Newspapers / The Roanoke Beacon and … / Oct. 31, 1913, edition 1 / Page 2
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1 . v.! rr"o Ri " 's i -1 P rwM ihJ food Bupply woirid ie pno abl.v better selected, varied and cookeu if the daily supervision were al lotted definitely to one who has been trained for the purpose, nnd chonen be inuse of capacity for the office. Dukes. ii ' IWfi1 JOHNBiaECKEMIDGE ELLIS svnops.s. Kfimli . 1912 Fran arrives at Hamilton. Gregory's honip in Littleburg, but Hilda liim absent onauetin the choir at a camp meeting. She repairs thither in search of him. luuehs dnrinsr the service and is asked to leave. Abbott Ashton, superintendent of schools, tscorts Fran from the tent. - lie tells her Gregory is a wealthy man. deeply interested in charity work, and a ' pillar of the church. Ashton becomes UTcatly interested in Fran and while tak ing' leave of her, holds her hand nnd is seen by Sapphira Clinton, sister of Rob ert Clinton, chairman of the school board. Fran tells Gregory she wants a home with him. Grace 'Noir. Gregory's private secretary, takes a violent dislike to Fran and advises her to po away at oiice. Fran hints at a twenty-year-old secret, and Gregory in agitation asks Grace to leave the room. Fran relates the story of how Gregory married a young eirl at Springfield while attending college and then deserted her. Fran is the child of that marriage. Gregory had married his present wife three year! before the death of Fran's mother. Fran takes a liking to Mrs. Gregory. Gregory explains that Fran is the daughter of a very dear friend who is dead. Fran agrees to the story. .Mrs. Gregrory insists on her making her home with them and takes her to her arms, it is decided that Fran must go to school. Grace shows persistent interest in Gregory's story of his dead friend and bints that Fran may be an imposter. Fran declares that the secretary must go. Grace begins nagging tactics in an effort to drive Fran from the Gregory home, but Mrs. Gregory remains stanch in her friendship. Fran is ordered before Super intendent Ashton to be punished for in subordination in school. Chairman Clin ton is present. The affair ends in Fran leaving the school in company of the two men to the amazement of the scandal mongers of the town. Abbott, while tak ing a walk alone at midnight, finds Fran on a bridge telling her fortune by cards. She tells Abbott that she is the famous lion tamer, Fran Nonpareil. She tired of circus life and sought a home. Grace tells of seeing Fran come home after midnight with a num. She guesses part of the story and surprises the rest from Abbott. CHAPTER XII. Continued. "Oh." Grace exclaimed, disagreeably surprised. "I did not know that you play cards, Professor Ashton. Do you also attend the dances? Surely you haven't been dancing and playing cards very long?" i "Not for a great while," responded Abbott, with the obstinacy of a good conscience wrongfully accused. "Only since Fran came, I am sure," she said, feeling him escaping. She looked at him with something like scorn, inspired by righteous indigna tion that such as he could be influ enced by Fran. That look wrought havoc with the halo he had so long blinked at, as it swung above her head. "Does that mean," he Inquired, with a steady' look, "that you imagine Fran has led me into bad habits?" "I trust the habits are hot fixed," rather contemptuously, "I hardly think you mean to desert the church, -ind lose your position at school, for the sake of of that Fran." "I hardly think so, either," returned Abbott. "And now I'd better go to my school work." "Fran is imprudent," said Mrs. Greg ory, In distress, "but her heart is pure gold. I don't know what all this means, but when I have had a talk with her " "Don't go, Professor Ashton," inter posed Grace, as he started up, "until you advise me. Shall I tell Mr. Greg ory? Or shall I conceal it on the as surances that it will never happen again?" Abbott seated himself with sudden persuasiveness. "Conceal it. Miss Grace, conceal it!" he urged. "If you will frankly explain what happened here before Mrs. Grt-gory, bo she can have the real truth, v will never betray the secret. Hut il you cannot tell everything, I shall feel it "Sitting on That Bridge at Midnight Alone, Telling People's Fortunes." my duty I don't know how Mrs. Greg ory feels about it but I must tell Mr. Gregory." "I would rather wait," said Mrs. Gregory, "and talk to Fran. She will promise me anything. I trust you, Ab bott; I know you would never lead my little girl into wrong-doing. Leave it all to me. I will hare a good talk with Fran." "And." said Abbott eagerly, "if we both solemnly promise " Grace bit her lip. His ,"we" con demned him. . I "I don't ask you to hide the affair on j iny account," he said, holding tip his ed. "L tk-a't want Fran put In an j unjust light. She isn't to be judged like other people." "Oh," murmured Grace, "then you think there is more than one standard of right? I don't. There's one God and one right. No, I cannot consent; what might satisfy Mrs. Gregory might not seem best to me. No, professor, if you feel that you cannot explain what I saw, last night, 1 shall feel obliged to tell Mr. Gregory as soou as the choir practice ends." t "Didn't Fran refuse to tell?" Abbott temporized. "Yes," was the skilful response; "but her reticence must have been to save you, for the girl never teems ashamed of anything she floes. I imagine she hated to get you into trouble." "Miss Grace, you have heard Mrs. Gregory say that she trusts me and she is Fran's guardian. I ask you to do the same." "I must consider my conscience." That answer closed all argument "You had better tell her," said Mrs. Gregory, "for she is determined to know." "I was taking a walk to rest my mind," Abbott said slowly, proceeding as if he would have liked to fight his ground inch by inch, "and it was rath er late. I was strolling about Little burg. At last I found myself at the new bridge that leads to the camp meeting grounds, when ahead of me, there was I saw Fran. I was much surprised to find her out there, alone." "I can understand that," said Grace quietly, "for I should have been sur prised myself." Mrs. Gregory turned upon Grace. "Let him go on!" she said with a flash that petrified the secretary. "When I came up to the bridge, she was sitting there, with some cards all alone. She had some superstition about trying fortunes on a new bridge at midnight, and that explains the late ness of the hour. So I persuaded her to come home, and that is all." Mrs. Gregory breathed with relief. "What an odd little darling!" she mur mured, smiling. "What kind of fortune was she tell ing?" Grace asked. "Whatever kind the new bridge would give her." "Oh, then the cards stood for peo ple, didn't they! And the card you dropped in the yard was your card, of course." "Of course." "And did Fran have a card to repre sent herself, perhaps?" "I have told you the story," said Ab bott, rising. "That means she did. Then she wanted to know if you and she would . . . Mrs. Gregory, I have always felt that Fran has deceived us about ner age: tsne is oiaer man sue pre tends to be!" "I believe this concludes our bar gain," said Abbott, rising. Mrs. Gregory was calm. "Miss Grace, Fran told me long ago that she is eighteen years old; she came as a lit tle girl, because she thought we would take her in more readily, if we be lieved her a mere child." "Does Mr. Gregory know that?" "I haven't told him; 1 dou't know whether Fran has or not." "You h aven't told him!" Grace was speechless. "You knew it, and haven't told him? What ought I to do?" "You ought to keep your promise," Abbott retorted hotly. "Sitting on that bridge at midgnight, alone, telling people's fortunes by cards. . . . Professor Ashton Mrs. Gregory!" Grace exclaimed, with one of those flashes of inspiration pe culiar to her sex, "that Fran is a show girl!" Mrs. Gregory rose, and spoke through her mother's ear-trumpet: "Shall we go home, now?" "That Fran," repeated Grace, "is a show-girl! She is eighteen or nineteen years old, and she is a show-girl!" "Wouldn't it be best for you to ask her?" "Ask her? Her? No, I ask you!" "Let me push the chair," said Ab bott, steppiug to Mrs. Gregory's side. He read in the troubled face that she had known this secret, also. The secretary gazed at him with4 a far-away look, hardly conscious that he was beating retreat, so absorbed was she in this revelation. It would be necessary for some one to go to Springfield to make investigations. Grace had for ever alienated Abbott Ashton, but there was always Robert Clinton, He would obey her every wish; Robert Clinton should go. And when pLObert had returned with a full history of Hamilton Gregory's school days at Springfield, and those of Greg ory's intimate friends, Fran, with the proofs of her conspiracy spread before her, should be driven forth, never again to darken the home of the philanthropist. CHAPTER XIII. Alliance With Abbott. For the most part, that was a silent walk to Hamilton Gregory's. Abbott Ashton pushed the wheel-chair, and it was only Mrs. Jefferson, ignorant ot what had taken place, who commented on the bright moon, and the relief of rose-scented breezes after the musty auditorium of Walnut Street church. "They were bent and determined on Fran going to choir practice," the old lady told Abbott, "so Lucy and I went along to encourage her, for they say she has a fine voice, and they want all the good singing they can have at Uncle Tobe Fulier's funeral.. I despise big doings at funerals, but I expect to go, and as I can't hear the solos, nor the preacher working up feelings, all I'll have to do will be to sit and look at the coffin." Mother, said Mrs. Gregory, you are not cheerful tonight." "No," the other responded, "I think it's from sitting so long by the Whited Sepulcher." Mrs. Gregory spoke into the trum- Fran Set Her Back Against the Fence and Looked at Him Darkly. pet, with real distress "Mother, moth er! Abbott won't understand you; he doesn't know you are using a figure of speech." "Yes," said the old lady, "number thirteen, if there's anything unlucky in figures." Abbott effected diversion. "Mrs. Gregory, I'm glad Miss Noir agreed to say nothing about her discoveries, for the only harm in them is what people might imagine. I was pretty uneasy, at first, of course I knew that if she felt she ought to tell it," she would. I never knew anybody so conscientious." There was a pause, then Mrs. Greg ory responded, "She will not tell." Abbott had seen them safely into the house, and had reached the gate on his departure, when Fran came run ning up. In pleased surprise he opened the gate for her, but she stopped in the outside shadow, and he paused within the yard. ' "Fran!" he exclaimed with pleasure. "Is the practice ended?" She made no response. "Fran, what's the matter?" Silence. Abbott was both perplexed and hurt. "Remember what we said on the new bridge," he urged; "we're friends 'while we're together and after we part!'" "Somebody ought to burn that new bridge," said Fran, in a muffled tone; "it's no good making wishes come true." "Why do you say that? Aren't we the best of friends?" Fran collected herself, and spoke with cool distinctness: "I have a pret ty hard fight, Mr. Ashton, and it's nec essary to know who's on my side.' and who isn't. I may not come out ahead; but I'm not going to lose out from tak ing a foe tor a friend." "Which you will kindly explain?" "You are Grace Noir's friend that explains it." "I am your friend, too, Fran." "My friend, too!" she echoed bit terly. "Oh, thanks also!" Abbott came through the gate, and tried to read her face. "Does ths fact that I am her friend condemn me?" "No just classifies you. You couldn't be her friend if you were not a mirror In which she sees herself; her conscience is so sure, that she hasn't use for anything but a faithful reflector of her opinions." "Her friends are mere puppets, Jt appears," Abbott said, smiling. "But that's rather to her credit, Isa't It? j Would you mind to explain your imagi nation of her character?" His jesting tone made her impa tient. "I don't think her character has ever had a chance to develop; she's too fixed on thinking' herself what she isn't. Her opinion of what she ought to be is so sure, that she has never discovered what she really is. And you can't possibly hold a se cret from her, if you're her friend; she takes it from you as one snatches a toy from a little child." Abbott was still amused, "Has she emptied me of all she wants?" "Yes. You have given her strong weapons against me, and you may be sure she'll use them to her advantage." "Fran, step back into the light let me see your face: are you in earnest? Your eyes are smoldering Oh, Fran, those eyes! What weapons have I given her?" Fran set her back against the fence, and looked at him darkly. "The secret of my age, and the secret of my past." "I told her neither." "As toon as you and Mrs. Gregory wheeled away Mrs. , Jefferson," said Fran, "I went right down from the choir loft, and straight over to her. I looked her in the eye, and T asked what you had been telling about me. Why, you told her everything, even that I was trying to find out whether you and I would ever would ever get married! I might as well say it, it came pat enough from her and you told! Nobody else knew. And you dropped your King of Hearts over the fence you told her that! And when we were standing there at the gate, you even tried but no, I'll , leave you and Miss Grace to discuss such sub jects. Here we are at the same gate, but I guess there's not much danger, now!" "Fran!" cried Abbott, with burning cheeks. "I didn't tell her. upon my honor I didn't. I had to admit drop ping the card, to keep her from think ing you out here at midnight with a stranger. She saw us in the shadow, and guessed that other. I didn't tell her anything about your age. I d'dn't mention the carnival company." Fran's concentrated tones grew mild er: nut Mrs. Gregory has known about the show all this time. She would die 1 efore she'd tell on me." "I never told, Fran. I'm not gcing to say that again; but you shall be lieve me." "Of course, Abbott. But it just proves what I said, about her empty ing her friends, about taking their se crets, from them even without their knowing she's doing it. I said to her, sharp and quick, 'What have you been saying about me, Miss Noir?' She said 'I understand from Professor Ashton that you are not a young girl at all, but a masquerader of at least eighteen years.' I answered Being a masquerader of at least thirty-five, you should have found that out, your self.' I hardly think she's thirty-five; it wasn't a fair blow, but you have to fight Indians in the brush. Then your friend said, 'Professor Ashton informs me that you are a circus-girl. Don't you think you've strayed too far from the tent?' she asked.- I said 'Oh, I brought the show with me; Professor Ashton is my advance advertising agent.' Then she said that if I'd leave, Mr. Gregory need never know QUICK WIT PREVENTS PANIC Natural Aptitude to Grasp a Situation Turned to Good Account on Stage. Natural, aptitude to grasp a situa tion has been turned to account more than once on' the stage, and, in one case, it the veracity or a favorite comedian goes for anything, it saved a panic and possible loss of life. "We were playing one-night stands," said he. "in Kansas during the ter rible period of cyclones, and found ourselves in a large, dilapidated build ing, called, by courtesy, ' a theater. "The low comedian was on the stage in the part of a drunken hus band receiving a Sorous lecture from his wife. 'Iadam, he had just observed, 'if you keep on you'll talk the roof off,' when there was a roar heard, followed by a tremendous crash, the building swaying like a tree in a storm. Everybody jumped to their feet, for they saw the roof had been carried away. They were about to turn and make one dash for the exits, when the comedian, com- that I'm an Impostor. But I told her no tickets i.re going to be returned. I said 'This show absolutely takes place, rain or shine.' " "Fran," said Abbott in distress, "I want to talk this over come hire in the yard where you're not so con spicuous. "Show-girls ought to be conspicu- ous. No, sir, I stay right here in the glaring moonlight. It doesn't call for darkness to tell me anything that is on your mind, Professor." "Fran, you can't hold me responsible for what Miss Grace guessed. I tell you, she guessed everything. I was trying to defend you suddenly she saw through it all. I don't know how it was maybe Mrs. Gregory can ex plain, as she's a woman. You ehall not deem me capable of adding an atom to your -difficulties. You shall feel that I'm your friend 'while we're together and after we part.' You must believe me when I tell you that I need your smile." His voice trembled with sudden tenderness. She looked at him searchingly, then her face -relaxed to the eve of revo lution. "Who have you been trying to get a glimpse of, all the times you parade the street in front of our house?"' .Abbott declared, "You!" In mute appeal he held out his hand. "You're a weak brother, but here " And she slipped her hand into his. "If she'd been in conversation with me, I wouldn't have let her have any presentiments. It takes talent to keep from telling what you know, but gen ius to keep the other fellow from guessing. What I hate about it is, that the very next time you fall into her hands, you'll be at her mercy. If I told you a scheme I've been devising, she'd take it from you in broad day light. She can always prove she's right, because she has the verse for it and to deny her is to deny Inspira tion. And if she had her way she thinks I'm a sort of dissipation there'd be a national prohibition of Fran." "If there were a national prohibition of Fran, I'd be the first to smuggle you in somehow, little Nonpareil. Isn't it something for me to have tak en you on trust as I have, from the very beginning?" , His brown eyes were so earnest that Fran stepped into th& shadow. "It's more than something, Abbott. Your trust is about all I have. It's just like me to be wanting more than I have. I'm going to confide in you my scheme. Let's talk it over in whis pers." They put their heads together. "Tomorrow, Grace Noir is going to the city with Bob Clinton to select mu sic for the choir he doesn't know any more about music than poor Uncle Tobe Fuller, but you see, he's still alive. It will be the first day the's been off the place since I came. While she's away, I mean to make my grand effort." "At what, Little Wonder?" "At driving her away for good. I'm going to offer myself as secretary, and with her out of sight,, I'm hoping to win the day." "But she's been his secretary for five years is it reasonable h'e'd give her up? And would it be honorable for you to work against her in that way? Besides, Fran, she is really necessary to Mr. Gregory's great charity enter prises" "The more reason for getting rid of her." (TO BE CONTINUED.) Ing down to the footlights, looked up into the air, and, quick as a Hash, turned to the lady, and said: 'There, what did I tell you?' "The audience howled with laugh ter, and the quick-witted comedian was undoubtedly the means of pre venting a serious calamity." St. Kildan Parliament. One feature of St. Kildan life would have appealed strongly to Doctor John son if he had carried out his intention of spending a winter on the islan.1. "The men of St. Kilda," writes John Sands, "are in the habit of congregat ing in front, of one of the houses al most every morning for the discussion of business. I called this assembly the parliament, aud, with a laugh, they adopted the n&me. W?hen the subject is exciting they talk with loud voices and all at one time, but when the ques tion is once settled they work togeth er in perfect harmony. 'Shall we go to catch solan-geese, or Jing, or mend the boat today? Such are some exam ples of the questions that occupy the house. Sometimes disputes are settled by drawing lots." BREAKFASTS. There la probably no meal where dainty service and pretty dishes nra more appreciated than at the first meal of the day, when ' the appetit needs urging. It is much better to have two or three well prepared dishes than too much variety. For young or old, fruit is a most acceptable begin ning, and the season brings its own variety. One of the most appetiziug and wholesome dishes for children, and in fact for any one, old or young, is the whole wheat. Get it from the i m!l or granary, if you are fortunato enough to live on a , farm .where you j can have plenty of cream; if not, top I milk is very good to serve with it. Soak the wheat over night, then cook it for eight hours in a double boiler or flreless cooker until the grain is soft and easily digested. - Salt while cook ing. Breakfast Muffin A simple little breakfast cake, easy to make and very good is this: Beat an egg, add a half cup of milk, salt, two tablespoonfnla of baking powder; add flour to make a soft batter, add two tablespoonfuls I of, melted fat and pour into ' well greased gem pans to bake in a hot oven. When bananas are not liked un cooked, they are delicious baked with butter; add lemon juice with a sprinkling of sugar and a pinch of salt. One needs (to remember that most of the prtpared cereals need double the time for cooking that is specified on the box. A well made and seasoned hash is another good breakfast dish which is usually a great favorite. If baked in. greased cups instead of the usual method it makes an agreeable change. Eggs in a multitude of forms are one of our most easily prepared breakfast dishes, and ope of the most nutritious. Omelets, too, are of endless variety, changing the flavor by the sauce or filling used in them. An ordinary, poached egg served with a nice, smooth, well flavored sauce will lose its ordinary common ness entirely. . Toasts and coffee are too good, whert well prepared, to slight by not men tioning. Toast should be well browned and crisp. Coffee clear and well fla vored and most important of all, all hot things should be served i-;pins hot. She was so skilled and perfect In the art of everything Her fairy fingers touched Seemed like Ambrosia. Sweet lady, tell me, can you maa pudding? PRACTICAL PUDDINGS. Baltimore Pudding. Take half a cupful each of molasses, milk and beef suet, a cup of flour and a cup of raisins, the juice aud rind of a lemon, half a teaspoonful of soda, a teaspoon ful of salt, a pinch of ground cloves, aud mace and cinnamon. Steam five hours and serve with an egg or hard sauce. The hard sauce may be pre pared from two tablespoonfulH of creamed butter, a cup of powdered su gar and two or three tablespoonful of whipped cream. Flavor with van illa. Cranberry Roly Poly. Make a short biscuit dough, roll it out about a half Inch thick and spread generously with a layer of chopped uncooked cranber ries well sprinkled with sugar. Roll up and pinch the edge; lay in a but tered plate and steam forty minutes, then- set in the oven to dry. Serve with cream and sugar. Queen of Puddings. Take one pint of bread crumbs, one quart of milk, one cup of sugar, the yolks of four eggs, the grated rind of a lemon and two tablespoonfuls of butter. Bake in a pan of hot water. When done, spread over the top a small glass of jelly, then cover with the meringue made from the whites of the eggs, a cup of sugar and the juice of the lem on. Bake until brown. Date Pudding Beat the whites of five eggs until stiff, add a cup of gran ulated sugar and three teafinnnnful of baking powder. Add one ixrundToT chopped walnuts and a half pound of dates Bake in a slow oven for thirty minutes. Serve with whipped cream. Oatmeal Pudding. To one quart of milk add a cup of uncooked oatmeal, one-half cup of sugar and a half cup of molasses. Add salt, dot with butter and bake an hour and a half in a slow oven. Serve with civam. Costly Ivory Mats. There are but three mats of ivory in existence? The largest one meas ures eight feet by four feet, and, al ihough made in the north of India, has a Greek design for a border. It is used anly on state occasions, like the sign ing of important state documents. The cost of this precious mat was al most incalculable, for more than 3,400 pounds of pure ivory was used in its construction. Only the finest and most flexible strips of material could be used, and the mat is like th finest woven fabric.
The Roanoke Beacon and Washington County News (Plymouth, N.C.)
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Oct. 31, 1913, edition 1
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