The Moore Messenger (Moore, Okla.), Vol. 6, No. 2, Ed. 1 Thursday, March 27, 1913 Page: 3 of 8
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MAX-
OR HIS PICTURE
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i By OCTAVE THANET
Author of
Tbt Man ol the Hour." "TW I.k n' Share,"
"By Inheritance," etc.
I Cop; rig hi by ibe MnrriU Co.)
i> U o
KNOCK sounded on
the principal's door
"That's Florence," ahe
thought. and she algh-
ed in the same breath.
The principal had se-
cretly liked Florence
Haimuud. the beat of
hundred girls, for
her
'hree years; and. aometlmes.
*he suspected that Florence knew It.
Mlsa Wing sat at her desk. It was a
large desk of oak. always kept in
blameless order. No one could recall
seeing more than one letter at a time
lying on the blotter Any others, yet
unread, lay in the wicker tray to the
left; the letters read but not answered
were in the wicker tray to the right;
ihe answered letters were In appropri-
ate pigeonholes or In ashes. Miss Wing
being a firm believer in tire as a confl
lential agent About the desk hung
the most interesting object in the
room, to the schoolgirls; In fact It
would be hard to gauge Justly the In-
fluence this one, mute and motionless,
had over their young Imaginations;
or how far it was responsible for the
rose-tinted halo that beyond doubt,
glorified the principal for them. The
object was a picture, the picture of a
young man In the uniform of a captain
In the German cuirassiers Ills thick
light hair was brushed back from a
fine and candid forehead. A smile
creased his cheek under the warlike
curl of his mustache. It was a smile
no happy and so friendly In Its hap-
piness, that It won the beholder. The
♦•yes were not large, but even In the
black and white of a photograph (the
portrait was an ordinary cabinet
carte) they seemed to sparkle. The
young fellow's figure was superb, and
held with a military precision and
Jauntlness. One said, looking at the
whole presence, "This man is a good
fellow." Viewing him more closely,
one might add, "And he is in love.
The picture was framed handsomely
In a gilded frame. On the desk below,
en exquisite vase of Venice lifted a
single, perfect rose. For lf> years a
flovfer had always bloomed thus. Miss
Wing had hung the picture herself, 15
years ago. Then, she was the new-
principal, and the school was but half
ItB size; and the village people ex-
claimed at trusting "such a girl" with
so much responsibility, During those
15 years the new Building had been
built, the school had grown aud flour-
ished; and the gray had crept Into
Margaret Wing's bright hair. She had
so often put on mourning for her near
kindred that she had assumed it as
her permanent garb. To the certain
(and ecstatic) knowledge of the school,
she had refused divers offers of mar-
riage from citizens of good repute
and substance. But during all the
changing years, the picture had kept
its place and the fresh flowers had
bloomed below. No girl could remem-
ber the desk without the picture; and
when the old girls visited the school,
their eyes would instinctively seek it
in its old place; always with a little
moving of the heart. Yet no one
ever alluded to It to the principal;
and no one, not her most trusted
teacher, nor her best loved pupil, had
over heard the principal speak of it.
The name of the pictured soldier, his
story, his relation to Miss Wing; Miss
Wing's nearest kindred and friendn
knew as much about all these as the
school—and that was nothing. Never-
theless, the school tradition reported
part of a name on the authority of a
single incident. Years ago an acci-
dent happened to the picture. It was
the principal's custom to carry it with
her on her Journeys, however brief;
always taking it down and putting it
back in its place herself. On this oc-
casion the floor had been newly pol
Ished, and In hanging the picture her
< hair on which she stood slipped and
the fell, while the picture dropped out
of her grasp. One of the girls, who
was passing, ran to her aid; but she
had crawled toward the picture and
would have It In her hands before she
allowed the girl to aid her to rise—a
circumstance, you may be sure, not
likely to escape the sharp young eyes.
Neither did these same eyes miss the
further circumstance that the jar had
shifted the carte 1p the frame and a
line of writing, hitherto hidden, was
staring out at the world. The hand
the perfume of a flower. And it
fluenee was the more potent that it
asked for nothing. It is uot too much
to say that the spectacle of that gen-
tle and reticent faithfulness was the
strongest element In the school at-
mosphere. Certainly, because of it
Miss Wing had greater power over
her scholars. She was a woman of
ability and gentle force; by nature
little aloof, a little pr r-Ise, able to
feel deeply, but not able to express
her sympathies or her pain Without
her mysterious sorrow, she would
have seemed to young girls a thought
too admirable; they would have been
chilled by her vlrtuea; but as it was,
their perception that she had lived
deeply, that she had suffered, that she
had been loved and had loved eternal
ly, opened their hearts. They would
have admired her, now they adored
her. By degrees, and insensibly to
herself, she became the confessor of
her little world. After they left school,
her girls brought her their perplexities
of the heart.
Today, however. Miss Wing sat be
fore the picture which so many young
eyes had studied with such vague, yet
ardent, sympathy, and pondered over
a confidence that had not come. Th
lack of its coming hurt her; and the
tap on her door was welcome, for she
thought, "It Is she—coming to tell me.
Oh, I hope he is the right man."
At her response, the door swung
open with a Jerk, and the dark-eyed
girl who entered was catching her
breath, although she tried to make the
quick intakes noiseless. There was a
look of pale resolution on her features.
"Have you come to let me congrat-
ulate you, ray dear?" said the princi-
pal, rising. The girl colored scarlet.
"I've come because I had to, because I
couldn't deceive you," she blurted.
"Miss Wing, it isn't so. I let Miss
Parker think so; but I'm not engaged
to him." •
"Sit down, dear," said Miss Wing.
The soft cadence of her voice did not
roughen. She sat down when her guest
sat, and leaned back in her desk chair,
folding her slim, white hands. There
were flashing rings on her hands; and
the girls used to wonder which ring
"Max" had given her. They favored
the sapphire, set between two dia-
monds, because of Its beauty ("a real
Cashmere, you know"), and because,
whether she wore other rings or not,
this always kept its place.
"Now, tell me," said Miss Wing.
"I had a letter from him this morn-
ing; it was just a note in one of Helen
Grier's"—the girl's lithe form was
erect In the chair, every muscle tense;
she looked past Miss Wing to the wall
and spoke In toneless voice; no one
could see that, she was driving straight
01^ to her purpose, over her own writh-
ing nerves—"all he said was that he
had been called back to Germany—"
"Is he a German? Miss Parker said
his name was Cutler."
"It is Butler/' the girl said, flinging
her head back, while a spark crept in-
to her liquid, troubled, dark eyes, "but
he is a German. Don't you know the
Butlers in 'Wallenstein?' You know
he was a real man; and he founded a
family. He—my—my friend is the
Count von Butler." Miss Wing's chair,
like other desk chairs, was set on a
pivot; she turned very slightly and
slowly, at the same time resting her
elbow on the desk. The girl ventured
a timid glance at her, and thought
that she looked sterner, wherefore her
heart sank; but she only continued
the faster: "He Isn't in America just
to travel; he was sent by his govern-
ment to watch the Cuban war. He's
very brave; and he isn't a bit like a
foreigner and hasn't any nasty super-
cilious notions about women. Mr.
Grier says he has a future. And real
ly. Miss Wing, he Is just like a—a—a
kind of knight."
"Where did you meet him?"
"At Helen's last summer. And he
was going out to Minneapolis to see
papa, I—I think. But he got a cable
of his uncle's death. And his two lit-
tle cousins died last year; so now he
Is the head of the family; and he must
go to Germany at once. For his father
is dead, you know. So he wrote (in
Helen's letter, because he is so—so
awfully proper!) asking to let him
come here and take me to drive—in
the American fashion. 1 know who
you expect to marryT asked Mitt
Wing dryly. "But it wm deceiving
her Just the same. 1 am glad you
a me, Florence."*
Miss Wing stifled a sigh; it may be
that she was not so sure of the Ann
purpose of a lover; she spoke more
gently: "It Is only the disappoint
ment. then, if you can't see him?"
The girl s face quivered a little.
"Perhaps I am foolish," said Mist
Wing, "but 1 think it would be a dis-
appointment very hard to bear Still,
you must admit that parents do not
send their children to school expecting
them to become engaged to be mar
ied; on the contrary, there is a tacit
pledge that we shall protect our wards
from any entanglement. But this did
not happen at school; the only ques-
tion Is, ought I to prevent It going any
farther? My dear, do you have confl
dence in me?"
Yes, Miss Wing." said the girl.
'Of course, I do not think that I
ought to consent to your driving alone
together."
The girl drew a long sigh. "I sup-
pose not." she breathed. In dismal
resignation.
But I should like him to come
here, to see me; and then, if 1 find
him to be what your father would ap
prove, you may see him here; and we
shall all have to explain things to-
gether. I fancy, to your father.'*
The girl drew another, a very dlf
ferent, sigh, and Impulsively kissed
Miss Wing's hand. She tried to speak,
and could only murmur, "Oh, 1 do love
jgju!"
"And so, if you will tell Graf von
Butler—what is his Christian name,
Florence?"
"Max." said the (tirl. very low. for
she felt the presence of the picture,
on which she had not one© turned her
the sharp, minute German hand, I put him up to that scheme; It
but the words were Kngllsh; the girl
took them in at an eyeblink, as^ she
handed the picture to Miss Wing;
"Thine for ever, Max." Miss ing
made no comment; perhaps she sup
posed that the girl had not seen, per-
haps—In any case she was silent.
Of course, the new light flooded the
school gossip Immediately. Rut there
never came any more; every new girl
w as free to work her own will on MIbs
Wing's romance. Was "Max" dead
Had they parted because of any act on
the woman's part? Surely he could
not have been false, to receive that
•tally oblation of flowers. It was more
1 kely that she thus expressed an im-
perishable regret. Youth, ever fanci-
ful. played with all manner of dainty
and plaintive variations on the (heme.
Its very mystery was Its poignant
charm; since each tender young soul
created a new romance and a new ap
peal. Kluslvo and pathetic, It hovered
an the edge of these young lives, like
Helen. I had to ask Miss Parker, be-
cause you were out; and she said if
he wasn't a relation or the man I was
going to marry I couldn't go. 'Of
course. If he were the man you expect
to marry,' she said, and—ahd I—1 said,
'Hut he is!' Just like that. I can't
fancy how I came to say such a
thing, but when it was said I didn't
know how to explain; and I was so
awfully ashamed; and, besides"—she
lifted her eyes in the frank and direct
gaze that Miss Wing always liked—
"besides, I do want to see him."
"And do you expect him to ask you
to marry him?" said Miss vrtng, with
a deepening of the color on her cheek,
which went out suddenly like the
flame of a lamp in the wind.
Florence Ralmund blushed again,
but this time she laughed: "I don't
eyes.
Miss Wing stood In the center of
the room, smiling, until the door
closed. But then in & second she was
at the door, almost fiercely, but noise
lessly, twisting the key in the lock
From the door she passed to the win-
dows and dropped the shades.
last, safe from every chance of espial,
she sat down again In her chair be
fore the desk, leaned her elbows on
the desk, and looked desperately, mis-
erably, into the joyous face of the pic-
ture. She did not speak, but her
thoughts took on words and sank like
hot lead Into her heart. "Max But
ler! Max Butler! The little nephew
he told me about. And he has been
alive all these years; and happy; with
little sons, while I—1 have lied to
these trusting girts. It was wicked
and shameless. I deceived myself;
then 1 deceived them. I wonder why.
I knew what they were thinking. How
dared I look that honest child In the
face! 1 suppose'she wonders like the
rest why I have not told anyone of my
romance. And it is simply that there
was nothing to tell. Nothing." She
looked into the soldier's happy eyes
while her lips curled and she mur-
mured. drearily and bitterly, "I haven't
even the right to be angry with you.
poor lad. What did you do? You are
not my Max; 1 only made hlin up out
of my heart—like children playing a
game!" Her mind drifted dizzily
through shapeless and inconsequent
visions of the past. She was seeing
again the grim pile of the ruined cas-
tle, the masses of broken shadow, the
intricate carving on arch and archi
trave and plinth, the wavering mass
of limbs and tree-trunks on the green
sward; and she, with her twisted
ankle, was kneeling, trying to peel-
through the shrubbery for her lost
companions. Did he come by chance?
She had seen the handsome young of-
ficer daily, for a week. His great-
aunt was Margaret's right-hand neigh-
bor at the pension table d'hote, a
withered relic of Polish nobility with
fine, black eyes In a face like a hick-
ory nut; who wore shabby gowns and
magnificent Jewels, frankly smoked
cigarettes, and seemed to have a
venomous tale ready to fit any name
mentioned in conversation—with one
exception, her nephew's. Margar-
garet's first sight of him was not un-
der the shelter of conventionalities.
It happened that the countess' feroci-
ous pet (and the terror of the pen-
sion), a Great Dane, was trying to eat
up a little girl, but fortunately had
begun with her petticoats. The court
of the house was the scene of the
fray; a large, timid cook, the only wit-
ness, was waving a copper kettle full
of the meringue that she was beating,
in one hand, and the great wire whip
In the other, while she shrieked im-
^intlally on heaven and the police.
Margaret heard the din. She ran to
the spot. Being a New England wom-
an. she didn't scream; one swift
glance went from the child's writhing
body and the dog's horrible hesi to
the wailing cook. In two strtd. s she
caught the kettle out of a fat und agi-
tated German hand and hurled the
whole sticky, white mass full *t the
dog's eyes; then, as the blinded and
astounded beast flung his head back to
howl, and spattered the world with
meringue, she snatched up the child
and sent her flying into the door and
the cook. The dog was smeared with
meringue, she was smeared, the child
was smeared, the cook was smeared;
and now a beautiful white and gold
officer, who bounded over the wall and
fell upon the dog with his saber and
two heels, was smeared the most lav-
ishly of all! No wonder Frau Muller
(visible alort, In. an artless German
toilet of ease and without her teethl,
the countess (who was a gazing stock,
for the same reason), aud Augustine,
her maid, the three Russiahs on the
second floor, and the three Americans
on the third, tided the windows with
polyglot consternation! The conse-
quence of it all was that when the
I Count von Butler was formally pre-
know He is so awfully proper," said sented to Miss Wing that evening, she
she "and he hasn't had a chance to blushed. She was too pale and list-
nsk nana- but—I think he wants to." less to be pretty,but when she blushed .
"In that case. Isn't he the man whom | she was enchanting. Remembering 1 Jumped at their eyes, around a cor-
the meringue, she smiled and ▼eetured
an upward glance; and, for the first
time in t>er life, met the admiration in
tbe eyes of a man. At this time Mar-
garet was thirty years old and had
never been asked in marriage. She
had spent most of the thirty years in
boarding school, as pupil or as
cher; and she had brought from
her cloistered life a single vivid feel
ing. a passionate friendship which
death had ended. The sapphire ring
was her poor friend's last token.
To be thirty and never to have been
•ought like other girls, leaves a chill
in the heart. It may be lonely never
to have loved, but it is bleak never to
have been loved. Margaret remem
be red her delicate, girlish dreams with
recoil of humiliation; they seemed
to her almost Immodest. She thought
she was too old to wear hats, and
wondered whether she ought not to
discard the pinks and light bluea
which poor Elly had liked on her. for
more sedate colors But she wore
pink after she met Max Butler. Yet
he never saw her save In the pres
ence of others. He was full of little,
graceful attentions, but he showed the
same attentions to the portly clergy-
man's widow and the meritorious but
cross-eyed teacher of fifty, who formed
MIbs Wing's "party"; It was only his
eyes, his eyes always following her,
approvingly, delighting, admiring,
pleading, speaking to her as they
spoke to no other woman. She told
herself that it was just the pleasant,
foreign way; and she wrote to her
friends In America, "The German of
fleers have very agreeable, deferential
manners; I think they are much more
gentle and polite and have a higher
respect for women than the French or
Italians." And he said no word, even
of friendship, until that afternoon at
the Heldelberger Schloss.
He came upon her almost imme-
diately, scrambling up the bank at a
rat© which had worked woe to his unl-
foim. He was torn, he was scratched,
he was stained with mud and grass;
and he was beaming with delight. "I
have seen you from below," he ex
claimed in his careful English, "so I
came up. Will you excuse?" Then
his mood changed, perceiving her
plight, and he insisted on tearing his
handkerchief Into strips to bind her
ankle. It semed absurd to refuse his
aid, which he offered quite simply;
but his hands trembled a little over
the knots. "It will be most easy, I
think," said he, "that you should let
me assist you a small way, to the res-
tauracion; so I can get the carriage,
and you can have some ice cream.
Agaiu, to-day, is it burned—"
She had laughed and said that she
never had heard of burned Ice cream.
He laughed, too, and explained that
It was burned as a custard, and some-
how under cover of this she let him
put her hand on his shoulder and his
arm about her waist. She was grate-
ful to him for the matter-of-fact man-
ner in which he did it all, saying,
"You will have to be my comrade that
has been wounded, and I will help
him off the field; so I did, once, with
my colonel; It Is better than to wait
until I could bring help." In this fash-
Ion they walked for some twenty min-
utes.
He told her of his country and his
home; and how he loved the hills
that his fathers had always owned,
and tbe rugged, simple, faithful peo-
ple; he told her of the plans of his
father and himself for them; he told
her of his father, who had the best
heart in the world, but was credited
with a fierce temper simply because
his voice was loud; and his mother,
who was so gentle that every one
loved her; and his handsome sister,
and his brother, who was a diplomat
and far cleverer than he; and his lit-
tle brother who died and would have
no one carry him in his pain but Max
By now they were rattling through
the modern town of Heidelberg, the
plain walls of which looked bare after
the lawless pomp of carving and form
on, the old castle; they had not even
the bizarre, affected grace of the ar
chltecture then decking American
countrysides. But Margaret thought
how homelike and honest the houses
looked; staunch and trusty, like the
German. Butler, Just then, was prals
lug American buggies, from which he
made a general transition to the cus
toms of society. "In America, is it
not," says he. "the young ladies drive
alone with young men?
'Yes, very often. But not with
you?"
Oh, no, mein frauleln, this is the
first time I am alone with a young
\r d.\!"
She had called herself old for so
long that there was a distinct pleas-
ure in being "a ydung lady" to him.
and sh<* had not time to remember It
partook of the nature of deceit, be-
cause he sent a wave of confusion
over her by continuing: "In America,
also, one would propose marriage to a
lady, herself, before to her father?"
"It is our custom," agreed Margaret,
"but"—with her prim teacher's air—
"your custom is far more decorous."
His face fell, then promptly bright-
ened. "Perhaps it would be best to
speak to both, so near the same time
one can. But this is another thing
you must explain me. How is it most
preferable to the lady, that one shall
write or shall come—■"
"Oh, write." said Margaret quickly.
"Look!" he exclaimed, "at the Bun-
set. Ah, is it not lovely?"
Of a sudden they were looking, not
at the sunset, but Into each other's
eyes; and all about them was that
wonderful, transfiguring glow, and it
stimed as if there were nothing In
tho whole world that he had not said.
"Is it to the right, Herr Captain?"
asked the driver, turning on his seat
to divide a benign and semi-intoxicat-
ed smile between thom.
Then It was hardly a moment until
the yellow stucco of the pension
ter."
ner; and there were the clergyman's
widow and the teacher at the door.
Thev fell upon the carriage in a clam-
or of explanation and sympathy; they
were at her side when he bowed over
her hand and kissed it, saying. Auf-
wledersehen."
That was all. There was never any
more. He did not come again Or if
he came, she was not there. sinoe the
next day they were on their way to
Bremen, summoned by cable to her
sister*# deathbed. She never heard
from him or of him again ^et she
had left her American address with
his aunt for any letters that might
ueed to be forwarded, and a stiff little
note of thanks and farewell a per
fertly neutral note such as any friend
might give or receive. There followed
n« ss (the sister was a widow without
children, and she shared her estate
weeks crowded with sorrow and busl
with her other sister); and Margaret
Imputed her deep depression to these
natural and sufficient causes. She rat
ed herself for vanity In reading her
ow n meanings Into a courteous young
man's looks and his Intelligent Inter
est In national difference of manners.
She fostered her shame with the New
Knglander's test for self-torture. But
one afternoon, without warning, there
fell upon her a deep and hopeless
peace. It was as If some Invisible
power controlled and changed all the
currents of her thought. She kne*
that her friend was not faithless or
careless; he was deed. She began to
weep gently, thinking pitifully of his
old father with the loud voice, and his
fragile mother and the Bister and
brother and the little nephew. Poor
people," she murmured, wishing, for
the first time in her life, to make
some sign of her sorrow for them to
them, she who always paid her toll of
sympathy, but dreaded It and know
that she was clumsy. She remem-
bered the day at the castle, and went
over again each word, each look
sensation that she could not under
stand, full of awe and sweetness, pos
sessed her. It was Indescribable
thinkable, but it was also irresistible,
Under its impulse she went to a trunk
In another room, from which she had
not yet removed all the contents, and
took out her Heidelberg photographs
She said to herself that Blie would
look at the scenes of that day. In her
search she came upon a package of
her own pictures which had come th'
morning of the day that she had gone
She could not remember any detail
of receiving them, except that she had
been at the photographer's the day
before and paid for them. When the
ame she was in too great agitation
(they were just packing) to more than
fling them into a tray. She could not
tell why she took the cartes out of the
nvelope and ran them listlessly
through her fingers; but at the last
of the package she uttered a erf. The
last carte was a picture of Max, wit
ho inscription in his own hand
'Thine for ever." It Is not exact t
say that with the finding of the pic-
ture ner uoubt or his affect Ion for her
vanished; for In truth, she had no
doubts, the possession wire too abso-
lute. But the sight came upon her as
the presence of a mortal being, alive
and visible, comes on one when he
nters a room. And there is no ques-
tion that it was a comfort; If she had
really loved Max, at this time, the
knowledge of his death would have
been her crudest shock; for then she
could have no hope to meet htm again
In the world—no hope of some expla-
nation and the happiness of life to-
gether. But she was not in love with
the young German, she was touched
by his admiration, she admired him
tenderly, she felt the moving of a sub-
tle attraction which she called friend-
ship and which might pass into a
keener feeling; but she did not love
him. Not then. Therefore, she felt a
sweetness in her pain; she could re
spect herself once more; she had a
new and mystical 1cy; for was she not
beloved above women? Had not her
lover come to her, through what
strange paths who may know, to com
fort her? This Is the story of the
picture. She could not tell It. Nor
did she; but she hung Max's portrait
on the walls of her little parlor; and
she hung opposite a picture of the
castle; and from that day, never a day
passed that It did not Influence her.
She used to think her thoughts be
fore it. She came to It with her grief
for the loss of kindred and friends,
with her loneliness, with her anxie
ties, with her aspirations, her plans,
her cares for others, her slowly dawn
ing interests and affections. She was
a reticent woman, who might never
have allowed her heart to expand to
her husband himself, beyond a certain
limit; but she hid nothing from Max.
In time, she fell into the habit of talk-
ing to the picture. She called him
Max. The first time she spoke his
name she blushed. She made her toi-
lets for him more than for the world;
but whether Max could admire them
or not, it is certain that the girls knew
every change in her pretty gowns.
Now she began to pace the room,
trying to think clearly. Was It her
duty to tell Florence the story and
let her tell the girls? The red-hot
agony of the Idea seemed to her ex-
cited conscience an Intimation that It
was her duty from which she shrank
because she was a selfish, hysterical,
dishonorable coward. Horrible as
si' h abasement would be, If it were
her duty, she could do it; what she
could not, what she would not do, was
to tear the veil from the pure and
mystical passion which had been the
flower of her heart. "Not if it cost
me my soul," she said, with the fro-
zen quiet of despair; "it is awful, but
I can't do it!" One thing did remain;
she could remove the picture. That
false witness of what had never been
should go. No eyes should evr4r fall
pn it again. It should never deceive
more. She walked toward It firmly.
She lifted her hand—and it fell. "I t band!H
iSEEK GOLU THIEVES
Mines of Africa Said to Lose
$5,000,000 Yearly.
can't!" she moaned "111 do it to-
morrow" She could not remember, in
years, to weak a compromise offered
her conscience.
But she felt a sense of respite, al-
most relief, once having decided, and
she recovered her composure enough
to go to her chamber and bathe hsr
eyes. While she was thus engaged
■he heard a knot k. "It is he," she
said quietly; "well, the sooner the bet- Detective® Sent to London for Purpose
of Running Down Heads of Syiw
dicate Which Has Been
Operating for Years.
London.—It 1b known that several
members of the Transvaal secret serv-
ice have just arrived in London for the
purpose of running down the heads of
a supposed syndicate which for years
tiaa been robbing the Hand mines of
gold to the tune of $[>.000,000 annual-
ly. Worst of all, there haa not been a
single conviction for theft to all the
time.
It waa he; he had come earlier than
he expected, he explained, he was
most grateful for Miss Wing's kind
message. He looked like his uncle, as
the members of s family will look
alike. He was not so tall; he wa§ not
ao handsome. Perhapa most people
would call him more graceful. And
Kngllsh waa faultless; he must
have spoken It from his childhood. In
the midst of his first sentences, be-
fore they had permitted him to take a
hair, hla eyes traveled past Miss
Wing's face. She perceived that be ...
. . . JL h,.t There are various forma of gold
saw the picture she knew that sne ... . , "
grew pal.: but, to her ama.ement. a 7 'n< 'T 7,
Mm like .he calm which had wrappad successful I. that of converting th.
her senses on (he day of her finding juggled n.et.I Into proc... block,
the picture, close,I .bout her again. I d dispatching them frankly from
1 beg pardon?" said he. Joh.nne.bur, to England o cert.ln
Ye. That is Count von I.utler's pot- i n-arranged addre.se., A fold process
"it " -aid she. in a clear voice, with- I "look looks very much like . heavy
out emotion. He was no. so com- , electro.' .nd the open manner In
poled "Then It was you," he said. 1 which the thieve, went to work as-
Kollowlng her example, he took a l.ted in throwing the police oft their
chair and looked earnestly at the pic- guard.
tured face "When Miss Ralmund U seems that of the principal, en-
poke of you so warmly. I noticed gaged In this precloua .y.tem In Jo-
that the name waa Hie same, and I i h.nne.i)urg was a woman who re-
determined to Inquire, but it seemed , oelved .he unwrough metal 9
Yet It Is Miss Wing. I employes appraised it, and paid for It.
to me unlikely
1 have a message to you. from my un-
ci#."
"I wa. with him when he died."
That was a strange thing to hear
when the message of his uncle's death
had come to him in another country;
she hoped that her brain was not go-
ing to play her false.
It was fifteen years ago last July,
you know. I never knew how many
details you received, or only the bare
fact In the papers."
Fifteen years! fifteen years! What
was that date he was giving? That
So far she has eluded tbe vigilant
"secret service" specialists and is liv-
ing in luxury on her "business."
"Ever since the opening of the gold
mining industry on the Hand." said a
detective connected with the case, "it
was found necessary, so soon as things
bad been made more or less ship-
ihape, to get the government to pass
\ special law to deal with gold stealing.
In spite of this, the percentage of loss
I by theft grew greater The abs.rac-
ion of gold became a fine art It was
| not stolen by the professional thief,
•jut, more often than uot, by trusted
was tho day on which she sailed for
America, the day after-what was that , ".f"tl.o'pciUI was, and is. stolen
story he was telling of a visit and amalgam, "plated" in a
fire and a child rescued and an ac- ; ' ™ rfi° ^/either b>
cident? Hut still she listened with tho ]
same Iron composure. The next
words she heard distinctly.
It was llko him to lose his life
manner
scraping the metal from the battery
I plates with a small knife, or 'fishing'
j tor it with a thin copper wire."
j Douglas Hlackburn, in bis book on
I 'Secret Service in South Africa," de
I .crlbes many ways and methods ol
| dealing and smuggling gold—but tb«
that way; and he did not grudge It.
Yet It was hard that I Ehould be tho
only one of his blood -with him. Ho
could speak with difficulty when ho
told me to take a lock of hair and his
signet ring to you. He dictated tho
address, himself, lo me. 'You must ho
sure and take It,' he said. 'It Is to
the lady that I hoped would be my be-
trothed; you must tell grandmamma
about it, too. She has my picture and
she knows—but tell her'—and then. I
hlnk his mind must have wandered a
little, for he smiled brightly at me, say-
Ing, 'I'll tell her myself.' and then the
doctors came. He said nothing more,
only once, they told me, he murmured i
something about his betrothed. But I
had the ring; he took it off his Unger
and kissed it and gave it to me. Child |
as I was, 1 knew that it was sacred. I j
wrapped It in the paper, and after- ,
ward I put the lock of hair beside It.
So soon as I could, I went to Heidel-
berg, to the pension. You had gone
and there was no address, no trace—" j
I left my address with the coun-
tess—"
My aunt Is dead," said the young j
German gravely. "I would not crltl- j process block system is quite new to
ci/e her, but she had her own choice j him. The copper wire Idea was de
of a wife for my uncle; I do not think j tected by a sudden desire of mine Kaf-
one could trust her with addresses." 1 firs for copper wire They would give
"We all gave ours to her to give to j as much as three pence an inch for
Frau Muller." i it, and the game had been going on
"That Is why, then, I could not fl.id ; for a year before It was detected—by
you. My grandmother also tried. But a sheer accident
you were gone. I thought of the
banks, long after, but I found noth-
ing. Often It has seemed dreadful
that you should learn of this only
through the papers. Hut I could not
tell whether—anything. When 1 came
. ti It > >
r!i u
In Busy Johannesburg.
When a new law was made to deal
with receivers a special detective
force was told off to look after the new
department, and the early experience,
of the hunters of the illicit gold buyers
r uc.u«. gave cause for much laughter at their
to America, I confess It was always In 1 expense, for the chief detective and
my mind I always carried my un-
cle's little packet with me. I Mil
have It sent to you."
"Excuse me," said Miss Wing gent-
ly. "Will you please bring me the
glass of water—1—am afraid—I can t
walk to It."
But she would not let him pour the
water on his handkerchief to bathe
her head. She sipped the water, and
some of his subordinates were among
the easiest dupes of a gang of clever
Americans, who Introduced a version
of the American "gold brick" r lndle
with "uproarious success."
From this It was no more than a
step to the process-block idea, the in-
ventor of which almost deserves the
fortune he has made, because of the
simplicity of his scheme and Its un-
very pale, but quite herself, brought , blushing effrontery.
htm back to his own matters. She The difficulty of a capture In cases
found that It was a consln, miscalled of stealing and ^ [a
an uncle. In the flerman manner, who ' tremendous Mr Hlackburn declare.
had died. II did not seen, to her that | that it Is probably unique In the his-
Max's nephew could be unworthy of tory of crime detection that no con-
anv girl vet she conscientiously ques- . victlon has so far been obtain d
tloned him regarding hla worldly af- I against any person for actually steal-
fairs, for Florence wan an only daugh-
ter whose father had great posses-
sions and a distrust of adventurers,
and at last she sent him forth to walk
in tho grove with hla sweetheart.
"And speak to her," she said, with a
look that sank into his heart; "it is
the American way; don't wait to
write, the American way Is best."
So, at last, she was alone. Alone
with her lover who had always been
true; whose love many waters could
not quench, and it was stronger than j
death.
She never touched the picture, save (
reverently to dust It, to take It down scrubbing
ing gold or amalgam from any Rand
mine. . . . One suggestion has
been that the offenders were too high-
ly placed to warrant action."
REVIVE AN OLD CHURCH
Workmen Erasing Scars of Time From
Old South Meeting House
in Boston.
Poston —To restore tbe famous Old
I South meeting house to its appearance
j in colonial times workingmen are
ts outside surface with
nd soap, cleaning It of
when she went away, to replace It in j paint q( a' ct„ltur, and a
Its station when she returned. Hut now
trembling, yet not blushing^ she took
the
long m
a light and timid kiss, and swiftly hid
the smiling face against her heart,
pressing the frame in both hands, and
touching it wllh her cheek her.t over
It, while sho whispered: "You did tell |
half. The tower and the walls of the
picture into her hands. She looked nncient landmark at Washington and
Milk ...reets once turned Into a rldinj
- Into Its eyes; she kissed it with siren.-. u
ght and timid klss. and swiftly hid ; ncade,ny by ..ri.ish arm5 offlcers and
f..^. .nnin.t her heart. 1 now used as a Show place iur mo-
rical relics, have be m shorn of
..'.lis of ivy which partly concealed
, em The bricks are to be washed to
me You came back and told me. I ! their natural red color of o.h-r days
love ycu. Max. my knisbt-ray hua and the windows are being repainted
In colonial fashion
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Smith, Mamie. The Moore Messenger (Moore, Okla.), Vol. 6, No. 2, Ed. 1 Thursday, March 27, 1913, newspaper, March 27, 1913; Oklahoma City, Oklahoma. (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc109294/m1/3/: accessed April 25, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.