Joseph Greer and His Daughter
VIOLET—REVEALED
SYNOPSIS. — Joseph Greer, a
black-bearded pirate of fifty,
having discovered a process of
extracting fiber from flax straw,
is made director of a big corpo
ration. For years distrusting
men of affairs. Greer has played
a lone hand. Now holding what
he considers the winning cards,
he is willing to sublet his wits
to wealth. To protect his own
interests, Joe has foisted his own
secretary, Jennie MacArthur,
upon the company Henry Cra
ven. a bank clerk related to John
Williamson, the millionaire back
er of Greer's new company, is
offered by Williamson the posi
tion of treasurer of the new com
pany, with the generally under
stood purpose of watching Greei.
Craven accepts. Joe tells Jennie
about his wife, and his nineteen
year-old daughter. Beatrice,
whom he has never seen. He is
planning to force the daughter
into Chicago society. Joe goes
to a week-end party at William
sons house, where he meets \ io
let. John's wife, and is strongly
drawn to her. He fascinates her
Beatrice arrives and father and
daughter get acquainted. Bea
trice proves to be handsome, self
wltted and lacking social polish.
L
CHAPTER V—Continued.
—7—
She didn't feel at all sure she liked
the taste of Joe. She found his real
istic moments unpleasantly acrid; his
egotism, naive; and his prudery—for
she'd been aware that she'd sometimes
shocked him—ridiculous. She admit
ted the attractiveness of his looks, his
surprisingly good speech, his vigor and
freshness, and the queer miscellany
that formed his background; the
Jungle, and the musical-comedy stage;
that he bought pictures, and had never
been to Europe, and knew Sorolla.
Tliis was how her palate reported it—
about as a boy’s palate reports his first
taste of strong drink. She didn't
reckon on anything in her, behind her
palate and capable of overruling its
report, being concerned in the matter.
But, even on that first morning, she'd
been forced to Ignore as Irrelevant
some rather queer sensations and im
pulses she'd had.
It annoyed her to learn that Joe was
a married man with a grown daugh
ter; she lost her temper with John,
who told her about it. “He’s probably
got five or six wives,” she rapped out.
“One in every port, like a sailor. I
suppose one of them is trying to put
him in jail and lie's come to you—
And I'd bet you’ve said you’d help him
out!"
She would barely listen to John's
detailed explanation that Greer’s mat
rimonial difficulties were, compara
tively speaking, respectable, and it did
not in the least placate her when she
heard. “Respectable!” she fumed.
“That’s the beastly second-rate vul
garity of it. Why do you think they
have to marry those people?”
When she heard about Beatrice, and
Joe's wish to enter her in a smart
school, preferably Thornycroft, where
Dorothy was, she fairly boiled over.
What affair was it of ids, or his daugh
ter’s, where Dodo went to school?
How did he even know of the school
unless John had been babbling about
it? But of course John had been!
Given the man all the details, no
doubt; Miss Hood’s address, himself as
a reference, everything!
“What's the harm if I did?” he
asked. “He couldn't get her into that
school in a hundred years—not in ten,
anyhow. And next year’s all that mat
ters to us.” It wasn't this argument,
however, that had the effect of pulling
his wife up short; it was his look of
curiosity at her. What was there for
her to be so disturbed about?
She, herself, couldn’t understand
why she’d been so bitter about It nor
why she went on thinking and feeling
that way. She tried to make out that
she was angry with herself for being
angry, but the intricacies of this ab
straction were a little beyond her. Pre
posterously, what warmed her into a
friendlier feeling for the man was the
outrageous surmise that the girl
mightn’t be his daughter, after all, but
some little fluff he was trying to palm
off upon them, under a cloak no one
would think to look beneath. She
found this notion rather entertaining,
though she didn’t take it seriously—
Well, she didn't take him seriously,
either!
Sh* didn't pass It on to John, for
she had a clear premonition that he
wouldn't think It funny. She didn’t
suppose Margaret Craven would think
It funny, either, but this didn't prevent
her mentioning It to Margaret, experi
mentally.
Margaret took it In the most sur
prising way; fairly flew at her over It.
“That’s like you, Violet,” she said
when, after a tight silence, she spoke
at all. Her voice was brittle with
anger, and her eyes were dry with It.
“How long have you been telling that
sweet little story?”
The mere impact of the charge took
Violet's breath. “I haven’t been felling
It at all,” she protested. “I only Just
thought of It. It struck me as amus
ing, and I said it.”
"It will be frightfully amusing for
her, won’t it?” There was no quality
of reflection in Margaret's voice, not
even the thinnest veneer to give it a
aurface. "To find a story like that go
ing round! > young girl, alone as
she is; even her father a stranger to
her.” •
“It isn't going around,” Violet re
iterated. Then, with a short laugh,
as she recovered her balance: "Oh, If
it Is, It’s not my doing. But it s a
natural enough thing for anybody to
think of, who knows what he's like.
i
By Henry Kitchell Webster
Copyright by The Bobbs-MerriU Co.
As a possibility, anyhow. After all,
how do you know It isn't true?"
“I met her last night,” Margaret said.
”\Ve had dinner there, Henry and I.
She happens to look like him, in the
first place. He had a photograph of
her before she came; you could even
tell from that— So, If you want a
story,” she went on, after a breathless
pause, “you’d better make It that she's
illegitimate. It isn’t likely that she
brought her mother's marriage certifi
cate with her.”
To Violet the purport of this was as
plain as it was astonishing. If Mar
garet had said, in so many words, ‘‘I
think of marrying this man. I've made
a start toward getting hint. So, if you
want to play fair, you'll let him alone"
—she couldn’t have made it clearer.
As a decent, married, middle-aged
member of society Violet had to ac
knowledge the reasonableness of this
request. In some moods she even ac
corded a tentative rhaif approval of
the plan. If Joe was in the way to
make a serious fortune out of this
linen process that looked so good to
John, he’d be a pretty good matrimo
nial risk—as good as Margaret would
ever get a chance to take.
violet wanted ner married, one wan
still a social asset, for a difficult din
ner or a week-end party; but ten
years from now—a little tighter drawn,
her wit oftener mordant than refresh
ingly acidulous, one wouldn't know
what to do with her. In such a mar
riage, Margaret, fastidious as she was,
would, of course, loathe the man him
self. Her first unguarded comments
upon him had really been funny. It
wasn’t likely the instinct of a lifetime
could have changed enough in two or
three months to make him seem, per
sonally, desirable. It was that prospec
tive fortune Margaret was banking on,
a line of reasoning which justified
Violet, the first chance she got, in put
ting the project before John.
Her opening startled him, for she
began by asking if the linen business
was really a frightfully good thing,
and he jumped to the surmise that Joe
was trying to unload his stock on some
of her friends. It took a minute or
two to get him back on the rails.
“It's him I want to know about,” she
insisted. “Whether lie's going to get
frightfully rich out of it or not. Be
cause Margaret means to marry him.”
Again it took her a few minutes to
get him calmed to the listening-point.
Margaret wasn’t eloping with him
this afternoon; she wasn't even en
gaged to him. “I didn’t say she was
going to marry him ; I said she meant
to, when the time came. It’s a plan
of hers, that’s all. Only I thought you
might as well know.”
Let down, he swung the other way
and treated the idea jocularly, as an
other of her numerous mares’ nests.
"How did you find out about it? Did
she tell you herself?”
“Practically,” Violet asserted, and
went on with confirmatory details.
Margaret had been seeing quite a lot
of him; she’d known about his daugh
ter before any of the rest of them—
before the girl came on at all; had
seen a photograph of her; they’d dined
there again last night, she and Henry,
to meet her. “She says the girl’s
rather nice and she’s going to take her
up. She’s asking Dodo for a lunch
for her next week. Doesn't that look
as if she meant something? And if
he’s going to be really rich”—Violet
watched her husband intently as she
ventured this—“it might not be such a
bad thing for her.”
She could see that he was upset by
the idea, though he went on proclaim
ing his total disbelief in it. A fine
grained girl like Margaret couldn’t be
considering Joe Greer as a husband; a
man of rough manners, no morals, a
brutal temper, not even divorced yet,
and fifty years old. And, on top of
it all, a mere adventurer, anyhow.
“His age wouldn’t bother anybody,”
she remarked dryly. "And he won’t go
on being an adventurer, if this linen
business makes him rich—really rich,
I mean.”
"Weil, li trial s wnat sues counting
on," he grumbled, “she’ll wait a while.
If she takes my advice she will.”
"Why?” Violet demanded. “Don’t
you think it’s a good thing?”
“Of course I do. Wouldn’t have put
money Into it if I didn’t. But that
doesn’t mean necessarily that he’ll get
rich over it.”
He went on, in response to a rather
startled look she shot him, to explain.
He didn’t mean anything sinister by
that. Only, with a fellow like Greer,
you never could tell. He might fly ofT
the handle any time. “He isn’t the
sort that naturally girts rich. Sooner
or later he's likely to bite off more
than he can chew. Of course, if she
did marry him—” He relapsed Into
an abstracted silence and took two or
three drafts on his cigar. “She won’t,
though, 1 don’t believe,” he concluded.
He hadn’t taken the idea as hard as
he might have been expected to, for
the amount he’d done for Margaret, all
these years, had made him a bit ro
mantic about her, and he liked having
her around, just as she was: at home
in his house, on call. He might have
vetoed the thing summarily, and or
dered It broken up; given his wife
carte blanche to see that it went no
further. Distinctly, he hadD’t done
that. Margaret had better go slow—
this was all his advice came to; and
she'd have to do that, anyhow. Even
if the man were divorced today, she
couldn’t marry him, legally, here in
Illinois, for another year. And any
number of things could liappc-n In that
time. The thing he'd said that had
given Violet most food for thought was
that broken sentence, “Of course, if
he married Margaret—” Had he
meant that this would bring Joe. some
! how, within the pale? Afford him the
protection of another code, so that he’d
be allowed to get rich, after ail?”
Anyhow, the thing for Violet to do
for the next few months—was to let
Joe Greer alone. If she as much as
i looked at him, let alone lifted a finger,
Margaret would attribute the probable
failure of her project (for what seri
ous attraction could a cold, finicky per
son like Margaret effectively exert
upon this genial freebooter?) to her.
and, judging by the latest sample of
her conduct, act most unreasonably
about it. Luckily, it mattered very
little to Violet herself; she'd have
nothing to do with Joe—for the pres
ent, anyhow.
i
»ne Kept mis resolution situiui'ounj
for a little less than a week : then, on
the afternoon of Margaret’s lunch for
Beatrice, as a result of a chance en
counter with him, she broke it rather
badly. She'd motored in with Dorothy,
having three or four things she wanted
to do in town—the most important of
these being a call on Kileen Corbett,
Gregory’s wife, who was at the Pres
byterian hospital, having her appendix
removed. It was around five o’clock
when she left the hospital. She hadn't
gone more than a block or two when
her chauffeur rajn over a jagged frag
ment of a broken milk-bottle and blew
a tire. He trundled over to the curb,
stopped behind a far that was parked
there—it had, she thought at the time,
a faintly familiar look—and went to
work, in the disgustingly deliberate
manner characteristic of chauffeurs,
putting on a spare.
It was the hottest part of what had
turned out to be a remorselessly hot
day, and this particular spot was, she
was sure, the hottest in Chicago. The
prospect of a fifteen or twenty min
utes’ wait was irksome. But before
the first of them had passed, Joe ap
peared, amazingly, descending in the
freight elevator from the very building
opposite which they’d stopped.
“What on earth are you doing out
here?” she cried at sight of him. She
cared nothing about an answer; the
question was galvanic. All she was
aware of was a tingling sensation from
the brilliant look lie gave her and the
feel of the hand which met the one
she’d stretched out to him.
But his answer was not perfunctory.
“This is the last place I'd expect you
to come to,” he said. “Even your hus
band's never paid us a visit here.”
Then, perceiving the chauffeur's occu
pation and, in the same Instant, Intel*
preting her puzzled frown, he ex
plained, “Why, this is our laboratory.
I thought, for a minute, you’d come
out to see what our linen process was
like.”
“I didn't even know you had a lab
oratory,” she said. “What is it like?
A laboratory always sounds exciting.”
“This one isn't,” he told her deri
sively.
“It’s so beastly hot right here,” she
began, “that almost anything—”
“It's hotter up there,” he broke in.
“And it stinks to heaven. I wish there
was some place—” The roar of a pass
ing elevated train checked his speech,
but he went on staring at her thought
fully until it passed. “—I wish there
were some cool, quiet place that I
could take you to, and make you com
fortable, and give you a drink—or a
cup of tea. But if there’s such a
place within a mile of here, I don't
know it.”
She agreed with him about the
frightfulness of the West Side, and
then told him idly that her fatlier-In
It Was Around Five o’clock When
She Left the Hospital.
law's old house, where John had lived
until they married, was Just round the
corner.
“The human animal can change a lot
in one generation, can’t it?” he ob
served. "They tell a wonderful lot of
stories about old Nick. It’s queer to
think you must have known him. I
expect he was more my kind than your
husband is.”
He gave her no chance to deal with
this, for by now he’d got an Idea.
There was no need of her sitting here,
sweltering. He could take her in his
car wherever she had been going, and
hers could follow and pick her up as
soon as it was in running order.
“I'll tell you what you can do, if
you’ve really time to rescue me; you
can take me to our town house. There’s
no one there but the caretakers, but a
closed-up house ia always the coolest
place there la."
I
He held the door while she instruct
ed her chauffeur. “Come to Astor
street for me, Jeffrey,’’ she said. "But
you'd better get a new spare tire first.”
Joe showed no sign of noting that this
order of hers substantially protracted
the time she’d have to wait. It really
meant nothing to him, of course, be
cause she hadn't the least idea of ask
ing him to wait with her.
He kept her wondering about him all
the way home. He drove fast but with
unexpected care. And he made no
effort to talk to her. As they turned
Into Chicago avenue he nodded toward
a plain brick building and told her it
was another laboratory, Hugh Cor
bett’s. “There's one of your bunch
I’d like to really know,” he said; and
when she asked, with a laugh, “The
only one?” he let the question go with
no more answer than an unsmiling
look.
She had to direct him to her house,
and something about his smile, when
she commented on the oddity of his
not knowing where she lived, decided
her to invite him in. There was a
dash of mischief about it, too, for she
saw he didn't know how much or how
little she meant by it. “Oh, come in,”
she insisted. “You deserve a chance
to get cool after rescuing me like that;
and It's only for a few minutes.” But
not even the drink she provided put
him at ease.
Experimentally, witn me rewarueu
purpose of surprising him, she spoke
of his daughter, whom he, apparently,
had no intention of mentioning. “Mar
garet's been telling me how niee she
is— Why have you kept her dark?”
But the surprise proved a boomerang.
After his first start he took time to
frame a deliberate answer which left
her gasping.
“It wasn't because I was ashamed
of her. It was because I don’t know
where you and I stand. I don't care
what you tnke me for, a pirate or a
cannibal—anything you like.” There
was nothing humorous about this; his
tone was almost menacing. “But she’s
no—cannibal princess! And If I can
help it, she isn't going to be taken
that way.”
He began with n disarming apology
for having startled her. He'd spoken
out more plainly than she was used to,
but he hadn't done it wantonly. There
was something he wanted her to un
derstand.
"I’ve always been a law unto my
self,” he said. “That's the only kind
of person I could be. If you're like
that, you’ve got to make up your mind
not to care a d—n what -anyone else
thinks of you or of the things you do.
It’s the only possible line to take, if
you stop to think. But that doesn’t
mean that I’ve been satisfied with
everything I’ve done. I've done some
things that were pretty low-down. I’ve
treated some people that way. One of
them was my wife. I deserted her
before Beatrice was born. Before I
knew she was going -to be born. She
was almost a year old before I knew
I had a daughter— Well, I can't make
anything up to my wife. She hates
me; always did. I’m the last sort of
man in the world for her to have
married. You must hnve seen things
happen like that yourself. But I can
make It up to the girl, and I'm going
to do it. She hasn't had much of a
life up to now, but now it’s going to
begin. The best there is—of every
thing. It may not be all smooth sail
ing at first. I thought I’d put her in
the same school your daughter goes to,
but they've written to say they’re full.”
His skeptical manner gave her a
clue. "I'm sure that's true,” she said.
“We had to enter Dorothy at Thorny
croft years before she was ready to
go. Everybody does— I suppose
that's why you thought you didn’t
know where you—stood; as you said,
with me.
"The trouble with you is,” she went
on after a silence, “that you think
you’re still in the jungle.”
‘“And are you telling me I’m not?”
he asked. “Shall I begin trusting ev
erybody?”
She laughed. "Trust your mends,
anyhow,” she said, adding, after an
other pause, ‘‘And don’t let Margaret
Craven monopolize that nice daughter
of yours. Bring her up to see us Sun
day morning. Everybody comes, more
or less, to swim and play tennis, and
so on, and stays to lunch.” She added
a final touch. “I’ll see that Margaret’s
there—for you,” she said.
He made, in words, no reply to this,
but his look took hold of her again and
for a good long moment held her tight,
so that, once more, she felt the blood
burn in her face. She’d been kissed
with a good deal less intimacy than
that came to. He didn’t offer even the
formal contact of a handshake; mere
ly nodded at l>er and went away, wear
ing his most brilliant grin.
The only thing to be watchful of
was the possibility of her having a bad
Influence on Dorothy. (Violet had con
vulsive moments of taking the respon
sibilities of motherhood very seriously
Indeed.) But Dorothy’s report of the
luncheon put that misgiving away.
Violet had to ask for it, for Dodo, after
two days on the Wollaston farm with
Sylvia, had forgotten all about the girl.
"Oh, at Margaret’s lunch! Why,
she’s all right. I think she means us
to understand from something she said
while Margaret was out of the room,
that she means to vamp Henry—
Shouldn’t wonder if she could, too. She
isn’t-—poisonous, If that’s what you
mean,” the child assured her. “She’s
all—right; only not much. It’s sort
of too bad, too, because I think her
father must be rather a lark.”
"Well, It’s a case of love me, love
my dog,” Violet remarked. “If you
want to get on with him, don’t try to
treat her like a cannibal princess, be
cause he won't have it. They’re com
ing up Sunday,” she added.
"If ahe was anywhere near as amus
ing as a cannibal princess it would ba
easier,” said Dodo, dispassionately,
“'but I'll do my best. Mother.”
Sunday at the Williamsons’ went
off, Joe decided, very well. There was
nothing, even in the smell of the air,
to suggest that Beatrice was being
taken as a cannibal princess. She
seemed, whenever his eyes fell upon
her, to be having not only a jolly time,
but to be making, especially with the
boys, a real success. She was in the
pool, most of the time before lunch,
getting taught, enthusiastically, to
swim.
After lunch he lost sight of her for
a while, but she tnrned up, just as he
was beginning to wonder about her in
the company of a white-flanneled
youngster with whom she seemed on
very good terms. He had dark-red
curly hair; his features, without being
insignificant, were small and fine, so
that he'd have made an unusually
pretty girl, though his build was sturdy
enough. He walked with a well
marked limp.
Joe heard him call her Trixie, and
took his first opportunity to ask, not
of the girl herself, who he was. His
informant was Mrs. Hugh Corbett.
“He's I.ansing Ware,” she told him,
but stopped at that, short of giving
him any further details.
Joe asked if he'd been wounded in
the war, and noted a momentary hesi
tation about her reply.
“He was in the air service,” she said.
"He got that stiff ankle in an accident
at his training-camp, quite early. I
don't know exactly what it was.”
Joe asked no more questions about
his daughter's cavalier. The boy was
placed, implicitly, as one of the “regu
The Only Thing to Be Watchful of
Was the Possibility of Her Having
a Bad Influence on Dorothy.
lar'’ people lie wanted her to know,
and that "Trixie,” along with liis
rather intimate way with her, was, as
far as lie could see, merely part and
parcel of the manners current here.
Driving home with her that after
noon, after a few miles of thoughtful
silence, he told her she needn’t, unless
she liked to, go to Cape Cod with Mar
garet—oh, perhaps for a week or two
later.
The visit had not produced quite the
sort of step in his acquaintance with
Violet that he'd looked forward to.
But Joe hadn’t felt slighted. Even her
unconcern had suggested a certain
friendliness, and, on the terrace after
lunch, she'd openly made an opportu
nity for a talk with him.
His first sight of her that morning
had affected him powerfully, too, re
newing the bewildered Incredulity, the
discover’s excitement, and the strong
sensuous attraction that he’d felt the
morning she appeared at the traps.
She was in the pool when he and Bea
trice arrived, among the earliest of the
duy’s visitors, and it was literally true
that, for moment, after she’d climbed
the ladder at the deep end and come
to greet them, he didn’t know her. The
tight blue-rubber bathing-cap which
confined her hair, and the clinging wet
sheen of the swimming-suit, no more
ample than one her daughter would
have worn, triumphantly challenged
youth Itself. She’d smiled at his stare,
and laughed at his explanation of it
Dorothy, who had escorted them down
from the house, said, dispassionately,
to Beatrice, “Vou see how hopeless
it is. Now do you wonder I don't call
her mother?”
His vision of Violet—revealed, Dt
ana-like, finer and whiter and silkier
than his imagination would have dared
pretend, persists. It was not far in
the background of his thoughts while
they talked on the terrace. Yet this
sensuous appeal was not the only, nor,
perhaps, the strongest, she’d made to
him. He’d enjoyed the friendly good
humor of her ready laugh; her sallies
of what might pass, unscrutlniaeu, for
wit; her light-handed way of redlspos
ing people when the old groupings
were growing a little stale—she took
it easier than Margaret and therefor*
did it better.
“You little wildcatl Stop
fighting and I’ll let you go.”
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
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2an devote THREE HOURS A WEEK, after
school, advise him to write us Immediately.
We Do Not Give Prizes—We Give Money
Our plan teaches boys to operate on a
strictly business basis; we make 'WORTHY
MEN out of boys thru showing them the
Value of the dollar. Send us your name and
tell us whether or not you would like to
BARN your own money, rather than ask
*Dad” for it. Just address BARR MANUFAC
rUBlNG COBP., Bo>*’ Division, Tyrone, Ps.
Money uaca wunoui queonuu
if HUNT’S SALVE fails In the
treatment of ITCH, ECZEMA,
RING WORM .TETTER or othet
Itching? skin diseases. Price
75c at druggists, or direct from
A.I. Richards M,dicing Co.,$h,miin,Tci
FROST PROOr
Cabbage Plants /
Early Jersey, Charleston Wakefield, Flat Dutch,
Succession. Postpaid, 100, 80c; 800, 76c; 600, $1.00;
1000, 81.60. Charges collect - 1000, 81,00; 6000 at 90c;
10,000 at 80c. Bermuda Onions. lettuce, Collard,
Kale, Brussels Sprouts, Beets, Kohl-Rabi plants
same price. Satisfaction guaranteed.
D. F. Jamison, Summerville, S. C»
THE BEST WAY
TO GET YOUR IRON
PHYSICIANS have prescribed
Gude’s Pepto-Mangan for 30
years because of its sujaly of
iron. They found that it was xeadily
absorbed, did not irritate the stom
ach and quickly toned and strength
ened the system. At your drug
gist’s, in both liquid and tablets.
Free Trial Tablets To Bee {oT Tourself
rree inai laoiets the heaith-buiidin*
value of Gude's Pepto-Mangan, write today
for generous Trial Package of Tablets. Send
no money — just name and address to
M. J. Breitenbach Co.. 63 Warren St.. N. Y.
Gude’s
Pepto-Mangan
Tonic and Blood Enricher
It Last—A Simple Machine That Splits
wood as fast as your safr can cut it. Card
brings literature. (Mention this paper.)
TOM HUSTON MFO. CO., Columbus. Ga.
CURES COLDS -IA GRIPPE
f» 24/fottrm tn JAM
r-OSUM^OIIINMt—|
Standard cold remedy world osar. Bamand
boa bearing Mr. Hill's portrait and aignatuiai
„ At All Druggitt*— 30 Cants
YOUNG MAN 1
let the Charlotte Barber College teach you a greed
trade and be independent. Write for catalogue.
Charlotte Barber College, Charlotte. N. C.
W. N. U., CHARLOTTE, NO. 4.-1924.
\