VOL. XLII
GRAHAM CHURCH DIRECTORY.
Baptist—N. Main St.—Jas. W.
Rose, Pastor.
Preaching services every first
aod Third Sundays at 11.00 a. m.
and 7.30 p. m.
Sunday School, every Sunday at
9.46 a. m.—C. B. Irwin, Superin
tendent.
(iraham Christian Church—N. Main
Street—Kev. J. if. Truit'..
Preaching services oyery Sec
ond and fcourth Sundays, at li.OO
a. m.
Sunday School every Sunday at
10.00 a. m.— & L. Henderson, Super
intendent.
New Providence Christian Church
—Worth Main Street, near Depot-
Rev. J. U. Truitt, Pastor. Preach
ing every Second and Fourth Sun
day nights at 8.00 o'clock.
Sunday School every Sunday at
8.46 a. m.—J. A. Bayliff, Superin
tendent.
Christian Endeavor Prayer Meet
ing every Thursday night at 7.46.
o'clock.
Friends—Worth of Graham Pub
lic School—J .fiobert Parker, Pas
tor.
Preaching every Sunday at 11 a,
m. and at 7.30 p. m.
Sunday School every Sunday at
10.00 a. m.—James Crisco, Superin
tendent.
Methodist Episcopal, aouth—cor.
Main and Maple St„ H. E. Myers
Pastor.
Preaching every Sufcday at 11.00
a. m. and at 7.30 p. m.
Sunday School every Sunday at
8.46 a. m.—W. B. Green, Supt.
M. P. Church—N. Main Street,
Kev. O. B. Williams, Pastor.
Preaching first and third Sun
days at 11 a. m. and 8 p. m.
Sunday School every Sunday at
9.45 a. m.—J. L. Amick, Supt.
Presbyterian—Wst Elm Street-
Rev. T. M. McConneil, pastor.
Sunday School every Sunday at
8.46 a. m.—Lynn B. Williamson, Su
perintendent.
Presbyterian (Travora Chapel)—
J. W. Clegg, pastor.
Preaching every Second and
Fourth Sundays at 7.30 p. m.
Sunday School every Sunday at
2.30 pi m.—J. Harvey White, Su
perintendent.
Oneida—Sunday School every
Sunday at 2.30 p. m.—J. V. Pome
roy, Superintendent.
PROFESSIONAL CARDS~
E. C. DERBY
Civil Engineer.
GRAHAM, N. C.
National Bank ol Alamance B'l'd'g.
BURLINGTON, N. G,
Room 16.15t National Dank BnlldlnQ.
'Phone 470
JOHN J. HENDERSON
Attorney.at-Law
GRAHAM, N. C.
Office over National Bank ol Alamance
J\ S. COOK,
Attorney - «t- Law,
URAHAM, ..... N. C.
Office Patterson Building
Second Floor. . . . . .
DR. WILL jL LONG, JR.
. . . DENTIST . . .
Graham - - - - North Carolina
OFFICE IN BJMMONB BUILDING
JACOB A. LONG. J. ELMER LONG
JLONG & LONG,
At torney* and Counselor* at l a w
GRAHAM, N. C.
JOH N H. VERNON
Attorney and Couaielor-st-Law
PONES—Office tISJ Residence 331
BURLINGTON, N. C.
Dr. J. J. Barefoot
OFFICE OVER HADLEY'B STORE
Leave Messages at Alamance Phar
macy 'Phone 97 Residence 'Phone
382 Office Hours 2-4 p.m. and by
Appointment.
DR. G. EUGENE HOLT
Osteopathic Physician
21. 22 and 72 first National Bankk illdg.
BURLINGTON, N C.
Stomach and Nervous diseases a
Specialty. 'Phones, Office 305,—res
idence, 362 J.
Relief In Ml* Hour.
Distressing Kidney and iiladuet
Disease relieved in six hour* by
the "NKW GREAT SOUTH AMER
ICAN KIDNEY CURB." It is a
great surprise on account of ita
exceeding Dromptness in relieving
pain In bladder, kidney* and back,
in male or female. Relieve* reten
tion of water almoat Immediately.
If you want quick relief and cure
this ia the remedy. Sold by Gra
ham Drug Co. adv.
LIVES OF CHRISTIAN MINISTERS
This book, entitled as above,
contains over 200 memoirs of Min
isters in the Christian Church
with historical references. An
interesting volume —nicely print
ed and bound. Price per copy:
cloth, $2.00; gilt top, $2.60. By
mail 20c extra. Orders may be
sent to
P. J. KERNODLE,
*• 1012 E. Marshall St.,
Richmond, Va.
Orders may be left at this office.
THE ALAMANCE GLEANER.
■ 1 ■ ■ 1 —:— M ■ . -
!2^BOQTMTARKIH6^«M| P
"MONSIEUR, BEAUCAIRE" . >A
OF CANAAN "
8 ' chpvTzr&Ar /sur
6YNOPBI&.
CHAPTER I—Sheridan's attempt t«
"Jake a business man of his son Blbba bj
starting him In the machine shop ends Is
Bibbs going to a sanitarium, a nervous
wreck.
CHAPTER ll—On his return Bibbs la
met at the station i>v Bister Edith.
CHAPTER III—He finds himself an in
considerable jnd unconsidered figure In
the "New House" of the Bherldans. He
sees Mary Vertrees looking at him from
a summer house next door.
CHAPTER IV—Thv fertr*oiies, old town
family and impoverished, call on ..the
Bherldans, newly-rich, and afterward dis
cuss them. Mary puts Into words her
parents' unspoken wish that she marry
one of the Bnerldan boys.
CHAPTER V—At the Sheridan house
warming banquet Bhoridon spreads him
self. Mary frankly encourages Jim Sheri
dan's attention, and Blbbt* hears he Is to
be sent back to the machine shop.
CHAPTER Vl—Mary tells her mother
about the banquet and shocks her moth
er by talking of Jim as a matrimonial
possibility.
CHAPTER Vll—Jim tells Mary Bibbs
in not a lunatic—"Just queer." He pro
poses to Mary, who half accepts him.
CHAPTER tells Bibbs
he must go back to the machine shop as
soon as he Is strong enough, In spite of
Bibbs' plea to be allowed to writs.
CHAPTER IX—Edith and Sibyl. Roscoe
Sheridan's wife, quarrel over Bobby Lam
horn; Sybil goes to Mary for help to keep
Lamhorn from marrying Edith, and Mary
leuves her In the room alone.
CHAPTER X-Bibbs has to break to
his father the news of Jim's sudden death.
CHAPTER Xl—All the rest of the fam
ily helpless In their grief. Bibbs becomes
temporary master or the house. At the
funeral he moots Mary and rides home
with her.
CHAPTER Xll—Mrs. Sheridan pleads
with Bibbs to return to the machine shop
Tor his father's sake, and he consents.
CHAPTER Xlll—Bibbs purposely inter
rupts a tete-a-tete between Edith and
Lamhorn. He tells Edith that he over
heard Lamhorn making love to Itoscoo's
wife.
CHAPTER XlV—Mutual love of music
arouses an Intimate friendship between
Bibbs and Mary.
CHAPTER XV-Marv sells her niano to
help out tho finances of the Vsrtrits fam
iiy.
"No, no," he answered. "I said 'Just
a glltapso of one.' I didn't claim—"
But her door slammed nngrily; and he
turned tcrhls mother.
"There," he said, sighing. "That's
almost the first time In my life I ever
tried to be a man of action, mother,
and I succeeded perfectly in what I
tried to do. As a consequence I feel
like a horse thief!"
•"You hurt her fcolln's," she gronned.
"You must V gone at it too rough,
Bibbs."
He looked upfln her wanly. "That's
my trouble, mother," he muftmured.
"I'm a plain, blunt fellow. I have
rough ways, and I'm a rough man."
For once she perceived some mean
ing In his queerness. "Hush your non
sense!" she said, good-naturedly, the
astral of a troubled smile appearing.
"You go to bed."
He kissed her and obeyed.
Edith gave him a cold greeting the
1 next morning at the breakfast table.
"You mustn't do that under a mis
apprehension," he warned her, when
they were alone in the dining room.
"Do what under a what?" she asked.
"Speak to me. I came into the
smoking room last night 'on purpose,"*
he told her, gravely. "I have a preju
dice agalnßt that young man."
She laughed. "1 guess you think it
means a great deal who you have
prejudices against!" In mockery she
adopted the manner of one Who im
plores. "Bibbs, for pity's sake promise
me, don't use your Influence with papa
' against him!" And she laughed louder.
"Listen," he said, with peculiar earn
estness. "I'll tell you now, because—
because I've decided I'm one of the
family." And then, as If the earnest
ness were too heavy for him to carry
it further, he continued, in his usual
tons, "I'm drunk with power, Edith."
"What do you want to tell me?" she
demanded, brusquely.
"Lamhorn made love to Sibyl," be
said.
Edith hooted. "She did to him!"
"No," he said, gravely. "I know."
"How?"
* "I was there, one day a week ago,
with Roscoe, and I beard Sibyl and
Lamhorn—"
Edith screamed with laughter. "You
were with Roscoe—and you heard
Lamhorn making love to Sibyll"
"No. I heard them quarreling."
"You're funnier than ever. Bibbs!"
she cried. "You say he made love to
her tiecanse you beard them quarrel
ing!" •
"That's It. If you want to know
what's 'between' people, you can—by
the way tbey quarrel."
"foti'll kill me, Bibbs! What were
they quarreling about?"
"Nothing. That's how I know. Peo
ple who quarrel over nothing!—it's
always certain—"
Edith stopped laughing abruptly, but
continued her mockery. "You ought
to know. You've had ao much experi
ence, yourselfr
"I haven't any, Edith," he said. "My
life has been about as exciting as an
Incubator chicken's. But I look out
through the glass at things."
"Well, then," she said, "If you look
out through the glass you must know
what effect such stuff would have up
on me!" She rose, visibly agitated.
"What If it was true?" she demanded,
bitterly. "What If It was true a hun
dred times over? You sit taere with
your silly loce half ready to giggle and
half ready to sniffle, and tell me stories
(ike that, about Sibyl picking on Bobby.
Lamhorn and worrying him to death,
and you think it matters t~ L'e? What
If I already knew all about tholr 'quar
reling"? What If I undern o> d why
"Your Father Telephoned Me Yester
day Afternoon."
•he—" She broke off with a violent
gesture, a sweep of her arm extended
it full length, as If she hurled some
thing to the ground. "Do you think n
girl that really cared for a man would
pay any attention to that? Or to you,
Bibbs Sheridan I"
He looked at her steadily, and his
gaze was as keen as It was steady.
She met it with unwavering pride.
Finally be nodded slowly, as If she had
spoken and he meant to agree with
what she said.
• "Ah, yes," he said. "I won't eome
Into the smoking room again. I'm
sorry, Edith. Nobody can make you
see anything now. You'll never see
until you see for yourself. The rest of
us will do better to keep out of It—
especially mo!"
"That's sensible,'' she responded,
curtly. "You're most surprising of all
when you're sensible, Bibbs."
"Yes," he sighed. "I'm a dull dog.
Shake hands and forgive me, Edith."
Thawing so far as to smile, she un
derwent this brief ceremony, and
George appeared, summoning Rlbbs to
the library; Doctor Gurney was wait
ing there, he announced. And Bibbs
gave his sister a shy but friendly touch
upon the shoulder as a complement to
the handshaking, and left her.
Doctor Gurney was sitting by the
log fire, alone in the room, and he
merely glanced over his shoulder when
his patient came In. He was not over
fifty, In spite of Sheridan's habitual
"ole Doc Gurney." He was gray, how
ever, almost as thin as Bibbs, and
nearly always be looked drowsy.
"Your father telephoned me yester
day afternoon, Bibbs," he said, not ris
ing. "Wants me to 'look you over* |
again. Come around here In front of
me—between me and the fire. I want
to aee If I can see" through you." I
"You mean you're too sleepy to
move," returned Bibbs, complying. "I!
think you'll fbtlce that I'm getting 1
worse."
, "Taken on about twelve pounds,"
said Gurney. "Thirteen, maybe."
"Twelve."
"Well, It won't do." The doctor
rubbed his eyelids. "You're so much I
better I'll have to use some machinery |
on you before we can know Just where
you are. You come down to my place I
this afternoon. Walk down —all the
way. I suppose you know why your
father wants to know."
Bibbs nodded. "Machine shop."
"Still hate It?" .
Bibbs nodded again.
"Don't blame you!" the doctor grunt
ed. "Yes, I expect It'll Duke s lamp In
your gizzard again. Well, what do :
you say? Shall I tell blin you've got,
the old lump there yet? You still want
to write, do you?"
"What's the use?" Bibbs said, smil- !
lng ruefully. "My kind of writing!" j
"Yes," the doctor agreed. "I suppose ,
if you broke away and lived on roots |
and berries until you began to 'attract :
the favorable attention of edltora' you
might be able to hope for an Income of !
four or Ave hundred dollars a year by
the time you're fifty." 9-
"That's about it," Blbba murmured.
"Of course I know what you want to
do," said Gurney, drowsily. "You don't
bate tbe machine shop only; you bate
the whole show—the noise and Jar and
dirt, the scramble —the whole bloomln'
craze to 'get on.' You'd like to go
somewhere In Algiers, or to TaormLoa,
perhaps, and bask on a balcony, smell
ing flowers and writing sonnets. You'd
grow fat on It and have a delicate lit
tle life all to yourself. Well, what
do you say? I can lie like sixty, Rlbbs!
Shall I tell your father he'll loae an
other of his boys If you don't go to
Sicily r
"I don't want to go to Hlclly," said
Bibbs. "I want to stay right here."
The doctor's drowsiness disappeared
for a moment, and he gave his patient
• sharp glance, "it's a risk," he said.
GRAHAM, N. C., THURSDAY, AUGUST IT, 1916
"I think we'll find you're ao much bet
ter he'll send you back to the shop
pretty quick. Something's got bold
of you lately; you're not quite ao lack
adaisical aa you used to be. But I
warn you: I think the shop will knock
you Just aa it did before, and perhaps
ever harder, Rlbbs."
ne rose, shook himself, and rubbed
his eyelids.. "Well, when we go 6ver
you this afternoon what are we going
to say about It?"
"Tell him I'm ready," said Rlbbs,
lopklng at the floor.
"Oh no," Qurney laughed. "Not
quite yet; but you may be almost. We'll
aee. Don't forget I said to walk down."
And when the examination was con
cluded, that afternoon, the doctor In
formed Blbba that the reault waa much
too aatlafactory to be pleasing. "Here's
a new 'situation' for • one-act farce,"
he aald, gloomily, to hla next patient
when Blbba had gone. "Doctor telle
a man he's well, and that'a his death
sentence, likely. Dam' funny world!"
Dlbba decided to walk home. It was
a dingy afternoon, /md the amoke was
evident not only to Bibbs' sight but to
his nostrils, though most of the pedes
trians were so saturated with the smell
that they could no longer detect it
This Incited a train of thought which
contlnned till he approached the new
house. As he came to the corner of
Mr. Vertreea' lot Mr. Vertrees' daugh
ter emerged from the front door and
wc Iked thoughtfully down the path to
t » picket gate. Sbe was unconscious
ot tbo approach of the pedestrian and
did vet see him until she had opened
the gate and he was almost beside ber.
Then she looked up, and as she saw
him she started visibly. And If this
thing had happened to Robert Lam
horn, he would have bad a thought far
beyond tho horizon of faint-hearted
Rlbbs' thpugbts. Lamhorn, Indeed,
would have spoken his thought He
would have said:
"You Jumped because you were
thinking of met"
CHAPTER XIV.
Mary was the picture of a lady flus
tered. Rlbbs had paused In his slow
stride, and there elapsed an Instant be
fore either spoko or moved —It wns no
longer than that, and yet it sufficed
for each to seem to Bay, by look and at
titude, "Why, It's you!"
Then they both spoke at once, each
hurriedly pronouncing the other's
name as If about to deliver a mes
sage of Importance. Then both came
to a stop simultaneously, but Ribhs
made a heroic effort, and as they be
gan to walk on together he contrived
to find his voice.
"I—l—hate a frozen fish myself,"
he said. "I think three miles was too
long for you to put up with one."
"Good gracious!" she cried, turning
to him a glowing face from which
restraint and embarrassment had sud
denly fled. "Mr. Sheridan, .you're
lovely to put it that way. It was
Imposition for me to have mado you
bring me home, and after I went into
the house I decided I should have
walked. Resides, it wasn't three miles
to the caf lino. I never thought of It!"
"No," said Rlbbs, earnestly. "I
didn't, either. I might, have said some
thing If I'd thought of anything. I'm
talking now, though; I must remembor
that and not worry about It later. I
think I'm talking, though It doesn't
sound Intelligent even to me. I made
up my mind that If -f ever met you
again I'd turn on my voice and keep it
going, no matter what It said. I—"
She Interrupted blm with laughter,
and Mary Vertrees' laugh was one
which Rlbbs' father had declared, after
the house-warming, "a cripple would
crawl five miles to hear." And at the
merry lilting of it Rlbbs' father's son
took heart to forget some of his trepi
dation. "I'll be any kind of Idiot," he
said, "If you'll laugh at me some more.
It won't be difficult for me." *
She did; snd Bibbs' cheeks showed a
little actual color, which Mary per
ceived. They had passed the new house
without either of them showing—or
possessing—any consciousness that It
had been the destination of one of
tbem.
"I'll keep on talking," Rlbbs con
tinued, cheerfully, "and you keep on
laughing. I'm amounting to something
; In the world this afternoon. I'm mak
ing a noise, and that makes you make
i music. I>on't lie bothered by my blcat
! lng out such things as hat. I'm real
-1 ly frightened. I don't remember talk
ing as mucb as this more than once
or twice In my life. I suppose It was
always In me to do It, though, the first
time I met anyone who didn't know
' me well enough not to listen."
"Rut you're not really talking to
! me," said Mary. "You're Just think
ing aloud."
| "No," he returned, gravely, "I'm
not thinking at all; I'm only making
vocal sounds. J seem to be the sub
ject of what little meaning tbey pos
sess, and I'd like to change It, but I
don't know how to manage It"
"You needn't change the subject on
my account, Mr. Sheridan," she said.
"Not even If you really talked about
: yourself." She turned her face toward
. blm as she spoke, and IllbtM caught
; bis breath; he was psthetlcally amazed
by the look she gsve him. It was a
: glowing look, warmly friendly and nn
| demanding, and. what almost shocked
: blm. It was an eagerly Interested look.
Rlbbs was not accustomed to anything
I like that
"I—you—l—l'm—" he stammered,
; aifd the fnlnt color In his cheeks grew
almost vivid.
She was still looking st him, and
ahe aaw the strsnge radiance that
came Into his face. There was some
thing about him, too, that explained
how "queer" many people might think
him; but he did not seem "queer" to
Mary Vertrees; he seemed the most
quaintly natural penpn she had ever
met _
He waited, and became coherent
"You say somefhhjg.'now," be said. "I
don't even balonjf In the chorus, snd
here I am, trying to sing the funny
man's solo! You —"
"No," she Interrupted. "I'd rather
play your accompaniment."
"I'll stop and listen to It, then.'
"Perhaps—" she began, but after
pausing thoughtfully she made a ges
ture with ber muff. Indicating a large
brick church wblcb they were ap
proaching. "Do you see that cburcb.
Mr. Sheridan V
"I suppose I could," be answered In
simple truthfulness, looking at ber.
"But I don't want to. I have a feel
ing It'a where you're going, and where
I'll be sent back."
She shook her head in cheer}' nega
tion. "Not unless you wnnt to he.
Would you like to come with me?"
"Why—why—yes," ho said "Any-
Where!" And again It was apparent
that he spoke in simple truthfulness.
"Then come—lf you care for organ
music. The organist Is an old friend
of mine, and sometimes he plays for
me. He's a dear old man. That's he,
waiting In the doorway. He looks
like Rqethoven, doesn't he? I think he
knows that, perhaps, an! enjoys It n
little. I hope so."
"Yes," said Rlbbs, a* they reached
the church steps. "I think Beethoven
would like it, too, It mr.'■ t t>e I'ieasunt
to look like other people."
"I haven't kept you?" Mary said to
the organist. "This Is Mr. Sheildan,
t Doctor Kraft. He bag come to listen
with me."
The organist looked bluntly sur
"He lss musician himself, of coui^e."
"No," said Blhhs, as the three en
tered the church together. "I—l played
the—l tried to play—" Fortunately be
checked himself; he bud been about to
offer the Information that ho had failed
to master the Jews' harp in his boy
hood. "No, I'm not a musician," he
contented himself with saying.
"What?" Doctor Kraft's surprise In
creased. "Young man, you are fortu
nate! I play for Miss' Vertrees; she
comes always alone. You are the first.
You are the first one ever!"
They had reached the head of the
central aisle, and as the organist fin
ished speaking Rlbbs stopped short,
turning to look at Mary Vertrees In a
dazed way that wns not of her perceiv
ing; for, though sbe stopped us he did,
her gaze followed tbe organist, who
was walking away from them toward
the front of the church, shaking bis
white Reethovlan mane roguishly.
"It's false pretenses on my part,"
Rlbbs 'said. "You mean to be kind to
the sick, but I'm not an invalid any
more. I'm so well I'm going back to
work In a few days. I'd lietter leave
before he begins to play, hadn't I?"
"No," said Mnry, beginning to walk
forward. "Not unless you don't like
great music."
He followed her to a seat about half
way up the aisle while Doctor Kraft
ascended to tho organ. "This after
noon some Handel!" he turned to
shout.
Mnry nodded. "Will you like that?"
she asked Rlbbs.
"I don't know. I never heard any
except 'Largo.' I don't know anything
about music. I don't even know how
"Young Man, Vou Are Fortunste."
to pretend I do. If I knew enough to
pretend, I would."
"No," said Mary, looking at him and
smiling faintly, "you wouldn't."
She turned away as a great sound
began to swim and tremble In the air;
the huge empty space of the church
filled with It, and the two people lis
tening filled with It; tbe universe
seemed to fill and thrill with It. The
two sat intensely still, the great sound
sll round about thern, while the church
grew dusky, and only tho organlst'a
lamp made s tiny »tar of light. His
white head moved from side to side be
neath It rhythmically, or Innged and
recovered with the fierceness of a duel
-Ist thrusting, but he was magnificent
ly tbe master of bis giant, and It sang j
to his magic as he bade It.
Rlbbs was swept away upon that I
mighty singing Such s thing was |
wholly unknown to blm; there bad
lieen no music In his meager life Un
like the tale, It was the Princess lle
drulbudour wbo had brought him to
the enchanted cave, and that—for
Rlbbs—was what made Its magic daz
ing. It seerm-d to him a long, long
time since he had lieen walking home
drearily from Doctor Onrney's office;
It seemed to him that he had set out
upon a happy Journey since then, and
that he had reached another planet,
where Mary Vertrees and he sat alone
together, listening to a vast choiring of
Invisible soldiers and boly angels.
There were armies of voices about
them, singing praise and thanksgiving;
ami yet tbey were alone. It wns In
credible that the walls of the church
were not the boundsries of the uni
verse. to remain so forever; Incredible
that there was a smoky street Just yon
der. where housemaids were bringing
In evening popers from front steps and
where children were taking their last
spins on roller skates before being
haled Indoors for dinner.
He had a corious sense of communi
cation with his new friend. He knew
It could not bo so, snd yet he felt a* If
all the time he spoke to her, sayJng:
"You bear this strain? You bear that
strain? You know tbe dream that these
sounds bring to me?" And it seemed
Ulm as though she answered con
tlnually; "I hear! I bear that strain,
and I hear the new one that yon are
hearing now. I know the dream that
these sounds bring to you. Yea, yea,
I hoar It all! We hear—together!"
And though the church grew ao dim
tHat all was mysterious shadow except
the vague planes of the windows and
the organist's Jlght, with the white
head moving beneath It, Blbba had no
consciousness that the girl sitting be
side him had grown shadowy; he
seemed to see her as plainly as ever In
the darkness, though he did not look at
her. And all the mighty chanting of
the organ's multitudinous voices that
afternoon seemed to Bibbs to be cho
rusing of ber and interpreting her,
singing her thoughts and singing for
him the world of bumble gratitude that
was in his heart because she was so
kind to him. It all meant Mary.
But when she asked blm what It
meant, on their homeward way, be wus
silent. Tbey bad come a few paces
from the church without speuklng,
walking slowly.
"I'll tell you what It meant to me,"
she said, as be did not Immediately
reply. "Almost sny music of Handel's
always means one thing above all oth
ers to me: Couruge! That's It. It
makes cowardice or whining seem so
Infinitesimal—lt makes most things In
our hustling little lives scum Infinitesi
mal."
"Yes," he said. "It seems odd,
doesn't It, that people downtown are
hurrying to trains and hanging ta
Btrnps' lu trolley cars, weltering every
way to get home and feed and sleep
so they can get downtown tomorrow.
And yet there Isn't unythlug down
there worth getting to. They're like
servants drudging to keep the house
going, snd believing the drudgery It
self is the great' thing. They muke so
much nolso uud fuss mid dirt they for
get that the bouse was meant to live
in. \The housework has to be done, but
the people who do It have been so
overpaid that they're confused and
worship the housework. They're over
paid, and yet, poor things! tbey haven't
anything that a chicken can't have.
Of course, when the world gets to pay
ing Its wages sensibly that will be dif
ferent."
"Do you mean 'communism'?" she
asked, and she made th«lr slow pace
a little slower—they had only three
blocks to go.
"Whatever tho word Is, I only mean
that things don't look very senslblo
now—especially to a man that wants
to keep out of 'em and can't! 'Com
munism?' Well, at least any 'decent
sport' would suy It's fair for IJJI the
strong runners to start from the same
mark and give the weak ones a fair
distance ahead, so that all can run
something like even on the stretch.
And wouldn't It be pleasant, really. If
they could all cross the winning line
together? Who really enjoys beating
anybody—lf he sees the beaten man's
face? The only w(jy wo can enjoy get
ting ahead of other people nowadays
Is by forgetting what the other peoplo
feel. And that," he added, "Is nothing
of what the music meant to me. You
see, If I keep talking shout what It
didn't mean 1 can keep from telling
you what It did mean."
"Didn't It mean courage to you, too
—a little?" she asked. "Triumph and
praise were In It, and somehow those
things mean courage to me."
"Yes, they were all there," Rlbbs
said. "I don't know tbesianm of what
he played, hut 1 shouldn't think It
would matter much. The man that
makes the music must leave It to you
and what It can mean to you, and the
name be puts to It can't make much
difference—except to himself and peo
ple very much like blm, I suppose."
"I suppose that's true, though I'd
never thought of It like that." .
"1 Imagine uiu»lc must make feel
ings and paint pictures In the minds
of the people who hear It," Bibbs went
on, musingly, "according to tbetr own
uatures as much as according to the
music Itself."
The musician might compose some
thing and play It, wanting you to think
of the Koly Ornll, and some people
who heard It would tlilnk of a prayer
meeting, and some would think of how
good they wore themselves, and s boy
might think of himself at the head of a
solemn procession, carrying a banner
and riding a white borse. And then.
If these were some Jubilant passages
In the music, he'd think of a circus."
They had reached her gate, snd she
set her lisnd upon It, but did not open
It. Itlbbs felt that this was slmost
ttie kindest of her kindnesses— not to
lie prompt In leaving blm.
"After all," she said, "you didn't
tell me whether you liked It."
"No. I didn't need to."
"No, that's true, and I didn't need
to ask, I knew. Rut you said you
were trying to keep from telling me
what It did mean." v
"I can't keep from telling It any
longer," he said. "The music meant to
me—lt meant the kindness of—of
you."
"Kindness? How?"
"Vou thought I was a sort of lonely
tra nip—and sick —"
"No," she said, decidedly. "I thought
perhaps you'd like to bear Doctor
Kraft play. And you did."
"It's curious; sometimes It seemed
to me that It was you who were play
ing "
Mary laughed. "I? I strum! Ita no.
A .little Chopin—Or leg—Cbamlnade.
Von wouldn't listen!"
lllbbs drew a deep breath. "I'm
frightened again," he said. In sn un
steady voice. "I'm afraid you'll think
I'm pushing, but—" He paused, snd
tbe words Hank to a murmur.
"Ob, If you want me to play for
you!" she said. "Yes, gladly. It will
be merely absurd after what you heard
this afternoon. I play like s hundred
thousand other girls, snd 1 like It I'm
glad when anyone's willing to listen,
and If you—" Sbe stopped, checked
by a sudden recollection, and laughed
ruefully. "But my piano won't be here
after tonight I—l'm sending It away
tomorrow. I'm afraid that If you'd
like me to play to you you'd have to
come this evening."
"You'll let me?" he cried.
"Certainly, If you csre to."
"If I could play—" be said, wist
fully. "If I could play like that old man
In the church I could thank you."
"Ah. but vou haven't beard me
play. I know"you lliedTHs afteraooS,
but—"
"Yes," said Bibbs. "It was the
greatest happiness I've ever known."
It was too dark to see his facs, but
bis voice held such plain honesty, and
be spoke with such complete uncon
sciousness of saying anything especial
ly significant that abe knew It was the
truth. .For a moment she was non
plussed, then she opened the gate and
went in. "You'll come after dinner,
then?"
"Yes," he said, not moving. "Would
you mind If I stood here until time to
come In?"
She bad reached the steps, and at
that ahe turned, offering him the re
sponse of laughter and a gay gesture
of her muff toward the lighted win
dows of the new house, as though bifr
ding him to run home to his dinner.
That night, Blbbe sat writing In his
notebook:
Uuslo can come Into a blank life and
All It Everything that Is beautiful is
music. If you can listen.
There Is no (racefulness like that of a
graceful woman at a grand piano. There
Is a ewlmmlng loveliness of line that
seems to merge with the running ot the
•ound, and rou seem, aa you watch her,
to eee that you are hearing and to hear
what you are seeing.
Thero are women who make you think
of plrfe wooda coming down to a sparkling
sea. The air about such a woman la brao-
Ing, and when she ta near you, rou feel
strong and ambltloue; you forget that
the world doean't Uke you. Tou think
that perhapa you are a great fellow, after
all. Then you come awajr and feel Uke
a boy who has fallen In love with his
Sunday school teacher. You'll be whipped
for It—and ought to be.
There are women who make you think
of Diana, crowned with the moon. But
they do not have the "Qreek profile." 1
do not believe Helen of Troy had a
"Greek profile," they would not have
fought about her If her noee had been
quite that long. The Greek noee Is not
tho adorable noee. The adorable noee Is
about an eighth of an Inch ahorter.
Much of the mualo of Wagner, It ap>
peare, le not suitable to tbe piano. Wag
ner waa a compoeer who could Interpret
Into music such things aa tbe primlUvt
Impulses ot humanity—he could havi
made a machine chop Into music. But
not If he had to work In It Wagner
waa alwaya dealing In Immenaltlee—a ma
chine shop would havo put a majeatk
lump In eo grand a Kliiurd as that
There la a mystery about planoe, II
seems. Sometimes tliey have to be "eent
away." That la how come people apeak
of the penitentiary. "Bent away" 1a e
euphuism for "sent to prtaon." But planoe
are not aent to prison, and they are not
sent to tho tuner—the tuner le aent to them.
Why are planna "sent away"—and wherel
Sometimes a glorloue day ahlnee Into
the moet ordinary and ueeleee life. Hap
piness and beauty comf. caroling out of
the air Into the gloomy houae of that life
aa If aomo atruy angel lust happened to
perch on the roof-tree, reeling and elng-
Ing. And tho nlKht after such a day la
luatrous and apli ndld with the memory
of It. Music anil beauty and klndneee—
those aro the three greatest things Ood
can (five ua. To bring them all In one day
to one who expected nothing—ah! th«
heart that received them should be ss
humble as It is thankful. But It Is hard
to be humble when one le eo rich with
new atemoriee. It le Impossible to bs
humble after a day of glory.
Tee—tho adorable nose Is more than an
eighth of an Inch ahorter than the Greek
; nose. It le a full quarter of an Inch short-
There are women who will be kinder
to a slok tramp than to a conquering hero.
But the alck tramp had better remem
ber that's what he la Take care, take
care! Humble'e the word I
CHAPTER XV.
That "mystery about pi/ nos' which
troubled Ilibbs had been a mystery to
Mr. Vertrees, and It wae being ex
plained to him at about the time Bibb)
scribbled the reference to It In his
not™. Mary hnd gone upstairs upon
Bibbs' departure at ten o'clock, and
Mr. and Mrs. Vertrees sat until aftet
midnight in the library talking.
"Hhe needn't >o have done that about
her piano," vap*ed Mr. Vertrees. "W«
could have managed somehow without
It. At least she ought to have consult
ed me, and If she insisted I could bars
arrsnged the details with tbe—tbe
denier."
"Hhe thought that it might be—an
noying for you," Mm. Vertrees ex
plained. "Really, ahe planned for you
not to know about It until they bad re
moved—until after tomorrow, that is,
but I decided to—to mention it You
see, alie didn't even tell me about it un
til this morning. Hhe has another Idea,
too, I'm afraid. It'e —It's—"
"Well?" lie urged, ss she found It
difficult to go on.
"Ilcr other Idea Is —that is, it wss
—I think It can lie avoided, of course-
It was aKout her fura."
"No!" he exclaimed, quickly. "I
won't have Itl You must see to that
I'd rather not talk to her about It but
you mustn't let her."
"I'll try not" bis wife promised.
"Hhe seems to be troubled about tbe—
"•he Needn't to Have Done Thet
About ths Piano."
the coal matter and—about Tilly. Of
course tbe piano will take care of some
things like those for s while snd—"
"I don't like It. I gave ber the piano
to play on, not to—"
"You mustn't be distressed shoot it
in one wsy," she said, comfortingly.
"Hhe arranged with the—with the pur
chaser that Che men will come for it
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•boat half after ITS In the afternoon.
The days are so abort now It's really
quite winter."
"Oh, yes," he sgrssd,
far ss that goes I don't suppose our
neighbors are paying much attention
Just now, though I hear Sheridan was
back In his oflce early the morning
after the funeral."
Mrs. Vertrees made a little sound of
commiseration. "I don't believe that
was because v he wasn't suffering,
though. Mary told ma he Seemed
wrapped up la his sotfS succeeding.
Be Isn't vulgar In his boasting, I un
derstand; he doesn't tslk a great deal
about his—his actual money. No, Us
bragging usually sssmsd to bs about
his family and tbs grsstasss of this
city."
- 'Greatness of this rftyT Mr. Ver
trees echoed, with dull bitterness. "It's
nothing but a coal hole. Of course
Sheridan says lfs 'great'" J
Mrs. Vertrees seemed unaware oC
this outburst "I believe," die began,
timidly, "he doesn't boast of—Oat Is,
I understand be has never sesmed so
interested In the the other one."
Her husband's face was dark, but at
that a heavier shadow fell upon It; he
looked more haggard than before. .
" The other one,'" he repeated, avert
ing bis eyes. "Ton mean—you mean
the third son—the one that waa here
this evenlngr
"Tee, the—the youngest," she re
turned, her voice so feeble It wss al
most a whisper.
And then neither of them spoke far
several minutes. Nor did either look;
st the other during that silence.
At last Mr. Vertrees contrived to
cough, but not convincingly. "What—
sh—what was It Mary said about!
him this afternoon) I didn't ah—hap*
pen to catch it"
"She—she didn't say much. All she
said was this; 'He's the most wistful'
creature I've ever known.'"
"Welir
"That was sIL He is wistful-look
ing; and so fragile.' If I hadn't known
about him I'd have thought ha had
quite sn Interesting face."
"If you 'hadn't known about hlm't
Known what?"
"Ob, nothing, of course," she said,
hurriedly. "Nothing definite, that la.
Mary said decidedly, long ago, that
he's not at all Insane, as ws thought
st first. It's only—well, of course It is,
odd, their attitude about him. I sup
pose It's some uervous trouble thst
makes him—perhaps a little queer at
times, so that be can't apply himself
to anything—or perhaps does odd*
things. But after all, of course, we
only have an Impression about It We
don't know—that. Is, positively. I—H
She paused, then went on: "I didn't)
know Just how to ssk—that is—B
didn't mention It to Mary. I didn't—'
I—" The poor lady floundered piti
fully, concluding with a mumble.
soon after—after the —the shock." >
"I don't think I've caught more than
a glimpse of him," said Mr. Vertrees.!
"I wouldn't know him If I saw hlm,j
but your Impression of him is—" He
broke off suddenly, springing to his'
feet In agitation. "I can't
her—oh nor be gasped. And bs began;
to pace the floor. "A half-witted spM
leptlcr
"No, nof she cried. "He may be all
right We—"
"Oh, It's horrible! I He
threw himself back Into his chair
again, sweeping bis hands scross his
/face, then letting them fall limply at
his sides.
Mrs. Vertrees was tremulous. . "Ton
musn't give wsy so," she said, inspired,
for once almost to direct discourse
"Whatever Mary might think of doing,
It wouldn't be on her own account; it
would be ou ours. But If we should—
should consider It that wouldn't be on
our own account It Isn't because we
think of ourselves."
"Ob God, no I" bs groaned. "Not for;
us! We can go to the poorbouse, hut '
Vary can't be a stenographer!" j
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