The Daily Transcript (Norman, Okla.), Vol. 1, No. 13, Ed. 1 Saturday, June 19, 1915 Page: 2 of 4
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A N S C R I P T
GEORGE DAKR SCUTCHEON
[tLU$TRATIONS &r KAY WALTERS
0 y DOO0, /VIAD
In the New York home of James Brood,
his son, Frederic, receives a wireless
from him. Frederic tells Lydia Des-
mond. his fiancee, that the message an-
nounces his father's marriage, and orders
Mrs. Desmond, the housekeeper and
Lydia's mother, to prepare the house for
an Immediate home-coming. Brood ana
his bride arrive. She wins Frederics lin-
ing at first meeting. Brood shown dislike
and veiled hostility to his son. Lydla and
Mrs. Brood met In the Jade-room, where
Lydla works us Brood's secretary. Mrs.
Brood Is startled by the appearance of
Ranjab. Brood's Hindu servant. She
makes changes In the'household and gains
her husband's consent to send Mrs. Des-
mond iind Lydla away. She fascinateB
Frederic. She begins to fear Ranjab In
his uncanny appearances and disappear-
ances, and Frederic, rememberlriK his
father's Kast Indian stories and firm be-
lief In rnnglc, fears unknown evil Ran-
jab performs feuts of magic for Dawes
and Klggs. Frederic's father, Jealous, un-
justly oiders his son from the dinner table
as drunk. Brood tells the story of Uan-
Jab'B life to his Kuests. "He killed a wom-
an" who was unfaithful to him. Yvonne
plays with Frederic's Infatuation for her.
Her husband warns her that the thing
must not go on. She tells him that he
still loves his dead wife, whom he drove
from his home, through her, Yvonne
Yvonne plays with Hrood, Frederic and
Lydla as with figures on a chess board.
Hrood, madly Jealous, tells Lydla that
Frederic Is not his son, and that he has
brought him up to kill his happiness at
(he proper time with this knowledge.
Frederic takes Lydla home through a
heavy storm and spends the night at her
"She was jealous. She admitted it.
dear. If I don't mind, why should you
"Do you really believe she—Bhe
loves the governor enough to be as
jealous at all that?" he exclaimed, a
curious gleam in his eyes—an expres-
sion she did not like.
"Of course I think so," she cried
emphatically. "What a question! Have
you any reason to suspect that she
does not love your father?"
"No—certainly not." he said in some
confusion. Then, after a moment:
"Are you quite sure this headache of
yours is real, Lyddy? Isn't it an ex-
cuse to stay away from—from Yvonne,
after what happened last night? Be
She was silent for a long time,
weighing her answer. Was it best
to be honest with him?
"I confess that it has something to
do with it," she admitted. Lydia could
not be anything but truthful.
"I thought so. It's—it's a rotten
shame, Lyddy. That's why I want to
talk to her. I want to reason with her.
It's all so perfectly silly, this misun-
derstanding. You've just got to go on
as you were before, Lyddy—just as if
ft hadn't happened. It—"
"I shall complete the work for your
father, Freddy," she said quietly. "Two
or three days more will see the end.
After that, neither my services nor
my presence will be required over
"You don't mean to say—" he began,
"I can think of them just as well
here as anywhere else. No; 1 sha'n't
annoy Mrs, Brood, Freddy." It was
on the tip of her tongue to say more,
tit she thought better of it.
"They're going abroad soon," he
ventured. "At least, that's father's
plan. Yvonne isn't so keen about it.
She calls this being abroad, you know.
Besides," he hurried on in his eager-
ness to excuse Yvonne, "she's tremen-
dously fond of you. No end of times
she's said you were the finest—" Her
smile—an odd one, such as he had
never seen on her lips before—checked
his eager speech. He bridled. "Of
course, if you don't choose to believe
me, there's nothing more to be said.
She meant it, however."
"I am sure she said it, Freddy," she
hastened to declare. "Will Bhe be
pleased with our—our marriage?" It
required a great deal of courage on
her part to utter these words, but she
.was determined to bring the true situ-
ation home to him.
He did not even hesitate, and there
was conviction in his voice as he re-
plied. "It doesn't matter whether she's
pleased or displeased. We're pleasing
ourselves, are we not? There's no
one else to consider, dear."
Her eyes were full upon his, and
there was wonder in them. "Thank
you—thank you, Freddy," she cried.
"I—I knew you'd—" The sentence
"Has there ever been a doubt in
your mind?" he asked, uneasily, after
a moment. He knew there had been
misgivings and he was ready, in his
self-abasement, to resent them if
given the slightest opening. Guilt
made him arrogant.
"No," she answered simply.
The answer was not what he ex-
pected. He flushed painfully.
"I—I thought perhaps you'd—you'd
got a notion in your head that—" He,
too. stopped for want of the right
■words to express himself without com-
mitting the egregious error of letting
her Bee that it had been in his
thoughts to accuse her of jealousy.
She waited for a moment. "That 1
might have got the notion in my head
you did not love me any longer? Is
that what you started to say?"
"Yes," he confessed, averting his
"I've been unhappy at times, Freddy,
but that is all," she said, steadily.
"You see, I know how honest you
really are. 1 know it far better than
you know it yourself."
He stared. "I wonder just how hon-
est 1 am," he muttered. "I wonder
what would happen if— But nothing
can happen. Nothing ever will hap-
pen. Thank you, old girl, for saying
what you said just now. It's—it's
bully of you."
He got up and began pacing the
floor. She leaned back in her cUalr,
deliberately giving him time to
straighten out his thoughts for him
self. Wiser than she knew herself to
be, she held back the warm, loving
words of encouragement, of gratitude,
But Bhe was not prepared for the im-
petuous appeal that followed. He
threw himself down beside her and
grasped her hands in his. His face
seemed suddenly old and haggard, his
eyes burned like coals of fire. Then, for
the first time, she had an inkling of
the great struggle that had been going
on inside of him for weeks and weeks
"Listen, Lyddy," he began, nervous
ly, "will you marry me tomorrow? Are
you willing to take the chance that
I'll be able to Bupport you, to earn
"Why, Freddy!" she cried, half start
ing up from the couch. She was dum
"Will you? Will you? I mean it,1
he went on, almost arrogantly.
He was very much In earnest, but
alas, the fire, the passion of the 1m
portunate lover was missing. She
shrank back into the corner of the
couch, staring at him with puzzled
eyes. Comprehension was slow in ar-
riving. As he hurried on with his
plea she began to see clearly; her
sound, level brain grasped the insig-
nificance of this sudden declBlou on
"There's no use waiting, dear. I'll
never be more capable of earning
living than I am right now. I can go
into the office with Brooks any day
and I—I think I can make good. God
knows 1 can try hard enough. Brooks
says he's got a place there for me In
the bond department. It won't be
much at first, but I can work into a
pretty good—what's the matter? Don't
you think I can do it? Have you no
faith in me? Are you afraid to take
She had smiled sadly—it seemed to
him reprovingly. His cheek flushed.
"What has put all this into your
head, Freddy, dear?" she asked
Mis eyes wavered. "I can't go on
living as I have been for the past few
months. I've just got to end it, Lyddy.
YffJ don't understand—you can't, and
morrow, but you cannot—you will net
ask It of me, will you?"
'But you know I love you," he cried.
There isn't any doubt In your mind,
Lyddy. There Is no one else, I tell
I think I am just beginning to un-
derstand men." she remarked enig-
He looked up sharply. "And to won-
der why they call women the weaker
"Yes," she Baid so seriously that the
wry smile died on his lips. "I don't
believe there are many women who
would ask a man to be sorry for them.
That's really what all this amounts
to, Isn't it, Freddy?"
"By Jove!" he exclaimed, wonder-
You are a strong, self-willed, chiv-
alrous man, and yet you think nothing
of asking a woman to protect you
against yourself. You are afraid to
stand alone. Wait. Five minutes—
yes, one minute before you asked it
of me, Freddy dear, you were floun-
dering in the darknesB, uncertain
which way to turn. You were afraid
of the things you could not see. You
looked for some place in which to hide.
The flash of light revealed a haven of
refuge. So you asked me to—to marry
you tomorrow." All through this in-
dictment she had held his hand
clasped tightly In both of hers. He
was looking at her with a frank ac-
knowledgement growing in his eyes.
"Are you ashamed of me, Lyddy?"
he asked. It was confession.
"No," she said, meeting his gaze
steadily. "I am a little disappointed,
that's all. It Is you who are ashamed."
"I am," said he, simply. "It wasn't
"Love will endure. I am content to
wait," she said, with a wistful smile.
"You will be my wife no matter
what happens? You won't let this
make any difference?"
"You are not angry with me?"
"Angry? Why should I be angry
with you, Lyddy? For shaking some
sense into me? For seeing through
me with that wonderful, far-sighted
brain of yours? Why, I could go down
on my knees to you. I could—"
He clasped her in his arms and held
her close. "You dear, dear Lyddy!"
Neither spoke for many minutes. It
was she who broke the silence.
"You must promise one thing, Fred-
eric. For my sake, avoid a quarrel
with your father. I could not bear
that. You will promise, dear? You
His jaw was set. "I don't Intend to
quarrel with him, but if I am to re-
main in his house there has got to
"Promise me you will wait. He is
going away in a couple of weeks.
When he returns—later on—next
"Oh, if it really distresses you,
'It does distress me. I want your
I'll do my part," he said, resigned-
ly. "And next fall will see us mar-
The telephone bell In the hall was
ringing. Frederic released Lydia's
hand and sat up rather stiffly, as one
who suddenly suspects that he is be-
ing spied upon. The significance of
the movement did not escape Lydia.
She laughed mirthlessly.
"I will see who it is," she said, and
arose. Two red spots appeared in his
cheeks. Then it was that she realized
he had been waiting all along for the
bell to ring; he had been expecting a
"If it's for me, please say—er—say
I'll—" he began, somewhat disjoint-
edly, but she interrupted him.
"Will you stay here for luncheon,
Frederic? And this afternoon we will
go to— Oh, is there a concert or a
"Yes, I'll stay if you'll let me,"
he said, wistfully. "We'll find some-
thing to do."
She went to the telephone. He
heard the polite greetings, the polite
assurances that she had not taken
cold, two or three laughing rejoinders
to what must have been amusing com-
ments on the storm and its effect on
timid creatures, and then:
"Yes, Mrs. Brood, I will call him to
No," she said. Then, with a low
laugh: "You may be excused for the
day, my son. Your father and I have
been discussing the trip abroad."
"I thought you—you were opposed
"I've changed my mind. As a mat-
ter of fact, I've changed my heart."
"You speak in riddles."
She was silent for a long time.
"Frederic, I want you to do something
for me. Will you try to convince
Lydla that I meant no offense last
night when I—"
"She understands all that perfectly,
"No, Bhe doesn't. A woman wouldn't
"In what way?"
There was a pause. "No woman
likes to be regarded as a fool," she
said at last, apparently after careful
reflection. "Oh, yes; there is some-
'You and I?" He Asked, After a Mo-
We are dining out this
You Marry Me Tomorrow?"
there isn't any use in trying to explain
"I think I do understand, dear," she
said, quietly, laying her hand on his.
"I understand so completely that there
isn't any UBe in your trying to explain.
But don't you think you are a bit cow-
"Cowardly?" he gasped, and then
the blood rushed to his face.
"Is it quite fair to me—or to your-
self?" He was silent She waited for
a moment and then went on reso-
lutely. "I know just what it is that
you are afraid of, Freddy. I shall
marry you, of course. 1 love you more
than anything else in all the world.
But are you quite fair in asking me
to marry you while you are still afraid,
"Before God, I love no one else but
you," he cried, earnestly. "I know
what it Is you are thinking and I—I
don't blame you. But I want you now—
good God, you don't know how much
I need you now. I want to begin a
new life with you. I want to feel
that you are with me—Just you—
strong and brave and enduring. I am
adrift. I need you."
"If you Insist, I will marry you to-
Frederic had the feeling that he
slunk to the telephone. The girl
handed the receiver to him and he
met her confident, untroubled gaze for
a second. Instead of returning to the
sitting-room where she could have
heard everything that he said, she
went into her own room down the hall
and closed the door. He was not con-
scious of any intention to temporize,
but It was significant that he did not
speak until the door closed behind
her. Afterwards he realized and was
Almost the first words that Yvonne
uttered were of a nature to puzzle
and irritate him, although they bore
directly upon his own previously
formed resolution. Her voice, husky
and low, seemed strangely plaintive
and lifeless to him.
"Have you and Lydia made any
plans for the afternoon?" she inquired.
He made haste to declare their Inten-
tion to attend a concert. "I am glad
you are going to do that," she went on.
"You will stay for luncheon with
"Yes. She's trying to pick up that
thing of Feverelli's—the one we heard
last night." There was silence at Uie
other end of the wire. "Are you
"I will be home for dinner, of course.
you—you don't need me for anything,
"You and I?" he asked after a mo-
"Certainly not. Your father and 1.
I was about to suggest that you dine
with Lydia—or better still, ask her
over here to share your dinner with
He was scowling. "Where are you
"Going? Oh, dining. I see. Well,"
slowly, deliberately, "we thought it
would be great fun to dine alone at
Delmonico's and see a play after-
"What play are you going to see
he cut in. She mentioned a Belasco
production. "Well, I hope you enjoy
it, Yvonne. By the way, how is the
governor today? In a good humor?'
There was no response. He waited
for a moment and then called out:
"Are you there?"
"Good-by," came back over the wire
He started as if she had given him a
slap in the face. Her voice was cold
When Lydia rejoined him in the sit
ting-room he was standing at the win
dow, staring across the courtyard far
Are you going?" she asked, steadily.
He turned toward her, conscious of
the telltale scowl that was passing
from his brow. It did not occur to
him to resent her abrupt, uncompro-
mising question. As a matter of fact,
it seemed quite natural that she should
put the question in just that way,
flatly, incisively. He considered him-
self, in a way, to be on trial.
"No, I'm not," he replied. "You did
not expect me to forget, did you?" He
was uncomfortable, under her honest,
inquiring gaze. A sullen anger against
himself took possession of him. He
despised himself for the feeling of
loneliness and homesickness that sud-
denly came over him.
"I thought—" she began, and then
her brow cleared. "I have been look-
ing up the recitals in the morning
paper. The same orchestra you heard
last night is to appear again today
"We will go there, Lydia," he inter-
rupted, and at once began to hum the
gay little air that had so completely
charmed him. "Try it again, Lyddy.
You'll get it in no time."
After luncheon, like two happy chil-
dren they rushed off to the concert,
and it was not until they were on their
way home at five o'clock that his en-
thusiasm began to wane. She was
quick to detect the change. He be-
came moody, preoccupied; his part of
the conversation was kept up with an
effort that lacked all the spontaneity
of his earlier and more engaging
Lydia went far back in her calcula-
tions and attributed his mood to the
promise she had exacted in regard to
his attitude toward his father. It oc-
curred to her that he was smarting
under the restraint that his promise
involved. She realized now, more
than ever before, that there could be
no delay, no faltering on her part.
She would have to see James Brood
at once. She would have to go down
on her knees to him.
"I feel rather guilty, Freddy," she
said, as they approached the house.
"Mr. Brood will think it strange that
I should plead a headache and yet run
off to a concert and enjoy myself when
he is so eager to finish the Journal—
especially as he is to sail so soon.
I ought to see him, don't you think
so? Perhaps there is something I
can do tonight that will make up for
the lost time." She was plainly nerv-
"He'd work you to death If he
thought it would serve his purpose,"
said Frederic, gloomily, and back of
that sentence lay the thought that
made it absolutely Imperative for her
to act without delay.
"I will go in for a few minutes,"
she said, at the foot of the steps. "Are
you uui coming, too?"
He had stopped. "Not Just now,
Lyddy. I think I'll run up to Tom's
flat and smoks a pipe with him.
Thanks, old girl, for the happy day
we've had. You don't mind if I leave
Her heart gave a great throb of
relief. It was best to haye him out of
the way for the time being.
"Well—so long," he Baid, diffidently.
"So long. Lyddy."
"So long," she repeated, dropping
into his manner of speech without
thinking. There was a smothering
sensation in his breast.
He looked back as he strode off In
the direction from which they had
come. She was at the top of the steps,
her fingers on the electric button. He
wondered why her face was so white
He had always thought of It as being
full of color, rich, soft and warm.
Inside the door, Lydia experienced
a strange sinking of the heart. "Is
Mr. Brood at—" she began, nervously.
A voice at the top of the stairway in-
terrupted the question she was putting
to the footman.
'Is It you, Lydia? Come up to my
The girl looked up and saw Mrs.
Brood leaning over the banister rail.
She was holding her pink dressing-
gown closely about her throat, as if
it had been hastily thrown about her
shoulders. One bare arm was visible—
I came to see Mr. Brood. Is he '
He is busy. Come up to my room,"
repeated Yvonne, somewhat imperi-
As Lydia mounted the stairs she
had a fair glimpse of the other's face.
Always pallid—but of a healthy pal-
lor—It was now almost ghastly. Per-
haps is was the light from the window
that caused it, Lydia was not sure,
but a queer, greenish hue overspread
the lovely, smiling face. The lips were
red, very red—redder than she had
ever seen them. The girl suddenly re-
called the face she had once seen of
a woman who was addicted to the
Mrs. Brood met her at the top of
the stairs. She was but half-dressed.
Her lovely neck and shoulders were
now almost bare. Her hands were
extended toward the visitor; the
filmy lace gown hung loose and disre-
garded about her slim figure.
"Come in, dear. Shall we have tea?
I have been so lonely. One cannot
read the books they print nowadays.
Such stupid things, ai—e?"
She threw an arm about the tall
girl and Lydia was surprised to find
that it was warm and full of a gentle
strength. She felt her flesh tingle
with the thrill of contact. Yes, it
must have been the light from the
window, for Yvonne's face was now
aglow with the iridescence that was
so peculiarly her own.
A door closed softly on the floor
above them. Mrs. Brood glanced over
her shoulder and upward. Her arm
tightened perceptibly about Lydia's
"It was Ranjab," said the girl, and
instantly was filled with amazement.
She had not seen the Hindu, had not
even been thinking of him, and yet
she was impelled by some mysterious
intelligence to give utterance to a
statement in which there was convic-
tion, not conjecture.
"Did you see bim?" asked the other,
looking at her sharply.
"No," admitted Lydia, still amazed.
"I don't know why I said that."
Mrs. Brood closed her boudoir door
behind them. For an instant she stood
staring at the knob as if expecting to
see it turn—
"I know," she said, "I know why
you said it. Because it was Ranjab "
She shivered slightly. "I am afraid
of that ma^, Lydia. He seems to be
watching me all of the time. Day and
night his eyes seem to be upon me."
"Why should he be watching you?"
asked Lydla, bluntly.
Yvonne did not notice the question.
"Even when I am asleep in my bed,
in the dead hour of night, he is look-
ing at me. I can feel it, though asleep.
Oh, it is not a dream, for my dreams
are of something or someone else—
never of him. And yet he is there,
looking at me. It—it is uncanny."
"An obsession," remarked Lydia,
quietly. "He never struck me as es-
"Didn't you feel him a moment
ago?" demanded Yvonne, irritably.
The other hesitated, reflecting. "I
suppose It must have been something
like that." They were still facing the
door, standing close together. "Why
do you feel that he is watching you?"
"I don't know. I just feel it, that's
all. Day and night, fie can read my
thoughts, Lydia, as he would read a
book. Isn't—isn't it disgusting?" Her
laugh was spiritless!, obviously arti-
"I shouldn't object to his reading
my thoughts," said Lydia.
"Ah, but you are Lydia. It's differ-
ent. I have thoughts sometimes, my
dear, that would not—but there! Let
us speak of more agreeable things.
Sit down here beside me. No tea?
A cigarette, then. No? Do you for-
give me for what I said to you last
night?" she asked, sitting down beside
th? girl on the chaise longue.
"It was so absurd, Mrs. Brood, that
I have scarcely given it a moment's
thought. Of course I was hurt at the
time. It was so unjust to Mr. Brood.
"It is like you to say that," cried
Yvonne. "You are splendid, Lydia.
Will you believe me when I tell you
that I love you? That I love you very
dearly, very tenderly?"
Lydia looked at her in gome doubt
and not without misgivings. "I should
like to believe it," she said, noncom-
"Ah, but you doubt it. ! see. Well.
I do not blame you. I have given you
much pain, much distress. When 1
am far away you will be glad—you
will be happy. Is not that so?"
"But you are coming back." said
Lydia, with a frank smile, not meant
to be unfriendly.
Yvonne's face clouded. "Oh, yes, I
shall come back. Why not? Is this
not my home?"
"You may call it your home, Mrs.
Brood," said Lydia, "but are you quite
sure your thoughts always abide here?
I mean in the United States, of
Yvonne had looked up at her quick-
ly. "Oh, I see. No, I shall never be
an American." Then she abruptly
changed the subject. "You have had a
nice day with Frederic? You have
been happy, both of you?"
"Yes—very happy, Mr*. Brood," said
the girl, simply.
"I am glad. You must always be
happy, you two. It Is my greatest
Lydia hesitated for a moment.
Frederic asked me to be his wife—
tomorrow," she said, and her heart be-
gan to thump queerly. She felt that
she was approaching a crisis of some
"Tomorrow?" fell from Yvonne's
lips. The word was drawn out as If
in one long breath. Then, to Lydia's
astonishment, an extraordinary change
came over the speaker. "Yes, yes, it
should be—It must be tomorrow. Poor
boy—poor, poor boy! You will marry,
yes, and go away at once, al—e?" Her
voice was almost shrill In its intensity,
her eyes were wide and eager and—
"I— Oh, Mrs. Brood-, is it for th©
best?" cried Lydla. "Is it the best
thing for Frederic to do? I—I feared
you might object. I am sure his father
will refuse permission—"
"But you love each other—that 1b
enough. Why ask the consent of any-
one? Yes, yes, it is for the best. I
know—oh, you cannot realize how well
I know, You must not hesitate." The
woman was trembling in her eager-
ness. Lydia's astonishment gave way
"What do you mean? Why are you
so serious—so intent on this—"
"Frederic has no money," pursued
Yvonne, as if she had not heard
Lydia's words. "But that must not
deter you. It must not stand in the
way. I shall find a way, yes, I shall
find a way. I—"
"Do you mean that you would pro-
vide for him—for us?" exclaimed
"There is a way, there is a way,"
said the other, fixing her eyes appeal-
ingly on the girl's face, to which the
flush of anger was slowly mounting.
"His father will not help him—if
that is what you are counting upon,
Mrs. Brood," said the girl coldly.
"I know. He will not help him,
Lydia started. "What do ^ou know
about—what has Mr. Brood said to
you?" Her heart was cold with ap-
"No, I Shall Never Be an American."
prehension. "Why are you going away
next week? What has happened?"
Brood's wife was regarding her
with narrowing eyes. "Oh, I see now.
You think that my husband suspects
that Frederic is too deeply interested
in his beautiful stepmother, is that
not so? Poof! It has nothing to do
with it." Her eyes were sullen, full
of resentment now. She whs collect-
The girl's eyes expressed the disdain
that suddenly took the place of appre-
hension in her thoughts. A sharp re-
tort leaped to her lips, but she sup-
"Mr. Brood does not like Frederic,"
she said instead, and could have cut
out her tongue the instant the words
were uttered. Yvonne's eyes were glit-
tering with a light that Bhe had never
seen in them before. Afterwards she
described it to herself as baleful.
"So! He has spoken ill—evil—of
his son to you?" she said, almost In a
monotone. "He has hated him for
years—iB not that so? I am not the
original cause, ai—e? It began long
ago—long, long ago?"
"Oh, 1 beg of you, Mrs. Brood—"
began Lydia, shrinking back in dis-
"You are free to speak your thought#
to me. 1 shall not be offended. What
has he said to you about Frederic—
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
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Burke, J. J. The Daily Transcript (Norman, Okla.), Vol. 1, No. 13, Ed. 1 Saturday, June 19, 1915, newspaper, June 19, 1915; (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc112988/m1/2/: accessed March 25, 2019), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.