The Mangum Mirror (Mangum, Okla.), Vol. 1, No. 23, Ed. 1 Tuesday, June 5, 1917 Page: 3 of 8
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THE MANGUM MIRROR
f
a
K
Mary Roberta Rlnehart
ACop/rUht, by McClure Publications. lac.)
Le Moyne Is Found Out and
the Big Part of Our Story
Begins to Unfold.
SYNOPSIS—K. LeMoyne. n
young man, becomes a roomer
at the Page home, where Sidney,
her mother, Annu, anil her old
maid aunt. Harriet, a dressmak-
er preside. Through the influ-
ence of Dr. Mux Wilson, a suc-
cessful young surgeon, Sidney
becomes a probationary nurse
at the hospital. Aunt Harriet
opens a fashionable shop down-
town. Christine Lorenz und Pal-
mer Howe are about to be mar-
ried and they will take rooms at
the Pages'. Sidney Is loved by
K., by Joe Drummond, a high-
school beau, and by Dr. Mux,
who fascinates her. At the hos-
pital she begins to see the un-
derside <St the world. She meets
Gbarlotta Harrison, who has
been very "thick" with Dr. Max.
K. LeMoyne Is a mystery. He
works at the gas office as a
clerk, but his past Is hidden, and
he fears to meet strangers-
why? As this Installment opens,
Doctor Max Is coming across the
street from his home to call on
Sidney. K. shrinks from the In-
troduction but- wes no way of
escape.
CHAPTER IX—Continued.
"Sidney?"
"Here! Right back here!"
There was vibrant gladness In her
tone. He came slowly toward them.
"My brother Is not at home, so I
came over. How select you are, with
your balcony1'*
"Can you see the step?"
"Coming, with bells on."
K. had risen and pushed back his
chair. His mind was working quickly.
Here In the darkness he could v hold
the situation for a moment. If he
could get Sidney Into the house, the
rest would not matter. Luckily, the
balcony was very dark.
"Is anyone 111?"
, "Mother Is not well. This Is Mr. Le
Moyne, and he knows who you are
"very well, Indeed."
The two men shook hands.
"I've heard a lot of Mr. Le Moyne.
Tou're the most popular man on the
Street."
"I've always heard that about you.
Sidney, if Doctor Wilson Is here to see
your mother—"
"Going," said Sidney. "And Dr.
'Wilson is a very great person, K., so
Dbe polite to him."
Max had aroused at the sound of
[Le Moyne's voice, not to suspicion, of
course, but to memory. Without any
apparent reason, he was back in Ber-
lin, tramping the country roads, and
beside him—
"Wonderflil night I Will you have a
cigarette?"
"Thanks; I have my pipe here."
K. struck a match with his steady
bands. Now that the thing had come,
he was glad to face It. In the flare,
his quiet profile glowed against the
night. Then he flung the match over
the rail. Max stared; then he rose.
Blackness had descended on them
again, except for the dull glow of K.'s
old pipe.
"For God's sake 1"
"Sh! The neighbors next door have
a bad habit of sitting Just inside the
curtains."
"But—you!"
"Sit down. Sidney will be back In
-a moment. I'll talk to you, If you'll sit
still. Can you hear me plainly?"
After a moment—"Yes."
"I've been here—in the city, I mean
—for a year. Name's Le Moyne.
Don't forget it—Le Moyne. I've got
a position in the gas office, clerical."
Wilson stirred, but he found no ade-
quate words. Only a part of what K.
said got to him. For a moment he
was back in a famous clinic, and this
man across from him—It was not be-
lievable !
"It's not hard work, and it's safe.
If I make a mistake there's no life
hanging on it."
Wilson's voice showed that he was
more than Incredulous; he waa pro-
foundly moved.
"We thought you were dead. There
were all sorts of stories. When a year
went by—the Titanic had gone down,
and nobody knew but what you were
oq It—we gave up. I—in June we put
up a tablet for you at the college. I
■went down for the—for the servicea."
"Let It stay," said K. quietly. "I'm
dead as far as the college goes, any-
how. ni never go back. I'm Le Moyne
now. And. for heaven's sake, don't be
•orry for me. I'm more contented
than I've been for a long time."
The wonder in Wilson's voice was
giving way to Irritation.
-But—when yoa bad werythinjt *
>\*Vj good k«STMii n I did yoar
Hwrauoo today, aad I've been blowing
It «T«r ttfic*."
"All a man In our profession has la
• certain method, knowledge—call It
whut you like—und faith lu himself. I
lost my self-confidence; that's all. Cer-
tain things huppened; kept on happen-
ing. So I gave It up."
"It every surgeon gave up because
he lost cusos—I've Just told you I did
your operation toduy. Ther" was Just
a chance for the man, and I took ray
courage In my hunds and tried it. The
poor devil's dead."
K. rose rather ^enrlly and emptied
his pipe over the balcony rail.
"That's not the same. That's the
chance he und you took. What hap-
pened to me was—different."
Pipe in hand, he stood staring out
at the allanthus tree with its crown
of stars. Instead of the Street with Its
quiet houses, he saw the men he had
known and worked with and taught,
his friends who spoke his language,
who hud loved him, many of them,
gathered about a bronze tablet set in
u wall of the old college; he saw their
earnest faces and gruve eyes. He
heard—
lie heard the soft rustle of Sidney's
dress ns she cume Into the little room
behind them.
CHAPTER X.
A few days after Wilson's recogni-
tion of K., two most exciting things
happened to Sidney. One was that
Christine asked her to be maid of
honor at her wedding. The other was
more wonderful. She was accepted,
and glvfen her cap.
Because she could not get home that
night, and because the little house had
no telephone, she wrote the news to
her mother and sent a note • to Le
Moyne.
K. found the note on the hall table
when he got home that night, and car-
ried it upstairs to read. Whatever
faint hope he might have had that her
youth would prevent her acceptance
he knew now was over. With the let-
ter in his hand, he sat by his table
and looked ahead Into the empty years,
Not quite empty, of course. She would
be coming home.
But more and more the life of the
hospital would engross her. He sur
mlsed, too, very shrewdly, that, had he
ever had a hope that she might come
to carp for him, his very presence In
the little house militated against him.
There was none of the Illusion of sep-
aration ; he was always there, like Ka-
K. Struck a Match With His Steady
Hand.
tie. When she opened the door, she
called "Mother" from the hall. If
Anna did not answer, she called him,
in much the same voice.
Sidney's letter was not the only one
he received that day. When, in re-
sponse to Katie's summons, he rose
heavily and prepared for dinner, he
found an unopened envelope on the
table. It was from Max Wilson:
Dear Le Moyne—I have a feeling of deli-
cacy about trying to see you again so
soon. I'm bound to respect your seclu-
sion. But there are some things that have
got to be discussed.
It takes courage to step down from the
pinnacle you stood on. So lfs not cow-
ardice that has set you down here. It's
wrong conception. And I've thought of
two things. The ftrst. and best. Is for you
to go back. No one has taken your place,
because no one could do the work. But
If that's out of the question— and only you
know that, for only you know the facts—
the next best thing Is this, and In all hu-
manity I make the suggestion.
Take the State exams under your pres-
ent name, and when you've got your cer-
tificate. come In with me. This isn't mag-
nanimity. I'll be getting much more than
I five.
Think it over, old man. M. W.
It Is a curious fact that a man who
Is absolutely untrustworthy about
women is often the soul of honor to
other men. The younger Wilson, tak-
ing his pleasures lightly and not too
discriminatingly, was making an offer
that meant his ultimate eclipse, and
doing It cheerfully, with his eyes open.
'm not absolutely useless where I
am, you know, Max." he said. "Pve
raised three tomato plants and a fam-
ily of kittens this summer, helped to
plan u trousseau, assisted In selecting
wallpaper for the room Just Inside—
did you notice It?—and developed a
boy pitcher with a ball that twists
uround the bat like a Collea fracture
around a splint!"
Wilson rose and flung his cigarette
Into the grass.
"I wish I understood you!" he said
Irritably.
K. rose with him, and all the sup-
pressed feeling of the Interview was
crowded Into his last words.
"I'm not as ungrateful as yon think,
Max," he said. "I—you've helped a
lot Don't worry about me. I'm as
well off as I deserve to be, und better.
Good night."
"Good night."
Wilson's unexpected magnanimity
put K. In u curious position—left
him, as It were, with a divided alle-
giance. Sidney's frank Infatuutlon for
the young surgeon wus growing. He
wus quick to see It. And where before
lie might have felt Justified in going
to the length of wurnlng her, now his
hands were tied.
Sidney went on night duty shortly
after her acceptance. She tumbled
Into her low bed ut nine o'clock In the
morning, those days, with her splen-
did hair neatly braided down her back
and her prayers said, and Immediately
her active young mind filled with
images—Christine's wedding. Doctor
Max pussing the door of the old ward
and she not there, Joe—and she puz-
zled over Grace and her kind.
On her first night on duty a girl
had been brought in from the Avenue.
She had taken poison—nobody knew
Just what. When the internes had
tried to find out, she had only said:
"What's the use?"
And she had died.
Sidney kept asking herself, "Why?"
those mornings when she could not get
to sleep. People were kind—men were
kind, really—and yet, for some reason
or other, those things had to be.
Why?
Carlotta Harrison went on night
duty at the same time—her last night
service, as it was Sidney's first. She
accepted It stoically. She had charge
of the three wards on the floor Just
below Sidney, and of the ward Into
which all emergency cases were taken.
It was a difficult service, perhaps the
most difficult In the house. Carlotta
merely shrugged her shoulders.
"I've always had things pretty hard
here," she commented briefly. "When
I go out, I'll either be competent
enough to run a whole hospital single-
handed, or I'll be carried out feet
first."
Sidney was glad to have her so near.
She knew her better than she knew
the other nurses. Small emergencies
were constantly arising and finding her
at a loss. Once at least every night
Miss Harrison would hear a soft hiss
from the back staircase that connect-
ed the two floors, and, going out, would
see Sidney's flushed face and slightly
crooked cap bending over the stair
rail.
"I'm dreadfully sorry to bother you,"
she would say, "but So-and-So won't
have a fever bathor, "I've a woman
here who refuses her medicine." Then
would follow rapid questions and
equally rapid answers. Much as Car-
lotta disliked and feared the girl over-
head, It never occurred to her to re-
fuse her assistance. Perhaps the an-
gels who keep the great record will
put tha* to her credit.
• •*••••
Sidney saw her first death shortly
after tie went on night duty. It wus
the rajst terrible experience of all her
life—It seemed to her that she could
not stand It. Added to all her other
new problems of living was this one
of dying.
She made mistakes, of course, which
the kindly nurses forgot to report—
basins left about, errors on her rec-
ords. She rinsed her thermometer in
hot water one night, and startled an
Interne by sending him word that Mary
McGuIre's temperature was 110 de-
grees. She let a delirious patient escape
from the ward another night and go
airily down the fire escape before slle
disovered what had happened! Then
she distinguished herself by flying
down the iron staircase and bringing
the runaway buck single-handed.
• ••••••
For Christine's wedding the Street
threw off its drab attire and assumed
a wedding garment. In the beginning
it was incredulous about some of the
details. The wedding was to be at
five o'clock. This, in Itself, defied all
traditions of the Street, which was
either married In the very early morn-
ing at the Catholic church or at eight
o'clock In the evening at the Presbyte-
rian. There was something reckless
about five o'clock. The Street felt the
dash of It. It hud a queer feeling that
perhaps such a marriage was not quite
legal.
The younger Wilson was to be one
of the ushers. When the newspapers
cume out with the published list and
this wus discovered, as well as that
Sidney was the maid of honor, there
was a distinct quiver through the hos-
pital training school. A probationer
was authorized to find out particulars.
It was the day of the wedding then.
Sidney colored. "I believe so."
The probationer had been Instructed
to find out other tilings; so she set to
work with a fun at Sidney's hair.
"You've known Doctor Wilson a long
time, huven't you?"
"Ages."
"He's awfully good-looking, Isnt I
he?"
Sidney considered. She wus not Ig-
norant of the methods of the school.
If this girl wus pumping her—
"I'll have to think thut over," she
said, with a glint cf mischief In her
eyes. "When you know a person ter-
ribly well, you hardly kuow whether
he's good-looking or not.''
"I suppose," said the probationer,
running the long strands of Sidney's I
hair through her fingers, "that when |
you are at home you see him often."
Sidney got off the window sill, and,
taking the probationer smilingly by the
shoulders, faced her toward the door.
"You go buck to the girls," she said,
"and (ell them to come In and see me
when I am dressed, and tell them this:
I don't know whether I am to walk
down the aisle with Doctor Wilson,
but I hope I am. I see him very often.
I like him very much. I hope he likes
me. And I think he's handsome."
She shoved the probationer out Into
the hull und locked the door behind
her.
That message In its entirety reached
Carlotta Harrl&on. Her smoldering
eyes (lamed. The audacity of it star-
tled her. Sidney must be very sure
of herself. When the probationer who
had brought her the report had gone
out, she lay In her long, white night-
gown, hands clasped uuder her head,
and stared at the vaultlike celling of
her little room.
She saw there Sidney In her white
dress going down the aisle of the
church; she saw the group around the j
altar; and, ns surely us she lay there,
she knew that Mux Wilson's eyes
would be, not on the bride, but on the
girl who stood beside her.
The curious thing was that Carlotta
felt that she could stop the wedding
If she wanted to. She'd happened on
a bit of Information—many a wedding
had been stopped for less. It rather
obsessed her to think of stopping the
wedding, so that Sidney and Max
would not walk down the aisle to-
gether.
There came, at last, an hour before
the wedding, a lull In the feverish
activities of the previous month. Ev-
erything was ready. In the attic, in
the center of a sheet, before a toilet
table which had been carried upstairs
for her benefit, sat, on this her day
of days, the bride. AU the second
story had been prepared for guests
and presents. Christine sat alone in
the center of her sheet. The brides-
maids had been sternly forbidden to
come Into her room.
"I haven't had a chance to think for
a month," she -said. "And I've got
some things I've got to thlgk out."
But, when Sidney came, she sent for
her. Sidney found her sitting on a
stiff chair, in her wedding gown, with
her veil spread out on a small stand.
"Close the door," said Christine.
And, after Sidney had kissed her:
"I've a good mind not to do it."
"You're tired and nervous, that's
all."
"I am, of course. But that Isn't
what's wrong with me. Throw that
veil some place and sit down."
Christine was undoubtedly rouged, a
very delicate touch. Sidney thought
brides should be rather pale. But
under her eyes were lines that Sidney
had never seen there before.
"I'm not going to be foolish, Sidney.
I'll go through with It, of course. It
wouljl put mamma in her grave if I
made a scene now."
She suddenly turned on Sidney.
"Palmer gave his bachelor dinner at
the Country club last night. They all
drank more than they should. Some-
body called father up today and said
that Palmer had emptied a bottle of
wine into the piano. He hasn't been
here today."
"He'll be along. And as for the
other—perhaps it wasn't Palmer who
did it."
"That's not It, Sidney. I'm fright-
ened."
Three months before, perhaps, Sid-
ney could not have comforted her; but
three months had made a change In
Sidney. The complacent sophistries
of her girlhood nt> ionger answered for
truth. She put her arms around Chris-
tine's shoulders.
"A man who drinks Is a broken
reed," said Christine. "That's what
I'm going to marry and lean on the
rest of my life—a broken reed. And
that Isn't all!"
PREVENTING EROSION OF FARM LANDS {
STEEP SLOPE
(Prepared by the United States Depart-
ment of Agriculture.)
The many disastrous attempts to
;ultlvate the narrow-base, ievel-rldge
Jerrace on all types of soli have led to
Ihe development of a terrace with a
broader base, known as the broad-base
level-ridge terrace. The broad-base
embankment of earth provides the
strength necessary to withstand the
weight of the Impounded water above,
and the terrace is built sufficiently
high to hold all run-ofT water from the
drainage area above the terrace.
Figure 1 represents a cross section
of two adjoining broad-base, ievel-
rldge terraces, with the various dimen-
sions designated by letter. The ver-
tical height of the terrace above the
point c is represented by h; w is the
width of the base of the terrace, d
the horizontal distance, and v the ver-
tical distance between terraces. These
dimensions were obtained from sur-
veys of eight fields representing the
best practice in the use of this form
of terrace.
Height of Terrtice.
From observation of field conditions,
and a study of the data secured, It is
believed that a broad-base, level-ridge
terrace should be not less than 1% feet
high and at least 10 feet broad at the
base. Methods of plowing and cultiva-
tion should be adopted which will tend
to increase the base width from year
to year and thus virtually transform
the whole field Into a series of ter-
races.
Since the stability of a broad-base
level-ridge terrace with closed ends
depends upon its ability to retain the
surface run-off water due to rainfall
over the area between it and the next
terrace above, it is apparent that the
reservoir capacity above the terrace
must be sufficient to store this water.
Upon this principle is based the design
of a system of broad-base, level-ridge
terraces.
From a general study of the rainfall
records for the United States it Is
found that rainfalls exceeding 8 inches
per 48 hours do not occur frequently
in a given locality, and it Is believed
that provision for 8 Inches of rainfall
In the' design of a system of terraces
would give satisfactory results.
To determine the proper vertical
spacing for a system of terraces for
any particular field it is necessary to
know the average slope of the land
surface and the approximate percent-
age oT the rainfall that will percolate
Into the soil. The former can be meas-
ured readily by some form of leveling
Instrument and the latter can be ascer-
tained by a knowledge of the physical
character, the humus content, and the
tillage condition of the soil. The sus-
ceptibility of the subsoil to the perco-
lation of water also Is an important
factor to be considered in estimating
the run-off.
Rates of Percolation.
It is by no means an easy matter to
estimate the percentage of rainfall
IRED, NOW ERODING BADLY.
that will run off for the various types
and conditions of polls. For Instance,
the difference in the rates of percola-
tion for clay and sandy soils Is very
marked, the latter permitting a much
higher rate than the former. This la
due to the fineness of the particles and
the compact structure of the clay soils
as compared with the open, porous
structure and coarse particles of tha
sandy soils. The open structure of a
soli facilitates the entrance and rapid
circulation of both air and water, since
resistance to flow varies Inversely as
the size of the Individual pore spaces.
After a long dry period the pores In
the upper layers of a soli become filled
with air which, until It is expelled,
tends to retard the entrance of soil wa-
ter. A deeply plowed soil will absorb
a greater percentage of rainfall than
one where shallow plowing Is prac-
ticed, and the greater the amount of
humus in a soil the greater will be Its
capacity to absorb water. The rate
of absorption after the top soli is sat-
urated with water depends upon ths
permeabllltv of the subsoil. A close.
Impervious subsoil checks the rate of
percolation and thereby increases the
run-off at the surface.
The water capacity of the top foot
of farm land in good tilth has been
stated to be 4 or 5 inches; thus a soil 12
Inches deep could absorb this amount
of rainfall provided the rain Is sup-
piled to the surface at the same rate
at which the soli is capable of receiv-
ing it. If the former rate is greater
than the latter, the excess water runs
off over the land surface with a ve-
locity depending upon the slope. The
steeper the slope the more rapid the
run-off, and correspondingly less would
be the time allowed for the absorption
of water by the soil. Hence, the steep-
er the slope the greater will be the per*
centage of the rainfall flowing off.
Reduce Height of Terrace.
Were It not for the fact that the
terraces would need to be placed very
close together on steep slopes, thus
necessitating a greater number of ter-
races, it would be well to reduce the
height of the terrace as the slope of
the land Increases. This would ob-
viate the difficulty encountered in the
construction of large terrace embank-
ments on steep slopes.
In the field investigations many ter-
races with closed ends were found.
Some followed contours completely
around a knoll or hilltop, forming a
closed circuit with no outlet But most
of the level terraces examined had out-
lets at either one or both ends, ft*
the foregoing discussion the terrace
was taken as 1% feet high; with
closed ends it would overflow for a
rainfall in excess of 8 Inches In 48
hours. However, if one or both ends
of a terrace be left open a liberal fac-
tor of safety against overflowing Is
provided. To provide a factor of safe-
ty for terraces with closed ends It is
recommended that they be made about
1% feet high.
FIG. I
CROSS 8ECTI0N OF LEVEL-RIDGE TERRACES.
Would you permit you.* daugh-
ter or sister to marry a young
man who is a rake—a "broken
reed?" Would Christine do right
to refuse to marry, even at this
late hour?
THINGS TO DO NOW
TO ASSIST WIN WAR
j K. was moved. It was like Max to and Sidney, who had not been to b«*d
make such an offer, like him to do It at all. was sitting in a sunny window
as If he were asking a favor and not , in the dormitory annex, drying her
«v.nferring one. But the offer left hlnwbair.
I untempted. lie had weighed hi nisei™ The probationer was distinctly un-
i in the balance, and found huuwlf, easy.
I wanting. No tablet on the college wall **I—I Just wonder." she said. **lf yoa
' ,- iuld chance that. And when, late woold let some of the girls come In
that night. Wilson found him on the to see you when you're dresse 1?"
balcony aad added appeat to arge- "Why of coarse I wllL"
nient. the situation remained as- "It's swfully thrilling. Isn't It? And—
changed. He o-a'.lard its bopeiesnaees Isn't Doctor Wilson going le he aa
wh>-u K- lars-'d into whimsical haaur. usher?"
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Then Things Happened.
He was a bookkeeper in a big man-
ufacturing establishment. He lived
tn a hail room la a modest boarding
1 house aud ate his luncheons In a quick-
i lunch restaurant.
! "There's no chance for adventure
here in a great city." be used to say
as he sat on the front steps evenings.
Then all In the same week a burglar
took $ 16 from his trousers' pocket, an
ammonia tank blew np In his office
building, he was caught tn a subway
| wreck, he was arrested by mistake for
a pickpocket and he wa« run down
I by aa natomnbile on his way notne
from work and be married the nnrae
I wis helped aet his broken arm.—
jMI
Every Man, Woman and Child,
Should Help Meet Situation
by Working in Garden.
The world's food supply is short.
The outlook for this year's crop is
bad.
i To remedy these conditions In order
to feed the armies and the peoples en-
caged in a war to win for the world a
, permanent peace and for all nations
perfect freedom, everyone must do his
j part.
I The limiting factor In the production
I of foodstuffs right now Is labor.
Every man. woman, and child should
help meet the situation by working in
a garden or oo a farm or by preserv-
tnc the prod acta of garden, orchard
farm-trained labor and send it out to
the aid of the farmer.
Good prices for labor should be en-
couraged.
Children in schools, able to do out-
door work, should be freed for such
work and given credit In their studies
for the rest of the school year.
The wheat screage should be in-
creased at the expense of oats, and the
corn acreage should be Increased.
Tractors should be kept going 24
hours a day, plowing and disking.
These are things to do now.
MINERAL ELEMENTS FOR COW
Most Dependable Source Is
nous Roughage. Such as Clever
and Alfalfa Hay.
Probably the most dependable source
of the mineral elements for cows is
leguminous roughage, such as clover
aad alfalfa hay. By a liberal nse of
these feeds, the shortage of minerals
Rrerr community should release ; equilibria
from other forms at employment nil
within the body of th*
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Ryder, J. W. The Mangum Mirror (Mangum, Okla.), Vol. 1, No. 23, Ed. 1 Tuesday, June 5, 1917, newspaper, June 5, 1917; Mangum, Oklahoma. (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc281770/m1/3/: accessed April 25, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.