The Daily Transcript (Norman, Okla.), Vol. 4, No. 113, Ed. 1 Monday, November 6, 1916 Page: 2 of 4
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NORMAN DAILY TRANSCRIPT
(Copyright 1M&, by liarper * Bruiber*)
Sheridan's attempt to make a business
fnan of his son Bibbs by starting him In
the machine shop ends in Hlhba going to
a sanitarium, a nervous wreck. On his re-
turn Bibbs finds hlcnself an Inconsider-
able and unconsidered figure In the "New
House" of the Sheridan* T • Vertreen *r
©Id town family next door and Impover-
ished, call on the Sherldans, newly-rich,
and Mary afterward puts Into words her
parents' unspoken wish that she marry
one of the Sheridan boys. At the Sheri-
dan housewartnlng banquet Sheridan
epreadn himself Mary frankly encouruKeH
Jim Sheridan's attentions Mary shocks
her mother by talking of Jim as a matri-
monial possibility. Jim tells Mary Bibbs
is not a lunatic—"lust queer." He pro-
poses to Mary, who half accepts him.
Sheridan tells Bibbs he must go back to
the machine shop as soon as he Is strong
enough, In spite of Bibbs' plea to be al-
lowed to write. Edith, Bibbs' sister, and
Sibyl, Boscoe Sheridan's wife, quarrel
ovfcr Bobby Lsmhorn; Sibyl goes to Mary
for help to keep Ijamhorn from marrying
Edith, and Mary leaves her In the room
alone. Bibbs has to break to his father
the news of Jim's sudden death. All the
rest of tlie family helpless In their grief.
Bibbs becomes temporary master of the
"house. At the funeral he meets Mary and
rides home with her.
Love has awakened In the
bosom of Bibbs—shy, hopeless
love for something unattainable.
The emotion la reflected In hla
gentleneaa with hia grief-atrlck-
en father. Will It atlr hla ambi-
tion and Impel him to activity
that will help him win the girl
finally? Will Old Sheridan come
to underatand and appreciate?
There came a second explosion, nnd
Uncle Gideon ran out Into the hall.
Bibbs went to the head of the great
staircase, and, looking down, discov-
ered the aource of the disturbance.
Gideon's grandson, a boy of fourteen,
had brought his camera to the funeral
and was toklug "flashlights" of the
Moor. Uncle Gideon, reassured by
Bibbs' explanation, would have re-
turned to finish his quotation from Bil-
flad the Shuhlte, but Bibbs detained
him, and after a little argument per-
suade* him to descend to the dining
room whither Bibbs followed, after
closing the door of his father's room.
He kept his eyes on Gideon after
dinner, diplomatically preventing sev-
eral attempts on the part of that com-
forter to rfBBcend the stulrs; and it
was a relief to Bibbs when George an-
nounced that an autofftoblle was wait-
ing to convey the ancient man and
his grandson to their train. They were
the last to leave, and when they hod
gone Bibbs went sighing to his own
He stretched himself wearily upon
the bed, but presently rose, went to
the window, ond looked for a long time
at the darkened house where Mary
Vertrees lived. Then he opened his
trunk, took therefrom a small notebook
half filled with fragmentary scrlb-
blings, and began to write:
Laughter after a funeral. In this re-
action people will laugh at anything and
at nothing. The band plays a dirge
the way to the cemetery, but when it
turns back, and the mourning carriages
are out of hearing, it strikes up, "Dark-
town 1h Out To-Nlght." That Is natural—
but there are women whose laughter is
like the whirring of whips. . . .
Beauty Is not out of place among grave-
stones. It Is not out of place anywhere.
But a woman who has been betrothed to
a man would not look beautiful at his
funeral. A woman might look beautiful,
though, at the funeral of a man whom
she had known and liked. And in that
case, too, she would probably not want
to talk if she drove home from the ceme-
tery with his brother; nor would she
want the brother to talk. . . . Neverthe-
less, too much silence is open to suspi-
cion. It may be reticence, or It may be
vacuum. It may be dignity, or it may be
false teeth. . . .
8ilence can be golden? Yes. But per-
haps if a woman of the world should llnfl
herself by accident sitting beside a man
for the length of time it must necessarily
take two slow old horses to Jog three
miles, she might expect that man to say
something of some sort! If he did not
even try, but sat every step of the way
as dumb as a frozen fish, she might
think him a frozen fish. And she might
be right. She might be right if she
thought him about as pleasant a com-
panion—as Btldad the Shuhlte!
Bibbs closed his notebook, replacing
It In bis trunk. Then, after a period
of melancholy contemplation, he un-
dressed, put on a dressing gown and
slippers, and went softly out Into the
hall—to his father's door. Upon the
floor was a troy which Bibbs had sent
George, earlier in the evealng, to place
upon a table In Sheridan's room—but
the food was untouched. Bibbs stood
listening outside the door for several
minutes. There came no sound from
within, and he went back to his own
room and to bed.
In the morning he woke to a state
Df being hitherto unknown In his ex-
perience. Sometimes In the process
Of waking there is o little pause-
sleep has gone, but coherent thought
has not begun. It Is the moment, as
we say, before we "remember;" and
for the first time In Bibbs' life It came
to him bringing a vague happiness.
However, It was a brief visitation and
was gone before he had finished dress-
ing. It left a little trail, the pleased
cecollectlon of it and the puzzle of It,
which remained unsolved. And, In
fact, waking happily in the tnornfag la Bibbs said.
not nsually the result of a drive home
from a funeral. No wouder the se
quence evaded Bibbs (Sheridan!
His father had gone when he came
downstairs. "Went on down to's office,
Jes' same," Jackson Informed him
"Came sat break fas' table, all by
'mself; eat nothln'. George bring nice
breokfas', but he dl'n' eat a thing.
Yessuh, went an downtown, Jes' same
he yoosta do. Yessuh, I reckon putty
much ev'ythlng goin' on same as It
It struck Bibbs that Jackson was
right. The day passed as other days
had passed. Mrs. Sheridan and Edith
were In black, and Mrs. Sheridan cried
a little, now and then, but no other
external difference was to be seen.
Bibbs went for his drive, and his
mother went with him, as she some-
times did when the weather was pleas-
ant. Altogether, the usualness of
things was rather startling to Bibbs.
During the drive Mrs. Sheridan
talked fragmentary of Jim's child-
hood. "But you wouldn't remember
that," she said, after narrating an epl
sode. "You were too little. He was
always a good boy, Just like that. And
he'd save whatever papa gave him,
and put It in the bonk. I reckon It'll
Just about kill your father to put some-
body in his place as president of the
Realty company, Bibbs. I know he
can't move Itoscoe over; he told me
last week he'd already put as much on
Itoscoe us any one man could handle
and not go crazy. Oh, it's a pity—'"
She stopped to wipe her eyes. "It's a
pity you didn't run more with Jim,
Bibbs, and kind o' pick up his ways.
Think what it'd meant to papa now!
You never did run with either Boscoe
or Jim any, even before you got sick.
Of course you were younger; but it
always did seem queer—and you three
bein' brothers like that. I don't be-
lieve I ever sow you and Jim sit down
together for a good talk in my life."
"Mother, I've been away so long,"
Bibbs returned, gently. "And since I
came home I— He was busy, you see,
ond I hadn't much to say about the
things that interested him, because I
don't know much about them."
"It's a pity! Oh, It's a pity!" she
mooned. "And you'll hove to learn to
know about 'em now, Bibbs. I
haven't Bald much to you, because I
felt it was all between your father and
you, but I honestly do believe It will
Just kill him if he lias to have any
more trouble on top of oil this! You
mustn't let him, Bibbs—you mustn't!
You don't know how he's grieved over
you, ond now he can't stand nny more
—he Just can't! Whatever he says for
you to do, you do it, Bibbs, you do It!
I want you to promise me you will."
•'I would if I could," he said, sor-
"No, no! Why can't you?" she
cried, clutching his arm. "He wants
you to go back to the machine shop
and all on earth he asks is for you to
go back in a cheerful spirit, bo it won't
hurt you I That's all he asks. Look,
Bibbs, we're gettin' back near home,
but before we get there I want you to
promise me that you'll do what he
usks you to. Promise me!"
In her earnestness she cleared awoy ]
her black veil that she might see him j
better, ond it blew out on the smoky
wind. He readjusted It for her before
"I'll go back in as cheerful a spirit
as I can, mother," he said.
"There!" she exclaimed, satisfied.
"That's a good boy! That's all I want-
ed you to soy."
"Don't give me any credit," he said,
ruefully. "There isn't anything else
for me to do."
"No, don't begin talkln' that way!"
"No, no," he soothed her. "We'll
hove to begin to moke the spirit a
cheerful ojie. We may—" They were
turning into their own driveway as he
spoke, and he glunced At the old house
next door. Mary Vertrees was viBible
in the twilight, BtAnding upon the front
steps, bAreheaded, the door open be-
hind her. She bowed gravely.
" 'We may'—what?" asked Mrs.
Sheridan, with a slight impAtleuce.
"WhAt is it mother?"
"Of all the queer boys!" she cried.
"You alwsys were. Always! You
haven't forgot what you Just promised
me, huve you?"
"No," he answered, as the car
stopped. "No, the spirit will be as
cheerful as the flesh will let It, mother.
It won't do to behave like—"
His voice was low, and in her move-
ment to descend from the car she
foiled to hear his final words.
"Bebsve like who, Bibbs?"
But she was fretful in her grief.
"You said it wouldn't do to behAve like
somebody. Behave like who?"
"It was Just nonsense," he explained,
turning to go in. "An obscure person
I don't think much of lately."
"Behave like who?" she repeated,
and upon his yielding to her petulant
insistence, she made up her mind that
the only thing to do was to tell Dr.
Gurney about it
"Like Blldad the Shuhite!" was what
The outward usualness of things
continued after dinner. Is the library,
while his wife sat In her customary
chair, gazing at the fire, Sheridan let
the unfolded evening paper rest upon
his hip, though now and then he lifted
It, as If to read. Bibbs came in noise-
lessly aiid sat in s corner, doing noth-
ing; and from a "reception room"
across the hall an indistinct vocal mur-
mur became Just audible at Intervals.
Once, when this murmur grew louder,
under stress of some irrepressible mer-
riment, Edith's voice could be heard—
"Bobby, aren't you awful!" and Sheri-
dan glanced across at his wife appeul-
She rose at once and went Into the
"reception room;" there was a flurry of
whispering, and the sound of tiptoeing
in the hall—Edith and her suitor
changing quarters to a more distant
room. Mrs. Sheridan returned to her
chair in the library.
"They won't bother you any more,
papa," she said, in a comforting voice.
"She told me at lunch he'd 'phoned he
wanted to come up this evening, and
I Bold I thought he'd better wait a few
days, but she Bold she'd already told
hlin he could." She paused, then added,
rather guiltily: "I got kind of a notion
maybe Boscoe don't like him as much
as he nsed to. Maybe—maybe you bet-
ter ask Roscoe, papa." And us Sher-
idan nodded solemnly, bIio concluded,
in haste: "Don't soy I sold to. I might
be wrong about It, anyway."
He nodded again, and they Bat for
some time In a silence which Mrs.
Sheridan broke with a little sniff, hav-
ing fullen into a reverie that brought
tears. "That Miss Vertrees was a good
girl," she said. "She was all right."
Her husband evidently had no diffi-
culty In following her train of thought,
for he nodded once more, affirma-
"Did you— How did you fix It about
the—the Realty company?" she fal-
tered. "Did you—"
He rose heavily, helping himself to
his feet by the arms of his chair. "I
fixed it," he said, In a husky voice, ne
went to her, put his hand upon her
shoulder, and drew a long, audible, tre-
mendous breoUi. "It's my bedtime,
niAinmA; I'm goin' up." When he
reached the door he stopped and Bpoke
again, without turning to look at her.
"The Realty company'11 go right on
Just the same," he sold. "It's like—
it's like sand, mamma. It puts me In
mind of chuldren playln' in a sand-
pile. One of 'em sticks bis finger in
the sand-pile and mokes a hole, and
another of 'em '11 pat the place with
his hand, and all the little grains
of sond run in and fill it up and set-
tle ogalnst one another; and then,
right away It's flat on top again, and
you can't tell there ever was a hole
there. The ReAlty company '11 go on
All right, mamma. There ain't any-
things anywhere, 1 reckon, that
wouldn't go right on—Just tljp snrae."
And he passed out slowly into the
hall; then they heard his heavy tread
upon the stairs.
Mrs. Sheridan, rising to follow him,
turned o piteous face to her son. "It's
so forlorn," she said, chokingly. "That's
the first time he spoke since he came
in the house this evening. I know It
must 'a* hurt him to hear Edith
laughin' with that Lamhorn. She'd
oughtn't to let him come, right the very
first evening this way; she'd oughtn't
to done it! She Just seems to lose her
head over him, and tt scares me. You
heard what Sibyl said the other day,
and—and you heard what—what—"
"What Edith said to Sibyl?" Bibbs
finished the sentence for her.
"Wo can't hove any trouble o' that
kind!" she walled. "Oh, it looks as If
They Looked Up
movia' up to this new house hAd
brought us Awful bAd luck! It scsres
me!" She put both her hands over her
fAce. "Oh, Bibbs, Bibbs! if you only
wAsn't so queer! If you could only
been a kind of dependAble sou! I don't
know whst we're All comln' to!" And,
weeping, she followed her husband.
T*ibbs gAzed for a while at the fire;
then he rose abruptly, like a man who
has come to a decision, and briskly
sought the room—it was called "the
smoking room"—where Edith sat with
Mr. LAmhorn. They looked up In no
welcoming mAnner, at Bibbs' entrance,
and moved their chairs to a less con-
"Good evening," said Bibbs, pleas-
antly; and he seated himself In •
leather eusy-chalr near them.
"What Is It?" asked Edith, plainly
"Nothing," he returned, smiling.
She frowned. "Did you want some-
thing?" she asked.
"Nothing In the world. Father and
mother have gone upstairs; I sha'n't
be going up for several hours, and
there didn't seem to be anybody left
for me to chat with except you and
"'Chat with'!" she echoed, Incredu-
"I can talk about almost anything."
said Bibbs with an air of genial polite-
ness. "It doesn't matter to me. I
don't know much about business—If
that's what you happened to be talking
about. But you aren't In business, are
you, Mr. Lamhorn?"
"Not now," returned Lamhorn,
"I'm not, either," said Bibbs. "It
was getting cloudier than usual, I no-
ticed, Just before dark, and there was
wind from the southwest. Rain to-
morrow, I shouldn't be surprised."
He seemed to feel that he had begun
a conversation the support of which
hod now become the pleasurable duty
of other parties; and he sat expectant-
ly, looking first at his sister, then at
| Lomhorn, as If implying that It was
their turn to speak. Edith returned
his gaze with a mixture of astonish-
ment and increasing anger, while Mr.
Lamhorn was obviously disturbed,
though Bibbs had been as considerate
os possible in presenting the weather
as a topic. Bibbs hod perceived that
Lamhorn had nothing in his mind at
any time except "personalities"—he
could talk about people and he could
moke love. Iflbbs, wishing to be cour-
teous, offered the weather.
Lamhorn refused It, ond concluded
from Bibbs' luxurious attitude in the
leather chair that this half-crazy broth-
er was a permanent fixture for the
rest of the evening. There was no rea-
son to hope thAt he would move, And
LAmhorn found himself In danger of
"I was Just going," he said, rising.
"Oh no!" Edith cried, sharply.
"Yes. Good night! I think I—"
"Too bad," BAid Bibbs, geninlly,
WAlking to the door with the visitor,
while Edith stood staring as the two
disoppeared In the hall. She heard
Bibbs offering to "help" Lamhorn with
his overcoat and the latter rather curt-
ly declining assistance, these episodes
of departure being followed by the
closing of the outer door. She ran Into
"What's the matter with you?" she
cried, furiously. "(V hat do you mean?
How did you dure come in here when
Her voice broke; she mude a gesture
of rage nnd despair, ond ron up the
stairs, sobbing. She fled to her moth-
er's room, und when Bibbs came up, a
few minutes later, Mrs. Sheridan met
him at his door.
k "Oh, Bibbs," she said, shaking her
head woefully, "you'd oughtn't to dis-
tress your sister? She soys you drove
that young man out of the house. You'd
ought to been more considerate."
Bibbs smiled faintly, noting that
Edith's door was open, with Edith's
naive shadow motionless across Its
threshold. "Yes," he said. "He' doesu't
appear to be much of a 'man's man.'
He ran at Just a glimpse of one."
Edith's shadow moved; her voice
came quavering: "You call yourself
"No, no," he answered. "I said 'Just
a glimpse of one.' I didn't claim—"
But her door slammed angrily; and he
turned to his mother.
"There," he said, sighing. "That's
almost the first time in my life I ever
tried to be a man of action, mother,
and I succeeded perfectly in what I
tried to do. As a consequence I feel
like a horse thief!"
"You hurt her feelln's," she groaned.
"You must 'a' gone at it too rough,
He looked upon her wanly. "That's
my trouble, mother," he murmured.
"I'm a plain, blunt fellow. I have
rough way8, and I'm a rough man."
For once she perceived some mean-
ing in his queerness. "Hush your non-
sense!" she said, good-naturedly, the
astral of a troubled smile appearing.
"You go to bed."
He kissed her and obeyed.
Edith gave him a cold greeting the
next morning at the breakfast table.
"You mustn't do that under a mis-
apprehension," he warned her, when
they were alone in the dining room.
"Do what under a what?" she asked.
"Speak to me. V' came into the
smoking room last night 'on purpose,
he told her, gravely. "I have a preju-
dice against that young man."
She laughed, "i guess you think it
means a great deal who you have
prejudices against!" In mockery she
adopted the manner of one who im
plores. "Bibbs, for pity's sake promise
me, don't use your Influence with papa
against him!" And she laughed louder.
"Listen," he said, with peculiar earn-
estness "I'll tell you now, because—
because I've decided I'm one of tl^e
family." And then, as if the earnest-
ness were too heavy for him to carry
it further, he continued, in his usual
tone, "I'm drunk with power, Edith."
"What do you wont to tell me?" she
"Lamhorn mude love to Sibyl," he
Edith hooted. "She did to him!"
"No," he said, gravely. "I know."
"I was there, one day a week ago,
with Roscoe, and I heard Sibyl nnd
Edith screamed with laughter. "You
were with Roscoe—and you heard
Lamhorn making love to Sibyl!"
"No. I heard them quarreling."
"You're funnier than ever, Bibbs!"
6he cried. "You say he made love to
'her because yon heard them quarrel-
| "That'B it. If you want to know
what's 'between' people, you can—by
the way they qnarrel."
"You'll kill me, Bibbs! What were
they quarreling about?"
••Nothing. That's how I know. Peo-
ple who quarrel over nothing!—It's
Edith stopped laughing abruptly, but
continued her mockery. "You ouj?ht
to know. You've had so much experi-
"I haven't any, Edith," he said. "My
life has been about as exciting as an
Incubator chicken's. But I look out
through the glass at things."
"Well, then." she said, "if you look
out through the glass you must know
"Your Father Telephoned Me Yester-
what effect such stuff would have up-
on me!" She rose, visibly agitated.
"What fit it was true?" she demanded,
bitterly. "What if it was true a hun-
dred times over? You sit there with
your silly face half ready to giggle ond
half reudy to sniffle, and tell me stories
like that, about Sibyl picking on Bobby
Lamhorn and worrying him to death,
and you think it matters to me? What
If I already knew all about their 'quar-
reling'? What if I understood why
she—" She broke off with a violent
gesture, a sweep of her arm extended
at full length, as If she hurled some-
thing to the ground. "Do you thiuk a
girl that really cared for a man would
pay any attention to that? Or to you,
He looked at her steadily, and his
gaze was as keen as It was steady.
She met it with unwavering pride.
Finally he nodded slowly, as if she had
spoken and he meant to agree with
what she said.
"Ah, yes," he said. "I won't come
into the smoking room again. I'm
sorry, Edith. Nobody can make you
see anything now. You'll never see
until you see for yourself. The rest of
us will do better to keep out of it—
"That's sensible," she responded,
curtly. "You're most surprising of all
when you're sensible, Bibbs."
"Yes," he sighed. "I'm a dull dog.
Shake hands and forgive me, Edith."
Thawing so far as to smile, she un-
derwent this brief ceremony, and
George appeared, summoning Bibbs to
the library; Doctor Gurney was wait
ing there, he announced. And Bibbs
gave his sister a shy but friendly touch
upon the shoulder as a complement to
the handshaking, and left her.
Doctor Gurney was sitting by the
log fire, alone in the room, and he
merely glanced over his shoulder when
his patient came in. He was not over
fifty, in spite of Sheridan's habitual
"ole Doc Gurney." He was gray, how-
ever, almost as thin as Bibbs, and
nearly always he looked drowsy.
"Your father telephoned me yester-
day afternoon, Bibbs," he said, not ris-
ing. "Wants me to 'look you over'
again. Come around here in front of
me—between me and the fire. I want
to see If I can see through you."
"You mean you're too sleepy to
move," returned Bibbs, complying. "I
think you'll notice that I'm getting
"Taken on about twelve pounds,"
said Gurney. "Thirteen, maybe."
"Well, it won't do." The doctor
rubbed his eyelids. "You're so much
better I'll have to use some machinery
on you before we can know just where
you are. You come down to my place
this afternoon. Walk down—all the
way. I suppose you know why your
father wants to know."
Bibbs nodded. "Machine shop."
"Still hate it?"
• Bibbs nodded again.
"Don't blame you!" the doctor grunt-
ed. "Yes, I expect It'll make a lump in
your gizzard again. Well, what do
you say? Shall I tell him you've got
the old lump there yet? You still want
to write, do you?"
"What's the use?" Bibbs said, smil-
ing ruefully. "My kind of writing!"
"Yes," the doctor agreed. "I suppose
if you broke away and lived on roots
and berries until you began to 'attract
the favorable attention of editors' you
might be able to hope for an Income of
four or five hundred dollars a year by
the time you're fifty."
"That's about it," Bibbs murmured.
"Of course I know what you want to
do," said Gurney, drowsily. "You don't
hate the machine shop only; you hate
the whole show—the noise and jar and
dirt, the scramble—the whole bloomln*
craze to 'get on.' You'd like to go
somewhere In Algiers, or to Taormlna,
perhaps, ond bask on a balcony, smell-
ing flowers and writing sonnets. You'd
grow fat on it and have a delicate lit-
tle life all to yourself. Well, what
do you say? 1 can lie like sixty, Blbbsl
I Shall I tell your father he'll lose an-
other of his boys if you don't go to
"I don't want to go to Sicily," said
Bibbs. "I want to stoy right here."
The doctor's drowsiness disappeared
for a moment, and he gave his patient
a sharp glance. "It's a risk," he said.
"I think we'll find you're so much bet-
ter he'll send you back to the shop
pretty quick. Something's got hold
of you lately ; you're not quite so lack-
adaisical as you used to be. But I
warn you: I think the shop will knock
you just as it did before, and perhaps
ever harder. Bibbs."
He rose, shook himself, and rubbed
his eyelids. "Well, when we go over
you this afternoon what are we going
to say about it?"
"Tell him I'm ready," said Bibbs,
looking at the floor.
"Oh no," Gurney laughed. "Not
quite yet; but you may be almost. We'll
see. Don't forget I said to walk down.'*
And when the examination was con-
cluded, that rffternoon, the doctor in-
form I Bibbs that the result was much
too satisfactory to be pleasing. "Here's
a new 'situation' for a one-act farce,"
he said, gloomily, to his next patient
when Bibbs had gone. "Doctor telia
a man he's well, and that's his death
sentence, likely. Dam' funny world!"
Bibbs decided to walk home. It was
a dingy afternoon, ood the smoke wos
evident not only to Bibbs' sight, but to
his nostrils, though most of the pedes-
trians were so saturated with the smell
that they could no longer detect It.
I This Incited a train of thought which
j continued till he approached the new
j house. A8 he came to the corner of
I Mr. Vertrees' lot Mr. Vertrees' dough-
! ter emerged from the front door and
| walked thoughtfully down the puth to
the picket gute. She was unconscious
of the approach of the pedestrian and
did not see him until she had opened
the gate and he was almost beside her.
Then she looked up, and as she saw
him she started visibly. And If this |
thing had happened to Robert Lam-
horn, he would have had a thought far
beyond the horizon of faint-hearted
Bibbs' thpughts. Lamhorn, indeed,
would have spoken his thought. IIe
would have said:
"You jumped because you were
thinking of me!"
Mary was the picture of a lady flus-
tered. Bibbs had paused in his slow
stride, and there elapsed on Instant be-
fore either spoke or moved—it was no
longer than that, and yet it sufficed
for each to seem to say, by look and at-
titude, "Why, it's you!"
Then they both spoke at once, each
hurriedly pronouncing the other's
name as if about to deliver a mes-
sage of Importance. Then both came
to a stop simultaneously, but Bibbs
made a heroic effort, and os they be-
gan to walk on' together he contrived
to find his voice.
"I—I—hate a frozen fish myself,*
he said. "I think three miles was tot
long for you to put up with one."
"Good gracious!" she cried, turning
to him a glowing face from which
restraint and embarrassment had sud-
denly fled. "Mr. Sheridan, you're
lovely te put It that way. It was an
imposition for me to have made you
bring me home, and after I went into
the house I decided I should hove
walked. Besides, it wasn't three miles
to the car line. I never thought of it!"
"No," said Bibbs, earnestly. "I
didn't, either. I might have said some-
thing if I'd thought of anything. I'm
talking now, though; I must remember
that, and not worry about it later. I
think I'm talking, though It doesn't '
sound Intelligent even to me. . I made
up my mind that if I ever met you
again I'd turn on my voice and keep It
going, no matter what It sold. I—"
She interrupted him with laughter,
and Mary Vertrees' laugh was one
which Bibbs' father hod declared, after
the house-warming, "a cripple would
crawl five miles to hear." And at the
merry lilting of It Bibbs' father's son
took heart to forget some of his trepi-
dation. "I'll be any kind of idiot," he
said, "if you'll laugli at me some more.
It won't be difficult for me."
She did; and Bibbs' cheeks showed a
little actual color, which Mary per-
ceived. They had passed the new house
without either of them showing—or
possessing—any consciousness that it
had been the destination of one of
"I'll keep on talking," Bibbs con-
tinued, cheerfully, "and you keep on
laughing. I'm amounting to something
in the world this afternoon. I'm mak-
ing a noise, and that makes you make
music. Don't be bothered by my bleat-
ing out such things as that. I'm real-
ly frightened. I don't remember talk-
ing as much as this more than once
or twice in my life. I suppose it wos
always in me to do it. though, the first
time I met anyone who didn't khow
me well enough not to listen."
"But you're not really talking to
me," said Mary. "You're Just think-
Do you think that Mary'a
warm friendship for Bibbs will
help him to endure the machine
shop long enough to Impress his
father with hlr usefulness In a
(TC BE CONTINUED.)"
of Good Digestion
Is strongly reflected In
your general health
For any digestive weak-
ness, liver and
bowel trouble or
You should try
LOSSES SURELY MEVEMTE1
tr CUTTER'S (LACKLII PILL*
-ft vaccine! fall.
Y~ Write forbooklet and testimonial*.
r«ari ol apedallalnf li
_ 1n1s and 9
only. Insist on Curraa's. If u* btaia*W«,
'ifcaCattarlitoratwv.Bwtttof. Cal.. arCllwia. Ill
Electric railways of the United
Btates represent a valuation of $730,-
BAD COMPLEXION MADE GOOD
When All Else Fails, by Cutlcura Soap
and Ointment. Trial Free.
If you ar© troubled with pimples,
blackheads, redness, roughness, itching
and burning, which disfigure your com-
plexion and skin, Cuticura Soap and
Ointment will do much to help you.
The Soap to cleanse and purify, the
Ointment to soothe and heal.
Free sample each by mail with Book*
Address postcard, Cuticura, Dept. L«
Boston. Sold everywhere.—Adv.
South Afrlcu's diamond industry li
to be revived.
DEATH LURKS IN A WEAK HEART,
so on first symptoms use "Renovine'
and be cured. Delay and pay the awful
penalty. "Renovine" is the heart'*
remedy. Price $1.00 and 50c.—Adv.
SARDINIA'S MANY SAINTS' DAY
Each Village Has Its Annual Festival,
When It Celebrates the Birthday
of Its Patron.
Each "pnese" or village of Sardinia
has its annual festival to celebrate
the birthday of its own particular
saint or some other church feast. The
most renowned of those is the "fes^a"
of "Saint Elisio," the notional feast of
the islund. The ceremony is in the
form of a procession from Cogllnri, the
chief city to Pula, a village nine miles
away, with the return to Cagliari. The
saint was on official In the army of
Diocletian, and for his conversion to
Christionity wus beheaded at Pula.
At midday on Muy 1 the procession
leaves and returns on the evening of
May 4. It is composed of a cavalcade-
of horsemen, all In the costume of the
ancient Sardinian militia, escorting the
image of the saint, which Is preceded
by musicians playing the launeddas, an
Instrument made of three or four reeds
of different lengths and resembling the
pipe of ancient times.
No Light Matter.
Both Germany and Russia are hav-
ing serious difficulties In getting enough
matches "to go around." Germany
lacks the proper kind of wood, which,
formerly was imported from Russia.
The czar's country, on the other hand*
is in want of the necessary chemicals
for match-making, which the Russians
used to get from Germany.
—many tea or coffee drink-
ers find themselves in the
grip of a "habit" and think
they can't. But they can—
easily—by changing to the
delicious, pure food-drink,
This fine cereal beverage
contains true nourishment,
but no caffeine, as do tea
Postum makes for com-
fort, health, and efficiency.
"There's a Reason"
Here’s what’s next.
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Burke, J. J. The Daily Transcript (Norman, Okla.), Vol. 4, No. 113, Ed. 1 Monday, November 6, 1916, newspaper, November 6, 1916; (gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc113336/m1/2/: accessed December 16, 2018), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.