soft tattoo against his
pistol holster. De Spain's question
seemed to arouse him. "What's your
name?" he demanded bluntly. His
\olce was heavy and his deafness was
reflected In the strained tone.
(To Be Continued)
THIS IS AGE OF
OPPORTUNITY
"What Right Has a Father
or a Mother to Deprive a
Girl of the Opportunities
Given to the Boy—a Chance
of Financial Independence
and the Knowledge From
Childhood That His Work
Is Not Outside of His Life
BY MRS. WILSON WOODROW
"oh, yes: this is the age of oppor
tunity for woman, I grant you. But
her problem of life still is harder to
solve than man's," I cried.
I was having an argument with
Roger, a lawyer friend of mine. He
had just been telling me of a ease
where his adversary was a Woman,
and he was commenting on the abil
ity with which she had conducted
her client's cause.
His approval irritated me. It was so
patronizing. It made me think of Dr.
Johnson —it-was Dr. Johnson, wasn't
it?—who, when some one told him of
an eloquent woman preacher, said it
reminded him of a dancing dog. It
was not remarkable that the dog
could dance well, but that he could
dance at all.
"Now, don't pull any of that sob
sister stuff on me," Roger answered.
He never allows his cultivation to
check the vigor or conciseness of his
expression, and slang, he declares, is
what keeps the language growing.
"Sob-sister fiddlesticks!" I retorted.
"In the race of life a man gets all
the favors from the official liandicap
per."
"Not If the class Is there, to use
your vernacular," he came back at
niej "by which I mean that given
equal ability tlie chances are even."
"Far from it," I insisted. "As a
matter of fact and not of opinion, the
chances are not even. And that is no
sob-sister wail. It is a plain indict
ment of parents.
"A boy baby is born into the world
endowed with a definite future. A
girl baby's dowry is any old thing
that fate may hand <ut to her.
"From his earliest years a boy. un
less he belongs to the infinitestimal
golden-spoon minority, is made aware
that he has got to earn his living.
A girl is free from that obligation
or any other.
" 'What are you going to be when
you are a man?' is a question that is
asked every little lad dozens of times.
Nobody ever asks that of a girl. It is
always taken for granted that she
will marry. But that is purely theo
retical and also problematical.
"A boy looks forward to a, business
or professional career as an inevit
able event in Ills life. Empires may
totter, dynasties may fall; he has got
to get his education and go to work.
But how many girls are encouraged
to believe that the wonderful beauti
ful future before them is anything but
a haphazard, liit-or-miss affair? And
from the memory of man that is what
it has proved and is still proving.
"As result of this training or lack
of it. woman is educated to ban an
acceptor, merely taking up the cards
as fate deals them to her. She is
either the victim of circumstances
or the darling of fortune.
"It isn't fair: it never has been
fair. We admit that most of our
theories of training and education are
far from satisfactory. Yet we con
tinue to muddle along in the same
old rut.
"Fond parents of a littlo girl gaze
upon her enchanting babyhood and
1 cherish all manner of roseate dreams
for her. They declare fervently and
emphatically that she is always go
ing to have the best of everything.
Ancf then in our wasteful sentimental,
American fashion they proceed to de
prive her of every opportunity for
real growth and development and a
satisfying and secure future.
"How many American girls are
taught thrift, are taught self-reliance,
.ire taught to help conserve the fam
ily resources? How many are brought
up with the sustaining knowledge that
if necessary they could support not
only themselves but also those who
7t6i 'ti qraav
might be helpless and dependent upon
them. It was the proud boast of a
great French woman, Madame de
Stael that she could earn her living
in not one but half a dozen ways.
"Roger," I asked, "if you were
a woman, wouldn't you rather be a
Mary Elizabeth than one of those
poor, helpless, improvident butter
flies, who have been out in the rain
until their iridescent wings are torn
and draggled, all the color and
sparkle washed out of them?
Wouldn't you rather be one of that
growing army—that happy, busy
army of girl farmers and florists and
designers and business experts—than
belong to the helpless drones "which
clutter our national hive?
"There is not a woman in a re
munerative occupation who does not
hear constantly froni the dissatisfied
drones: 'How T envy you. It's a
good thing that I don't have to earn
my living, because I'd starve if I did.
There is not one earthly thing that
I can do.'
"Why blame the parasites who reap
where they have not sown, who take
all they can get and give practically
nothing? They are victims. To the
parents, the blame. European fami
lies have looked at thid matter of a
girl's future so much more sanely and
sensibly than we Americans.
"Since they have not in the past
equipped their daughters with a defi
nite vocation, they have provided that,
married or single, .the girls shall be
in a. measure insured against want
and give them at dowry. Those par
ents face the facts of life. We Amer
icans look the other way when we
see one of life's big, naked facts. We
arc so prudishly, hypocritically shock
ed by Its nakedness that we clap
sandwich-boards on it and adorn
them with the pretty, romantic pic
tures we want to see.
"When parents bring up perfect
• mm • mm ® a easra> ® • m •
I Enlist |
| OIN the great army of satis
i*' fied "Dial" phone users.
NOW is the time to act so that
we may be able to list you in
j © our new directory which will ™
I be issued about 'April 20th. £
Always use the "Dial"—it's
quickest— surest —best.
(Cumberland Valley
Telephone Company
of Pa. •
| ' 227 Walnut Street
DAILY DOT PUZZLES
2° -
~=l-V- 2I
* ' 8 .1 7
, 2 . 4 / 9 * 4
, 5
' - *• --Tf
.? ) fe-T
f & <j x ,5 m.
"J 4 (% x
• 3 . 35 i . 4 V >
3Z t J.
r/ i rjH
37. ' 30, *4o
38 '
X
ly useless daughters and then die
without having made provision for
them they are no better than the peo
ple who go away in the summer and
leave the cat on the doorstep to fend
for itself.
"To the parental vision the darling
little girl winds up a happy girlhood
by marrying a well-to-do young man
with an agreeable disposition and a
growing business. The two establish
a lovely home, and dear little children
cluster about. They move 011 to
serene old age untroubled by tlio
cyclones and earthquakes of life.
"How many \T>ung women realize
this picture? Let (is err wildly on
the sille of optimism, and say one i;j
tern Then what about the other
nine?
"Parents apparently refuse to learn
that there is something Infinitely
ftner than sentimentality, and that is
common sense.
"What right has a father or a
mother to deprive a girl of the oppor
tunities given to the boy—a chance
of financial independence and the
knowledge from childhood that, his
work is not outside of his life, but
part .of it. and that 'hroughout life
lie shall find in that work his main
interest, enthusiasm and joy?
Slight Slurry
"I believe this lack of prepared
ness on the part of parents lies in
a certain subconscious and canny
thriftiness. Why waste time and
money on the technical education of a
girl when she will probably marry and
never use it, the money invested in
her career thus standing as a dead
loss? In the light of such reasoning,
father and mother ruefully consider
that they can spend the money to bet
ter advantage, and have more fun.
"What they fail to recognize is that
by making their daughter self-sup
porting and independent they not
only provide tor every eventuality
but also largely increase her chances
for a harmonious and happy mar
riage. She is free to wait for and ac
cept the right man.
"The old haphazard method of
bringing up girls is charming. This is
one of the very plain signs of the
times. To-day many up-to-date moth
ers are carefully studying the tastes
and inclinations of their daughters,
and are helping map out courses of
practical instruction in the occupa
tions their girls desire to pursue.
"Waiting! Waiting to see what
happens to them! That is what wom
en have done for centuries, and thc>
are tired of it. They are finding it
far more satisfying and exhilarating
to build their own futures than to
have to accept one of fate's cold
liand-outs at life's back door."
5