— Love Insurance! By | | EARL DIR? BIGGER Author of SEVEN KEVS TO BALDPATE Copyr i, the Bobbs-Merrill npany 1 lis 5 in ti. 1 fi aemoriain’ let them 1... { 1 my headstone. And the story of me that I guess will be told longest after I am gone is the one about the grape juice that I'"'— He paused. His audience was not listening; he felt it intuitively. Mr. Minot sat with his eyes on the Lileth. In the bow of that handsome boat a red light had been waved three times. “Mr. Trimmer,” Minat said, “your tales are more interesting than the classics.” He stood. “Some other time I hope to hear a continuation of them. Just at present Lord Harrowby, or Mr., if you prefer, is waiting to hear what arrangement I have made with you. You must pardon me.” “I can talk as we walk along,” said Trimmer, and proved it. In the mid- dle of the deserted plaza they sep- arated. At the dark stage door of the opera house Trimmer sought his propo- sition. “Who d’yer mean?’ asked the lone stage hand there. “George—Lord Harrowby,” insisted Mr. Trimmer. “Oh, that bum actor! Seen him go- ing away awhile back with two men that called for him.” “Bum actor!” cried Trimmer indig- nantly. He stopped. “Two men! ‘Who were they?” The stage hand asked profanely how he could know that, and Mr. Trimmer hurriedly departed for the side street boarding house where he and his fallen nobleman shared a suit. About the same time Dick Minot blithely entered Lord Harrowby's apartments in the Hotel de la Pax. “Well,” he announced, ‘“you can cheer up. Little George is painlessly removed. He sleeps tonight aboard the good ship Lileth, thanks to the efforts of Martin Wall, assisted by rs truly.” He stopped and stared awe at his lordship. “What's the matter with you?” he inquired. Harrowby waved a hopeless hand. “Minot,” he said, “it was good of You. But while you have been assist: ing me so kindly in that quarter anoth er and a greater blow has fallen.” “Heavens! What?” cried Minot. «“It is no fault of mine”’— Harrow- by began. “On which I would have gambled my fmmortal soul.” Minot said. #1 thoucl' + was all over and dore with five Q. 1 wis vol zt Ih 1 1 t $ i a1 “Yes, cia 2 “Now s'¢': Livre. Gabrielle lluse is here. She's lere—with the letters.” “Oh, for a Bunker's ink eraser!” Mi- mot groaned. On the same busy night when the Yhleth flashed her red signal and Miss @abrielle Rose arrived with a package of letters that screamed for a Bunker's two strangers invaded San Marco by means of the 8:10 freight south. Fray- od, fatigued and famished as they were, it would hardly have been kind ‘e pever lidve A i Various coruc 3 of wie date tovuid globe, they hac known prosperity, the weekly pay vi ‘elope and the buyer's erook of the finger summoning a Waiter. One of the strangers was short, with gaming red hair and in his eye the twinkle without which the collected Werks of Rornawrd fihow are 88 sound: | ' instead he stepped over and entered bh a pager er rp EE TE .< brass. He twinkled about him as he walked at the bright iights and spurious gayety under the spell of which San Marco sought to forget the rates per day with bath. “The French,” he mused, “are a volatile people, fond of light wines and dancing. So. it would seem, are the inhabitants of San Marco. White flannels, ‘Harry, white flannels—they should ‘incase that leaning tower of Pisa you call your manly form.” The other—long, cadaverous, im- mersed in a gentle melancholy— groaned. “Somme day,” said the short man dreamily, “when I am back in the haunts of civilization again 1 am going to start something—a society for melt- ine the stone hearts of editors. Motto, ‘Have a heart, have a heart!” Emblem, a roast beef sandwich rampant on a cloth of linen. Ah, well, the day wil come.’ ™ d ‘n the plaza. In the ro ' previded the town al- lic Above him hung a wi 0 Not Feed or Other- w Alligator.” read and drew back | wit dik Hie woe annoy!” he cried. | sIleaV ons, salary. is that the way they look at it bere? This is no place for | 18. 1. ¢'d better be moving on to the next town.” Put the lean stranger gave no heed. | into earnest converse with a citizen of San Marco. In a moment he returned to his companion’s side. “One newspaper,” he announced; “the Evening Chronicle. Suppose the office is Jocked for the night, but come along, let's try.” “Feed or otherwise annoy,” mutter- | ed the little man blankly. - “For the love of Allah—alms!” They traversed several side streets and came at last to the office of the Chronicle. . It was a modest structure verging on decay. One man sat alone in the dim interior, reading exchanges under an electric lamp. “Good evening,” said the short man genially. “Are you the editor?” “Uh-huh,” responded the Chronicle man without enthusiasm from under his green eye shade. “Glad to know you. We just drop- ped in—a couple of newspaper men, you know. This is Mr. Harry Howe, until recently managing editor of the Mobile Press. My own name is Rob- on the same sheet.” sake why did you leave them?” “1 suppose,” ventured O’Neill, most of the flash gone from his manner, “there is no other newspaper here?” “No. there isn’t. There's a weird thing here called the San Marco Mail —a morning outrage. It’s making mon- ey, but by different methods than I'd care to use. You might try there. Yau look unlucky. Perhaps they'd take you on.” He rose from his chair and gave them directions for reaching the Mail office. CHAPTER IX. Two Birds of Passage. N the dark second floor hallway where the 2ail fie was sus- I pevielns Bul they groped aboui ce.eqaninedly. No sign 0. any natile iu. .«i.cd an Marco's only moin.ug pi. A noditary light, shining thict: h a Laason, beckoned. Boldly O'Neill pushed open the door. To the knowing wu strils of the two birds of pas .o¢ wax wafted the odor they loved, Li unique inky odor of a news no. ~ Their eyes beheld a raver . 4 typewriter or two, ad «inter of the room was a. ..er an electric lamp. On : a bottle and glasses, and »nt men played poker. Gite , was burly and beard- ed; ti 5 slight, pale, nervous. From an iinuer room came the click of linotypes—lonesome linotypes that native haunts. The two men finished playing the hand and looked up. “Good evening,” said O'Neill, with a net draws steel in many odd corners. “Gentlemen, four newspaper men meet on the table a greeting unquestionably suitable.” : The bearded man laughed, rose and discovered two extra glasses on a near- by shelf. “Draw up,” he said heartily. “The place is yours. You're az welcome as pay day.” “Thanks.” O'Neill reached for a glass. “Let me introduce ourselves.” And he mentioned his own name and Howe's. “Call me Mears,” sald the bearded one. “I'm managing editor of the Mail, and this is my city editor, Mr. Elliott.” “Delighted!” breathed O'Neill. “A pleasant little haven you have found here. And your staff? 1 don’t see the members of your staff running in and out.” “Mr. O'Neill,” sald Mears impressive- ly, “you have drunk with the staff of the Mail.” “You two? O'Neill's face shone with jo “{ilory be—do you hear hat These gentlemen all t ariel ie leaned ut eloquently the | diz from Mobile. } he finished “Here | or tor work. and we adi Of 4 i ‘or he had seen a sickly spe <erision float across | the race ow. tie weary eity editor, and he saw the heuardéed man shaking his great head violently. “Nothing doing," said the bearded ' magn firmly. ‘Sorry to dash your hopes. ~ Always ready to pour another : rink, but there are no vacancies here | i - ro ert O'Neill, a humble editorial writer | “Uh-huh. If you had jobs, for God's seemed to have strayed far from their | smile that had drawn news as a mag- ; in a strange land. I perceive you hav ge y ® ido me two columns on—er—mulli- ad Eh THE MEYERSDALE COMMERCIAL, MEVERSDALE, PA. Te YT No, sir; two ning over, eh. Bill?” “Plenty and running over,” agreed the city editor warmly. Into their boots tumbled the hearts of the two strangers in a strange land. Gloom and hunger engulfed them. But the managing editor of the Mail was continuing, and what was this he was saying? ; “No. boys, we don’t need a staff. Have just as much use for a mani- cure set. But you come at an oppor- tune time. Wanderlust—it tickles the soles of four feet tonight, and those four feet are editorial feet on the Mail. Something tells us that we are going away from here. Boys, how , would you like our jobs?" He stared placidly at the two strangers. his head. “See me safely to my park bench, Harry.” he said. “It was that drink on an empty stomach. I'm all in a daze. 1 hear strange things.” “I hear ‘em, too.” said Howe. “See here”—he turned to Mears—"are you offering to resign in our favor?” “Ihe minute you say the word.” “Both of you?’ “Believe me,” said the city editor, “you can’t say the word too soon.” “Well,” said Howe, *‘1 don’t know what's the matter with the place, but you can consider the deal closed.” “Spoken like a sport!” The bearded ' man stood up. ‘You can draw lots to determine who is to be managing edi- tor and who city editor. It's an excel- lent scheme. I attained my proud posi- tion that way. One condition I attach. Ask no questions. Let us go out into the night unburdened with your inter- rogation points.” Elliott, too, stood. The bearded man . indicated the bottle. “Fill up, boys. 1 propose a toast. To the new editors of the Mail. May heaven bless them and | bring them safely back to the north when Florida's fitful fever is past.” Dizzily. uncertainly, Howe and O’Neill drank. Mr. Mears reached out a great red hand toward the bottle, “Pardon me—private property,” he said. He pocketed it. “We bid rou goodby and good luck. Think of us on | the choochoo, please. Riding far—rid- ! ing far.” “But—see here”— cried O'Neill. “But me no buts,” said Mears again. “Nary a question, I beg of you. Take i our jobs, and if you think of us at all think of gleaming rails and a speeding train. Once more—goodby.” The door slammed. O’Neill looked at Howe, “Fairies,” he muttered, ‘“or the D. T.’s. What is this—a comic opera or a town? You are managing editor, Har- ry. I shall be city editor. Is there a city to edit? No matter.” “No,” said Howe. He reached for the greasy pack of cards. “We draw for it. Come on. High wins.” “Jack,” announced Mr, O'Neill. “Deuce,” smiled Howe. “What are | your orders, sir?” O’Neill passed one hand before his eyes. “A steak,” he muttered. done. Mushroom sauce. French fried potatoes. I've always dreamed of running a paper some day. Hurry up with that steak.” “Forget your stomach.” said Howe. “If a subordinate may make a sug- gestion, we must get out a newspaper. Ah, whom have we here?” A stocky, red faced man appeared from the inner room and stood regard- ing them. “Where's Mears and Elliott?’ he de- manded, “On a train, riding far,” said O'Neill. “I'am the new managing editor. What can I do for you?” “You can give me four columns of copy for the last page of tomorrow's Mail? said the stocky man calmly. “I'm foreman of something in there we call a composing room. Glad to meet you.” “Four columns,” mused “Four columns of what?’ “Well The foreman pointed to a row of bat- | tered books on a shelf. “It's been the custom,” he said, “to fill up with stuff out of that encyclo- pedia there.” “Thanks,” O'Neill answered. He took down a book. “We'll ix you up in ten minutes. Mr. Howe, will you please gatawny—murder—mushrooms. That's ft. On mushrooms. The life story of the humble little mushroom. I myself will dash off a column or so on the climate of Algeria.” They looked up suddenly ten minutes later to find a man standing between then. He was a little man, clad all fa white, suit, shoes, stockings. His sly old face was a lemon yellow, and his eyes suggested lights flaming tn the dark woods at night. “Beg pardon,” said the little man. “Ah, and what can we do for you? inguired O'Neill. “Nothing. Mr. Mears? Mr. Elliott?’ ; are plenty ana run- O'Neill put one hand to | O'Neill. “Gone. Vamosed. You are now speak- to the managing editor of the Mail.” “Ah! Indeed?” “We are very busy. If you'll just tell me what you want”— “I merely dropped in. I am Manuel Gonzale, owner of the Mail.” “Good Lord!” cried O'Neill. “Do not be disturbed. I take it you ! gentlemen have replaced Mears and Elliott. I am glad. Let them go. You look like bright young men to me— quite bright enough. I employ you.” “Thanks.” stammered the managing editor. “Don’t mention it. Here is Mme. On Dit's column for tomorrow. It runs [on the first page. As for the rest of | the paper, suit yourselves.” O'Neill took the copy and glanced I through it. “Are there no libel laws down here? he asked “The material in that column,” sald the little man. his eyes narrowing. “concerns only me. You must under- stand that at once.” “The madame writes hot stuff,” ven- tured O'Neill. “I am the madame,” said the owner of the Mail with dignity. He removed the copy from O'Neill's , hand and glided with it into the other room. Scarcely had he disappeared when the door was opened furiously and a panting man stood inside. Mr. Henry Trimme:’s keen eye surveyed the scene. “Where's Mears—Elliott?’ he cried. “You're not the cashier, are you?” asked O’Neill with interest. “Don't try to be funny,” roared Trim- mer. “I'm looking for the editor of this paper.” “Your search is ended,” O’Neill re- plied. “What is it?” : “You mean you~ Say! I've got a front page story for tomorrow’s issue that will upset the town.” “Come to my arms,” cried O’Neill. “What is it?” ’ “The real Lord Harrowby has been kidnaped.” O’Neill stared at him sorrowfully. “Have you been reading the Duchess again?” he asked. “Who is Lord Har- rowby?”’ “Do you mean to say you don’t know? Where have you been buried alive?” Out of the inner room glided Manuel Gonzale, and, recognizing him, Mr. Trimmer poured into his ear the story of George's disappearance. Mr. Gon- zale rubbed his hands. “A good story,” he said. “A very good story. Thank you, a thousand times. I myself will write it.” With a scornful glance at the two strangers, Mr. Trimmer went out, and Manuel Gonzale sat down at his desk. O'Neill and Howe returned to their en- cyclopedic dispatches. “There you are,” sald Gonzale at last, standing. “Put an eight column head on that, please, and run it on the front page. A very fine story. The pa- per must go to press’’—he looked at his watch—“in an hour. Only four pages. lation manager will assist you with the distribution.” At the door he paused. “It occurs to me that your exchequer may be low. Seventy-five dollars a week for the managing editor. Fifty for the city editor. Allow me—$10 each, in advance. If you need more pray remind me.” Into their hands he put crinkling biils. And then, gliding still like the fox he looked. he went out into the night. Please see to the makeup. My circu- | “Sister,” cried O'Neill weakly, “the | fairies are abroad tonight. I hear the . rustle of their feet over the grass.” Friday morning found Mr. Minot ready for whatever diplomacy the day : “might demand of him. He had a feel - ing that the demand would be great. The unheralded arrival of Miss Gabri- elle Rose and her packet of letters pre-: | sented no slight complication. What- ever the outcome of any suit she might . start against Harrowby, Minot was sure that the mere announcement of it 1, hopes for all time. Old Spencer Mey- rick, already inflamed by the episode | of the elder brother, was not likely to take coolly the publication of Harrow- by’s incriminating letters. After an early breakfast Minot sent a cable to Jephson telling of Miss Rose's arrival and asking for informa- tion about her. Lunch time came—2 o'clock. At 2:30, out of London, Jephson spoke. Said his cable: Know nothing of G. R. except that she's been married frequently. Do best you can. -And what help was this, pray? Dis- gustedly Minot read the cable again. Four o'clock the respite he had asked from the Gaiety lady was coming on apace, and with every tick of the clock his feeling of helplessness grew. He mentally berated Thacker and Jephson. wil@ problems, offering no help and asking miracles. Confound them both! Three o'clock came. What—what was he to say?! Lord Harrowby, in- terrogated, was merely useless and frantic. He couldn't raise a shilling. He eouldn’t offer a suggestion. “Dear old chap,” he moaned, “I depend on ” ou. Three-thirty! Well, Thacker and Jephson had asked the impossible, that was n't. Mion Tet te hind done his i best. “Norra: rll da morve. He was very sory Far ilat! hut—golden i before nity onen ad (0 o-sibilite of | . Mies Cynthia XM rick {ee to be wooed Yet he must te faithful to the last. At a quarter to four he read Jephson’s ' cablegram again. As he read. a plan ridiculous in its ineffectiveness oc- curred to him. And since no other came in the interval before 4 he walked fnto Miss Rose's presence determined to try out his weak little bluff. ; CHAPTER X. | Tears From the Gaiety. They left him alone to grapple with: would be sufficient to blast Jephson’s ipa = rr =r HE Gaiety lady was playing on the piano—a whispering, seduc- tive little tune. As Minot stepped to her side she glanced up-at him with a coy inviting smile. But she drew back a little at his de- termined glare. “Miss Rose.” he said sharply, “I have discovered that you can not sue Lord Harrowby for breach of contract to marry you.” “Why—why not?’ she stammered. “Because,” said Minot, with a tri- umphant smile, though it was a shot in the dark, “you already had # hus- band when those letters were written to you” Well, he had done his best. A rather childish effort, but what else was there to attempt? Poor old Jephson! “Nonsense,” said the Gaiety lady, and continned to play. “Nothing of the sort.” Minot r plied. ¢#Why, 1 can produce the man myself.” Might as well go the limit while he was about it. That should be his con- solation when Jephson lost. Might as well -but what was “his? | Gabrielle Rose had turned livid with | anger. Her lips twitched, her china blue eyes flashed fire. If only her law-| yer had been by her side then! But he wasn't, And so she cried hotly: “He's told! The little brute’s told!” | Good Lord! Minot felt his knees | weaken. A shot in tre dark had hit | the target after all? “If you refer to your husband,” said Minot, “he has done just that.” “He's not my husband,” she snapped. Oh, what was the use? Providence was with Jephson. “No, of course not—not since the di- | vorce,” Minot answered. “But he was | when those letters were written.” | The Gaiety lady’s chin began to trem- ble. | “And he promised me, on his word of honor, that he wouldn't tell. But I suppose you found him easy. What honor could one expect in a Persian carpet dealer?” A Persian carpet dealer? Into Minot’s mind floated a scrap of conversation heard.-at Mrs. Bruce's table. “But you must remember,” he ven- tured, “that he is also a prince.” “Yes,” said the woman, “that’s what I thought when I married him. He's the prince of liars; that’s as far as his royal blood goes.” A silence while Miss Gabrielle Rose felt in her sleeve for her handkerchief. “I suppose,” Minot suggested, “you will abandon the suit”— She looked at him. Oh, the pathos of that baby stare! “You are acting in this matter sim- ply as Harrowby’s friend?” she asked. “Simply as'his friend.” “And—so far—only you know of my —er—ex-husband ?” “Only I know of him,” smiled Minot. The smile died from his face. For he saw bright tears on the long lashes. of the Galety lady. She leaned close. “Mr. Minot,” she said, “it is I who need a friend. Not Harrowby. I am here in a strange country, without OFS “Mr. Minot,” she said, “it is | who need a friend.” funds, alone, helpless. Mr. Minot, you could not be so cruel” . “I—I—I'm sorry,” sald Minot uncom- fortably. : The lady was an actress, and she act- ed now, beautifully. “I—I feel so desolate,” she moaned, dabbing daintily at her eyes. “You will help me. It cannot be I am mistaken in you. I thought—did I imagine it— this morning when I sang for you—you liked me—just a little?” Nervously Minot rose from his chair and stood looking down at her. He nea to answer, but his voice seemed “Just a very little?” Bhe, too, rose and placed her butterfly hands on his shoulder. “You do like me—just a it- tle, don't you? Her pleading eyes gazed into his. It was a touching scene. To be besought thus tenderly by a famous beauty in | the secluded parlor of a southern hotel! | : The touch of her hands on his shoul- | ders thrilled him. The odor of Jockey ; Club— 3 | It was at this instant that Mr. Minot, | looking past the Galety lady’s beautiful | golden coiffure, beheld Miss Cynthia Meyrick standing in the doorway of that parlor, a smile on her face. She disappeared on the instant, but Gabri- elle Rose’s “big ‘scene” was ruined be- yond repair. 3 “My dear lady” —gently Minot slipped i from beneath her lovely hands—*I as- | sure you I do like you—more than a little. But unfortunately my loyalty to GERRI we ct mm cae Harrowby—no, I wont 8&y 527-7 cumstances are such that I can ot be your friend in this instance. Though if I could serve you in any other way" — Gabrielle Rose snapped her finers “Very well.” Her voice had a metal- lic ring now. ‘We shall see what we shall see.” “Undoubtedly. I bid you good day.” As Minot, somewhat dazed. walked along the veranda of the De la I’ax he met Miss Meyrick. There was a mis- chievous gleam in her eye. “Really. it was so tactless of me. Mr. Minot,” she said “A thousand apol- ogies.” He pretended not to understand. “My untimely descent on the parior.” She beamed on him. I presume fit happened because romance draws me— like a macnet. Even other people's.” Minot wmiled wanly, and for once sonrht ro end their talk. “Oh, do sit lown just a moment she pleadcl *+ want to thank yoi for the great service you did Harrowby and me--last night.” “Wha-v hat service?” asked Minot, sinking into.a chair. ined close and spoke in a »vt in the kidnnping Har- cowhy has old me. It was sweet of you, so un cllsh.’ “Iierce!” thou~ht Minot. And then he theught two more. “To put yourseli out that our wed- ding may be a success!” Was this sarcasm, Minot wondered. “I'm so glad to know about it, Mr. Minbt. It shows me at last—just what you think is”—she looked away—*“best for me.” “Best for you? What do you mean?” “Can’t you understand? From some things you've said I have thought— perhaps—you didn’t just approve of my—marriage. And now I see I mis- construed you—utterly. You want me to marry Harrowby. You're working for it. I shouldn’t be surprised if you were on that train last Monday just to make sure—I'd—get here—safely.” “Really, it was inhuman. Did she realize how inhuman it was? One | glance at Minot might have told her. But she was still looking away. “So I want to thank you, Mr. Minot,” she went on. “I shall always remem- ber your—kindness. I couldn’t under- stand at first, but now—I wonder? You | know, it's an old theory that as soon as one has one’s own affair of the heart arranged one begins to plan for oth- ers?’ Minot made a little whistling sound through his clenched teeth. The girl stood up. “Your thoughtfulness has made me very happy,” she laughed. “It shows that perhaps you care for me—just a little—too0.” She was gone! Minot sat swearing softly to himself, banging the arm of his chair with his fist He raged at Thacker, Jephson, the solar system. Gradually his anger cooled. Under- neath the raillery in Cynthia Meyrick’s tone he had thought he detected some- thing of a serious note, as though she were a little wistful, a little hurt. Did she care? Bitter-sweet thought! In the midst of all this farce and melo- drama had she come to .care just a little? Just a little! Bah! Minot rose and went out on the ave- nue. Prince Nevin Bey Imno was accus- tomed to give lectures twice daily on the textures of his precious rugs at his shop in the Alameda courtyard. His afternoon lecture was just finished as Mr. Minot stepped into the shop. A dozen awed housewives from the mid- dle west were hurrying away to write home on the hotel stationery that they had met a prince. When the last one had gone out Minot stepped forward. “Prince, I've. dropped in to warn you. A very angry ‘woman will ‘be here shortly to see you.” . The handsome young Persian shrug- ged his shoulders and took off the Jacket of the native uniform with which he embellished his talks. “Why is she angry? All my rugs— they are what I say they are. In this town are many lars selling oriental rugs. Oriental! Ugh! In New Jersey they were made. But not my rugs. See! Only in my native country, where I was a prince of the"— “Yes, yes. But this lady is not com- ing about rugs.. 1 refer to your ex- wife.” “Ah! You are mistaken. never married.” “Oh, yes, you have. I know all about it. There's no need to lle. The whole story is out and the lady's yams in San Marco is queered. She thinks you told. That's why she'll be here, for a chat.” y 4 “But I did not tell. Only this mornm- ing 4id'I see her first. I could not tell =-80-8oon.. Who could I tell—so soon? “I know you didn't tell. But cam you prove it to an agitated lady? No. You'd better close up for the evening.” .4'Ah, yes—you are right I am im- nocent—but what does Gabrielle care for innocence? We are no longer mar- ried—still: 1 should not want to meet her now. I.will close. But first—my friend—my benefactor—conld I interest you in this rug? See! Only in my na- tive country, where”— “Prince,” said Minot, “I couldn't use a rug if you gave me one.” > “That is exactly what I would Ge You are my friend.. You serve me. I I have give you this. Fifty dollars. That" giving it to you. Note the weave. Only in my”— : “Good night,” interrupted Misot. “And take my advice. Hurry!” Gloomy. discouraged, he turned back toward his own hotel. It was ‘true, Gabrielle Rose's husband at the time of the letters was in San Marco. The emissary of Jephson was serving a cause that could not lose. That after noon he had hoped. Was there any- thing dishonorable in that? Jephson and Thacker could command his sery- fo, they could not command his heart T— esl ri el RE ol IRL teh Sov ty ph pl Yi ped Pei OR uh
Significant historical Pennsylvania newspapers