The May Bugle. (May, Okla.), Vol. 9, No. 27, Ed. 1 Thursday, October 2, 1913 Page: 2 of 8
This newspaper is part of the collection entitled: The Buffalo/May Bugle and was provided to The Gateway to Oklahoma History by the Oklahoma Historical Society.
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MAY BUGLE. MAY. OKLAHOMA.
M
8YNOP8IB.
Fran arrives at Hamilton. Gregory's
homo In Ultlleburg, but (lads him absent
conducting the choir at a camp mooting.
Hhe repairs thither In search of hint,
laughs during lli« service and Ih naked to f
leave. Abbott Ashton, superintendent of
schools, escorts Fran from the tent. He
tells her Gregory is a wealthy man.
deeply interested In charity work, and a
pillar of the church. Aahton becomes
FRAN
s\ JOHN BKECKENKnXE ELUS
3LLUSTBATIONS B
O-IRWIN-MYERS
1 ^(COPYCIGHT 1912
^ BOBB5-MEPPILLCO.)
hud simply run, asking no questions.
It was when he suddenly discovered
Fran In the flesh, as she slipped along
a crooked alley, gliding In shadows,
that the cause of much sleeplessness
wus made tangible.
Abbott was greatly disturbed. Why
should Fran be stealthily darting down
side-alleys at midnight? The wonder
suggested its corpllary—why was he
running as from some Intangible ene-
my? But now was no time for intro-
spection, and he set himself the task
of solving the new mystery. As Fran
merged from the mouth of the alley,
Abbott dived Into Its bowels, but when
lie reached the next street, no Frun
was to be seen.
Had she darted into one of the scat-
tered cabins that composed the fringe
of Littleburg? At the mere thought,
he felt a nameless shrinking of the
heart. Surely not. But could she pos-
sibly, however fleet of foot, have
rounded the next corner before his
coming Into the light? Abbott sped
along the street that he might know
the truth, though he realized that the
lesB he saw of Fran the better. How-
ever, the thought of her being alone
In the outskirts of the village, most as-
suredly without her guardian’s knowl-
edge, seemed to call him to duty. Call
or no call, he went.
It seemed to him a long time before
he reached the corner. He darted
around It—yonder sped Fran like a
thin shadow racing before the moon.
She ran. Abbott ran. It was like a
foot-race without spectators.
At last she reached the bridge span-
ning a ravine in whose far depths
murmured a little stream. The bridge
was new, built to replace the foot-
bridge upon which Abbott and Fran
had stood on the night of the tent-
meeting. Was it possible that the su-
perintendent of Instruction was about
to venture a second time across this
ravine with the same girl, under the
same danger of misunderstanding, re-
vealed by similar glory of moonlight?
Conscience whispered that it would
not be enough simply to warn; he
should escort her to Hamilton Greg-
ory's very door, that he might know
she had been rescued from the wide
white night; and his conscience was
possibly upheld by the knowledge that
a sudden advent of a Miss Sapphira
was morally Impossible.
Frau’s hack had been toward him
all the time. She was still unaware
of his presence, as she paused in the
middle of the bridge, and with critical
eye sought a position mathematically
the same from either hand-rail. Stand-
ing there, she drew a package from
her bosom, hastily seated herself upon
the boards, and, oblivious of surround-
ings, bent over the package as it rest-
ed in her lap,
Abbott, without pause, hurried up.
His feet sounded on the bridge.
Frail was speaking aloud, and. on
that nccount, did not hear him, as he
came up behind her. “Grace Noir,”
she was saying—“Abbott Ashton—Bob
Clinton —Hamilton Gregory — Mrs.
Gregory—Simon Jefferson—Mrs. Jef-
ferson—Miss Sapphira — Fran — the
Devil—” She seemed to be calling the
roll of her acquaintances. Was she
reading a list from the package?
Abbott trod noisily on the fresh pine
floor.
Fran swiftly turned, and the moon-
beams revealed a flush, yet she did not
“Now!" Fran Cried
“What Did You
Breathlessly,
Wish?"
greatly Interested In Fran and while tak-
ing leave of her. holds her hand and Is
seen hy Sapphira Clinton, winter of Rob-
ert Clinton, chairman of the school hoard
Fran tells Gregory she wants a home
with him. Grace Noir, Gregory’s private
secretary, takes a violent dislike to Fran
and advises her to go away at once.
Fran hints at a twenty-year-old secret,
and Gregory In agitation asks Grace to
leave the room. Fran relates the story
of how Gregory married a young girl at
Springfield while unending college and
then deserted her. Frun Is the child of
that marriage. Gregory had married his
present wife three years before the death
of Fran's mother. Fran takes n liking to
Mrs. Gregory. Gregory explains that
Frun Is the daughter of a very dear friend
who Is dead. Fran agrees to the story.
Mrs Gregory Insists on her making her
home with them and takes her to her
arms. It is decided that Fran must go lo
school. Grace shows persistent Interest
In Gregory's story of his dead friend and
hints that Fran may be an Imposter.
Frun declares that the secretary must go.
Grace begins nagging tactics In an efTort
to drive Fran from the Gregory home, but
Mrs Gregory remains stanch In her
friendship. Fran la ordered before Super-
intendent Ashton to be punished for In-
subordination In school. Chairman Clin-
ton Is present. The affair ends In Fran
leaving the school In company of the two
men to the amazement of the scandal-
mongers of the town.
CHAPTER X.—Continued.
“Loin me!” Jukey pleaded, with fine
admiration.
"Well, 1 rather guess not!” cried
Bob. “Think I’ll refuse Fran’s first re-
quest?” He sped upstairs, uncom-
monly light of foot.
"Now,” whispered Fran wickedly,
"let’s run off and leave him.”
“I’m with you!” Abbott whispered
boyishly.
They burst from the building like a
storm, Fran laughing musically, Ab-
bott laughing joyously, Jakey laugh-
ing loudest of all. They sallied down
the front walk under the artillery tire
of hostile eyes from the green veranda
They continued merry. Jukey even
swaggered, fancying hlinself a part of
it; he regretted his short trousers
When Robert Clinton overtook them,
ho wus red and breathless, but Fran’s
berlbboned hat was clutched triumph-
antly in his hand. It was he who first
discovered the ambuscade. He sud-
denly remembered, looked across the
street, then fell, desperately wounded.
The shots would have passed unheed-
ed over Abbott’s head, had not Fran
called his attention to' the ainbuscude.
"It’s a good thing,” she said Inno-
cently, "that you’re not holding my
hand—" and she nodded toward the
boarding house. Abbott looked, and
turned for one despairing glance at
Bob; the latter was without slgu of
life.
“What shall we do?" Inquired Fran,
as they halted ridiculously. "If we run
for It, It'll make things worse.”
“Oh, Lord, yes!” groaned Bob; "don’t
make a bolt!”
Abbott pretended not to understand
“Come on, Fran, I shall go home with
you.” IBs fighting blood was up. In
his face was no surrender, no, not
even to Grace Noir. “Come,” he per-
sisted, with dignity.
“How jolly!” Fran exclaimed. "Shall
we go through the grove?—that’s the
longest way.”
"Then let us go that way,” respond-
ed Abbott stubbornly.
"Abbott,” the school director
warned, “you'd better come on over to
my place—I’m going there this instant
to—to get a cup of tea. It’ll be best
for you, old fellow, you listen to me,
cow—you need a little er—a—some—a
little stimulant.”
“No,” Abbott returned definitely. He
had done nothing wrong, aud he re-
sented the accusing glances from
across the way. “No, I'm going with
Frau.”
“And don’t you bother about him."
Fran called after the retreating chair-
man of the board, “he’ll have stimu-
lant enough."
CHAPTER XI.
The New Bridge at Midnight.
It was almost time for summer va-
cation. Like ail conscientious superin-
tendents of public schools, Abbott Ash-
ton found the closing week especially
fatiguing. Examinations were nerve-
testing. and correction of examination
papers called for late hours over the
lamp. Ashton had fallen into the
reprehensible habit of bolting from the
boarding house, after the last paper
had been graded, no matter how late
the night, and making his way rapidly
from town os if to bathe his soul In
country solitude. Like all reprehens-
ible habits this one was presently to
revenge itself by getting the * profes- called?" she asked with a good deal of
•or” Into trouble. composure ■*» --------- _ . 1__. , . .
One beautiful moonlight night, he Fran!” Abbott exclaimed. “Here all! Abbott was offended "No" ! for which all the others have labored
was nearing the suburbs, when he alone at midnight—all alone! is It -Good, good!" with-vivacious enttau- and sought In vain,
made a discovery The discovery was possible?" Masm. "Both of us must cross it at j Treasure buaters are of the earth's
twofold: First, that the real cause ofa “No. It isn’t possible." Fran returned the same time and make a wish. Help salt- They are the dreamers of treat
his nightly wanderings was not alto-* satirically, “for I have company." ' me up—quick." I dreams, the seers of wonderful vision,
gether a weariness of mental toll; sec- Abbott warmly urged her to hasten She reached up both handa, and Ab- (the makers of romance. All ths wor.d
ond. that he had. for some time, been back home; at the same time be drew bott lifted her to her feet. love* or should love them The news
trying to escape from the thought of nearer and discovered that her lap was •’Whenever you croes a new bridge." j of the day is too much hardened with
Xra» kin had not known this He t covered with playing cards. i the explained, you mast make a wish., heavy reading
&
/
‘But Whose Hearts Are We King and
Queen Of?"
"But you musn’t stay here," he said
Imperatively. "Let us go at once.”
“Just as soon as 1 tell the fortunes.
Of course I wouldn’t go to air this
trouble for nothing. Now look. This
card is Fran—the queen of hearts
This one Is Simon Jefferson—and this
one is Bob. And you—but it’s no use
telling all of them. Now; we want to
see who’s going to marry."
Abbott spoke in Ills most authori-
tative tone: “Fran! Get up and come
with mo before somebody sees you
here. This Is not only ridiculous, it’s
wrong and dreadfully imprudent.”
Fran looked up with flashing eyes.
‘I won’t!” she cried. “Not till I’ve
told the fortunes. I’m not the girl to
go away until she’s done what she
came to do.” Then she added mildly,
"Abbott, I Just had to say it In that
voice, so you'd know I meant It. Don’t
be cross with me.”
She shuffled the cards.
“But why must you stay out here to
do it?” he groaned.
‘Because this is a new bridge. I’d
hate to be a professor, and not know
that it lms to be in the middle of a
new bri<E?e, at midnight, over running
water, In the moonlight. Now you keep
btil 1 and be nice; I want to see who’s
going to get married. Here is Grace
Noir, and here is Fran . .
‘And where am I?” asked Abbott,
in an awed voice, as he bent down.
Fran wouldn’t tell him.
He bent over. “Oh, I see, I see!” he
cried. "This is me—” he drew a card
from the pack—“the king of hearts.
He held it triumphantly. “Well. And
you are the queen of hearts, you said.”
‘Maybe I am,” said Fran, rather
breathlessly, "but whose hearts are we
king and queen of? That’s what I
want to find out.” And she showed
her teeth at him.
“We can draw and see,” he suggest-
ed, sinking upon one knee. “And yet,
since you’re the queen and I’m the
king, it must be each other’s hearts—
He stopped abruptly at sight of her
crimsoned cheeks.
"That doesn’t always follow,” Fran
told him hastily; "not by any meanB.
For here are other queens. See the
queen of spades? Maybe you’ll get
her. Maybe you want her. You see,
she either goes to you, or to the next
card.”
“But I don’t want any queen ol
spades,” Abbott declared. He drew
the next card, aud exclaimed dramatic-
ally, “Saved, saved! Here’s Bob. Give
her to Bob Clinton.”
“Oh, Abbott!” Fran exclaimed, look-
ing at him with starlike eyes and rose-
like cheeks, making the most fascinat-
ing picture he had ever beheld ai mid-
night under a silver moon. “Do you
mean that? Remember you’re on a
new bridge over running water.”
Abbott paused uneasily. She looked
less like a child than he had ever seen
her. Her body was very slight—but
her face was ... It is marvelous
how much of a woman’s seriousness
was to be found in this girl. He rose
with the consciousness that for a mo-
ment he had rather forgotten himself.
He reminded her gravely—“We are
talking about cards—just cards ’’
“No,” said Fran, not stirring, "we
are talking about Grace Noir. You say
you don't \^ant her; you’ve already
drawn yourself out. That leaves her
to poor Bob—he'll have to tako her,
unless the joker gets the lady—the
Joker is named the devil ... So
the game isn't interesting any more.”
She threw down all the cards, and
looked up, beaming. “My! but I'm
glad you came.”
He was fascinated and could not
move, though as convinced as at the
beginning that they should not linger
thus. There might be fatal conse-
quences; but the charm of the little
girl seemed to temper this chill knowl-
edge to the shorn lamb. He tempor-
ized: “Why don't you go on with
your fortune-telling, little girl?”
“I just wanted to find out If Grace
Noir Is going to get you,” she said
candidly; “it doesn't matter what be-
comes of her. Were you ever on this
bridge before?”
“Fran, M?ss Grace is one of the best
friends 1 have, and—and everybody ad-
mires her. The fact that you don’t like
her, shows that you are not all you
ought to be.”
Fran's drooping head hid her face
It’ll come true. Won’t you do It, Ab-
bott?”
"Of course. What a superstitious
little Nonpareil! Do you hold hands?”
“Honest hands—” She held out both
of hers. "Come on then. What are you
going to wish, Abbott? But no, you
mustn't tell till we’re across. Oh, I’m
just dying lo know! Have you made
up your mind, yet?”
“Yes, Fran,” he answered indulgent-
ly, “it’s something always In my
mind.”
“About Grace Noir?”
“Nothing whatever about Miss Grace
Noir.”
“All right. I’m glad. Say this:
“ ‘Slow we go.
Two in a row—’
Don’t talk or anything, just wish, oh,
wish with all your might—
” 'With all my mind and all my heart
While we’re together and after we part’—
say that.”
Abbott repeated gravely:
“ ‘With all my mind and all my heart
While we’re together and after we part.’
“What are you going to wish, Fran?”
“Sh-h-h! Mum!” whispered Fran,
opening her eyes wide. With slow
steps they walked side by side, shoul-
der to shoulder, four hands clasped.
Fran’s great dark eyes were set fixed-
ly upon space as they solemnly pa-
raded beneath the watchful'moon. As
Abbott watched her, the witchery of
the night stole Into his blood.
The last plank was crossed. “Now!”
Fran cried breathlessly, “what did you
wish?” Her body was quivering, her
face glowing.
“That I might succeed,” Abbott an-
swered.
“Oh!” said Fran. "My! That was
like a cold breath. Just wishing to
be great, and famous, and useful, and
rich! ”
Abbott laughed as light-heartedly as
if the road were not calling him away
from solitudes. “Well, what did you
wish, Fran?”
"That you might always be my
friend, while we’re together, and after
we part.”
“It doesn’t take a new bridge to
make that come true," he declared
She looked at him solemnly. "Do
you understand the responsibilities of
being a friend? A friend has to as-
sume obligations, just as when a man’s
elected to office, he must represent his
party and his platform.”
“I’ll stand for you!” Abbott cried
earnestly.
"Will you? Then I’m going to tell
you all about myself—ready to be sur-
prised? Friends ought to know each
other. In the first place, I am eighteen
years old, and in the second place I
am a professional lion-trainer, and in
the third place my father is—but
friends don’t have to know each oth-
er’s fathers. Besides, maybe that’s
enough to start with.”
"Yes,” said Abbott, “It Is.” He
paused, but she could not guess his
emotions, for his face showed noth-
ing but a sort of blankness. "1 should
like to take this up seriatim. You tell
me you are eighteen years old?”
“—And have had lots of experi-
ence.”
"Your lion-training; has It been theo-
retical or—”
“Mercenary,” Fran responded; “real
lams, real bars, real spectators, real
pay days.”
“But, Fran,” said Abbott helplessly,
“I don’t understand.”
“But you’re going to, before I’m
done with you. I tell you, I’m a show-
girl, a lion-trainer, a jungler. I’m the
famous Fran Nonpareil, and my car-
nival company has showed in most of
the towns and cities of the United
States. It’s when I’m in my blue silks
and gold stars and crimson sashes,
kissing my hands to the audience, that
I’m the real princess.”
Abbott was unable to analyze his
real emotions, and his one endeavor
was to hide his perplexity. He had
always treated her as if she were old-
er than the town supposed, hence the
revelation of her age did not so much
matter; but lion-training was so re-
mote from conventions that it seemed
in a way almost uncanny. It seemed
to isolate Fran, to set her coldly apart
from the people of his world.
“I’m going home,” Fran said ab-
ruptly.
He followed her mechanically, too
absorbed in her revelation to think of
the cards left forgotten on the bridge.
From their scene of good wishes, Fran
went first, head erect, arms swinging
defiantly; Abbott followed, not know-
ing in the least what to say, or even
what to think.
The moon had not been laughing at
them long, before Fran looked back
over her shoulder and said, as if he
had spoken, “Still, I’d like for you to
know about it.”
He quickened his step to regain her
side, but was oppressed by an odd
sense of the abnormal.
"Although,” she added indistinctly,
"It doesn’t matter.”
They walked on in silence until, aft-
ter prolonged hesitation, he told her
quietly that he would like to hear all
she felt disposed to tell.
She looked at him steadily: “Can
you dilute a few words with the water
of your imagination, to cover a life?
I’ll speak the words, ifyou have the
imagination.”
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
LURE OF TREASURE HUNTING
For the Sake of Romance and Adven-
ture Do Not Discourage the
Seeker of Treasure.
For the sake of romance and ad-
venture and all that puts color Into
life it is to be hoped that the failure
of the expedition which recently went
to the Isle of Cocos in search of pirate
gold will not mark the end of treasure
hunting. In the interest also of the
good town of Panama, where the treas-
ure seekers are wont to outfit and buy
supplies, we should point out that
negative results never really proved
anything. There may be gold on Co-
cos. There may be millions of pieces
of eight and pewels galore and wine
which the buccaneers, who had more
HENRY HOWLAND
rams
Hear the kick*!
Hear the people making kicks.
Heavy kicks,
Berry kicks;
One would think the poor old world was
In a most unhappy fix;
Men are kicking at the weather, they ars
kicking at the price
That they have to pay frfr fuel, that they
have to pay for Ice;
They are kicking at the way
This and that Is done today,
They are kicking at conditions as they
loom up everywhere;
They have kicks to make because
Rascals disobey the laws.
One would think that crime was rampant
and that woe was In the air!
Hear them kicking, kicking, kicking, oh
the wild and woeful kicks,
And the kicks concern religion, science,
art and politics:
There are kicks from those who work.
There are kicks from those who shirk.
All the world, It seems, Is keeping busy
registering kicks,
Making kicks, kicks, kicks,
Keeping up the dally average of kicks,
kicks, kicks, kicks, kicks, kicks,
kicks.
n.
Do the everlasting kicks
Indicate a smash-up? Nlxl
The world would quit revolving If w«
didn’t have the kicks !
From the men who wield the picks
And the ones who lay the bricks,
And the ones who wear the Jewels, and!
the ones who sing and write;
Never since the world began
Has a point been won by man
Unless he kicked to get It, and did so
with all his might!
'Tls a pleasing thing to mix
Gladness In among our kicks
When we may:
But, with gladness or without,
We may never hope to rout
The legions filled with kickers—they’ll bei
here till Judgment Day—
They’ll be here to make their kloks
Till there’s Ice upon the Styx,
Till the last grave undertaker the last1
coffin-cover clicks—
But a lot of us are kicking with no causei
for making kicks,
Without the slightest reason for our:
kloks, kicks, kicks,
4od never helping any with our kicks,,
kicks, kicks, kicks, kicks, kicks,,
kicks.
MERE OPINION.
of political and social reform, of di-
vorce and murder In sordid bar-rooms,
of the cost of living and the course
of the markets. There is a craving
for something not so commonplace,
for something less prosaic, for some-
thing which has a touch of moonshine
| in it. Let us not, therefore, discourage
the treasure hunters with cold reason
like a dash of cold water. Let us rath
er fan their enthusiasm and keep it
forever aglow so that as long as news-
papers exist there may be now and
then a tale of Cocos Island wedged in
between the tariff and the trusts.
Revenge Is sweet, but alas. It is gen-*
erally for the other fellow.
It would be difficult to make some
people believe champagne might taste*
just as good under any other name.
When a man Is sued for breach ofl
promise he Is likely to find that an old
love letter Is worth much more than:
the paper It Is written on.
The man who Is afraid to exceed the<
speed limit never can be a hero to his
own chauffeur.
A woman begins by sighing: “li
can’t go because I have nothing to1
wear.” Then she gets clothes and
frets because she has no chance to
wear them.
Before they are married he deems
every hour lost that he cannot spend
In her company. Afterward when
she goes to visit her parents for a
month or two be figures that It Is*
just so much clear gain
attempt to rise. “Why didn't you an-
Was she contrite, or mocking?
l*resently she looked up, her ex pres- 1 than they could drink, laid aside for a
______________ ___________sion that of grave cheerfulness. “Now ' rainy day. Because many treasure
swer when you heard your came you've said what you thought you had * hunters have ransacked ( ocos from
to say." she remarked. "So that's over. ; end to end no man can say that the
Were you ever on this bridge before?" J next treasure hunter will not flnd^ that
Oas wearies at last
Such an Obvious Solution.
After Cave Johnson had served his
long and brilliant career in congress
and had retired to the quiet private
| life, he once stepped into the office of
J his nephew, Robert Johnson, then a
i young lawyer of much promise, and I
j finding the young man engaged in |
writing with a gol*. pen. had occasion
to remark upon the extravagance of
the rising generation.
Why ts it, said he, "that every
* young man now has his gold pen,
j while those of my day were content
! to use their goosequills?”
“1 suppose.' replied Robert in ths
most innocent manner possible, “it is i
because there were more geese when
you were a young maa.'
Too Sensible to Loee.
“Will you promise,” she anxiously
asked, “not to do anything desperate
if I say it can never be?”
“Yes,” he replied, “I think a man's
a fool who goes to the bad because
a girl refuses to love him.”
"Then I will be yours.”
Ths Hope for Fame.
We all so hoping Fame
Will give us crowns some day,
But If she sweetly came
And aaked ue In whet way
We'd worked to have the right
To sit upon the hslght —
How few of us could say!
Mixed on His Birds.
“Mamma sent me after a pound ot
coffee. Mr Pelican.”
“My name Is not Pelican.” said the
grocer, as he weighed out ths coffee.
"My name is Mr. Crane. What made
you think it was Pelican?"
"Well, that's what papa calls you.
'cause he says there's something about
your hill that always makes him thiol
of a pelican.”
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Sehy, H. E. The May Bugle. (May, Okla.), Vol. 9, No. 27, Ed. 1 Thursday, October 2, 1913, newspaper, October 2, 1913; (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc941106/m1/2/: accessed April 23, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.