Geary Bulletin. (Geary, Okla.), Vol. 4, No. 19, Ed. 1 Thursday, October 30, 1902 Page: 6 of 12
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I
The Geary Bulletin.
A. C. STACKHOUSE. Publisher.
GEARY, • • OKLAHOMA
End of the Chapter.
IZENYON MEREDITH twiKted
J\ round several times on his re-
volving1 chair, and, with an impatient
movement of the hand, suid:
“Ask Miss Gerard to come in here.
The frown left his face us a girl
entered—a girl who was unknown to
him save by name.
“I don’t know why it is," she said,
without preface, “but mother can
know no peace till she has seen you.
She knew your father, you know,"
with a queer, ironical smile. "How
bored you must be with people who
trude on that past acquaintance to
make you do things you hate!"
"Not at all!” he hastened to assure
her, letting his quick, appreciative
eye roam from the soft curve of
her uplifted chin to her little pat-
ent-dud toes, that were tracing pat-
terns on the carpet. “Only, you see,
I no longer practice—”
"A triviality of that sort means
nothing to mother,” she averred.
And he laughed—a very attractive,
pleasant laugh—and wondered why
she roused in him interest; why he
kept silence thnt he might hear her
voice; why he felt compelled to seek
her glance, that glance thnt wan-
dered rather haughtily over his head.
She ought not to attract him, he told
himself, and yet she. did. Her man-
ner was very distant, her mouth
grave, and if her eyes had a lurking
smile, it was, he felt sure, an habit-
ual one, born of gay good humor—
of sweet temper.
“Mother has made tip her mind to
see you,” she continued, “and the
fact that you no longer visit or re-
ceive patients only makes her more
determined. Will you go to her? She
sent me, instead of writing you a
note.”
Meredith inwardly complimented!
Mrs. Gerard upon her choice of a
messenger. Aloud, he merely said:
“It will give me great pleasure,”
and rose as she did, furtively mark-
ing the mixture of question and in-
credulity in her straight, raised eye-
brows.
She thanked him gravely, indiffer-
ently, was evidently quite uncon-
scious of the warm pressure of his
handclasp, and, with a slight bow,
left him.
i And that is how they first met.
Yesterday she was but a name to
him; he was hardly aware of her
existence. To-day—in ten minutes—
the world, in some inexplicable way,
had changed for him. The dull, blue
glasses through which he was accus-
tomed to look upon it were snatched
from his eyes, snatched by a soft,
tender hand, that, replaced them, all
unconsciously, with those which were
rose-lined.
With a light laugh, he pushed aside
the papers on his desk, and fell to
pacing the room restlessly. Once he
stopped before a mirror, studying in
it his reflection. He was neither
young nor good-looking; but his face
was kind, open and full of character.
It bore traces of some suffering, too,
and the lines about his clean-shaven
mouth gave evidence of great deter-
mination, thnt matched a certain ex-
pression sometimes to be seen in
his eyes.
And when he had spent more than
an hour in thought, he put on his
hat, and paid his promised visit to
Mrs. Gerard, with promptitude which
she considered very flattering.
"Mother is not really ill.”
There was no question in the girl’s
tone. She was standing before
Meredith, her eyes frxed searcliingly
on his; and they were both occupy-
ing the half-yard of Mrs. Gerard’s
balcony which was not covered with
flower boxes.
“No, not really,” he replied un-
guardedly, watching the little soft
rings of hair ns they were lifted
from her forehead by the light night
wind.
“Then why have you come here
every day for five weeks?”
It was a question lie was not pre-
pared to answer off hand, and so
took refuge in temporary silence.
“It pleases her.” he said at last.
“She—she—has confidence in me;
and—it enables me to see you, too—
sometimes.”
“Sometimes?” she. queried, and
smiled—one of her rare, sweet
smiles—full in his eyes. He thrust
liis hands into his pockets, over-
coming a desire to draw her into
bis arms. And liis voice sounded
cold when he spoke again, because
of the restraint he was putting on
himself.
“Your life cannot be a happy one,
shut up in this great heuse, in ever-
lasting attendance upon—”
“No, it is not happy; but thnt can-
not be helped.”
“1 differ with you. It can—it
should. If you will let it be so—it
shall!”
"Hark! That is mother nulling.
You are very good. Good-night.”
She gave him both her hands with
tlie utmost frankness, smiled again
into his fucc, as a fearless child
might, not ns n woman would, and
left him, piqued, bntllcd, witli hiiTf-
nngry eyes, frowning down upon an
innocent gcrunium.
“I might be her father!” he re-
flected, walking slowly home. “She
Is more than lovely, but she is an
icicle. She has no idea of the mean-
ing of love; but she shall learn, and
I will teach her. She is a statue
now, but she sliull came to life be-
neath my influences, my touch!"
Even as he made this half-fierce
resolution some memory cuine to
him that drove the color from his
face. With an impatient gesture he
turned into bis own house, deter-
minedly thrusting aside, any dis-
turbing thoughts.
“You are not unlmppj' now?"
As Meredith asked the question
he shipped his sculls, bent a little
forward and tried to get the better
of the gathering gloom and the
great brim of her hat in an endeavor
to meet her eyes.
The river was thronged, there was
an incessant busy hum of voices;
now and then some pleasure-seekers,
whose only idea of enjoyment was to
make a great noise, cleft the air
with shouts and songs. But Marion
Gerard and her companion were deaf
and blind to all about them.
She did not answer—she was a
woman of so few words—only her
month and eyes smiled together.
And she let him take one of her
hands and pull off the loose glove,
and rest his lips on the veins that
crossed in a blue V at her wrist, and
then lingering on each separate fin-
ger. Her eyes dwelt fondly on his
dark, bent head, and a thrill of pas-
sionate tenderness swept over her,
hut she gave no sign. And when
they had landed, and he was walking
by her side between two great
hedges of syringa, he said again, half
impatiently:
“You are not unhappy now?”
“Why ask—when you know?”
“Because I like you to tell me; be-
cause I can’t read your thoughts
through the back of a straw liat;
because you say so little that every
word is valuable. You are cold as
ice—you sleep—you dream! Will
you never wake to life—to warmth—
to tenderness—for me?”
The words left his lips rather
rapidly, in unconsidered impulse,
while a wave of joyous exultation
passed over him at the mute, unex-
pected, characteristic answer—two
soft, warm arms wound round his
neck, two shy, sweet lips held glad-
ly, willingly, up to his.
“You are awake—at last?” he said,
hardly above his breath, and crushed
his mouth on hers in passionate
thirst.
That night, when Meredith had
gone, and Marion Gerard stood smil-
ing down upon the restless river, a
woman swept her skirts with a little
decisive rustle over the trim lawn,
and laid a gentle hand on the girl’s
arm.
“You are a mere child,” she said,
without warning, “with your old-
world notions and your unfashion-
able ideas of life in general, and
your mother is an idiot—always was!
That is why I, for your own good,
mean to speak. 1 am your aunt, any-
how, and—”
“What have I done?” the girl ques-
tioned in surprise.
“Not much—yet. It’s what you
may do. I haven’t the remotest idea
how Kenyon Meredith took up the
part of ‘tame eat’ about your house,
only I may as well tell you, before
matters go any farther, that liis wife
is alive. They have been separated
for 20 years, but—she lives. Marion,
1 am telling you—”
“For my good,” the other inter-
rupted, then paused, while her lips
grew white and her eyes wide and
troubled. “Don’t you know people
hate being told things for their
good?” and turned away, blindly,
gropingly, with a little despairing
gesture that forbade further speech
on her aunt’s part.
“Is it true?”
The simple words left the girl’s
lips in a sort of panting whisper,
next day, as she stood on the oppo-
site side of his library table, facing
Meredith.
“My dear child, I thought you were
above listening to the petty gossip
of—”
“Is it true?”
He came to her side, and held lier
foi-eibly to him before lie answered.
“Yes) hut—”
“Let me go—”
“Not till you have heard me.”
So she made no further struggle
to escape liis hold, hut leant wearily
against liis arm while he spoke.
His voice was very low and per-
suasive. His explanation might have
been convincing to other ears, hut
she was shutting out from hers the
insidious, pleading tones, striving
with all lier might to steel herself
against him. And when he was silent
sha Unlaced his fingers determinate-
ly from about her wrists, and went
a little distance from Inin.
“I don’t believe’ you have been lis-
tening—that you have heard a word,”
he declared, discontentedly, following
her.
“I huve tried not. My only snfe
guard lies in being deaf to every
sound of your voice. Ah!” turning
suddenly toward him, and fixing hei
dry, miserable eyes on his, "what
made you do it? Why could you not
have left me in peace—in—■”
"Not happiness,’’ he said, swiftly,
across her words.
“Not? You are remembering that
1 was foolish enough to resent a lit-
tle dull monotony. What is that
compared to the weariness of all the
empty years to come? Were there
no other women—women whose
hearts have passed through bo many
storms thnt they have lost the power
of feeling keenly—upon whom you
could practice your sophistries?
Were there not—”
“It was because you were so un-
like all other women I had ever
known that I was first, attracted to
you. It was because in your half-
haughty indifference you nppenred
to me so alluringly unassailable that
the desire grew within me to he he
who should pierce the armor of your
chilly reserve till it lay broken and
yseless at your feet. It was be-
cause I knew your heart to he un-
touched by passion that I longed to
stir within it thoughts of love. It
was because you were so sweet, so
true, so pure, so innocent, that—”
“For your sport you have laid
waste my whole life.”
The words, gently spoken, shamed
him as no bitter reproach could have
done.
“At first,” he admitted, the slow
color rising to and then receding
from his face, “in wanton careless-
ness I played a game so familiar to
me, only on different lines. And then
it became earnest; so desperately,
painfully earnest! I ought to have
drawn hack, hut I could not! Tt is so
seldom a man resists his inclinations!
And then I forgot everything: at.
least I shut out remembrance. For
the first time I grew ashamed of my
past, and dreamed of a future, at,
your side, when I should be raised
by the influence of your pure love
to your level—ah! not”—as she
shook her head sadly—“in the world’s
eyes, perhaps, because it never can
or will understand; but in yours, in
mine, away, apart from everyone!”
He went on vehemently, noting the
growing pallor of her cheeks.
“I deserve every reproach from
you. I—”
“But that is the worst of it.” she
interrupted, coming nearer to him
and resting her cold hands half ab-
sently on his breast. “I cannot re-
proach you—I don’t want to. Don’t
you see that it is an awful battle be-
tween my love for you and my deter-
mination to put you out of my life
altogether? And I am so fearful lest,
it should be a one-sided fight—lest
the victory should lie with the one it
should not. Can’t you understand?
I have no heart, no mind, that is not
dominated by you. There is only just
the certainty that in that future of
which you speak, you, forgetting
that you had dragged me down,
would learn to despise me, too!
That alone goads my spirit to right
doing. To all else I am blinded by
my love—that love which makes all
you say’ and do seem good in my
eyes.
“I was so proud to be no longer
myself, hut only yours; now I know
T must be forever—no one’s! And I
may live," lier voice rising to a little
unconscious wail, “50 more years!”
He pressed her face down on his
heart, that he might not see the
agony in her eyes.
“What, then, do you mean to do?”
he asked. “To—leave you now—at
once. Don’t,” with a light laugh that
had a sob in it. “tempt me to stay!”
There was something in her voice
which told him argument would be
useless, and with a hopeless sigh lie
let his arms fall to his sides and left
her free.
There was dead silence, save for
the ticking of the clock, which sound-
ed unusually loud. He felt, rather
than saw, that she reached the door.
It opened, then closed—and still she
was not gone. She was coming to-
ward him. She had #not strength to
go after all, he thought, while a wild,
delirious joy, that sent the blood
rushing to his head and robbed him
of sight and hearing, took posses-
sion of him.
“You have come back?” he said,
breathlessly, and held out to her
both his hands.
“Dear,” she answered, gravely,
“don’t make—another woman—suf-
fer as—”
The rest of the sentence died away
in a whisper. Through the blind
tangle of his mind, the booming in
liis ears, there came the slow, de-
parting rustle of her gown, the click
of the latch, the soft closing of the
door.
His face contracted painfully, and
then fell forward on his arms, flung
down in hitter, hopeless despair upon
the windowsill.—Clement Scott's Free
Laace.
GOVERNOR OF OREGON
lists Phimis
For Colds
in His Family
and Grip,
£2Si>.3iaS±*»
CAPITOL BUILDING, SALEM, OREGON.
A Letter From the Executive Office of Oregon.
Pe-ru-na is known from the Atlantic
to the Pacific. Letters of congratula-
tion and commendation testifying to
the merits of Pe-ru-na as a catarrh
remedy are pouring in from every State
in the Union. Dr. Hartman is receiving
hundreds of such letters daily. Ail
classes write these letters, from the
highest to the lowest.
The outdoor laborer, the indoor arti-
san, the clerk, the editor, the states-
man, the preacher—all agree that Pe-
ru-na is the catarrh remedy of the age.
The stage and rostrum, recognizing ca-
tarrh as their greatest enemy, are es-
pecially enthusiastic in their praise
and testimony.
Any man who wishes perfect health
must be entirely free from catarrh. Ca-
tarrh is well-nigh universal; almost
omnipresent. Pe-ru-na is the only abso-
lute safeguard known. A cold is the
beginningof catarrh. To prevent colds,
to cure colds, is to cheat catarrh out
of its victims'. Pe-ru-na not only cures
catarrh, but prevents. Every house-
hold should be supplied with this great
remedy for coughs, colds and so forth.
The Governor of Oregon is an ardent
admirer of Pe-ru-na. He keeps it con-
tinually in the house. In a recent let-
ter to Dr. Hartman he says:
State of Oregon, )
Executive Department, >
Salem, May 9, 1898. )
The Pe-ru-na Medicine Co., Columbus,
O.:
Dear Sirs—I have had occasion to use
your Pe-ru-na medicine in my family
for colds', and it proved to be an excel-
lent remedy. I have not had occasion
to use it for other ailments.
Yours very truly, W. M. Lord.
It will be noticed that the Governor
saj’s he has not had occasion to use Pe-
ru-na for other ailments. The reason
for this1 is, most other ailments begin
with a cold. Using Pe-ru-na to prompt-
ly cure colds, lie protects his family
against other ailments. This'is exactly
what every other family in the United
States should do. Keep Pe-ru-na in the
house. Use it for coughs, colds, la
grippe, and Other climatic affections1 of
winter, and there will be no other ail-
ments' in the house. Such families
should provide themselves, with a copy
of Dr. Hartman’s free hook, entitled
“Winter Catarrh.” Address Dr. Hart-
man, Columbus, Ohio.
Not So Very Crney.
An Emporia (Kan.) sportsman was out
gunning a few days ago, the Gazette says,
and happened to go by the poor farm.xOne
of the crazy men they keep out there saw
him and began asking him questions. “What
have you killed?” asked the crazy fellow.
The Emporia man said he had a meadow lark
and two doves. “What did you pay for that
gun?” “Sixty dollars.” “How much is the
dog worth?” “Twenty-five dollars.” “An
$85 hunting oiftfit to kill 25 cents’ worth of
game! They keep me locked up in here be-
cause they say I’m crazy, and they let you
run loose. It isn’t fair,” said the crazy man.
Lionel Ardon,
One of the new novels of exceptional merit,
builded along historical lines, is “Lionel Ar-
don ” by Malcolm Dearborn. Like many
of tne novels of the time it takes its name
from that of the hero. The scene is Eng-
land and the time that of Henry VIII., and
through to Queen Elizabeth. The hero, Lion-
el, is the son of Lord .\rdon, w'no is killed in
a duel with Lord Raven, and his death is
quickly avenged by the young son. The
story follows the enrtance of the hero into
English court life, and contains some bril-
liant descriptions of the gayeties and festivi-
ties of those times. One of the principal
characters is Lady Jane Grey, who is, in fact,
the real heroine. This is the only nove'dthat
has ever brought to the sympathy and ad-
miration of story readers that woman of
purity and exquisite womanliness. Pub-
lished bv G. W. Dillingham Company, New
York. Price, $1.50.
Probably True.
Wabash—I wonder what makes old Got-
rox dress so shabbily?
Monroe—His pride, my boy.
“Why, how’s that?”
“He’s afraid his customers will mistake
him for one of his clerks.”—Chicago Daily
News.
Thought It a Bribe.
Judge—Of course, I might let you off,
Casey, if you had an alibi.
.Casey—Shure, yer honor, Oi haven’t wan
about me, but here’s me lasth quarter, ii
that’ll timpt ye.—Philadelphia Bulletin.
Hives are a terrible torment to the little
folks, and to some older ones. Easily cured.
Doan’s Ointment never fails. Instant relief,
permanent cure. At any drug store, 50 cents.
The most amiable people are those who
least wound the self-love of others.—Bruy-
Energy all gone? Headache? Stomach out
of order? Simply a case of torpid liver.
Burdock Blood Bitters will make a new man
or woman of you.
Generosity is the flower of justice.—Haw-
thorne.
Vi INVESTMENT
The Preferred Stock of the
W. L Douglas sio°.e
Capital Stock, $2,000,000.
S1,000,000 Preferred Stock.
$1,000,000 Common Stock.
Shares, $ IOO each. Sold at Par.
Only Preferred Stook offered for sale.
W. L. Douglas retains all Common Stock.
The Preferred Stock of the W. L. Douglas Shoe Com-
pany pays better than Savings Banks or Government
Bonds. Every dollar of stork ottered the public has
behind tt more than a dollar’*
worth of actual assets. \V. I„
Douglas continues to own
one-half of the business, and
is to remain the active head
! of the concern.
Tliis business is not an un-
developed prospect. It Is a
/demonstrated dividend pay-
er. Tills Istho largest business
in the world producing Men’s
Goodyear Welt (Hand Sewed
Process) shoes, and has al-
ways been Immensely profit-
able, There lias not been a
year fn the past twelve when
.tlie business has not earned
in actual cash much mors
Ithan tlie amount necessary
,___________...Jlto pay 7 per cent annual
.uv-u .he preferred stock of $1,000,000.
The annual business now Is $5,500,000, it Is increasing
very rapidly, and will equal $7,000,000 for the year 1803.
The factory is now turning out 7800 pairs of shoes per
day, and an addition to the plant is being built which
will Increase the capacity to 10,000 pairs per day.
The reason I am offering the Preferred Stock for sale
Is to perpetuate the business.
If you wish to Invest in the best shoe business In the
world, which is permanent, and receive 7 per cent on
your money, you can purchase one share or more In this
CTTPat. hnainpai flanfi mnnav hv naehlar'a nhnnlr nv navtl
post office money orders.
Prospectus giving full Information shout this great
.ad pr^taMe^n^^0nap^K-aUon.j^£re»
MADE BY TMB.MAKtR9.OF
OV 5A;.E
LVERYKhERr
i Rht
CATAL0CULS
Of
CAPNtNTS
AND
HATS
J TOWLR £0
DOS'! On"
N-A5S
fOWEjty
SUCKERS
HAVE THS &AMMr POINTS
OF EXCELLENCE AND 61TB
COMPLETE SATISFACTION
[HEAT, CORN, PORK and New York Stock
Bought and sold on a margin of S20 and upwards. Correspondence solicited.
Information FREE. Private Wires. BOVd-SwaitZ COHIiniSSlQn CO., St. LOIllS, MO.
NO MONEY TILL CURED. 25 years estabusrei
™EL,ld *•*£*“* *" Wjrestise on Pile*. Fistula and Diseases of tt
Rectam; also NO piye ilhu. treatise on Diseases of Women. Of the thossanJs enre
Mexican MUSTANG LINIMENT!
FOR.
MAN OR.
BEAST
For the Ailments of
HORSES COWS CALVES
MULES SHEEP end OXEN
FOR- ‘i
MAN OR.
BEAST
Mexican MUSTANG LINIMENT
I
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Stackhouse, Alfred C. Geary Bulletin. (Geary, Okla.), Vol. 4, No. 19, Ed. 1 Thursday, October 30, 1902, newspaper, October 30, 1902; Geary, Oklahoma Territory. (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc1076894/m1/6/: accessed March 29, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.