The Supply Republican (Supply, Okla.), Vol. 20, No. 31, Ed. 1 Thursday, September 1, 1921 Page: 3 of 10
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THE REPUBLICAN. SUPPLY, OKLAHOMA
NO DEFENSE
By GILBERT PARKER
Author of
“The Seats of the Mighty”
“The Right of Way”
Copyright by Sir Gilbert Parker
THE DUEL.
Bjrropsls. — Returning home arter
a day's shooting, Dyck Calhoun,
gifted ,'oung Irish gentleman of the
time of the French and American
revolutions, meets Sheila Llyn, sev-
enteen-year-old girl visiting in tbe
neighborhood. They ure mutually
attracted. Sheila never knew her
dlsslpatod father, Errls Boyne, her
mother having divorced him and
resumed her maiden name. Reach-
ing home, Dyck finds Leonard Mal-
low, son of Lord Mallow, with a
message from the attorney general
summoning Miles Calhoun, Dyck s
father, to Dublin. Dyck and his
father go.
(CHAPTER HI—Continued.)
—2—
One (lay Erris Boyne said to Dyck:
“There’s a supper tonight at the
Breakneck club. Come along anti have
.a skinful. You'll meet people worth
knowing.”
“The Breakneck club isn’t a good
came for a first-class Institution," re-
marked Dyck, with a"pause and a
laugh; “hi/. I'll come If you'll fetch
me.”
Errls Boyne, who was eighteen years
older than Dyck, laughed, flicked a
little pinch of snulf at his nose with
liis linger.
"Dear lad, of course I’ll come and
fetch you," he said. "There's many a
man has done worse than lead a gay
Btripllng like you into pleasant ways.
'Bring along any loose change you have,
for It may he a night of nights. It's
•the best place to come to ever an hon-
est man had.”
"Are they all the right sort?” asked
Dyck, with a little touch of malice. “I
•mean, are they loyal and true?"
Erris Boyne laid a hand ou Dyck’s
arm.
“Come and find out. Do you think
I’d lend you into bnd company? Of
■course Emmet and Wolfe Tone won t
be there, nor any of that lot; but
ithere'll be some men of the right
■stamp." He watched Dyck carefully
out of the corner of his eye. “It’s
funny.” he added, "that In Ireland the
word loyal means being true to the
Union Jack, standing by King George
and his crowd.”
"Well, what would you have?” snid
Dyck. "For this is a day and age when
is more than
Breakneck club this bad business be-
gan. It was here that Dyck again
met that full, ascetic messenger from
the attorney general, who had brought
tlie message to Miles Calhoun. It was
with this man—Leonard Mallow, eldest
son of Lord Mallow—that Dyck, with
three others, played cards one ufter-
noon.
The instinctive antipathy which had
marked their tirst introduction was cur-
ried on to this later meeting. Dyck
distrusted Mallow, and allowed Ills dis-
trust exercise. It was unfortunate
that Mallow won from him three-
fourths of tlie money he had brought
to the club, and won It with u smile
not easy to forgive.
Dyck had at last secured a real suc-
cess in a scheme of his cards when
Mallow asked with u sneer:
"Did you learn that at your home
In heaven?"
"Don't they tench it where you live
in hell?" was Dyck’s reply.
At tills Mallow flicked Dyck across
tlie face with his handkerchief.
“That's what they teach where I be-
long.”
“Well, it’s ensy to learn, and we'll do
tlie sum at any time or place you
please.” After a moment Dyck con-
tinued “I wouldn’t make a fuss over it.
Let’s finish tlie game. There’s uo good
prancing till tlie sport’s ready; so I'll
sit and learn more of what they teach
in hell!’’
Dyck had been drinking, or lie would
not have spoken so; and when he was
drunk daring was strong in him. He
hated profoundly this man—so self-
satisfied and sutanlc.
lie kept a perfect coolness, however.
Leonard Mallow should not see that
he was upset. His wanton wordiness
cnme to his rescue, and until the end
of the game he played with sang-froid,
daring and skill. He loved curds; he
loved the strife of skill against skill,
of trick agulnst trick, of hand against
hand. He had never fought a duel in
his life, but he had no fear of doing so.
At length, having won back nearly
all he had lost, he rose to his feet and
looked round.
"Is there anyone here from whom 1
can usk a favor?”
Several stepped forward. Dyck
nodded. One of them he knew. It was
Sir Almerlc Foyle.
Thank you, Sir Almerlc,” he said;
“thank you. Shall it be swords or pis-
being loyal to the king
aught else In all tlie Irish world. We're I tols?” he nsked his enemy coolly,
never two days alike, we Irish. I here
are the United Irishmen and tlie De-
fenders on one side, and tlie Peep-o'-
Day Boys, or Orangemen, ou the other
—Catholic and Protestant, at each oth-
er's throats. Then there's a hand thrust
in, and tip goes the sword, and the
rifles, pikes and bayonets; and those
that were ready to mutilate or kill
each other fall into each other’s arms.
Erris Boyne laughed. “Well, there’ll
be an end to that. The Irish parlia-
ment is slipping into disrepute. It
wouldn’t surprise me If the astute Eng-
"Hwords, If you please.” remarked
Mallow grimly, for he had a gift with
the sword.
Dyck nodded again.
“As you will. As you will!”
• ' • • * • • •
Never in all Ireland’s years had she
a more beautiful day than that in
which Dyck Calhoun and the Hon.
Leonard Mallow met ts settle their ac-
count In a secluded corner of Phoenix
park. It was not the usual place for
duels. Tlie seconds had taken care to
keep the locale from tlie knowledge of
lish bribe them into a union, to the the public; especially as many who had
ruin ci Irish independence. Yet may-
be. before that comes, tlie French will
have a try for power here." He came
a step nearer, his voice lowered a little.
■"Have you henrd the latest news from
France? They’re coming with a good
sized fleet down to the south coast.
Have you heard it?”
"Oh, there’s plenty one hears one
dpesn't believe is gospel," answered
Dyck, his eyes half closing. "I’m not
believing all I hear, as if it was a
prayer-meeting. Anything may happen
here ; Ireland's a woman—very uncer-
tain."
Dyck flicked some dust from his
waistcoat, and dropped his eyes, be-
cause he was thinking of two women
he hud known; one of them an angel
now in company of her sister nngels—
his mother; the other a girl he had met
on tlie Hills of Connemara, u wonder-
fully pretty girl of seventeen. How
should he know that the girl was Errls
Boyue’s daughter? — although there
were times when some gesture of
Boyne, some quick look, some lifting
of the eyebvows, brought back the
memory of Sheila Llyn. ns it did now.
Since Dyck left his old home lie lmd
seen her twice; once nt Loyland tow-
ers, and once at her home in Limerick.
The lime he had spent with her had
been very brief, but full of life, inter-
est and character. Whether at Loy-
land towers, or nt her mother's house
in Limerick, there was no touch of for-
wardness In tier, or In anything she
said or did. She was the most natural
being, tlie freest from affectation, he
had ever known.
As Erris Boyne talked to him, the
memory of Sheila flooded his mind, and
on the flood his senses swam like
swans. He had not her careful com-
posure. He was just as real, but he
had the wilfulness of man. She influ-
enced him as no woman had ever yet
done; but he saw no happy ending to
the dream. He was too poor to marry;
he had no trade or profession; his
fnther’s affairs were In a bnd way.
He did not know that Erris Boyne
was set to capture him for the rebel
cause. How could he know that Boyne
was an agent of the most evil forces in
Ireland—an agent of skill and address
prepossessing, with the face of a Celtic
pwei and the eye cf an assassin?
Boyne's object was tv bring about
ffle riownfn’.l of Dyck Calhoun that
Is, h'j d»wnfa 11 as ■ patriot At the
come to know of the event at the
Breakneck club were eager to be pres-
ent.
'Tlie affair began an hour after sun-
rise. Neither Dyck nor Leonard Mal-
low slept at home the night before, lint
in separate taverns near Phoenix park.
Mallow caine almost jauntily to the
"Swords, If You Please," Responded
Mallow, Grimly.
obscure spot. Both men lmd sensitive-
ness, and both entered the grounds
with a certain thrill of pleasure soften-
ing the acerbity of the moment.
Dyck moved and spoke like a man
charged with some fluid which had ab-
stracted hhn from life’s monotonous
routine. He had to consider the chance
of never leaving the grounds alive; yet
as he entered the place, where smooth
grass between the trees made good
footing for the work to be done, the
thrill of the greenery, the sound of the
birds, the flick of a lizurd across the
path, and the distant gay leap of a
young deer, lirouglit to his senses a
gust of joyous feeling. He was not nor-
mal; he was submerged. He was in
the great, consuming atmosphere of
the bigger wcrld and the greater life.
He even did not hate Mallow at tlie
moment. Tlie thing about to be done
was to him a test of manhood. It was
a call upon the courage of the soul, a
challenge of life, strength and will.
As Mallow entered the grounds, the
thought of Sheila Llyn crossed Dyck’s
mind, and the mental sight of her
gladdened tlie eyes of his soul. For
one brief instant he stood lost In the
mind’s look; then lie stepped forward,
saluted, shook hands with Mallow,
and doffed Ids coat and waistcoat.
As he did so, he was conscious of a
curious coldness, even of dampness, in
the hand which had shaken that of
Mallow. Mallow’s hand had a clammy
touch—clammy, but Arm and sure.
There was no tremor in tlie long, thin
lingers nor at the lips—the thin, as-
cetic lips, as of a secret service man
—but in ids eyes was a dark tire of
purpose. The morning lmd touched
him, but not as it had thrown ever
Dyck its mantle of peace. Mallow also
had enjoyed tlie smell and feeling of
it all, lmt with this difference—it lmd
filled him with such material joy that
lie could not bear the thought of leav-
ing it. It gave hint strength of will,
which would add security to his arm
and wrist.
Dyck had learned swordsmanship
with as skilled a master as Ireland
lmd known, and he had shown, in get-
ting knowledge of the weapon, a nnt
ural Instinct and a capacity worthy of
the highest purpose, lie lmd handled
tlie sword since he was six, and his
play was better than that of most
men; hut this was, In fact, Ids first
real duel. Many times, of course, in
the process of His training, he had
fought as men fight In duels, but with
this difference—that now he was per-
mitted to disable or kill His foe.
Physically, there was not a vast
deal to choose between the two men.
Mallow was lank and tall, nervously
self-contained, finely concentrated,
and vigorous. Dyck was broad of
shoulder, well set up, muscular, and
with a steadier eye than that of liis
foe. Also, as the combat developed,
It was clear that he had a hand as
steady as his eye. What was more,
liis wrist had superb strength and
flexibility; it was ns enduring and
vital as the forefoot and ankle of a
tiger. As, a pair they were certainly
notable, and would give a good ac-
count of themselves.
The two men fighting had almost
the air of gladiators. Their coats
were off. and tlie white linen of their
shirts looked gracious; while the up-
raised left hand of the fighters bal-
ancing tlie sword-thrust and the
weight of the body had an almost sin-
gular beauty. Of tlie two, Dyck was
me more graceful, the steadier, the
quicker in his motions. Ills momen-
tary vision of Sheila Llyn remained
with him—not as a vision, rather ns
n warmth In his inmost being, sotne-
fliing which made him intensely alert,
cheerful, defiant, exactly skillful.
He had need of all His siHll, for
Mallow was set to win the fight, lie
felt instinctively what was working
in Dyck’s mind. He had fought
number of duels, and with a certain
trick or art lie lmd given the end to
the lives of several. He became con.»
seious, however, that Dyck had a par-
ticular stroke in mind, which lie him-
self was preventing by masterful
methods. It might be one thing or an-
other, but in view of Dyck’s training
it would perhaps be the Enniscortliy
touch.
Again and again Dyck pressed his
antagonist backward, seeking to mud-
dle his defense and to clear an open-
ing for his own deadly stroke; but the
other man also was a muster, and
parried successfully.
Presently, with a quick move, Mal-
low took the offensive, and tried to
unsettle Dyck’s poise anil disorganize
his battle-plan. For an instant the
tempestuous action, tlie brilliant,
swift play of the sword, the quivering
flippancy of the steel, gnve Dyck that
which almost disconcerted him. Y'et
he had a grip of himself, and was for
tunate to preserve his defense Intact;
though once his enemy’s steel caught
his left shoulder, making it bleed. Tlie
seconds, however, decided that the
thrust was not serious, and made no
attempt to interrupt the combat.
Dyck’s tactics changed. Once again
he became aggressive, and he drove
his foe to a point where the skill of
both men was tried to the uttermost.
It was clear the time hud come for
something definite. Suddenly Dyck
threw himself back with an agile step,
lunged sMghtly to one side, and then
in a gallant foray got the steel point
into the sword-artn of his enemy. That
was the Ennlscorthy stroke, which
had been taught Him by William
Tandy, tlie expert swordsman, and
bad been made famous by Lord Well-
ing of Enniscortliy. It succeeded, and
it gnve Dyck the victory, for Mallow’s
sword dropped from bis hand. He
clasped the wounded arm with his left
hand as the surgeon came forward.
“Well, you got it home,” he said to
Dyck; “and It’s deftly doDe.”
“I did my best,” answered Dyck.
“Give me your hand, If you will.”
With n wry look Mallow, now sent
ed on the old stump of a tree, held out
Ms left baud. It was covered with
blood.
”1 think we’ll have to forego that
courtesy, Calhoun," he said. "Look
at the state of my hand! It’s good
blood," he added grimly. “It s d—d
good blood, but—but It won’t do, you
see."
•I’m glad It wns no worse," said
Dyck, not touching the bloody hand.
“It’s a clean thrust, nnd you’ll he bet-
ter from it soon. These great men!”
he smiled toward Hie surgeons—"will
soon put you right. I got my chance
with Hie slroke, and took it, bemuse I
knew If l didn’t you’d have me pres-
ently."
•You’ll have a great reputation In
Dublin town now, and you’ll deserve
it,” Mallow added adroitly, the great
paleness of ids features, however,
made ghastly by the hatred In liis
eyes.
Dyck did not see this look, but he
felt "a note of malice—a distant note
—in Mallow’s voice. He saw that
what Mallow had said was fresh evi-
dence of the mail's arrogant character.
It did not offend him, however, for he
wns victor, and could enter Hie Bijenk-
neek club or Dublin society with n
tranquil eye.
Again Mallow’s voice was heard.
“I'd have seen you d—d to h—11,
Calhoun, before I'd have apologized
at tlie Breakneck club; hut after a
•Come with me,” said he. "There’s
no luck for you at tlie tallies today.
Let’s go where we can forget the
world, where we can lift the banner
of freedom and beat the drums of pur-
pose. Come along, lad 1”
The time was critical for Dyck—
critical and dangerous, lie had lost
money heavily; lie had even exhaust-
ed Ills mother's legacy. Of late he
had seen little of his father, nnd tlie
little he had seen was not fortunate.
They had quarreled over Dyck's way-
ward doings. Hi* lmd angered liis fa-
ther terribly, nnd Miles, in a burst of
temper, had disclosed the fact that
Ids own property wns In peril. They
lmd been estranged ever since; but
the time lmd come when Dyck must
at least secure tlie credit of his fa-
ther's name at liis bunk to find the
means of living.
It was with tills slnrlng him in the
face that Erris Boyne's company
seemed to offer at least a recovery of
his good spirits. Dublin knew little of
Boyne's present domestic life. It did
not know that he lmd Injured his sec-
ond wife as badly ns lie had wronged
his first—with this difference, how-
The Time
Had Come for
Definite.
Something
light with one of tlie best swordsmen
in Ireland I've learned a lot, and I'll
apologize now—completely.”
Tlie surgeon had bound up the
slight wound in Dyck’s shoulder, had
stopped the bleeding, and was now
helping him on with his coat. The op-
eration lmd not been without pain,
but this demonstration from Ms foe
was too much for him. It drove the
look of pain from his face; It brought
a smile to his lips. He cnme a step
nearer.
"I’m ns obliged to you ns If you’d
paid for my board and lodging, Mar-
low,” he said; "and that’s saying a
good deal in these dnys. I'll never
have a bigger light. You're a greater
swordsman than your reputntion. 1
must have provoked you beyond rea-
son," he went on gallantly. "I think
we’d better forget tlie whole thing."
"I’m a loyalist," Mallow replied.
"I’m a loyalist, and If you're one. too,
what reason should there be for our
not being friends?" ,
A black cloud flooded Calhoun's
face.
"If—if I’m a loyalist, you say 1 Have
you any doubt of it? If you have—”
“You wish your sword hnd gone
into my heart Instead of my arm. eh?”
interrupted Mallow. “How easily I
am misunderstood 1 I meant nothing
by that ‘If.”’ He smiled, and tlie
smile had a touch of wickedness. "I
meant nothing by it—nothing at all.
As we are both loyalists, we must be
friends. Good-by, Calhoun 1”
Dyck’s face cleared very slowly.
‘Mallow was maddening, but the look
of the face was not that of a foe.
“Well, let us be friends." Dyck an-
swered with a cordial smile. “Good-
by,” he ndded. “I’m d—d sorry we
had to fight at all. Good-by 1"
CHAPTER IV.
The Killing of Errls Boyne.
“There’s many a government has
made a mess of things in Ireland,"
said Erris Boyne; "but since the day
of Cromwell the Accursed this is the
worst. Is there a man In Irelnnd
that believes In It, or trusts It? There
are men that support it, that are
served by It, that Ml their pockets
ont of it; but by Joseph and by Mary,
there's none thinks there couldn't be
a better! Have a llitle more marsala,
Calhoun?”
With these words, Boyne filled up
the long glass out #f which Dyck Cal-
houn had been drinking—drinking too
much. Shortly before, Dyck hnd lost
all his cash at the card-table. He had
turned from It penniless and discom-
fited to see Boyne, smiling, and gay
with wine, In front of him.
Boyne took him by the arm.
ever, that Ills first wife was a lady,
while his second wife, Noreen, was n
beautiful. quick-tempered, lovable,
elghteen-yenr-old girl, a graduate of
Hie kitchen nnd dairy, when lie took
her to himself. He hnd married tier
in a mad moment after his first wife
—Mrs. Llyn, ns she was now called—
hnd divorced him; and after tlie first
thrill of married life was over, noth-
ing remained with Boyne except re-
gret that he had sold his freedom for
what he might, perhaps, have had
without marriage.
Then began a process of domestic
torture which nlienated Noreen from
him. and roused in her the worst pas-
sions of human nature. She cnme to
know of his Infidelities, nnd they mad-
dened her. They Had no children, and
In the end lie had threatened her with
desertion. When she had retorted In
strong words, lie slapped her face, and
left her with an ugly smile.
Of visitors they had few, If any, nnd
the young wife wns left alone to brood
upon her wrongs. Errls Boyne had
slapped her face on the morning of
the (lay when he met Dyck Calhoun In
the hour of his bnd luck. He did not
see tlie look in her face as he left the
house.
Ruthless as he was, lie realized the
time had come when by bold effort lie'
might get young Calhoun wholly into
his power. He began by getting Dyck
Into tlie street. Then he took him by
an Indirect route to what was, re-
putedly, a tavern of consequence. Out-
wardly it wns a tavern of the old
class, superficially sedate, and called
the Ilnrp and Crown. None save a
very few conspirators knew how great
a part It played In tlie plan to break
lhe government of Ireland and to ruin
England’s position in the land.
The entrance was by two doors—
one the ordinary public entrance, the
other nt the side of the house, which
was on a corner. This could be
opened by a skeleton key owned by
Errls Boyne.
He anil Dyck entered, however, by
the general entrance, because Boyne
hud forgotten his key. They pnssed
through the bar-parlor, nodding to one
or two hnbltues, and presently were
bestowed in a room, not large, but
well furnished.
They played cards, nnd Dyck won.
He won five times what he had lost
at the club. Tills made him compan-
ionable.
“It's a poor business—cards,” he
said at last. “It puts one up In the
clouds arid down in the ditch all nt
the same time. I tell you this, Boyne
—I’m going to stop. No man ought to
play cards who hasn't a fortune; nnd
my fortune, I’m sorry to say, Is onl.>
my face!” He laughed bitterly.
“And your sword—you’ve forgotten
that, Calhoun. You’ve a lot of luck In
your sword.”
"Well, I've made no monpy out of
It so far,” Dyck retorted cynically.
"Yet you’ve put men with reputa-
tions out of the running, men like
Mallow. Try a little more of this
inarsnia, Calhoun. It's the best In the
place, and it’s got a lot of good stuff.
I’ve been coming to the Harp and
Crown for many years, and I’ve never
had a bad drink all that time. The
old landlord is a genius. He doesn't
put on airs. He’s a good man, is old
Swlnton, nnd there’s nothing good in
the drink of France that you can’t get
here."
“Well, If that’s true, how does It
happen?” asked Dyck, with a little
flash of Interest. "It menus a lot of
trouble, eh?"
“It means some trouble. But let me
tell you”—be leaned over the table
and laid a hand on Dyck's, which was
a little nervous—"let me speak as an
old friend to you, if I may. Here are
the facts. For many a year, you know
as well as I do, ships have been com-
ing from France to Ireland with the
very best wines and liquors, and tak-
ing back the very best wool—smug
gled, of course. Well, our little land-
lord here Is the d—dest rogue of all.
The customs never touch him. From
the coast the 6tuff conies up to Dub-
lin without a check, and, is he’s a
special favorite, he gets tne Devt to t>«
had In la belle France."
Why is lie such a favorite?” asked
Dyck.
Errls Boyne laughed, not loudly, but
suggestively.
"When a lady kisses a nan on the
lips, of her own free wAI, and pitta
her arm around ids neck, is it done, do
you think, because it’s her duty to do
it or die? No, It’s because she likes
tlie man; because the man is n good
friend to her; because it’s money in
her pocket. That’s the case with old
Swlnton. France kisses him, ns It
were, because"—he puused, as though
debating what to say—“because
France knows he'd rather be under
her own revolutionary government
ttian under the monarchy of England."
His voice hnd resonance, nnd, ns he
said these words, it had Insistence.
"Do you know, Calhoun, I think old
Swlnton Is right. We suffer here be-
cause monarchy, with its cntel hand
of Iron, mistreats us, brutalizes us.
He did not see enlightenment come
Into tlie half-drunken eyes of Dyck,
lie only realized that Dyck was very
still, and strangely, deeply Interested.
"I tell you, Calhoun, we need In Ire-
land something of Hie spirit that's
alive in France today. They’ve cleaned
out the kings- Louis’ and Marie's
heads have dropped into the basket.
They're sweeping the dirt out of
France; they’re denning the dark
places; they’re whitewashing Ver-
sailles and sawdusting the Tullerles;
they’re starting for tlie world n refor-
matlon which will make It clean. Nat
America alone, hut England, and ull
Europe, will become republics,"
‘England?" nsked Dyck in a low,
penetrating voice.
"Aye, England, through Ireland. Ire-
land will come first, then Wales, Scot-
land and England. Dear lad, the great
day Is come—the greatest tlie world
lias ever known. France, the spirit of
it. Is alive. It will purge and cleanse
the universe!”
Tlie suspicious, alert look passed
from Dyck’s eyes, but his face had be-
come flushed. He reached out and
poured himself nnother glass of wine.
What you say mny be true. Boyne.
It may be true, but I wouldn’t put
faith In It—not for one Icy minute. I
don’t want to see here in Ireland the
horrors and savagery of France. I
don’t want to see the guillotine up on
St. Stephen’s green.”
Boyne felt that he must march care-
fully. lie wns sure of his game; hut
(here were difficulties, and he must
not throw liis chances away.
“Well, I’ll tell you, Calhoun. I don’t
know which is worse—Irelnnd Moody
with shootings and linngtngs. Ulster
up In the north nnd Cork in the south,
from the Giant’s causeway to Tralee;
no two sets of feet dancing alike, with
the bloody hand of England stretching
out over the Irish parliament like
death itself; or France ruling us. How
does the English government live here?
Only by bribery nnd purchases. It
buys its way. Isn’t that true?”
Dyck nodded.
"Yes, It’s true in a way." he replied.
“It’s so, because we’re what we nre.
We’ve never been properly put In our
places. The heel on our necks—that’s
Hie way to do It.”
Boyne looked nt the flushed, angry
face. In spite of Dyck’s words, he
felt that his medicine was working
well.
"Listen to me. Calhoun," he said
softly. "You’ve got to do something.
You’re living nn Idle life. You’re la
debt. There are but two courses open
to you. One is to join the British
forces—to lie a lieutenant, a captain, ,
a mnjor, a colonel, or a general, In
time; to shoor nod cut and hang and
quarter, and rule wttn a heavy rod.
That’s one way.”
"So you think I’m fit for nothing
but the sword, eh?" asked Dyck with
irony. “You think I’ve got no bralne
for anything except the army.”
Boyne laughed.
"Have another drink, Calhoun.” Ha
poured out more wine. “Oh, no, not
the army alone; there’s the navy—
and there's the French nnvy! It’s tha
best navy In the world, (he freest and
the greatest, and with Bonaparte go-
ing at us, England will have enough
to do—too much. I’m thinking. So
there’s a career In the French navy
open. And listen—before you and I
nre two months older, the French
nnvy will lie In the harbors of Ire-
land, nnd the French army will land
here." He reached out and grasped
Dyck's arm. "There’s no liberty of
freedom under the Union Jack. What
do you think of the tricolor? It’s a
great flag, nnd under it the world 1a
going to be ruled—England, Spain,
Italy, Holland, Prussia, Austria and
Russia—all of them. The time is ripe.
You've got your chance. Take It on,
dear lad, tnke it on!"
Dyck did not raise his head Ha
was leaning forward with both arma
on the table, supporting himself firm-
ly ; his head was bowed as though
with deep Interest In what Boyne said.
And. Indeed, his interest was great—
so great that all his manhood, vigor,
nil his citizenship, were vitally alive.
Yet he did not lift his head.
Dyck it charged with tha
murder of Eerria Boyne, Shel-
la’a father.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Disposing of the Dead.
Cremation was common in ancient
,h,ys among the Greeks and Romans,
ihe funeral pyre marking the final dis-
appearance of many heroes. Certain
tribes of American Indians wrapped tha
bodies of their dead and fastened them
iu cradles on the hran^hes of living
trees. But burial remains the com-
mon and perhaps permanent custom
of disposing of the dead.
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Cox, Ed F. The Supply Republican (Supply, Okla.), Vol. 20, No. 31, Ed. 1 Thursday, September 1, 1921, newspaper, September 1, 1921; (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc847842/m1/3/: accessed March 29, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.