The Medford Patriot-Star. (Medford, Okla.), Vol. 24, No. 38, Ed. 1 Thursday, April 26, 1917 Page: 2 of 12
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THE MEDFORD PATRIOT-STAR. MEDFORD. OKLAHOMA
THE
ADVENTURE
By HENRY KITCHELL WEBSTER
The Nemesis
of Sin
By REV W. W. KETCH UM
Director of I’rACtlt.l ftVrk Ciiurui,
Moody Dlblc Itulituu. Chicago
AFTER A VERY SERIOUS TALK WITH HER SISTER PORTIA. WHO HAS SACRIFICED MUCH,
ROSE ALDRICH COMES TO THE CONCLUSION THAT MARRIAGE CALLS
FOR MORE THAN SHE HAS GIVEN IT
Rose Stanton, student at tin* University of Chleugo, Is put nlT u street our In the rain after nn argument
with the conductor. She Is a.......... hy u young laun win* offers help and escorts her home. About two
months Inter, the young man, Rodney Ahlrleh, well-to-do lawyer, marries Itose ami this obscure girl is thrown
Into < Ilienko « most cxcIukIyc noelul hi*i. sin* Is hurroutnloil l»y luxury, hut liccouirs
Sin- tries to help her husband, hut he luughs good uuturedly at her efforts,
leu Whitney, and Itose are chummy.
illssatlslled with ease.
Rodney's married sister, Freder-
CHAPTER V111—Continued.
lie saw her when she reurhed the
lower landtag, and cuttle to meet her.
“Oh 1" he said. "I thought you were
going to be off somewhere with Fred-
erica this afternoon. It's been a great
day. I hope you haven't spent the
whole of It indoors. You’re looking
great, anyway. Come here and give
me u kiss."
She hesitated, a little perplexed.
I>id he mean not to tell her—to
"spare" her. us he’d have said? The
kiss she gave him had a different
quality from those tlmt ordinarily con-
stituted her greetings, and the arms
that went round his neck didn’t give
•din their customary hug. I5ut they
stayed there.
“You poor, dear old boy!” site said,
and then, “Don’t you cure, Roddy!”
He returndO the caress with inter-
est, before lie seemed to realize the
different significance of it. Then he
pushed her away by tin* shoulders and
held her where he could look into her
lace. "What do you mean," la* asked.
“Don’t care about what?” It didn’t
seem like bravado—like an acted out
pretense, and yet, of course, it must be,
“Don't," she said. “Because I know.
I’ve known all day. I read it ia the
paper this morning.”
From puzzled concern the look in
his face took on a deeper intensity,
“Tell me what it is,” he said very
quietly. “I don’t know. I didn’t read
the paper this morning. Is it Harri-
et?" Harriet was his other sister—
married, and not very happily, it was
beginning to appear, to an Italian
count.
A revolution — a sort of sick mis'
giving—took the color out of Bose's
cheeks. "It isn’t anyone,” she said.
“It's nothing like that. It’s—it’s that
case.” Her lips stumbled over the
title of it. “It's been decided aguinst
you. Didn't you know?”
For a moment ills expression was
simply the absence of all expression
whatever. "But how the dickens did
you know anything about it? How
did you happen to see it in the paper?
How did you know the title of it?”
“I was in the court the (lay you
argued it,” she said unevenly. “And
“What Do You Mean?” He Asked.
when I found they printed those things
in the paper, I kept watch. And to-
day . .
“Why, you dear child!” he said. And
the queer, ragged quality of his voice
drew her eyes back to his, so that
•somewhere near as often as I win.
A limn couldn't la* uny good us a law-
yer. If he did care, any more than a
surgeon could he uny good, If lie did.
1 ou’ve got to keep u cold mind or you
can't do your best work. And if you've
done your best work, there's nothing
t<> care about. I honestly haven't
thought about the tiling once from that
day to tills. Don’t you see how it
I Is?”
She couldn’t see how it was, that
was plain enough. What he very rea-
sonably expected was that after so
lucid an explanation, she would turn
her wet face up to his, with her old
wide smile on it. lint that was not
what happened at all. Instead, she
just went limp in his arms, and the
sobs that shook her seemed to In
meeting no resistance whatever.
At last she controlled, rather .sudden-
ly. her sobs, sat up, wiped her eyes,
and, after a fashion, smiled. Not at
him, though; resolutely away from
him, in- might almost have thought—
as if she didn't want him to see.
"That’s right,” lie said, craning
round to make sure that the smile
was there. “Have a look at the funny
side of it.”
•She winced at that as from a blow
and pulled herself away from him.
Then she controlled herself and, in
answer to his look of troubled amaze-
ment, su'd: “It's all right. Only it
happens that you're the one who
d-doesn't know how awfully funny it
really is.” Her voice'shook, but she
got it ..in hand again. "No, I don’t
mean anything by that. Here! Give
itie a kiss and then let me wash my
fuee.” • *• ■'
And for the whole evening, and
again next morning until he left the
house, she managed to keep him in the
only half-questioning belief that noth-
ing was the mutter.
It was about an hour after that,
that her maid came inlo her bedroom,
where she had hud her breakfast, and
said that Miss Stanton wanted to see
her.
CHAPTER IX.
The Damascus Road.
It argued no real lack of sisterly
affection that Bose didn't want to see
I’ort.ia that morning. Even if there
had been no other reason, being found
in bed at half-past ten in the morning
by a sister who inflexibly opened her
little shop at half-past eight, regard-
less of had weather, buckaehes, and
other potentially valid excuses, was
enough to make one feel apologetic
and worthless. Bose could truthfully
say thut she was feeling wretched.
But Portia would sit there, slim and
erect, in a little straight-backed chair,
and whatever perfunctory commisera-
tion she might manage to express, the
look of her fine eyebrows would be
skeptical.
But Rose’s shrinking from a talk
with Portia thut morning was a mild
feeling compared with Portia’s dread
of the Impending talk with Rose.
Twice she had walked by the per-
fect doorway of the McCrea house be-
fore she entered It, because she
shrank from the ordeal that awaited
her in there.
They had been seeing each other
with reasonable frequency all winter.
The Aidrlches hud Portia and her
mother in to a family dinner pretty
often, and always came out to Edge-
water for a one-o'clock dinner with
the Stantons on Sunday.
Mrs. Stanton had taken a great lik-
ing to Rodney. His manner toward
her had just the blend of deference
and breezy nnconventionaiity that
pleased her. lie showed an unending
interest in the Woman Movement—
<’<1 lifter a straight look into Rose's
luce, "you look, tills morning, as if
bed wus Just where you ought to be.
\Vhut's the matter with you, child?"
"Nothing,” said Bose, “—nothing
that you’d call anything, at any rate.'*
Portia smiled ironically. 'Tin still
th«» same old dragon, then.” she said.
And then—“I'm sorry. I didn't mean
to say lliat, either. I’ve hud u rather
worrying sort of week."
“What Is It?" said Rose. “Tell me
about it. (’an I help?”
“No," said Portia. "I’ve thought it
over and it isn’t your Job." She got
up and went to (lie window nud stood
looking out where Rose couldn't see
without ever giving Rodney and men
chance to help, I don't see why you
did Hint, Portia."
"Oh. I saw It was my Job," Portia
siild. In that cool, dry tone of hers.
"It hud to lie done, and there wus no
one else to do It. So what was the
use of making u fuss?"
“Well, there's one thing," Rose said.
“I believe It'll do you us much good ns
mother. Getting u rest, . . , And n
nice little bungalow to live In—Jusl
vmi and mother. . . . 1—I sort of
wish I was going, too."
Portia laughed a rugged, unnuturul '
sounding laugh that brought a look of
puzzled Inquiry from Rose.
“Why, nothing," Portia explained.'
"It was Just the notion of your leav-
ing Rodney mol nil you've got here—
nil the wonderful tilings you have to
do—for what we'll have out there.
The Idea of your envying me In
something worth a small laugh, don't
you I Id nk?”
Rose's head drooped lower. She
burled her face in her hands. "I do
i envy you," she said. There was n
“It's about mother,"
her face,
concluded.
Rose sat up with a jerk. “About
mother!" she echoed. "Has she been
ill again this week? And you haven't
let me know! It’s a shame I haven't
been a round, hut I’ve been busy"—her
smile reflected some of tile irony of
Portia’s—“and rather miserable. Of
course I was going tills afternoon.”
“Yes," said Portia, “I fancied you'd
come this afternoon. That’s why I
wanted to see you alone first.”
“Alone!” Rose leaned slmrply for-
ward. “Oh, don't stand there whore I!
can’t see you! Tell me wlmt it is.”
"Pm going to," said Portia. “You
see, I wasn't satisfied with old Mur-
ray. I thought it was possible, either
that he didn't understand mother’s
case, or else that he wouldn’t tell me
what lie Suspected. So a week ago
today, I got her to go with me to a
specialist.” Her voice got a little
harder aud cooler. “Mother'll never he
well, Itose. Her heart is getting flab-
by—degenerating, he called it. He
says we can’t do anything except to
retard the progress of the disease. It
may go fast, or it may go slowly. That
attack she hud was just a symptom,
he said. She’ll have others. Aud by
and hy, of course, a fatul one.”
Still she didn't look around from
tile window. She knew Rose was cry-
ing. She had heurd the gasp and
choke that followed her first announce-
ment of the news, and since then, ir-
regularly, a muffled sound of sobbing.
She wanted to go over and comfort
the young, stricken thing there on the
bed, but she couldn’t. She could feel
nothing hut n dull, irresistible anger
that Bose should have the easy relief
of tears, which had been denied her.
Because Portia couldn’t cry.
“lie said,” she went on, “that in tills
climate, living as she has been doing,
slic'd hardly last six months, but that
in a bland climate like southern Cali-
fornia, if she’s carefully watched all
Hie time to prevent excitement or over-
exertiou, she might live a good many
years.
So that’s what we’re going to do.
I’ve written the Fletchers to look out
a place for us, and I’ve sold out my
business—took an offer thut I refused
a month ago. As soon as we hear from
tiie Fletchers, we’ll begin to pack.
Within a week, I hope.”
Bose said a queer thing then. She
cried out inereduously: “And you and
mother are going away to California
to live! And leave me here all alone!”
“All alone with the whole of your
own life,” thought Portia, but didn’t
say it.
“I can’t realize it at all,” Rose went
on after a little silence. “It doesn’t
seem—possible. Do you believe the
specialist is right? Cau’t we go to
someone else and make sure?”
“What’s the use?” said Portia. “Be-
sides, if I drag mother around to any
more of them, she’ll know.”
Bose looked up sharply. “Doesn’t
she know?”
“No,” said Portia in that hard, even
voice of hers. “I lied to her, of course.
----- — ---- ----- —, __ ----- order to get her started. More ofteu,
she saw, wonderingly, that they were j and so far as Portia could see, quite
bright with tears. "And you never seriously, he professed himself in full
said a word, aud you've been bother- accord with her views.
never tired of drawing from his | You know mother well enough to know
mother-in-law tiie story of her labors what she'd do if she knew the truth
and the exposition of her beliefs. Some- about it. Don’t you know how it's
times he argued with her playfully in always pleased her when old people
lug your dear little head about it all
the time. Why, you darling!”
He sat down on the edge of the
table, and pulled her up tight into
his arms again. She was glad to put
her head down—didn’t want to look
nt his face} she knew that there was
a smile there along with the tears.
“And you thought I was worrying
about it,” he persisted, “and that I'd
be unhappy because^ I was beaten?"
He patted her shoulder consolingly
with a big band. “But that’s ail in
the day's work, child. I’m beaten
The reason why these family parties
were at an end was what Portia came
to tell Bose this morning. She hoped
slid'd be aide to tell it gently.
Bose greeted her with a “Hello,
angel! Why didn't you come right
up? Isn’t It disgraceful to be lying
around in bod like this In the middle
of the morning?"
“I don’t know,” said Portia. “Might
could die—’in harness,' as she says?”
Tiie ordeal, or the worst of it, was
over. Bose was drooping, forlornly
forvvard, one arm clasped around her
knees, and she was trying to dry her
tears on the sleeve of her nightgown.
The childlike pathos of the attitude
caught I'ortia like the surge of a wave.
She crossed the room and sat down on
the edge of the bed. She'd have come
still closer and taken the girl in her
arms, but for the fear of starting her
crying again.
“Yes,” Rose said. “That’s mother,
as well stay in bed, if you’ve nothing! And I guess she's right about It It
to do when you get up.” She meant must be horrible to be half-alive_to
it to sound good-humored, but was know you’re no use and never will he.
afraid it didn't. “Anyhow,” she add-^And you've gone through this all alone
“I'm Something Nice for Him to Make
Love To."
dull, muffled passion in her voice. “Why
shouldn't I envy you? You're so cold
nnd certain all the time. You make
up your mind what you'll do and you
do it. I try to do tilings and just
make myself ridiculous.”
"You’ve got a husband,” said Portia
in a thin, brittle voice. “That might
count for something, I should think.”
‘‘Y'es, and what good am I to him?”
Rose demanded. - “He can’t talk to
mo—not about his work or anything
like that. And I can’t help him any
way. I'm something nice for him to
make love to, when he feels like do-
ing it, and I'm a nuisance when 1
make scenes and get tragic. And
that’s all. That's—marriage, I guess.
You're the lucky one, Portia.”
The silence had lasted a good while
before Rose noticed that Portia liad
not stirred; had sat there as rigidly
still as a figure carved in Ivory.
Becoming aware of that, she raised
her head. Portia wasn't looking at
her, but down at her own clenched
hands.
“It needed Just that, I suppose,”
she heard her older sister say between
almost motionless lips. “I thought it
was pretty complete before, but It
took that to make it perfect—that you
think I’m the lucky one—lucky never
to have had a husband, or anyone
else, for that matter, to love me. And
lucky now, to have to give up the only
substitute I had for that.” *
“Portia!” Rose cried out, for the
mordant, alkaline bitterness in her sis-
ter’s voice, nnd the tragic irony in her
face, was nlmost terrifying. But the
outcry might never have been uttered
for any effect it had.
“I hoped this wouldn’t happen,” the
words came steadily on, one at a time.
"I hoped I could get this over and
get away out of your life altogether
without letting it happen. But I
can't. Perhaps it's just as well—per-
haps it may do you some good. But
that’s not why I’m doing it. I’m do-
ing it for myself. Just for once, I’m
going to let go! You won’t like it.
You’re going to get hurt.”
Rose drew herself erect and a curi-
ous change went over her face, so tlmt
you wouldn't have known she’d been
crying. She drew in a long breath
and said, very steadily: “Tell me. I
sha’n’t try to get away.”
I'hiingli iHickct money. But Hie picii
of an old uiipiiM grocery Mil made me
sick. I talked tilings over with mother
the next day—told her I wasn't going
In college—said I was going to gel n
Job. I g<d her to let tin* run all the
iieroiinix after tinii, and to attend to
everything. And I got >< Jo'* and be-
gun paying my way within u week."
“If I laid a tiling like that to re-
member," said Rose unsteadily. "I'd
never forget to he proud of It so long
us I lived."
j "I wish I could he proud of If." said
I’ortia. "Bui I couldn't help making u
sort of grievance of It. too. In all these
years I've u I ways made mother afraid
of me—always made her feel Hint I was
somehow contemptuous or her work
and Ideas. | grubbed away until I got
things straightened out, so tlmt her
Income was enough to live on—enough
for her to live on. I'd pulled her
through. But then . .
“But then there was me,” said Rose.
"I thought I was going to let you
go," Portia went on inflexibly. "But
things didn't come out that way—ut
least I couldn't make up my mind to
make them—so you went to the uni-
versity. I paid for that, and I paid
for your trousseau, and then I was
through."
Bose was trembling, but she didn’t
flinch. “Wh-whnt wus it," she asked
quietly, “what was it that might have
been different and wasn't? Was It—
was It somebody you wanted to nmrry
—Hint you gave up so I could have
my chance?"
Portia's harcfllttle laugh cut like a
knife. “You have always thought me
| cold,” she said. “So has mother. I'm
not, really. I'm—the other way. I
don't believe there ever was a girl that
wanted love and marriage more than
I. A man did want me to marry Him
at last, and for a while 1 thought I
would. Just—just for the sake of mar-
rying somebody. He wasn’t much, hut
la* was someone. But I knew I'd come
to hate him for not being someone else,
and I couldn't make up my mind to
it. So I took you on instead.
“I stopped hoping, you see, nnd
tried to forget all about it. And, in
a way, I succeeded. I was beginning
to get real Jobs to do—big jobs for
idg people, and it was exciting. That
made it easier to forget. I was begin-
ning to think that some day I’d earn
my way Into the open, big sort of life
that your new friends have had for
nothing. And then, a week ago, there
came the doctor and cut off thut
chance.
“Aud yet—” she leaned suddenly
forward, nnd the passion that had
been suppressed in her voice till now,
leaped up Into flame—“and yet, can
you tell me what I could have done
differently? I've lived the kind of life
they preach about—a life of ‘noble
sacrifice.’ It hasn't ennobled me. It's
made me petty—mean—sour. It’s
withered me up. Look at the differ-
ence between us! Look at you with
.vour big, free spaciousness—your pow-
er of loving and attracting love! Why,
you even love me, now, in spite of all
I’ve said this morning. I’ve envied
you that—I’ve almost -hated you
for it.
“No, that's a lie! I’ve wanted to,
Tiie only thing I could ever hate *you
for would be for falling. You’ve got
to make good! You’ve had my share
as well as yours—you’re living my
life as well as yours. I’m the branch
they cut off so that you could grow.
If you give up and let the big thing
slip out' of your hands the way you
were talking this morning, because
you’re too weak to hold it and haven’t
pluck enough to fight for it . .
“Look at me,’’ said Rose. The
words rang like a command upon a
battlefield.
Portia looked. Rose’s blue eyes
were blazing. “I won’t do that,” she
said very quietly. “I promise you
that.” Then the hard determination
in her face changed to something soft-
er, and as if Portia’s resistance count-
ed no more than that of a child, she
pulled her sister up in her arms and
held her tight. And so, at last, Portia
got the relief of tears.
The breach of misunderstand-
ing widens between Rose and
Rodney. . Rodney longs for his
old free life and Rose thinks
that she is a useless butterfly. An
unusually interesting scene ia
described in the next install-
ment.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Analyzing Waters.
Mifiernl waters are easily analyzed
by means of the spectroscope, as
shown by M. Jacques Bardet, and this
Is likely to prove one of the best muth-
“A man came to our house one day
to collect a bill,” Portia went on,
quite as if Rose hadn’t spoken. “Moth-
er was out, nnd I was at home. I was
seventeen then, getting ready to go
to Vassar. You were only seven—I
suppose you were at school. Anyhow.
I was at home, and I let him in. and
he made a fuss. I knew we weren't
rich, of course—I never had quite
j oils for this work. He pends a beam
of light through the water to be an-
alyzed and thence through the spec-
troscope prism, in order to permit of
examining the spectrum, this method
revealing very minute traces of met-
als. He finds the most varied metals
In different samples of mineral water,
and even t\e rarest metals, such as
germanium and gallium, which art
very rarely found in nature.
TEXT- M« »uro your slu will Uml y»u
out.— Numtwr* Xi.23.
Those words were spoken Hy Moses
to (ho tribes of Roulion nnd Gad when
Israel stood on
the east hunk of
the Jordan ready
to cross over Inlo
Hie pro ui I sed
hind. The request
made hy these
two tribes was
Halt they might
lie permitted to
find ii home for
themselveson the
east hank of the
.lordan where
the fertile plains
offered iihundunt
pasture for their
sheep and cattle.
They p r oiu I s od
Moses that their lighting men would
cross with the rest of Hie tribes nud
help them drive tiie enemy out of the
land. Upon this condition Moses grant-
ed their request and said, “If you fall to
keep your promise to help conquer the
land, ho sure your sin will find you
out.”
These words spoken by Moses so
long ago are true in ail generations.
“Will Find You Out."
Note, these words do not say, your
sin will ho found out, though that I*
true. What they say is, your sin will
find you out. That, you see, is quite a
different tiling. Something, I fear,
most people do not take into consid-
eration. They are fearful their sin
will be found out anil so they try to
conceal it. But bury sin, never so
deep, there will come a time when It
will he uncovered, for “the Lord will
bring to light the hidden things of
darkness and will make manifest the
counsels of the hearts." (I Cor. 4:5.)
&ome seem to think they can lose
their sin down through the years; that
the lapse of time will annihilate it; but
there is nn ever-present tense to sin
and It always keeps pace with the
years. A man’s lmir may have turned
gray, his form become bent, nnd his
step tottering, but the sins of his youth
linve not been lost. They still dog ids
steps, for as echo follows song, so sin
trails on ! on! ou!
Neither can sin be left behind hy
changing one’s dwelling place. Many
a man has tried it but never yet has
anyone succeeded. Though he has put
thousands of miles nnd oceans wide be-
tween him and ills sin, he has never
gotten nwny from it, for like Banquos’
ghost, it cannot be left behind. When
least he expects It, it gibbers at him;
then thinking to escape it, he turns an-
other way when lo! it greets him there.
Sow and Ye Must Reap.
It is also a law of nature and so a
law of God, that whatsoever a man
soweth that shall he also reap. He
may think he is cunning enough to es-
cape the consequences of his sin, just
as the criminal thinks when he com-
mits his crime, “others may be caught,
but not I.” O foolish man-! deceive
not thyself. As thou dost sow, so shalt
thou reap. A day of reckoning is ahead
and thou shalt not then escape the
judgment of God for, “Some men’s sins
are vopen beforehand, going before to
judgment; nnd some men they follow
after.” (I Tim. 5:24.)
But even now our sins find us out.*
Memory, that plastic piece of wax
upon which everything is recorded, and
from which nothing can be erased,
brings before us our sin, and con-
science, which the Greeks called the
whisper of God down the aisles of a
man’s soul, says, “Thou art the man.”
Herod, told of the mighty works of
Jesus, cried in alarm as memory and
conscience did their work, "It is John
the Baptist risen from the dead," and
he trembled with fear. Nothing pierces
one and leads to despair like an accus-
ing conscience. Many a man with no
other accuser has cried out, “My God!
I am found out at last!”
Deadly Virus of 8in.
Walking down our streets are many
who by their halting steps and pallid
countenances verify the text. Fair
once was the body God gave them,
sweet and clean, but alas! The deadly
virus of sin has poured Its foulness
through the blood and now they are
wrecks physically. Sin has found them
out in their bodies, which God intend-
ed not for sin, but for temples of the
Holy Spirit.
But sad as it is to see a body wrecked
by sin, infinitely sadder Is It to see a
ruined soul. For sin sends Its deadly
virus deeper than the body, it sends
it into one’s moral being. There is the
place where sin finds one out. Con-
science and memory may fall to do
their work now, and perchance the
body may escape the defilement of sin,
but not so the soul. Sin there is inex-
pungeable. It makes us what we are.
It, has wrought death within, nnd un-
less we avail ourselves of the grace
of God, we shall because of It die eter-
nally.
But God has a way of escape; it Is
through his son Jesus Christ upon
whom he laid the iniquity of us all. He
Is the onry way, “for there Is none
other name under heaven given among
men, whereby we must be saved."
(Acts 4:12.) How then 6hall we escape
being found out by our sin If we neg-.
lect so great a salvation which God by.
his grace has provided?
I
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The Medford Patriot-Star. (Medford, Okla.), Vol. 24, No. 38, Ed. 1 Thursday, April 26, 1917, newspaper, April 26, 1917; Medford, Oklahoma. (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc826348/m1/2/: accessed April 25, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.