The Lexington Leader (Lexington, Okla.), Vol. 22, No. 49, Ed. 1 Friday, August 22, 1913 Page: 3 of 8
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LEXINGTON, OKLA., LEADER
SYNOPSIS.
BY
JOHN BKECKENMBGE ELLIS
ILLUSTRATIONS BY'
O-IHWIN-HYEPS
Fran arrives at Hamilton Gregory's
home in hittleburK, but finds him absent
conducting the choir at a camp meeting,
flhe repairs thither in search of ilim.
laughs during the service and is asked to
leave. Abbott Asliton, superintendent of
schools, escorts Fran from the tent. He
tells her Gregory is a wealthy man,
deeply interested in charity work, and a
pillar of the church. Ashton becomes
greatly Interested in Fran and while tak-
ing leave of her, holds her hand and is
seen by Sapphlra 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 go away at once.
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 girl at
Springfield while attending college and
then deserted her. Fran is the child of
that marriage. Gregory had married his
present wife three years before the death
of Fran's mother. Fran takes a liking to
Mrs. Gregory. Gregory explains that
Fran is the daughter of a very d'-ar friend
who is (lead. Fran agrees to the story.
Mrs. Gergorv insists on her making her
home with them and takes her to her
arms.
CHAPTER VII—Continued.
In the meantime old Mrs. Jefferson
had been looking on with absorbed
attention, desperately seeking tn tri-
umph over her enemy, a deaf demon
that for years had taken possession of
her. Now, with an impatient hand,
she bent her wheel-chair to her daugh-
ter's side and proffered her ear trum-
pet.
"Mother," Mrs. Gregory called
through this ebony connector of touls,
"This is Fran Derry, the daughter of
Mr. Gregory's dear friend, oue he used
to know in New York, many years be-
fore he came to Littllfeurg. .Fran is
an orphan, and needs a home. We
have asked her to live with us."
Mrs. Jefferson did not always hear
aright, but she always responded with
as much spirit as if her hearing were
never in doubt. "And what I'd like
to know," she cried, "is what you are
asking her to give us."
Grace Noir came forward with quiet
resolution. "Let me speak to your
mother," she said to Mrs. Gregory.
Mrs. Gregory handed her the tube,
somewhat surprised, since Grace made
it a point of conscience seldom to talk
to the old lady. When Grace Noir
disapproved of any one, she did not
think it right to conceal (hat fact.
Since Mrs. Jefferson absolutely re-
fused to attend religious services, al-
leging as excuse that she could not
hear the sermon, refusing to offer up
the sacrifice of her fleshly presence
as an example to others—Grace disap-
proved most heartily,
Mrs. Jefferson held her head to the
trumpet shrinkingly, as if afraid of
getting her ear tickled.
Grace spoke quietly, but distinctly,
as she indicated Fran—"You know
how hard it is to get a good servant in
Littleburg." Then she returned the
ear trumpet That was all she had to
say.
Fran looked at Mr. Gregory.
He bit his lip, hoping it might go
at that.
The old lady was greatly at sea.
Much as ehe disliked the secretary,
her news was grateful. "Be sure to
■tipulate," she said briskly, "about
wheeling me around in the garden.
The last one wasn't told in the begin
ST'fe
[mfF
"Would You Like to Know More About
Me?"
clng, and had to be paid extra, every
time I took the air. There's nothing
like an understanding at the begin-
ning."
Fran walked up to Grace Noir and
shook back her hair in the way that
Grace particularly disliked. She said:
'"Nothing like an understanding at the
beginning; yes, the old lady's right.
<3ood thing to know what the trouble
is, so we'll know how it'll hit us. I
guess I'm the trouble for this house,
but I'm going to hit it as the daugh-
ter of an old friend, and not as a serv-
ant. I'm just about aB independent as
Patrick Henry, Miss Noir. I'm not re-
sponsible for being born, but it's my
outlook to hold on to my equality."
"Fran!" exclaimed Mrs. Gregory,
til mild reproof.
Grace looked at Mrs. Gregory and
nothing could have exceeded the aalnt-
liness of her expression Insulted, she
was enjoying to the full her pious sat-
isfaction of martyrdom.
"Dear Mrs. Gregory," said Fran
kindly, "I'm sorry to have to do this,
but it isn't as if you were adopting
a penniless orphan. I'm adopting a
home. I want to belong to somebody,
and I want people to feel that ihey
have something when they have me."
"I reckon they'll know they've got
something," remarked Simon Jeffer-
son, shooting a dissatisfied glance at
Fran from under bushy brows.
Fran laughed outright. "I'm going
to like you, all right," she declared.
"You are so human."
It is exceedingly difficult to main-
tain satisfaction in silent martynlom
Giace was obliged to speak, lest any
one think that she acquiesced in evil
"Is it customary for little girls to roam
the streets at night, wandering about
the world alone, adopting homes ac-
cording to their whims?"
"I really don't think it Is custom-
ary," Fran replied politely, "but I'm
not a customary girl." At that mo-
ment she caught the old lady's eye. It
was sparkling with eloquent satisfac-
tion; Mrs. Jefferson supposed terms
of service were under discussion Fran
laughed, grabbed the ear-trumpet and
called, "Hello. How are you?"
When an unknown voice entered the
large end of the tube, half its mean-
ing was usually strained away before
the rest reached the yearning ear
Mrs. Jefferson responded eagerly.
"And will you wheel me around the
garden at least twice a day?"
Fran patted the thin old arm with
her thin young hand, as she shouted,
"I'll wheel you twenty times a day.
if you say so!"
"But I do not see-saw," retorted the
old lady with spirit.
Gregory, finding Grace's eyes fixed
on him searchingly, felt himself
pushed to the wall. "Of course, he
said coldly, "it is understood that the
daughter of—er—my friend, comes
here as a—as an equal." As he
found himself forced into definite op-
position to his secretary, his manner
grew more assured. Suddenly it oc-
curred to him that he was, in a way,
atoning for the past.
"As an equal, yes!" exclaimed his
wife, again embracing Fran. "How-
else could it be?"
"This is going to be a good thing
for you, if you only knew It," Fran
said, looking into her face with loving
eyes.
Hamilton Gregory was almost able
to persuade himself that he had re-
ceived the orphan of his own free
choice, thus to make reparation "It
is my duty," he said; "and 1 always
try to do my duty, as I see it."
"Would you likeYo know more about
me?" Fran asked confidentially of Mrs.
Gregory.
Gregory turned pale. "I don't think
It is neces—"
"Do tell me!" exclaimed his wife.
"Father and mother married secret-
ly," Fran said, polely addressing Mrs
Gregory, but occasionally sending a
furtive glance at her husband. "He
was a college-student, boarding with
his cousin, who was one of the profes-
sors. Mother was an orphan and lived
with her half-uncle—a mighty crusty
old man, Uncle Ephraim was, who
didn't have one bit of use for people's
getting married in secret. Father and
mother agreed not to mention their
marriage till after his graduation;
then he'd go to his father and make
everything easy, and come for mother
So he went and told him—father s fa-
ther was a millionaire 011 Wall street
Mother's uncle was pretty well fixed,
too, but he didn't enjoy anything ex-
cept religion. When he wasn't at
church—he went 'most all the time—
he was reading about it. Mother said
he was most religious in Hebrew, but
he enjoyed his Greek verbs awfully."
Grace Noir asked remotely, "Did
you say that your parents eloped?"
"They didn't ruu far," Fran ex-
plained; "they were married in the
county, not far from Springfield—"
"I thought you said," Grace inter-
rupted, "that they were tn New York "
"Did you?" said Fran politely. "So
father graduated, and went away to
tell his father all about being mar-
ried to Josephine Devry. 1 don't know
what happened then, as he didn't come
back to tell. My mother waited and
waited—and I was born—and then
Uncle Ephraim drove mother out of
his house with her tiny baby—that's
me—and I grew to be—as old as you
see me now. We were always hunt-
ing father. We went all over the
United States, first and last—it looked
like the Son of a millionaire ought to
be easy to find. But he kept himself
close, anfl there was never a clew.
Then mother died. Sometimes she
used to tell me that she believed him
with all her soul, and wrecked her
whole life because of him She was
happiest when she thought he was
dead, so 1 wouldn't say anything, but
1 was sure he was alive, all right, as
big and strong as you please. Oh. I
knew his kind. I've had lots of expe-
rience."
"So* I'd suppose," said Grace Noir
quietly. "May I ask—if you don't
mind—If this traveling about the Unit-
ed States cldn't take a great deal of
money?"
"Oh, we had all the money we want
ed," Fran returned easily.
"Inde( d? And did you become rec-
onciled to your mother's uncle?"
"Yes—after he was dead. He didn't
leave a will, and there wasn't anybody
else, and as mother had just been
taken from me, the money just natu
rally came in my hands. But I didn't
need it, particularly."
"Uut before that," Grace persisted:
"before, when your mother was first
disinherited, how could she make her
living?"
"Mother was like me. She didn't
stand around folding her hands and
crossing her feet—she used 'em. Bless
you, 1 could get along wherever you'd
drop me. Succcss isn't in the world.
1
, , .aiiati -■
m ,
Doesn't
1
Pleases Others, and
Hurt Me."
it's in me, and that's a good thing to
know—it saves hunting."
"Do you consider yourself a suc-
cess'?" inquired the secretary with a
chilly smile.
"I had everything [ wanted except
a home," Fran responded with charm-
ing good-humor, "ana now I've got
that. In a New York paper. I found a
picture of Hamilton Gregory, and it
told about all his charities. It said
he had millions, and was giving away
everything. I said to myself, 'I'll go
there and iiave him give me a home'—
you see, I'd often heard mother speak
of him—and I said other things to
myself—and then, as I generally do
what I tell myself to do—it keeps up
confidence in the general manager—1
came."
"Dear child," said Mrs. Gregory,
stroking her hair, "your mother dead,
your father—that kind of a man—you
shall indeed find a home with us, for
life. And so your father was Mr.
Gregory's triend. It seems—strange."
"My father," said Fran, looking at
Mr. Gregory inscrutably, "was the best
friend you ever had, wasn't he? You
loved him better than anybody else in
the world, didn't you?"
"] 1—yes," the other stammered,
looking at her wildly, and passing his
agitated hand aercjss his eyes, as if
to shut out some terrible vision, "yeB,
I—I was—er—fond of—him."
"I guess you were," Fran cried em-
phatically "You'd have done any-
thing for him."
"I have this to say," remarked Si-
mon Jefferson, "that I may not come
up to the mark in all particulars, and
I reckon 1 have my weaknesses; but
I wouldn't own a friend that proved
himself the miserable scoundrel, the
weak cur, that this child's father
proved himself!"
"And 1 agree with you," declared
Grace, who seldom agreed with him
in anything. How Mr. Gregory, the
best man she had ever known, could
be fond of Fran's father, was incom-
prehensible. Ever since Fran had tome
knocking at the door, Grace's exalted
faith in Mr. Gregory had been per-
plexed by the foreboding that he was
not altogether what she had Imagined
Hamilton Gregory felt the change in
her attitude. "That friend," he Baid
quickly, "was not altogether to be cen-
sured. At least, he meant to do right.
He wanted to do right. With all the
strength of his nature, he strove to
do right."
"Then why didn't he do right?"
snapped Simon Jefferson. "Why
didn't he go back after that young
Huh?
(COPYCIGHT 1912
B03B5 - MEPC ILL CO.)
"He did go back," exclaimed Greg-
ory. "Well—not at first, but after
ward He went to tell his father, and
his lather showed him that it would
never do. that the girl—his wife—
wasn't of their sphere, their life, that
he couldn't have made her happy—
that it wouldn't—that it just wouldn't
do For three years he stayed in the
mountains of Germany, the most mis-
erable man in the world. Hut his
conscience wouldn't let him rest. It
told linn he should acknowledge his
wife. So he went back—but she'd dis-
appeared—he couldn't find her—and
he'd never heard—he'd never dreamed
of the birth of a—of the—of this girl
toe never knew that he had a daugh-
ter. Never'"
"Well," said Simon Jefferson, "he's
dead now, and that's one comfort.
Good thing he's not alive; I'd always
be afraid I might come up with hiin
and then, afterward, that 1 might not
get my sentence commuted to life-im-
prisonment."
"Who is exciting my son?" demand
cd the old lady from her wheel-chair.
Simon Jefferson's rfd face and staring
■yes told plainly that his spirit was up.
"After all." said Fran cheerfully,
'we are here, and needn't bother
about what's past. My mother wasn't
given her chance, but she's dead now.
blessed soul—and my father had nis
chance, bpt it wasn't in him to be a
man. Let's forget him as much as
we can, and let's have nothing but
sweet and peaceful thoughts about
moth r. That's all over, and I'm here
to take my chance with the rest of
you. We're the world, while our day
lusts."
"What a remarkable child!" mur-
mured Grace Noir, as they prepared to
separate. "Quite a philosopher in
short dresses."
"They used to call me a prodigy,"
murmured Fr.hn, as she obeyed Mrs
Gregory s gesture inviting her to fol
low u|,-staii'4,
"Now it's stopped raining," Simon
Jefferson complained, as lie wheeled
his mother toward the back hall
"That's a good omen," said Fran,
pressing Mrs. Gregory's hand. "The
moonlight was beautiful when 1 was
011 Hie bridge—when 1 first came
here."
"But we need rain." said Grace Noir
reprovingly. Her voice was thai of
one familiar with the designs of Prov-
idence. As usual, she and Hamilton
Gregory were about to be left alone.c
"Who needs it?" called the un
abashed Fran, looking over the banis-
ters. "The frogs?"
"Life," responded the secretary som-
berly.
CHAPTER VIII.
War Declared.
The April morning was brimming
with golden sunshine when Fran
looked from the window of her second
story room. Eager for the first morn-
ing's view of her new home, she stared
at the half-dozen cottages across the
street, standing back in picket-fenced
yards with screens of trees before
their window-eyes. They showed only
as bits of weather-boarding, or glram
ing fragments of glass peeping
earth than those of New York, or. at
uny rate, closer in the sense of broth-
erhood She drew a deep breath of
pungent April essence and murmured:
"What a world to live in!"
Fran had spoken in all sincerity
in declaring that she wanted nothing
but a home; and when she went down
to breakfast It was with tlie expecta-
tion that every member of the family
would pursue his accustomed routine,
undeflected by her presence. She was
willing that they should remain what
they were, just as she expected to
continue without change; however,
not many days passed before she found
herself seeking to modify her sur-
roundings. if a strange mouse be im-
prisoned in a cage of mice, those al-
ready inured to captivity will seek to
destroy the new-comer. Fran, sudden
ly thrust into the bosom of a family
already fixed in their modes of thought
and action, found adjustment exceed-
ingly difficult.
She did not care to mingle with the
people of the village—which was for-
tunate, since her laughing in the tent
had scandalized the neighborhood; silo
would have been content never to
cross the boundaries ol' the homestead,
had it not been for Abbott Asli'dh.
It was because of him that she acqui-
esced in the general plan to send her
to school. It was on the fifth day of
her stay, following her startling admis-
sion that she had never been to school
a day in her life, that unanimous opin-
ion was fused into expressed com-
mand—
"You must go to school!"
Fran thought of the young superin-
tendent, and said she was willing.
When Mr. Gregory and the secretary
j had retired to the library for the day's
work. Mrs. Gregory told Fran, "I real-
ly think, dear, that your dresses are
much too short. You are small, but
your face and manners and even your
voice, sometimes, seem old—quite
old." (
Fran showed the gentle lady a soft
docility. "Well," she said, "my legs
are there, all the time, you know, and
I'll show just 11s much of them, or
just as little, as you please."
Simon Jefferson spoke up—"I tike
to see children wear short dresses—"
ami he looked at this particular child
with approval. That day, she was
really pretty. The triangle had been
broadened to an oval brow, the chin
was held slightly lowered, and there
was something in her general aspect,
possibly due to the arrangement of
folds or colors—heaven knows what,
for Simon Jefferson was but a poor
male observer—that made a merit of
her very thinness. The weak heart of
the burly bachelor tingled with pleas-
ure in nice proportions, while his mind
attained the esthetle*'outlook of a clas-
sic age. To be sure, the skirts did
show a good deal of Fran; very good—
they could not show too much.
"I like," Simon persisted, "to see
young girls of fourteen or fifteen,
dressed, so to say, in low necks and
high stockings in—er—in the airy way
such as they are by nature . .
It was hard to express.
"Yes," Fran said impartially, "It
pleases others, and it doesn't hurt
HOW'S YOUR LIVER
AND BOWELS?
If yon are Taking Hot Springs Liver
Buttons they are no Doubt in
Splendid Condition
If you would be cheerful, healthful,
full of life and vigor, don't fool with
calomel or any violent cathartic.
HOT SPRINGS LIVER BUTTONS
are made from the prescriptions of
one of the many great physicians ot
Hot Springs, Arkansas.
If you have been to this famou*
health resort you know all about
them for they are prescribed there
generally by physicians for all liver,
stomach and bowel trouble.
If you are having trouble with
your bowels or liver and aren't feel-
ing as full of energy and ambition as
you should, get a 25 cent box of HOT
SPRINGS LIVER BUTTONS at your
druggist's to-day, take one each night
for a week—they do not give a parti-
cle of discomfort; on the other hand
they are gentle, safe and sure.
They are simply splendid, every-
body says, and after you try one bol
you'll say the same. For free sampla
write Hot Springs Chemical Co, Hoi
Springs, Ark.
Young Man Took Warning.
"Charles," said a sharp voiced wom-
an to her husband In a railway car,
"do you know that you and I once had
a romance In a railway car?"
"Never heard of It," replied Charlea,
In a subdued tone.
"I thought you hadn't, but don't you
remember It was that pair of slippers
I presented to you the ChriBtmas be-
fore we were married that led to our
union? You remember how nicely
they fitted, don't you? Well, Charles,
one) day when we were going to a plo-
nic you had your feet up on a seat, and
when you weren't looking I took your
measure. But for that pair of slip-
pers 1 don't believe we'd ever been
married."
A young unmarried man, sitting by.
Immediately took down his feet from
a seat.
To Cure Sore nml Tender Feet.
Annlv tlie wonderful, old reliable 1>R. POn-
TRR'B AiNTISliPTIC IIEALINO OIL.
6O0, 1.00.
a;«.
Quite Late.
Tardy Arrival (at the concert)—
Have I missed much? What are they
playing now?
One of the Elect—The Ninth Sym-
phony.
Tardy Arrival—Goodnees, am I as
late aa that?
He Thinks It Helps,
"What Is an optimist?"
"A man who thinks that if he puts
"Urgent" on a letter It will be de-
livered sooner than it would be other-
wise."—Stray Stories.
Pa Explains.*
"Pa, what does 'c-o-n-v-er-8-v
z-i-o-n-e mean?"
"That is merely an Italian word
for a little chin music, son. Now,
run along and play."
Royal Metamorphosis.
"The King, changing into a four-
horsed carriage, drove through the Cat-
tle section."
A characteristic example of kingly
tact.—Punch.
"Fran!" Mrs. Gregory exclaimed,
gazing helplessly at the girl jvlth
something of a child's awe inspired by
venerable years. It was a pathetic ap-
through the boughs. She thought ev j p,,a] t0 a spirit altogether beyond her
erythlng homelike, neighborly 1 liese comprehension
houses seemed to her closer to the j ito be CONTINUED.)
9 ■$ 5 c *
-r-
If Xy * ~, J
dead, that If he'd been alive he'd have woman, and take care of her?
come for her, because she loved him J What was holding him?"
ONE IDEA OF PHILANTHROPY
Carmen Sylva Says If She Had a
Million She Would Build Vast
Cathedral.
What curious Ideas some people
have on the subject of philanthropy.
Carmen Sylva, queen of Roumania, is
the latest to answer that ancient
question, "What would you do if you
were a millionaire?" She would build
a vast cathedral with chapels In it
for every religion, and she would also
build an art school. As it is only a
very small minority of people who
evef go to church or chapel, and those
that do go are usually of the more
comfortable classes. It is to be feared
that Carmen Sylva's million would not
go very far to lessen human misery.
Most people hare asked themselves
what they would do If they were mil-
lionaires. but the wiser among them
have contented themselves with say-
ing what they would not do A reso-
lution to give nothing to any religious
or charitable organizations, with a
very few exceptions. Is a fairly safe
one, since both religion and charity
are Incompatible with organization
The greatest delight of wealth Is In
its opportunities for individual and
beneficent contact with one's fellow
men, for there can be little true char-
ity without Individual contact between
giver and receiver. Among the
schemes for spending a million
should be disposed to place that of
Carmen Sylva at the bottom of the
list—and then some.
Friendly Tip.
Ragman—Any old bottles today,
mum?
Woman—No; but you might try Mr.
Soakem's, next door; his wife's com-
ing back from the seashore tomorrow.
Up Against It.
"That woodpecker may be persist
ent, but I think he's beaten this time."
"What's he trying to do?"
"Drill a hole Into an iron trolley
pole."
At the Railway Restaurant.
"What shall I order for lunch?"
"Since you need iron in your blood,
why not ordei' some railroad frogs?"
St. Louis trade boosters recently vis-
ited 22 cities in one week.
Language Intricacies.
Richard Grant White in his "Words
and Their Uses," says.* "Transpire
means to breathe through, and so to
pass off Insensibly. The Identical
word exists in French, in which lan-
guage It Is equivalent of our perspire,
which also means to breathe through,
and so to pass off Insensibly. The
Frenchman says J'ai beaucoup tran-
spire (1 have much perspired) —
In fact, transpire and perspire are
etymologically as near perfect syn-
onyms as the nature of language per-
mits; the latter, however, has by com-
mon consent been set apart In English
to express the passage of a watery
secretion through the Bkln, while the
former is properly used only In a fig-
urative sense to express the passage
of knowledge from a limited circle to
publicity."
Post
Toasties
for Lunch
Appetizing and whole-
some these hot Summer
days.
No cocking — no hot
kitchen.
Ready to eat direct from
the package — fresh, crisp
and dainty.
Serve with cream and
sugar — and sometimes
fresh berries or fruit.
Post T oasties are thin
bits of Indian Corn, toasted
to a golden brown.
Acceptable at any meal—
Post Toasties
Sold by Grocer* everywhere.
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The Lexington Leader (Lexington, Okla.), Vol. 22, No. 49, Ed. 1 Friday, August 22, 1913, newspaper, August 22, 1913; Lexington, Oklahoma. (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc110585/m1/3/: accessed April 26, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.