The County Democrat. (Tecumseh, Okla.), Vol. 26, No. 28, Ed. 1 Friday, April 9, 1920 Page: 3 of 8
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5:5”
■*y-
’E
CONDENSED
CLASSICS
THE NEWCOMES; •
^ By WILLIAM M. THACKHRAY < |
C»n*iu«Hon** Charlu K. Bolton,
Lttoonam of lAf Booton Alhtnoeum
William Make-
peace Thackeray,
son of a c'.vll serv-
ant In India, was
born July 18. 1811.
In Calcutta. He died
Dec. 24, 1863, In Lon-
don, where meet of
his life was spent.
From 1840 on his
wife was Insane, so
there lived In hlB
heart, as In that of
the other gveat hu-
morist of his time,
Dtckei.s, constant
sorrow.
Thackeray began
In school days rath-
er to absorb life
than to attain
scholarship. He de-
lighted even then
to reproduce It In
comic verse and
caricature. At Cam-
bridge, In Welmor,
In Paris art schools
and London law
school, he went
gayly on his way.
Indolent In study
but eager In friendship, ardent In life.
At twenty-one he owned and managed a
London newspaper, at twenfy-flve he was
penniless, after scattering a comfortable
fortune. But he had bought experience
Invaluable to the young Journalist, price-
less to the novelist.
Thackeray’s astonishing versatility was
early realized. He aspired to Illustrate
Dickens’ novels; he wrote travel sketches,
stories, ballads and burlesques.
’’Barry Lyndon,” hls first notable novel,
was the history of a rascal; but, In the
most fascinating of feminine rascals,
Becky Sharp, Thackeray first brilliantly
showed himself master of the creatlon of
living character (“Vanity Fair, 1846-48).
“Pcndennls” (1849-60) was. like Dickens
"David Copperfleld.” in essence auto-
biographical. The need of money drove
Thackeray reluctantly to the lecture field.
Tils course on Eighteenth Century Hu-
morists, popular In England and America
(1851) , prepared the ground for Esmond
(1852) his unsurpassed historical novel.
“The’ Newcopibes” (1854), “The Virgin-
ians" (1859), and the unfinished Dennis
Duval” complete the list of his best
novels.
y’-'IOL. THOMAS NEWCOME, the
■ . hero of Argom, and of Bhart-
pour, had loved the beautiful
Leonore de Blois, but having Incurred
the wrath of hls stepmother, he fled
to India to carve out hls career. There
he had married the widow, Mrs. Casey,
and a few years later sent their son
Clive to England. He regaled the
ladles of the regiment with Clive’s let-
ters; sporting young men would give
or take odds that the colonel would
mention Clive’s name once before five
minutes, or three times In ten min-
utes. But those who laughed at Clive’s
father laughed very kindly.
At last the happy time came for
which the colonel had been longing,
and he took leave of his regiment. In
England he had In his family circle
two half brothers, Sir Brlnn, who had
married Lady Ann, daughter of the
Earl of Kew, and Hobson Newcome.
One morning at breakfast while Sir
Brian champed hls dry toast, Barnes,
the son, said to his sister Ethel: “My
uncle, the colonel of sepoys, and hls
amiable son have been paying a visit
to Newcome.”
“You are always sneering about our
uncle,” broke in Ethel, “and saying
unkind things about Clive. Our uncle
is a dear, good, kind man, and I love
him.”
At Hobson Newcome’s and elsewhere
the family party often assembled, the
colonel, hls friend Mr. Binnie and Bln-
nie’s sister, Mrs. Mackenzie with her
daughter Rosey, Sir Brian and Lady
Ann, and Clive who had become a
painter. From one of these parties
Clive and I, hls friend Arthur Penden-
nls, walked with the usual Havana
to light us home. “I can’t help think-
ing,” snld the astute Clive, “that they
fancied I was In love with Ethel. Now,
I suppose, they think I am engaged to
Rosey. She Is as good a little ceature
as can be, and never out of temper,
though I fancy Mrs. Mackenzie tries
her.”
Time passed and our Mr. Clive went
to Baden, where he found old Lady
Kew with her granddaughter Ethel.
“You have no taste for pictures, only
for painters, I suppose,” said Lady
Kew one day to Ethel.
“I was not looking at the picture,”
said Ethel, “but at the little green
ticket In the corner. I think, grand-
mamma,” she said, “we young ladles
In the world ought to have little green
tickets pinned on our backs, with ‘sold’
written on them.”
Barnes Newcome, too, was at Bndefi,
for he was to marry pretty little Lady
Clara Pulleyn, free at last from that
undesirable Jack Belslze, Lord High-
gnte's son. Lady Kew had plans
which Clive's growing regard for hls
cousin Ethel put la Jeopardy.
“My good young man. I think It Is
time you wore off,” Lady Kew said to
Clive with great good humor. “I have
been to see that poor little creature
to whom Captain Belslze behaved so
cruelly. She does not care a flg for
him—not one flg. She Is engaged, as
you know, to my grandson Bnmea;
In all respects a moat eligible union;
and Ethel's engagement to my grnnd-
I>ord Kew. has long been settled.
In London we heard
engaged to a young
own rank of Ufa—Mias
Cllve'a departure lad to more flirta-
tions by Ethel than old Lady Kew
could countenance, but Ethel had
found out how undesirable a man Lord
Kew was and broke the engagement
so dear to her grandmother’s heart.
When Clive heard that the engage-
ment wns over between Kew and Ethel
he set out Id huste for Loudon. I was
Installed as confidant, and to me CUve
said: “Mrs. Mackenzie bothers me so
I hardly know where to turn, and poor
little Rosey Is made to write me a
note about something twice a day.
Oh Pen I I’m up nnother tree now!”
Clive met his cousin Ethel ut a party
or two In the ensuing weeks of the
season, and at one of their meetings
Ethel told him that her grandmother
would not receive him. It was then
that Clive thought Ethel worldly, al-
though much of her attitude was due
to the keen and unrelenting Lady
Kew. The colonel and James Bennie
during all this time put their two fond
heads together, and Mrs. Mackenzie
fluttered both of them and Clive as
well.
Meanwhile the Lady Clara was not
happy with her Barnes. All the life
and spirit had been crushed out of the
girl, consigned to cruel usage, lone-
liness and to bitter recollections of the
past. Jack Belslze, now Lord Hlgh-
gute, could stand the strain no longer
and took Lady Clura uwuy from her
bullying but cowardly husbund. The
elopement of Clara opened Ethel’s eyes
to the misery of loveless marriages,
and the mamma of her new love, the
Marquis of Farlntosh, already dis-
tressed over the unpleasant notoriety
of the proposed Newcome alllunce, re-
ceived a letter from Ethel which set
her son free.
Ethel then turned to the lonely,
motherless children of her brother
Barnes, and found comfort In devoting
herself to them. Clive married hls
Rosey, and his father determined to
become n member of parliament In
place of Sir Barnes. One night the
colonel returning from hls electioneer-
ing, met Clive, candle In hand. As each
saw the other’s face, It was so very
sad and worn and paie, that Colonel
Newcome with quite the tenderness of
old davs, cried “God bless me, my boy,
how 111 you look! Come and warm
yourself, Cllvy 1”
“I have seen a ghost, father,” Cllte
said, “the ghost of my youth, father,
the ghost of my happiness, and the
best days of my life. I saw Ethel to-
day?”
“Nay, my boy, you mustn’t talk to
me so. You have the dearest little
wife at home, a dear little wife and
child.”
“You hnd a wife; but that doesn t
prevent other—other thoughts. Do you
know you never spoke twice In your
life about my mother? You didn’t care
for her.”
••I—I did my duty by her,” Inter-
posed the colonel.
“I know, but your heart was with
the other. So is mine. It’s fatal, it
runs in the family, father.”
The shares of the Bundelcund Bank-
ing company, in which the colonel had
made hls fortune, now declined stead-
ily, and at last the crash came, wiping
out all the colonel’s money and with
It all Rosey’s fortune. The Impover-
ished Newcomes settled down first at
Boulogne, nnd then in London, the
colonel weary, feeble, white haired,
Mrs. Mackenzie a perfect termagant,
Rosey pale nnd ailing, and little Tom-
my, the baby, a comfort and a care to
the hard-worked CUve.
The colonel, no longer nble to live
under the same roof with Mrs. Mac-
kenzie, found a home with the Grey
Friars and here I saw him.
When the colonel’s misfortunes were
at their worst Ethel, In reading an old
book, found a letter from the coloners
stepfather between the covers. It was
a memorandum of a proposed bequest
to CUve. Ethe! at once determined to
carry out this Intended bequest, and
so she nnd I hastened to Clive’s home;
but not even good news could soften
Mrs. Mackenzie’s evil temper. That
wns a sad and wretched night, in
which Mrs. Mackenzie stormed until
the poor delicate Rosey fell Into the
fever to which she owed her death.
We soon repaired to the Grey Friars
where we found that the colonel was
in hls Inst Illness. He talked loudly,
he gave the word of command, spoke
Hindustanee as If to his men. Then
he spoke words In French rapidly,
seizing a hand that was near him, nnd
crying, “toujours, toujours!” Ethel
nnd CUve and the nurse were in the
room with him. The old man talked
on rapidly for awlle; then again he
would sigh and be still; once more I
heard him say, hurriedly, “Take care
of him when I’m In India;” and then
with a heart-rending voice ho called
for the love of hls youth "Leonore,
Leonore!” The patient’s voice sank
Into faint murmurs; only a moan now
nnd then announced that he was not
asleep.
At the usual evening hour the chapel
bell began to toll, and Thomas New-
come’s hands outside the bed feebly
beat a time. And Just as the last bell
struck a peculiar sweet smile shone
over his face, and he lifted up hls
head a little, and quickly said, “Ad-
sum,” and fell back. It was the word
we used at school, when names were
called; and lo, he whose heart was as
that of ■ little child, had answered to
hls name, and stood In the presence of
the Master.
Copyright. 1*1*. by Post Publishing Co.
(The Boston Post) All rights re-
served.
HOME GARDEN STILL NEEDED
All Food Thus Raised la a Distinct
Gale, Helping to Overcoma
World’s Shortage.
It has been proved that organiza-
tion will effect a material Increase
In the supply of food products. Dur-
ing the war home gardening was car-
ried on to an extent that very grently
relieved the shortage. Many fam-
ilies supplied their tables with vege-
tables entirely out of their own gar-
den plots. Every ton of food thus
raised Is a gain. What Is needed now
Is organization, and this should be
effected as a preliminary step. If the
people will support tills movement. In
full recognition of Its Importance, a
great acreage will be added to the
productive urea of the country. The
farm lands that heretofore have pro-
duced market truck will probably be
devoted to other staxiles, or possibly
to grazing. There will be no waste
land, but, on the contrary, more land
under cultivation.
The seriousness of this sltuntion
cannot be too strongly urged. Every
person who Is In a position to become
a gardener during the coming season
should do hls bit for the relief of the
country from the food stringency.'
Washington Star.
“BUT I’M SICK OF IT ALL,"
Synopsis.—David El.tsn, son of s
drunken, shiftless ranchman, al-
most a maverick of the foothills,
is breaking bottlea with hla pistol
from hla running cayuse when the
first automobile he has ever seen
arrives and tips over, breaking the
leg of Doctor Hardy but not Injur-
ing hls beautiful daughter Irene.
Dave rescues the Injured man and
brings a doctor from 40 miles
away. Irene takea charge of the
housekeeping.
CHAPTER I—Continued.
PATH OF GOOD CITIZENSHIP
Oath Taken by Residents of Old
Athens Might Be Revived Today
With Good Results.
As a part of the campaign to “sell
Indianapolis to Its own citizens,” those
In churge of arrangements for the con-
vention of the Associated Advertising
Clubs of the World have written what
they term a sales contract which will
be distributed among clubs and other
organizations. The contract is a re-
minder of the oath that residents of
Athens took centuries ago. It said :
“We will never bring disgrace on
this, our city, by an act of dishonesty
or cowardice.
“We will fight for the Ideals and
sacred things of the city, both alone
and with many.
“We will revere and obey the city’s
lnws, and we will do onr best to in-
cite a like reverence and respect In
those about us who are prone to an-
nul them or set them at naught.
“We will strive Increasingly to
quicken the public’s sense of civic
duty.
“Thus In all these ways we will
transmit this city, not only not less,
but greater, better nnd more beautiful
than It wns transmitted to us.”
Beautify the Home.
There are so many native shrubs,
vines and flowers to be plnnted about
the farm homes that their absence Is a
deplorable fact. In a recent drive of
a thousand miles we saw only four
farmhouses where attention ha 1 been
paid to beautifying them. Naturally,
they were noticed. Don’t dot the lawn
with fantastic flower beds of annual
flowers. Put hardy shrubs around the
foundation, the taller growing ones
behind. Then In front of these plant
the perennial flowers such as iris, cro-
cus, narcissus, peony, sweet william,
phlox, etc. Keep the lawn open. A
i few Ivy or wild grape vines piuke a
; hideous outhouse less noticeable.
Shrubs can be transplanted in Novem-
ber. Get as much soli with them ns
I possible and tamp the roots firmly In
place.—Farm Life.
After breakfast Irene attended to
the wants of her father, and by this
time the visiting doctor was manifest-
ing Impatience to be away. But Duve
declared with prompt finality that the
horses must rest until nfter noon, nnd
the doctor, willy-nilly, spent the morn-
ing rambling In the foothills. Mean-
while the girl busied herself with work
about the house, In which she was ef-
fecting a rapid transformation.
After the midday dinner Dave har-
nessed the team for the Journej to
town, but before leaving Inquired of
Irene if there were any special pur-
chases, either personal or for the use
of the house, which she would recom-
mend. With some diffidence she men-
tioned one that was uppermost In her
thoughts—soap, both luundry and toi-
let. Doctor Hardy had no hesitation
In calling for a box of his fuvorite
cigars and some new magazines, and
took occasion to press Into the boy s
hand a bill out of all proportion to the
value of the supplies requested.
The day was Introductory to others
that were to follow. Dave returned
the next afternoon, riding his own
horse and heavily laden with cigars,
magazines and soap.
The following duy it was decided
that the automobile, which since the
tccldent had laid upturned by the road-
way, should be brought to the ranch
buildings. Dave harnessed hls team
ind, instead of riding one of the horses,
walked behind, driving by the reins,
nnd accompanied by the girl, who had
proclaimed her ability to steer the car.
With the aid of the team and Dave’s
lariat the car was soon righted nnd wns
found to be none the worse for its de-
flection from the beaten track. Irene
presided at the steering-wheel, watch-
ing the road with great intentness and
turning the wheel too far on each oc-
casion, which gave to her course a
somewhat wavy or undulating order,
such as is found In bread-knives; or
perhaps a better figure would be to
compare It to that rolling motion af-
fected by fancy skaters. However, the
mean of her direction corresponded
with the mean of the trail and all went
merrily until the stream was ap-
proached. Here was a rather steep
descent and the car showed a sudden
purpose to engage the horses in a con-
test of speed. She determined to use
the foot-brake, a feat which was ac-
complished, under normal conditions,
by pressing one foot firmly against a
contraption somewhere beneath the
steering-post. She shot a quick glance
downward and, to her alarm, discov-
Dave, very wet In parts, appeared on
the bank.
“Well, I’m not wet, except for a lit-
tle splashing,” she said, “and you are.
Does anything occur to you?"
Without reply he walked stolidly In-
to the cold water, took her In his arms
and carried her ashore. The lariat
was soon repaired and the enr hauled
to the ranch buildings without further
mishap.
Later In the day he snld to her: “Can
you ride?"
“Some,” 6he answered. "I have rid-
den city horses, but don’t know about
these ranch animals. But I would like
to try—If I hnd a saddli.”
“I hnve an extra saddle,” he snld.
“But It’s a man’s. . . . They all ride
that way here.”
She mnde no nnswer and the subject
wns dropped for the time. But the
next morning she saw Dave ride nwuy.
lending a horse Ids side, lie did
not return until evening, but when he
came the Idle horse carried a saddle.
“It’s a strad-legger,” he said when he
drew up beside Irene, "but It’s a girl’s.
I couldn’t find anythin’ else In the whole
dlggin’s."
“I’m sure It will do—splendidly- If I
can Just stick on,” she replied. But
nnother problem was nlready In her
mind. It apparently had not occurred
to Dave that women require speclul
clothing for riding, especially if it’s n
“strad-legger.” She opened her Up^ to
mention this, then closed them again.
Ho hnd been to enough trouble on her
account. He had already spent a whole
dny scouring the country for a saddle.
She would mannge some way.
Late that night she was busy with
scissors and needle.
w
CHAPTER II.
*.
son.
When we saw you
that yon too
lady In yonr
Mackenzie."
Home Always Good Investment.
There nre many estimable citizens
who do not own a home, but that
does not disprove the fact that home-
owning Is a cure for unrest and the
nomadic Instincts. With persons of
small means, the ownership of a home
Implies sacrifice and discipline. The
character of the home builder not
only becomes stronger, but he imbibes
unconsciously the essence of patriot-
ism. He upholds American Institu-
tions, because he Is a part of them.
There may he other methods of
turning one’s savings to profitable ac-
count besides buying or building a
permanent home. But there Is no oth-
er method that gives more solid re-
turns in confidence for the future. In
family protection, nnd In Americani-
zation of Ideals.—Chicago Journal.
Plan Home Wisely.
The attractiveness of a home
dependent on the nmount of
spent on It.
bouse may
Isn’t
monev
A small and Inexpensive
be ns benutlful In Its way
Not Hard.
Some Californian has Invented a
new device for gathering nuts.”
“That’s unnecessary. All yon have
to do Is to advertise a meeting for
harmonizing opinions *a the peaen
treaty or explaining how to aho*t tour-
ists Into Mars.”
as a large and costly mansion. The es-
sential thing Isn’t the cost. It Is the
good tnste of the designer.
The old lesson is repeated. “With
what do you mix your colors?” was the
question put to the famous painter.
“With brains, sir,” was the retort. The
house needs to be designed and plan-
ned wlLb brain*-
Pay* to Own Home.
A dtlirn who owns bla home, no
matter what bis vocation. Is a more
responsible member of the community,
as well as more advanced In an as-
sured standard of comfort and pros-
perous employment. To own a home
Is a tong step toward the possession
of a substantial Income, and ona In
which the divtdeods are occur* and
always timely.
Without Reply He Walked Stolidly
Into the Cold Water, Took Her in
Hi* Arms and Carried Her Aahore.
ered not ene, but three, contraptions,
all apparently designed to receive the
pressure of a foot—if one could reach
them—and as similar as the steps of a
stair. This Involved a further hesita-
tion, and In automoblllng he who hesi-
tates Invites a series of rapid experi-
ences. It was quite evident that the
car was running away. It was quite
evident that the horses were running
aw-ay, too. The situation as-
sumed the qualities of a race, and
the only matter of grave doobt related
to Its termination.
Then they struck the water. It was
not more than two feet deep, but the
extra resistance It caused and the ex-
tra alarm It excited In the horses re-
sulted In breaking the lariat. Dave
clung fast to bis team and they were
soon brought to a standstill. Having
pacified them, he tied them to a poet
and returned to the stream. The car
sat in the middle; the girl bad put her
feet on the seat beside her, and the
swift water flowed by a few Inches be-
low. She was laughing merrily wb*o
Doctor Hardy recovered from hls In-
juries as rapidly as could be expected
and, while he cliafed somewhat over
spending hls holidays under such cir-
cumstances, the time passed not un-
happily.
A considerable acquaintanceship hnd
sprung up between him and the senior
Elden. The rancher had come from the
East forty years before, but In turning
over their memories the two men
found many links of association: third
persons known to them both; places,
even streets and houses, common to
their leet In early manhood; events of
local history which each could recall,
although from different angles. And
Elden’s grizzled head and stooping
frame carried more experiences than
would fill a dozen well-rounded city
lives, and he had the story-teller’s art
which scorns to spoil dramatic effect
by a too strict adherence to fact. But
no ray of conversation would he admit
into the more personal affairs of hls
heart, or of the woman who had been
his wife, nnd even when the talk
turned on the boy he quickly withdrew
It to another topic, as though the sub-
ject were dangerous or distasteful. But
once, after a long silence following such
a diversion, had he betrayed himself
Into a whispered remark, an outburst
of feeling rather than a communica-
tion.
“I’ve been alone so mach,” he said.
“It seems I have never been anything
but alone. And—sooner or later—It
gets you—It gets you.”
“You have the boy,” ventured the
doctor.
“No,” he answered, almost fiercely.
“That would be different. I could
stand it then. But I haven’t got him,
and I can’t get him. He despises me
because—because I take too much at
times.” He paused as though wonder-
ing whether to proceed with this un-
wonted confidence, but the ache In his
heart Insisted on its right to human
sympnthy. “No, it ain’t that,” he con-
tinued. “He despises me because he
thinks I wasn’t fair to hls mother. He
can’t understand. I wanted to be good
to her, to be close to her. Then I took
to booze, as natural as a steer under
the brandln’-lron roars to drown his
hurt. But the boy don’t understand.
He despises me.” Then, after a long
silence: “No matter. I despise my-
self.”
The doctor placed a hand on hls
shoulder. But Elden was himself
again. The curtains of his life which
he had drawn apart for a moment, he
whipped together again rudely, almost
viciously, and covered hls confusion by
plunging Into a tale of how he had led
a breed suspected of cattle-rustling on
a little canter of ten miles with a rope
about hls neck and the other end tied
to the saddle. “He ran well,” said the
old man, chuckling still at the remlnls-
And It was lucky he did. It
cence.
was a strong rope.”
The morning after Dave had brought
in the borrowed saddle Irene appeared
in a sort of bloomer suit, somewhnt
wonderfully contrived from a spore
skirt, and announced a willingness to
risk life and limb on any horse that
Dnve might select for that purpose. He
provided her with a dependable mount
and their first Journey, taken somewhat
gingerly along the principal trail, was
accomplished without Incident. It was
the forerunner of many others, plung-
ing deeper and deeper into the fast-
nesses of the foothills and even Into
the passes of the very mountain* them
selves. Hls patience waa Infinite and.
although there were no silk trappings
to hls courtesy. It wns a very genuln*
and manly deference he paid her. She
was quite sure that he woul.1 at any
moment give hls life. If needed, to de-
fend her from Injury—nnd accept tha
transaction as a matter of course. Hls
physical endurance wns lnexhnustlble
and hls knowledge of prairie and foot-
hill seemed to her almost uncanny, Hs
read every sign of footprint, leaf, wa-
ter nnd sky with unfailing Insight. Ha
had no knowledge of books, and she
had at first thought him Ignorant, but
as the days went by she found In him
n mine of wisdom which shamed her
rendy-mnde education.
After such n ride they one day dis-
mounted In a grassy opening among the
trees that bordered n mountain canyon.
In a crevice they found a flat stone that
gnve coinfortnhle seating and here
they rested while the horses browsed
ti’.elr afternoon meal on the grass
above. Both were conscious of a grad-
ually Increasing tension In the at-
mosphere. For dnys the boy had been
moody. It wns evident he was hnrbor-
lng something that was cnlltng through
hls nature for expression, nnd Irene
knew that this afternoon he would talk
of more thnn trees nnd rocks and foot-
prints of the wild things of the forest.
"Your father is getting along well,”
he snld, ut length.
“Yes,” she answered. “He has had ai
good holiday, even with hls broken
leg.”
“You will be goln’ away before long,”
he continued.
“Yes," she answered, and waited.
"Things nbout here ain’t goln’ to be
the some nfter you’re gone,” he went
on. He wore no coat, and the neck of
his shirt was open, for the day was
warm. Had he caught her sidelong
glnnces, even hls slow, self-deprecating
mind must have read their admiration.
But he kept hls eyes fixed on the green
water.
"You see,” he snld, “before you came
It was different. I didn’t know what I
wns mlssln’, an’ so It didn’t matter.
Not but what I was dog-sick of It at
times, but still I thought I was livin’—
thought this was life, and, of course,
now I know It ain’t. At least, it won’t
be after you're gone.”
“That’s strange,” sh=>. snld, not in
direct answer to hls remark, but as a
soliloquy on It ns she turned It over In
her mind. “This life, now, seems
empty to you. All my life seems
empty to me. This seems to me the
real life, out here in the foothills, with
the trees and the mountains, and—and
our horses, you know.”
She might hnve ended the sentence
In a way thnt would have come much
closer to him, nnd been much truer,
but conventionally had been bred in-
to her for generations and she did not
find it possible yet freely to speak the
truth.
“It's such a wonderful life,' she con-
tinued. "One gets so strong and hap-
py In it."
“You’d soon get sick of It,” he said.
“We don’t see nothin’. We don’t learn
nothin’. Reenie, I’m eighteen, an’ I
bet you could read an’ write better n
me when you was six.”
“Did you never go to school?” she
asked, In genuine surprise. She knew
hls speech was ungrammatical, but
thought that due to careless training:
rather than to no training at all.
“Where’d I go to school?" he de-
manded, bitterly. “There ain’t a school
within forty miles. Guess I wouldn’t
have went if I could,” he added, as an
afterthought, wishing to be quite hon-
est In the matter. “School didn’t seem
to cut no figure—until Jus* lately.
“But you hnve learned—some?” she
continued.
“Some. When I was a little kid my
father used to work with me at times.
He learned me to rend a little, an*
to write my name, an’ a little more.
But things didn’t go right between him
an’ mother, an’ he got to drinkln*
more an’ more, an’ Jus’ making h-*
of It. We used to have a mighty fin©
herd of steers here, but It’s all shot
to pieces. When we sell a bunch the
old man ’ll stay In town for a month
or more, blowln’ the coin and leavin’
the debts go. I sneak a couple of
steers away now an’ then, an’ with tha
money I keep our grocery bills paid
up an’ have a little to rattle In my
Jenna. My credit’s good at any store
In town,” and Irene thrilled to the note
of pride In hls voice as he said this.
The boy hnd real quality In him. “But
I’m sick of it all,” he continued. “Sick
of it, an’ I wanna get out.”
“You think you are not educated,”
she answered, trying to meet hls out-
burst as tactfully as possible. “Per-
haps you are not. the way we think of
It In the city. But I guess you could
show the city boys a good many things
they don’t know, and never will know.”
Irene makes a promise
full of momentous conse-
quences.
ITO UK CONTINUED.)
French Eat Chrytaatiiwnuma.
The chrysanthemum la served as fi
isiad In French household*.
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Henderson, L. P. The County Democrat. (Tecumseh, Okla.), Vol. 26, No. 28, Ed. 1 Friday, April 9, 1920, newspaper, April 9, 1920; Tecumseh, Oklahoma. (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc937076/m1/3/?rotate=180: accessed April 19, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.