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<960000000000000000000009000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000000^ THE JOY OF LIVING By SIDNEY GOWING Cepr*h* i« b, Si&w, c™-™* Ulustrations by ELLSWORTH YOUNG oooecoooooooooaoooooooeoooeogeoooo&oooooocoooooooeoooocooooooooeecoeooooooooosceoooooooaocoooocoooooooff "MY PEARLS!” SYNOPSIS.—Disliking the pros pect of a month's visit to her austere aunt. Lady Erythea Lambe, at Jervaulx abbey, and her cousin, Alexander Lambe, Aiinee, vivacious daughter of the Very Reverend Viscount Scroope, wan ders into the park, there encoun tering a strange youth. He laugh ingly introduces himself as '‘Billy," American. The two ride on his motorcycle, the “Flying Sphinx,” and part. With Georgina Berners, her cousin, Aimee sets out for Jer vaulx. She decides that Georgina shall impersonate her at Jervaulx, whife she goes on a holiday. Geor gina's horrified protest is unpvr.il lng. Aimee again meets “‘Jilly." He tells her his name is Spencer, and she gives hers as Amy Snooks, at present “out of a job.” Billy offers to take her into partnership in selling the Sphinx. In a spirit of madcap adventure, she accepts. The two proceed to the town of Stanhoe, taking separate lodgings in Ivy cottage. That night Aimee visits Georgina and learns that the deception has not been discovered. She compels Georgina xto continue the subterfuge. On a trial spin, with Billy, Aimee nearly kills them both by going too fast, but her nerve awakens Billy’s admiration. CHAPTER V—Continued. “3— There was an astonished shout and a cry of warning ahead. A large car riage, with two fat horses and a fat coachman, seemed to be right on top of Aimee’s handlebars. She swerved and braked violently, while the horses were reined back on their haunches; the Sphinx toppled sideways, shooting Billy clean through the screen of brambles that covered the ditch. Aimee performed a sort of semi somersault, nnd landed on her feet with an intoxicated stagger. For one awful moment she found herself fac ing the amazed occupants of the car riage. She was conscious of the face of Georgina, very white, staring at her open-mouthed, with eyes as big as saucers. Beside Georgina sat a tre mendous, elderly lady, gripping a lorgnette, and speechless with anger. •A large young, man.in black, Kis eyes matching Georgina’s for size, had started up and was grasping the side of the carriage. In a fraction of a second the truth telegraphed itself to Aimee’s flustered brain. Aunt Erythea! Aimee leaped the ditch like a cha mois, right over the top of Billy; plunged through the tall hedge ns a circus rider goes through a hoop, and vanished. “Is anybody hurt, there!’’ gasped M” Alexander Lambe. “Is—” “Nope. Not here,” said Billy’s voice feebly from the ditch. A pair of booted legs waved among the brumbies. “I never saw anything so disgrace ful in my life!” cried Mr. Lambe. “Your number! I want your num ber. I—!” Lady Erythea, whose face was crimson, leaned forward and smote the coachman twice violently in the bai.g With the handle of her parasol. “Drive on—fool!” she said explo tsiveij. The coachman started and whipped up the fat horses. Mr. Lambe stag gered as the carriage went forward. “Aunt," he said, “that—that woman, who was driving, ought to be appre hended ! If I had my way—” "If I had my way,” retorted Lady Erythea, ‘ she'd be whipped! She ami all her tribe. But the idiot Gervase, of course, was on the wrong side; we've no case. I hope tiieir wretched machine is wrecked. Sit down, Alex ander, do you hear!” Mr. I.aiube obeyed, protesting faint ly. Georgina, with one hand pressed to her bosom, felt as though she were on the point of heart-failure. “Hussies,” said Lady Erythea, quiv ering, “and louts! Country’s overrun with them. Decency is di ad !” The carriage jingled round the cor ner and disappeared Billy Spencer collected himself from among the brambles and regained the road, with the air of a sailor cast away on an inhospitable coast. Aimee thrust an inquiring face through the hedge, and emerged. “Billy!” sire cried. “Are you dam aged ?” “Not a bit. Only scratched.” ''And the Sphinx?” •‘Brake lever bent, that’s all. Noth spg serious.” Aimee suddenly sat down on the *>dge of the ditch and began to laugh. Blie laughed till the very road threw Uiek the echo; scandalous laughter. "Tliat’s good!" said Billy, grinning. “That’s the stuff! I was afraid it might have sliuken you. Go on— laugh!” “You’ll never let roe drive her again!” gasped Aimee, mopping her streaming eyes. “Won’t I! Why, you’ve learned the game—you’ll never do that stunt twice. Only thing I feared, It might have shuken your nerve. But you've no nerve to shake! Y'ou’re the goods. That fool coachman was on the wrong side, anyway. Let’s get on the Sphinx You'll ride her like a bird after this. All the same,’’ he added, “that tnnk-har is a bit awkward for your dress.” “I don’t care—I can manage.” “No—it's got to be fixed.” His face cleared. “It’s dead easy! I’ll get you a pair of breeches in Syderford." Aimee, dumfounded, turned and stared at him. “Wliat do you think you are!” she exclaimed. “The Universal Pro vider?” Billy’s chin stuck out sternly. “I’m your partner! Get me?” Aimee looked at him thoughtfully, and smiled. “All right, Billy,” she said softly. There was a pause. “Let's go back to Ivy cottage. You can drive.” Billy mounted the saddle joyously, stuffing his cap into his pocket. Aimee took her seat behind. The Sphinx meandered homeward at an easy fifty miles an hour. CHAPTER VI "Thou Shalt Not Lie." Georgina Berners began the day well; though she came within an ace of beginning it very badly indeed—she was nearly late for prayers. After the service the servants dis persed to their duties, and Lady Ery thea led the way to the morning room. She kissed Georgina with the air of one conferring a benefit, and bestowed a word of approval on Alexander, who was looking at Georgina with some concern in his large eyes. “You look a little tired, cousin,” he said, “did you rest well?” “Oh, y-yes,” said Georgina, “the— the journey yesterday was a little tiring.” “Perfect health,” said Lady Erythea, “is not only desirable, It is a duty, in the young.” Breakfast proceeded in silence, till Lady Erythea made her announce ment. “The carriage will be ready for us all at ten,” she said. “Remember that one does not keep horses waiting. We shall drive to Syderford.” “In that case,” said Mr. Lambe, “I must bfe excused now. I have many things to do before ten.” Lady Erythea watched his exit with some anxiety. “For a man of Alexander’s phys ical development,” she said, “I feel sure he does not eat enough. A mouthful of whiting and half a cup of tea! He would rather die than in dulge in meat on a Friday.” Lady Erythea was making excellent prac tice with a grilled sole. “That, of course, is quite right. But he carries some things to extremes. I am not wholly sure that Alexander Is sound on the subject of marriage,” continued Lady Erythea, with her customary di rectness. “I am, of course, a High Churchwoman. Of that faith, I know very well, there are many who hold that a priest should be celibate. I do not agree with them for one moment. Let those differ from me who will—I jMUfh “My Judgment Is Never Mistaken.” say that even a clergyman is essen tially imperfect until he has a wife.” Georgina flushed slowly sennet. Lady Erythea turned the ear-trumpet to her inexorably, and waited. “I am quite sure of one thing," roared Georgina into the ear-tejimpet, with almost a touch of rebellion, ‘‘that Al-Alexander will do what he be lieves is right—and nothing else.” “He must be guided,” said Lady Erythea firmly. “On no other point should I presume to direct a Clerk in Orders. But, in this matter, men— even such men as Alexander—are as children. The judgment of nn experi enced woman Is alone of value here. Alexander Is my heir. Jervaulx will be his. He owes a duty to his race ami name; duty must guide us all. At times Alexander seems to me al most—almost too devout. iTiometlmes wish”—with a slight sigh—“that Alex ander were a little more—human. A touch of Adam—a mere soupcon, as it were of naughtiness—Is not wholly un attractive in a young man.” Georgina stared at her In amaze ment, wondering if she had heard aright. And Georgina was guiltily conscious that a Similar thought had crept, unbidden, into her own mind. Lady Erythea’s eyes, meeting her gaze, became stony. ‘‘I wns referring, of course,” she said, with some sternness, "to the duty good women owe themselves in re forming young men of that type. In a girl, flightiness is abhorrent to me— absolutely abhorrent. Hussies are my especial aversion.” She smiled, and laid a hand on Georgina’s shoulder. “I don’t know why I speak of them. Nor can I understand, my dear, how such a mistaken impression of you could have reached us, before we knew you. ‘‘For,’’ she added, rising, "1 have formed my opinion of you, Almee, and my judgment is never mistaken. The woman does not live who could de ceive me. Aimee, my dear, you are free to follow any occupation you choose—until ten o’clock.” Georgina made her way upstairs and sunk into the most luxurious arm chair in her bedroom. ‘‘How perfectly lovely it would be here,” she sighed, “if only things were proper and regulnr. But they aren’t!" Georgina, gazing before her, fell into a day-dream, Presently, the sound of the carriage passing beneath her window rdused her with a start, and hastily donning a wrap she ran downstairs. “Sit next me, Aimee,” said Lady Erythea, settling herself comfortably in the carriage. “Alexander, you will take the other seat. 1 dislike having anyone immediately opposite me.” For two hours, at least, all troubles were to be left behind. As the tar riage bowled through the sunlit park Georgina, lying back against the cush ions, under the benign gaze of Alex ander, felt inexpressibly soothed. • •••••• When the carriage returned to Jer vaulx, Georgina fell rather than de scended from it. Almost in a state of collapse, she preserved some sort of outward composure and retreated to her bedroom as a hunted fox to earth. The collision with the motorcycle on the Syderford road opened new horizons of terror for Georgina. It seemed to her like the climax of a nightmare. What in the world was Aimee doing? Who was the man—it was evidently a man, though Georgina had seen little of him except his boots—that was with her. What was happening to the wretched girl? “It’s too awful I" said Georgina hys terically, “and I’m responsible. I think I shall go mad!” Later In the afternoon, in the nat ural course of things, she found her self alone with Alexander in the gar dens. She looked at him with timid, yet hopeful eyes. Here, at least, was righteousness, kindliness, wisdom. Georgina felt she could keep things to herself no longer. “I am afraid that narrow escape this morning 'has upset you, Aimee,” he said sympathetically. “Yes—I was rather upset. But I am better now. Don’t let us talk of It. C-Cousin Alexander, there Is some thing I want to ask you,” she said suddenly.' “I should like your—your guidance. Imagine that somebody who was dear to me—somebody one loved very much—had got Into diffi culties, and was In danger of expos ure. And punishment. That It was in one’s power to save them. Suppos ing that it would help, would it be very wrong to tell a—a fib?” Alexander regarded her wonder iugly. “Let us give things their proper names,” he said. “You mean a lie. You know the answer. A lie is in all cases not only inadmissible, but un thinkable.” “N-not even a little one?” said Georgina faintly. “I don’t mean for one’s own benefit, ot course, but to shield the other.” “There is only one answer,” he said sternly. "That other must make a clean breast of it, and bear his own punishment—or hers. No matter how bitter it may be. Whoever indulges in such shielding is equally guilty.” Georgina felt utterly chilled. “Is not that a little hard?” she said. “The hard way is the way of the transgressor,” said Alexander, with some grimness; "there is authority for that. And yet the friend—I think you said a friend—mgy give all aid and succor to the sinner, even to the ex treme sacrifice of himself. But de ceit, even the shadow of it, must by no means enter Into the matter. You are asking me what you know per fectly well. But why talk of unpieas ant things,” he continued, “tell me of yourself, and your life at Scroope, Aimee.” There was small comfort for Geor gina the rest of that day. She dressed for dinner in a state of despair. Lady Erytheu, as her custom was, even when en famine, came down splen didly bejeweled, and wearing the fa mous Lambe emeralds—said to be worth a prince’s ransom—on her son)e i what bony chest. As usual at dinner she wns In a good temper. There was a late delivery at Jer vaulx, and a letter was brought Into the drawing room nfterward, ad dressed to Almee Scroope. “Surely, that Is your father’s hand writing, Almee,” said Lady Erythea. "My letter will have crossed his. Let us hear what he says.” Georgina would as soon have thought of picking a pocket as of opening another person’s letter. But there wns no help for It. The letter was dated Scroope Towers, Thursday. At the word of command, Georgina read it aloud, somewhat falteringly. My Dearest Aimee: I am writing: to your aunt, to whom my love, but find myself with only time be fore the post goes to tell you I am obliged to leave Scroope earlier than I expected. As 1 wish to see you before I go, I will come ~ver for an hour on Saturday. I'm sorry it is impossible for me to stay the night. I have news of importance for you. Your loving, FATHER. “It will be the first time,” said Lady Erythea, a trifle acidly, “that anybody ever saw your father in a hurry.” The letter put the finishing touch to such a day ns Georgina had never dreamed of. She went to bed half an hour later. Before she fell asleep, her pillow was wet. CHAPTER VII The Way of th'e Transgressor. Georgina awoke with a start. The light from a tiny electric torch daz zled her eyes; somebody was shaking her violently. “Wake up, old thing," whispered Aimee's voice; “it’s like trying to rouse the dead. I’m anxious about you. What did they say about that little stunt on the Syderford road?” Georgina sat up with a gasp, and clutched Aimee with both hands as a drowning person clutches a life-buoy. “It’s you, is it !*’ she said fiercely. “I’ve got you, Aimee—make up your mind to it! This dreadful business Is finished. We’re done for—espe cially you!” “Eh!” exclaimed Aimee, a little startled. “What have you got the breeze up about now?” “You’ll know very soon! Who,” said Georgina sternly, still holding her, “was that Man that was with you? Who was he?" “Man?” said Aimee. “Oh, you mean Billy. One of the best that ever stepped! A clinking good sort." “B-Billy?” echoed Georgina Jn a shaking voice. “Tell me. Tell me all!” she said, tightening her grip. “Well, why not?” said Aimee, and forthwith she related the Saga of Billy. The tale, as It proceeded, seemed to affect Georgina with creep ing palsy. When it ended, she was trembling violently. She made two unsuccessful efforts to speak. She reminded Aimee of a hen with some thing stuck in its throat. “You are staying with this Man?” gasped Georgina. “This Spencer—In Stanhoe? And he let you do it? The man’s a cad 1” Aimee sprang up, tearing herself loose from her cousin's hands. “How dare you say that! Cad? If there’s only one gentleman on this earth, It's Billy ';” She glared at Georgina. “There’s no beastly sentiment in Billy, thank heaven. That’s why we became pals; because we want to get away fyom it all. I see nothing wrong In it—nor does he.” “Then he’s a fool!” said Georgina bitterly. “Oh, what can one say?” she groaned. “I know there ’■» nothing wrong. That you are incapable of— of—” she choked. “And this man. From what you tell me, he Is Just such another as you. He is not a man—he is a child! Or he Is from some place where things are—very different from what they are with us. But you are living in Eastshlre—not in the desert. You know what East shire is. If ever tills comes out—as come out it must—your reputation and your good name are gone—fin ished! “That, I suppose, you do not care for," she said bitterly, rising and facing Almee, “but one thing I can tell you and you may believe me. This thing will kill your father!” Almee stared at her blankly. “I know your father, better, per haps, than you do, Almee. To Lord Scroope, black is black and white white. No one is more proud, more sensitive. That his daughter should be living in an obscure lodging, under an assumed name—with a strange man she picked up on the high road. I tell you, quite soberly and certaim., that it will break his heart." There was a long silence. Suddenly Almee sat down on the bed and began to cry. She cried with the abandon of a child of ten, but very piteously. “I never wanted to hurt Dad!" she snuffled. "I didn’t think—I didn't .see— 1" “Do you under? and at last?" said Georgina grimly. “Y-yes," gulped Almee slowly. “I believe I do. Dad! I—" she caught ^Georgina by the aria. “I must keep *tftat from him—I myst 1" __ V 7 “We must keep it from him,” said Georgina trembling, “at any cost. We must find a way, for his sake and yours. This muddle at Jervaulx can not be hidden ; we must face it. But your father must never hear of—the other thing. What are we to do? He Is coming here tomorrow afternoon 1” Tearfully she gave her cousin the news in Lord Scroope's letter. Almee stared In blank dismay. “We have till five o’clock tomor row,” faltered Georgina. “I don’t care what happens to m®—there’s nothing I won’t' do to save you, Almee.” Her face brightened sud denly. “I’ve thought of a way—” “And so have I!” said Aimee ea gerly. “There’s just a chance—go on —let’s hear your plan!” “If we can keep the whole thing quiet till five tomorrow we shall pull through—with luck. Should anything turn up before then, to show that you’re not here where you ought to be—we’re done for,” said Georgina, tragically. "My plan is this: You must go at once—” A loud clnnging interrupted her, ns of a vibrating hammer striking a gong. It jarred horribly on the silence of the dark abbey. Followed the crash and tinkle of breaking glass, and the sound of a fall. A second gong spoke with a brazen tongue. Georgina went very white. “Great Scott! what’s this awful row?” exclaimed Aimee. Georgina pressed a hand to her bosom. “It’s—it’s one of Lady Erythea’s burglar alarms," she said faintly. “The house is full of them 1” In half a minute the abbey was gal vanized into extraordinary activity. “Great Scott! What's This Awful Row?" Exclaimed Aimed. Swift running feet padded along the corridors. The squeak of a maid servant broke shrilly through the chorus. Aimee and Georgina stared at each other open-mouthed. There was a violent pounding on the door. “Are you awake, miss?" said an excited voice. “There’s thieves in the house—her ladyship’s jewels sto len! Keep your door locked till she comes to'you!” The speaker was heard retreating swiftly down the passage. “That's torn it!” gasped Aimee, run ning to the door. “If aunt finds me here—!’’ She unlocked the door swiftly and opened it. “Aimee!” breathed the trembling Georgina, “don’t—” “I’ve got to get out, I tell you! I can’t stay here!” Air oe looked rapidly up and down the passage. It was all clear. She fled at an amazing pace, and, reaching the landing, wras aware of a figure of wrath, very like Britannia, but holding a fire-shovel, striding toward her. It was Lady Erythea. Aimee dotibled like a hare. “Stop that woman!” cried Lady Erythea. “Ston her!” Aimee rescued the head of the stairs just as Mr. Alexander Lambe, with a Jacket over his pajamas, flew to intercept her. “Stop!” he shouted commandtngly. Aimee, In full career, gave him a desperate two-handed push. Mr. Lambe’s heels flew from under him, and he cnme down on thp slippery oak flooring with a hearty thump. Down the broad stairs, three at a time, sped the fugitive; in the lower hall the butler, his bald head shining like a comet in the gloom, rushed across the line of communications. Aimee dodged too late; the pursuer made an active plunge, and caught her by the skirt. “I’ve got her!” shouted the butler triumphantly. Ills voice rose to a yelp as Aimee kicked his shins, but he held on Inexorably. “I’ve got her!” CHAPTER VIII The Plot Thickens. By sheer force of arrested Impetus, Aimee and the butler spun round each other at arm’s length like skaters on a rink; something ripped loudly, the butler, shooting off at a tangent., col lided with a suit of armor pedestaled near the wall. The ensuing crasli sug gested an insurrection in a hardware shop. Aimee skidded against the wall and, recovering, leaped wildly over the two prostrate relics of feudalism—the but ler and the coat of mall—and dashed for the double doors that stood open before her. There was a curious flash ing effect as she ran—a gleam, as it weie. of whiteness. The next mo .. - r.... ment she had vanished into the night. Alexander nished to the open door* and stared out into the darkness. He heard the sound of the hunt some where beyond the fir-trees. For a moment he thought of Joining It. But the starlit gloom gave faint eucour ngemeht'—pursuit seemed very use less. With a sudden impulse Alexan der ran back through the hall, turned on the light, and pulled open the door of the telephone call room. He snatched the receiver from the hook. * "Stanhoe police station — put me through quick 1” cried Alexander. Lady Erythea descended the stairs, a superb model for Boadlcea among the wreck of the Roman legions. Her eyes flashed fire, her Ups were com pressed in a thin, tight line, her hand gripped the brass shovel. She glared at the disgruntled butler. “Tarbeaux!” she cried sharply, -i. '•beaux 1” Mr. Tarbeaux came forward, limp ing. One hand pressed a crim.ioned handkerchief to his nose, which had impacted rather violently upon th® good knight’s breastplate. His other hand grasped a yard of torn biu® cloth, which he waved before him. “Did you stop that woman?” cried Lady Erythea. Mr. Tarbeaux’ inarticulate answer was in the negative. “Why not, idiot!” said his mistress. “A houseful of useless incumbrance® unable to stop a single—” The em purpled handkerchief caught her eye. “Why, what is the matter, man? Are you wounded?” “Proud—shed m’ blood—ladyship’* service!” snuffled Mr. Tarbeaux. “Couldn’t help skirt tearin’, rtf' lady.’* “What!” \ Mr. Tarbeaux with a silent but splendid gesture, laid the piece of torn skirt upon the hall bench. “Clue, m’ lady,” he sqid, with the air of a bankrupt making the most of his assets. “With tills it should not be difficult to trace the thief.” “Trace herl” snorted Lady Erythea. “If you had held on to hbr there would would have been no need to trace any thing !’’ Mr. Lambe joined them; his mild eye at once apprehended the signifi cance of the piece of serge. “I cannot see that Tarbeaux Is to blame,” he said in his aunt’s ear; “he did his best, and after all it Is unim portant.” “Unimportant I The infamous crea ture has got clear away!” “My dear aunt! That stupid girl cannot have been the thief. You do not really suppose this burglary wai committed by a woman!” “Most certainly I do!” cried Lady Erythea. “I can believe anything of the modern woman—anything! She hid when the alarm soundqd, and made a desperate dash for ^scape when I discovered her. It is as clear as daylight to anybody but a fool 1 It is certain she had my emeralds upon her at the time, and It is lucky none of you are killed—though It would be very little loss. Tarbeaux, did you recognize the creature whom you allowed so egreglously to escape?” “No, my lady. It was too dark. And the incident was somewhat sud den,” said Mr. Tarbeaux apologeti cally. “It was a young person—I am unable to say more. But I am sur® she was not one of our household.” “I have telephoned th® police at Stanhoe,” said Mr. Lambe; “they are coming immediately by car.” “A gleam of intelligence at last! Thank you, Alexander—and forgive me—I am overwrought. My censure does not apply to you. The whole af fair is appalling!” said Lady Erythea, clenching her hands. “My pearls, the diamond chaplet—these comparatively are trifles—but the emeralds are gone. The Lambe emeralds I” The p.udlenee shrank before her wratn. “It Is incredible! Twelve years ago the abbey was broken Into—this is the second case. I had taken every potK sible precaution, under skilled advice. My safe is modern; I considered I had made the house itself impregnable at night. So it would have been, Ifltd I been adequately served. What meas ures did you take, Tarbenux? I was absurd enough to think I could rely' upon you, In an emergency like this!’* “I retired at the usual hour, my lady, to my room In the passage," said Mr. Tarbeaux unhappily, “as I bars done for years, by your instructions, in view of—er—er—an emergency like this. One of the alarms roused me; I rose immediately, only waiting long enough to don a garment—” “Go on, man, go on 1” “While putting them—while putting it on, my lady, I sounded my bell, which connects with the other men servants’ rooms, and ran into the hall. At that moment I thought I heard feet on the gravel outside, and unbolting the front door I rushed out—” “Leaving an exit for any thief in the house to escape by 1" snorted Lady Erythea. “Continue your brilliant narrative." “I was In a house—and It was burgled. They thought it was me —and I scooted — ‘hey're charing me." ”i—.-i. — ■ -i (TO SE CONTINUE!*,* Th« Busy Season. “What arc your office hoursT* “Brief and irrqgalar during the-Ara palgn season," replied Senator Sor ghum. “My working doers occupy most of the day and some of the night. I only go to ihy office when I want to. rest.” Adjectives. Bill—I understand he’s had very ex* panslve dealings In Wall Streett Will—Ne. Very expensive.
The Roanoke Beacon and Washington County News (Plymouth, N.C.)
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Feb. 9, 1923, edition 1
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