LEXINGTON, O K L A, LEADER
0K
SYNOPSIS.
W< JOHN BEECKENROGE ELLIS
ILLUSTRATIONS BY*
.O- IRWIN-MYEPS
PVan arrives at Hamilton. Gregory's
nome In Littleburg, but flnda him absent
conducting the choir at a camp meeting,
fane repairs thlthw in search of him.,
laughs during the service and Is asked to'
leave. Abbott Ashton. superintendent of
schools, escorts Fran from the lent. 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^toy Sapphlra Clipton. sister of Rob-
ert Clinton, chairman of the school board.
I'ran tells Gregory she wants a home
with htm. Grace Nolr. Gregory's private
secretary, takes a violent dislike to Fran
and advises her to go away at once.
j'ran 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 inarrted 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 dear friend
who is dead. Fran agrees to the story.
Mrs. Gregory Insists on her making tier
home with them and takes her to her
arms. It is decided that Fran must go to
school. Grace shows persistent interest
In Gregory's story of his dead friend and
hints that Fran may be an Imposter.
Fwin declares that the secretary must go.
Grace begins nagging tactics in an effort
to drive Fran from the Gregory home, but
Mrs. Gregory remains stanch In her
friendship. Fran Is ordered before Super-
intendent Ashton to be punished for In-
subordination in school. Chairman Clin-
ton Is present. The affair ends In Fran
leaving the school in company of the two
men to the amazement of the scandal-
mongers of the town. Abbott, while tak-
ing a walk alone at midnight, finds Fran
on a bridge telling her fortune by cards.
She tells Abbott that she Is the famous
Hon tamer, Fran Nonpareil. She tired of
circus life and sought a home. Grace tells
of seeing Fran colme home after midnight
with a man., She guesses part of the
•tory and surprises the rest from Abbott.
CHAPTER XII.—Continued.
"Oh," Grace exclaimed, disagreeably
surprised. "I did not know that you
play cards. Professor Ashton. Do you
also attend the dances? Surely you
haven't been dancing and playing
cards very long?"
"Not for a great while," responded
Abbott, with the obstinacy of a good
conscience wrongfully accused.
"Only since Fran came, t am sure,"
she said, feeling him escaping. She
looked at him with something like
scorn, inspired by righteous indigna-
tion that such as he could he influ-
enced by Fran. That look wrought
havoc with the halo he had so long
blinked at, as It swung above her head.
"Does that mean," he Inquired, with
a steady look, "that you imagine Fran
has led me into bad habits?"
"I trust the habits are not fixed,"
rather contemptuously. "I hardly
think you mean to desert the church,
and lose your position at school, for
the sake of—of that Fran."
"I hardly think so, either," returned
Abbott. "And now I'd better go to my
school work."
"Fran is imprudent," said Mrs. Greg-
ory, In distress, "but her heart is pure
gold. 1 don't know what all this means,
but when I have had a talk with her—"
"Don't go, Professor Ashton," inter-
posed Grace, as he started up, ' until
you advise me. Shall I tell Mr Greg-
ory? Or shall I conceal it on the as-
surances that It will never happen
again?"
Abbott seated himself with sudden
persuasiveness. "Conceal it, Miss
unjust light. She Isn't to be Judged
like other people."
"Oh," murmured Grace, "then you
think there is more than one staiuiard
of right? I don't. There's one God
and one right. No, I cannot consent;
what might satisfy Mrs. Gregory might
not seem best to me. No, professor,
If you feel that you cannot explain
what I saw, last night, I shall feel
obliged to tell Mr. Gregory as soon as
the choir practice ends."
"Didn't Fran refuse to tell?" Abbott
temporized.
"Yes," was the skilful response; "but
her reticence must have been to Rave
you, for the girl never seems ashamed
of anything she does. I Imagine she
hated to get you into trouble."
Miss Grace, you have heard Mrs.
Gregory say that she trusts me—and
she is Fran's guardian. I ask you to
do the same."
"I must consider my conscience."
That answer closed all argument
You had better tell her," said Mrs.
Gregory, "for she is determined to
know."
"I was taking a walk to rest my
mind," Abbott said slowly, proceeding
as if he would have liked to flglit his
ground inch by inch, "and it was rath-
er late. I was strolling about Little-
burg. At last I found myself at the
new bridge that leads to the camp-
meeting grounds, when ahead of me,
there was—I saw Fran. I was much
surprised to find her out there, alone."
'T can understand that," said Grace
quietly, "for I should have been sur-
prised myself."
Mrs. Gregory turned upon Grace.
"Let him go on!" she said with a Hash
that' petrified the secretary.
"Wher. I came up to the bridge, she
was sitting there, with some cards—
all alone. She had some superstition
about trying fortunes on a new bridge
at midnight, and that explains the late-
ness of the hour. So I persuaded her
to come home, and that is all."
Mrs. Gregory breathed with relief.
"What an odd little darling!" she mur-
mured, smiling
"What kind of fortune was she tell-
ing?" Grace asked.
"Whatever kind the
would give her."
"Oh, then the cards stood for peo-
ple, didn't they! And tfca card you
dropped in the yard was your card, of
course."
"Of course."
"And did Fran have a card to repre-
sent herself, perhaps?"
"I have told you the story," said Ab
bott, rising,
"That means she did. Then she
wanted to know if you and she would
Mrs. Gregory, I have always
felt that Fran has deceived U3 about
her age! She is older than she pre-
tends to be!"
"1 believe this concludes our
I gain," said Abbott, rising.
[ Mrs. Gregory was calm "Miss Grace,
' '''ran told me long ago that she Is
CHAPTER XIII.
Alliance With Abbott.
For the most part, that was a s:lent
walk to Hamilton Gregory's Abbott
Ashton pushed the wheel-chair, and it
was only Mrs. Jefferson, Ignorant ol
what had taken place, who commented
on the bright moon, and the relief of
rose-scented breezes after the musty
auditorium of Walnut Street church.  
"They were bent and determined on
Fran going to choir practice," the old
lady told Abbott, "so Luc? and 1 went
along to encourage her, for they say
she has a fine voice, and they want all
the good singing they can have at
Uncle Tobe Fuller's funeral. I despise
big doings at funerals, but I expect to
go, and as I can't hear the solos, nor
the preacher working up feelings, all
I'll have to do will be to sit and look
at the coffin."
"Mother," said Mrs. Gregory, "you
are not cheerful tonight."
"No," the other responded, "I think
it's from sitting so long by the Whlted
Sepulcher."
Mrs. Gregory spoke Into the trum-
new bridge
bar-
Grace, conceal It!" he urged.
"If you will frankly explain what J eighteen years old; she came as a lit-
ttappened—here before Mrs. Gregory, | tie girl, because she thought we would
so she can have the real truth, wp will : >ake her in more readily, if we be-
%
Fran Set Her Back Against the Fence
and Looked at Him Darkly.
nerer betray the secret. But if you
cannot tell everything, I shall feel it
0
"Sitting on That Bridge at Midnight
Alone, Telling People's Fortunes."
my duty—I don't know how Mrs. Greg-
ory feels about It—but I must tell Mr.
Gregory."
"T would rather wait," said Mrs.
Gregory, "and talk to Fran. She will
promise me anything. I trust you, Ab-
bott; I know you would never lead my
little girl into wrong doing. Leave It
all to me. 1 will have a good talk with
Fran."
"And," said Abbott eagerly, "If we
both solemnly promise—"
Grace bit her lip. Ills "we" con-
demned him
"1 don't ; sk you to hide the affair on
my account." he said, holding up big
head "1 don't want Fran put in an
lieved her a mere child."
"Does Mr. Gregory know that?"
"I haven't told him, I don't know
whether Fran has or not."
"You haven't told him!" Grace was
speechless. "You knew It, and haven't
told him? What ought I to do?"
"You ought to keep your promise,"
Abbott retorted hotly.
"Sitting on that bridge at inidgnight,
alone, telling people's fortunes by
cards. . . . Professor Ashton—
Mrs. Gregory!" Grace exclaimed, with
one of those flashes of inspiration pe-
culiar to her sex, "that Fran is a show-
girl!"
Mrs. Gregory rose, and spoke
through her mother's ear-trumpet:
"Shall we go home, now?"
"That Fran," repeated Grace, "is a
show-girl! She is eighteen or nineteen
years old, and she is a show-girl!"
"Wouldn't It be best for you to ask
her?"
"Ask her? Her? No, I ask you!"
"Let me push the chair," said Ab-
bott, stepping to Mrs. Gregory's side.
He read In the troubled face that she
had known this secret, also.
The secretary gajed at him with a
far-away look, hardly conscious that
he was beating retreat, so absorbed
was she in this revelation. It would be
necessary for some one to go to
Springfield to make investigations.
Grace had for ever alienated Abbott
Ashton, but there was always Robert
Clinton. He would obey her every
wish; Robert Clinton should go And
when Robert had returned with a full
history of Hamilton Gregory's school-
days at Springfield, and those of Greg-
ory's intimate friends, Fran, with the
proofs of her conspiracy spread 'before
her, should be driven forth, never
again to darken the home of the phll
anthroplst.
pet, with real distress—"Mother, moth-
er! Anbott won't understand you; he
doesn't know you are using a figure
of speech."
"Yes," said the old lady, "number
thirteen, If there's anything" unlucky
in figures."
Abbott effected diversion. "Mrs.
Gregory, I'm glad Miss Noir agre-d to
say nothing about her discoveries, for
the only harm in them is what people
might imagine. I was pretty uneasy,
at first, of course I knew that If she
felt she ought to tell it, she would. I
never knew anybody so conscientious."
There was a pause, then Mrs. Gre .-
ory responded. "She will not tell "
Abbott had seen tliein safely into
the house, and had reached the gate
on his departure, when Fran came run-
ning up. In pleased surprise he
opened the gate for her, but she
stopped ia the outside shadow, and he
paused within the yard.
"Fran!" he exclaimed with pleasure.
"Is the practice ended?"
She made no response.
"Fran, what's the matter?"
Silence.
Abbott was both perplexed and hurt.
"Remember what we said on the new
bridge," he urged; "we're friends
•while we're together and after we
part!' "
"Somebody ought to burn tliat new
bridge," said Fran, in a muffled tone;
"it's no good making wishes come
true."
"Why do you say that? Aren't we
the best of friends?"
Fran collected herself, and spoke
with cool distinctness: "I have a pret-
ty hard fight, Mr. Ashton, and it's nec-
essary to know who's on my side, and
who isn't. I may not come out ahead;
but I'm not going to lose out from tak
ing a foe tor a friend."
"Which you will kindly explain?"
"You are Grace Noir's frland—that
explains it."
"I am your friend, too, Fran."
"My friend, too!" she echoed bit-
terly. "Oh, thanks—also!"
Abbott came through the gate, and
tried to read her face. "Does the fact
that 1 am her friend condemn me?"
"No — just classifies you. You
couldn't be her friend if you were not
a inlrror In which she sees herself;
her conscience Is so sure, that she
hasn't use for anything but a faithful
reflector of her opinions."
"Her friends are mere puppets, It
appears," Abbott said, smiling. "But
that's rather to her credit, Isn't It?
(COPYRIGHT I <912
P>0BB5-MEP£?ILL CO.)
Would you mind fo explain your imagl
nation of her character?"
His jesting tone made her impa-
tient. "I don't think her character
has ever had a chance to develop;
she's too fixed on thinking herself
what she Isn't. Her opinion of what
she ought to be is so sure, thai she
has never discovered what she really
Is. And you can't possibly hold a se-
cret from her, If you're her friend; she
takes it from you as one suatches a
toy from a little child." j
Abbott was still amused. "Has she
emptied me of all she wants?"
"Ybb. You have given her strong
weapons against me, and you may be
sure she'll use them to lier advantage "
"Fran, step back into the light—let
me Bee your face: are you In earnest?
Your eyes are smoldering—Oh, Fran,
those eyes! What weapons have 1
given her?"
Fran set her back against the fence,
and looked at hiin darkly. "The secret
of my age. and the secret of my past."
"1 told her neither.'
"As soon as you and Mrs. Gregory
wheeled away Mrs. Jefferson," said
Fran, "I went right down from the
choir loft, and straight over to her.
I looked her in the eye, and 1 asked
what you had been telling about me
Why, you told her everything," even
that I trying to find out whether
you and I would ever—would ever get
married! 1 might as well say it, It
came pat enough from her—and you
told! Nobody else knew. And you
dropped your King of Hearts over (he
fence—you told her that! And when
we were standing there at the gate,
you even tried—but no, I'll leave you
and Miss Grace to> discuss such sub-
jects. Here we are at the same gate,
but I guess there's not much danger,
now!"
"Fran!" cried Abbott, with burning
cheeks. "I didn't tell her, upon my
honor I didn't I had to admit drop-
ping the card, to keep her from think
ing you out here at midnight with a
stranger. She saw us In the shadow,
and guessed—that-other. I didn't tell
her anything a Bout your age. I didn't
mention fhe carnival company."
Fran's concentrated tones grew mild-
er: "But Mrs. Gregory has known
about the show all this time. She
would die lefore she'd tell on me."
"I never told, Fran. I'm not going
to say that again; but you shall be-
lieve me."
"Of course. Abbott. But it Just
proves what I said, about her empty-
ing her friends, about taking their se-
crets from them even without their
knowing she's doing it. I said to ber,
sharp and quick, 'What have you been
saying about me, Miss Nolr?' She
said—I understand from Professor
that I'm an Impostor. But I told her
no tickets are going to be returned.
I said—'This show absolutely takes
place, rain or Bhine." "
"Fran," said Abbott In distress. "I
want to talk this over—-come here in
the yard where you're not so con-
spicuous."
"Show-girls ought to be conspicu-
ous. No, sir, I stay right here in the
glaring moonlight. It doesn't call for
darkness to tell me anything that is
on your mind, Professor."
"Fran, you can't hold me responsible
for what Miss Grace guessed. I tell
you, she guessed everything. I was
trying to defend you—suddenly she
saw through It all. I don't know how
It was—maybe Mrs. Gregory can ex-
plain, as she's a woman. You shall
not deem me capable of adding an
atom to your difficulties. You shall
feel that I'm your friend 'while we're
together and after we part.' You must
believe me when I tell you that I need
your smile." His voice trembled with
sudden tenderness.
She looked at him searchingly, then
her face relaxed to the eve of revo-
lution, "Who have you been trying
to get a glimpse of, all the times you
parade the street in front of our
house?"
Abbott declared, "You!" In mute
appeal he held out his hand.
"You're a weak brother, but here—"
And she slipped her hand Into his.
"If she'd been in conversation with
me, I wouldn't have let her have any
presentiments. It takes talent to keep
from telling what you know, but gen-
ius to keep the other fellow from
guessing. What I hate about it is, that
the very next time you fall into her
hands, you'll be at her mercy If I
told you a scheme I've been devising,
she'd take it from you In broad day-
light. She can always prove she's )
right, because she has the verse for i
it—and to deny her is to deny Insplra- j
tion. And if she had her way—she J
thinks I'm a sort of dissipation— I
there'd be a national prohibition of
Fran."
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"Your wife seems very fond of her
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"Yes. Why, she even thinks the con-
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"My ancestors came over with Wil-
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"But they wouldn't, you know, if
they'd had a good immigration law
then."
Important to Mothers
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Children Cry for Fletcher's Caatoria
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"If there were a national prohibition «mile. Adv.
of Fran, I'd be the first to smuggle I
you in somehow, little Nonpareil.
Isn't It something for me-to have tak-
en you on trust as I have, from the
very beginning?"
His brown eyes were so earnest that
Fran stepped into the shadow. "It's
more than something, Abbott. Your
trust is about all I have. It's just
like me to be wanting more than I
have. I'm going to confide In you
my scheme. Let's talk It over in whis-
pers," They put their heads together.
"Tomorrow, Grace Noir Is going to
the city with Bob Clinton to select mu-
sic for (he choir—he .doesn't know
any more about music than poor Uncle
Tobe Fuller, but you see, he's still
alive. It will be the first day she's
been off tho place since I came. While
On the American continent there ari 
1,624 languages and dailects made
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For the treatment of colds, sore throat,
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Politeness opens many doors, but
they are usually self-closing.
,i,„, . , i she's away. I mean to make my grand
Ashton that you are not a young girl 1   ., ,. '
... ~ii v.... .. -   , "... enori.
at all, but a masquerader of at least
eighteen years.' I answered—Being
a masquerader of at least thirty-five,
you should have found that out, your-
self.' I hardly think she's thirty-five;
it wasn't a fair blow, but you have to
fight Indians in the brush Then your
friend said, 'Professor Ashton informs
me fhat you are a circus-girl. Don't
you think you've strayed too far from
the tent?' she asked. I said—'Oh, I
brought the show with me; Professor
Ashton Is my advance advertising
agent.' Then she said that if I'd
leave, Mr. Gregory need never know
"At what. Little Wonder?"
"At driving her away for good. I'm
going to offer myself as secretary, and
with her out of sight, I'm hoping to
win the day " •
"But she's been his secretary for five
years—is it reasonable he'd give her
up? And would it be honorabla for
you to work against her in that way?
Besides, Fran, she Is really necessary
to Mr. Gregory's great charity enter-
prises—"
"The more reason for getting rid of
her."
(TO HE CONTINUED.)
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QUICK WIT PREVENTS PANIC
Natural Aptitude to Grasp a Situation
Turned to Good Account
on Stage.
Natural, aptitude to grasp a situa-
tion has been turned to aceount more
than once on the stage, and, in one
case, if the veracity of a favorite
comedian goes for anything, it saved
a panic and possible loss of life.
"We were playing one-night stands,"
said he, "In Kansas during the ter-
rible period of cyclones, and found
ourselves In a large, dilapidated bulld-
in^' called, by courtesy, a theater
"The low comedian was on tho
stage In the part of a drunken hus-
band receiving a vigorous lecture
from his wife. 'Madam.' he had Just
observed, 'If you keep on you'll talk
the roof off,' when there was a roar
heard, followed by a tremendous
crash, the building swaying like a
tree In a storm Everybody Jumped
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had been carried away. They were
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turned to the lady, and said: 'There,
what did I tell you?'
"The audience howled with laugh-
ter, and the quick-witted comedian
was undoubtedly the means of pre-
venting a serious calamity."
St. Klldan Parliament.
One feature of St. Klldan life would
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of spending a winter on the Island.
"The men of St. Kilda," writes John
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ing In front of one of the houses al-
most every morning for the discussion
of business. I called this assembly the
parliament, and, with a laugh, they
adopted the name. When the subject
Is exciting they talk with loud voices
and all at one time, but when tho ques-
tion Is once settled they work togeth-
er In perfect harmony. Shali we go to
catch solan-geese, or ling, or mend
the boat today? Such are some exam-
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house. Sometimes dlsD'-'es are settled
by drawing lots."
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