—
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
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