The May Bugle. (May, Okla.), Vol. 9, No. 41, Ed. 1 Thursday, January 8, 1914 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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THE MAY BUGLE, MAY, OKLAHOMA
MAN
A Novelhv pay fon
Terhuncy
founded on
William G c/e J Play
Must&ttf UJilhPfotof/kffl /ftrP/qy
m e°mj*aai comwy and Dammar & M.Hamer
CHAPTER I.
Five Years Before.
The Woman looked up from her task
.of fitting the trunk tray Into exact po-
sition Standish noted vaguely that
the effort of packing had not made her
red or frowsy. Even as she sat there
on the floor beside the nearly-full
trunk, with a litter of garments about
lier, her pose was not ungraceful. Yet
her face was oddly tense, and her
clenched hands spoko of self-control
hard to maintain.
"No,” she said patiently, as though
trying to teach a lesson to some rather
stupid child, “that isn't what 1 mean,
at all. 1 mean, It's—over. Can't you
understand?”
"Why, yes," answered Standish, “of
course 1 understand. Why shouldn't
1? It's over You will be safe nt your
aunt's house by six o'clock this eve-
ning, and you will start for Europe to-
morrow, just as you arranged. And
our wonder-week is ended. And for
the next three months I'll be counting
every—"
ship me at sight—or pretend to, which
comes to the same thing. It didn’t
seem to Interest you that 1 had money
and that other men made fools of
themselves over me. And then your
Quixotic ideas about politics and gov-
ernment and all that sort of thing, ap-
pealed to me. These and other rea-
sons of the same kind made me think
1 was In love with you.”
"You didn't think. You were!
And—”
"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Does It
matter—now? Isn't that also an ef-
fort to save the anchor after the
wreck? Hut never mind. I thought
I loved you. With your impractical
high soulcd ideas about political re-
form and the people's wrongs you
seemed to me a modern Galahad; In-
stead of just a —Don Quixote."
"Ah! ”
“I’m sorry it makes you wince. But
it’s the truth. And the truth is gen-
erally painful. When you wanted to
marry me, I felt ns though a demigod
had stooped to earth. That isn't the
"Oh!" interrupted the Woman, her
hard-worn patience going to pieces.
"Won’t you understand? I said it was
over. Over! Not for three months
or for any other time. But for always.
Why do you make me put It this
way? I tried to say It more—”
“You don't mean”—he began thick-
ly, his throat sanded and sore.
The Woman nodded.
"But," he protested lamely, "it—it
can't be. Why, girl, you love me!"
"I thought I did. Oh, 1 was so sure
I did! But little by little, for days.
I've begun to understand Don't look
at me like that! Do you suppose 1
enjoy talking so" It has to be said.
And you're not making it a bit easy
for me."
“Forgive me," he answered, a bitter
note creeping into his heavy voice.
"You are wrecking tne You are
smashing all I hold dear. You are
making my future as barren as a
rainy sea. Forgive me for not making
the process a bit easy for you "
“You have no right to say such
things!" she flared "It is cowardly
It is ungenerous."
“Why? Because you are a woman?
A woman may flay a man She may
break his life to pieces for her own
amusement. If he dares to protest, he
is cowardly and ungenerous Because
she is a woman A man's hands are
tied behind him by that asinine old
tradition How about the woman who
pommels a man when she knows his
hands are so tied? Isn't she as 'cow-
ardly' and ‘ungenerous' as 1 would
be if I thrashed a cripple? And yet
women clamor for their 'rights!’—
Rights! With one tenth of the rights’
that silly chivalry showers upon wom-
en. I could conquer the whoie world!"
"But you could not conquer one
woman If I begged you to avoid a
scene It wss as much for your own
sake as for mice Since you will have
one. let s get It over with as quickly
ss we can. Here is the situation In a
handful of words: I met you. You
weren’t like any other man I'd aver
knows. You didn't fail down and wor-
No Woman Ever Really Loved a Man
Because He Was Good."
way to feel w hen one marries I didn’t
know it then. 1 do. now. And per-
haps the knowledge that 1 would not
be allowed to marry you just yet. or
even acknowledge our engagement,
helped strengthen the Infatuation.
Then when 1 found 1 must go to Eu-
rope so soon, and you begged me to
give you juat this one 'perfect week,'
it all eeemed so natural—so right—so !
beautiful—”
“1 was wrong!" he cried “1 was In
sane 1 bad no right to suggest It. 1
bad no right to let you consent."
But. womanlike, she would not let1
him blame himself
"It was not your fault." she cried.
“Or if there were fault at all it was
mine as much as yours I say yes I
‘begged’ me to come here. You did
not. At your first hint I was as eager
as you. Perhaps,” she added with a
return of her forced hurdness, “it was
not quite the way one would expect a
Galahad or a Quixote to spend a week,
But the blame is as much mine us
yours So don’t let’s talk of that.
Can’t wo both forget It?”
‘‘Forget it? Why, girl, it s my whole
life.”
“It is an episode whose memory can
bo bweet or bitter aB we choose to
make it. We were clever enough to
leave no trace when we went away.
I’m supposed to be bn a visit and
your worthy constituents were told
that their congressional representa-
tive wns going away to recuperate,
somewhere in the mountains. You
will return from your vacation much
benefited—if a little vague as to Its
details. And I will go back to my
aunt’s tonight, prepared to start bap- |
plly on my European trip tomorrow
morning. That is all.”
“Oh, girl, I love you! You are |
mail-insane—to talk this way—to
lilan what you are planning Can't
you see It? Won't you give me.
a chance to get back your love? Ii
had It once—I can get It again if you
will give me the chance. 1 know 1 can
make you happy.”
A smile that savored of the rack !
twisted her set lips—and died before J
it reached her eyes. '
“No, dear," she contradicted gently,
“you can’t make me happy. 1 doubt
if you can make any woman happy. A
woman—one who didn't know the un-!
Galahad side of you as I do—might
respect or even reverence you. Buti
you couldn’t hold her love. No woman
ever really loved a man because he
was good; or because he fought
against political evils or slew dragons. |
She might admire him for It. But ad-
miration and reverence are petty poor
every-day fare. When your wife want-
ed you to say crazy adoring things to
her, you would be thinking out a new
insurgent plan by which you could
block the machine In congress. When
she hoped you’d buy her some candy
or a few flowers on your way home
from the Capitol, you’d be too busy
framing your next speech to think of
such trifles. Those same trifles and i
his wild extravagance of praise and J
the quick noticing of anything she j
puts on to please him, are the cords |
that lash a woman's heart to a man's.
Not her pride in the way he Is fighting
Ills country's political battles."
"Listen!” pleaded Standish. ‘‘I’ll,
give it all up; my seat In congress, my j
fight for the people, my political hopes
—everything! I’ll give it all up—all—
if you will marry me and give me a |
chance to make you love me again.”
“It’s no use," she returned. “For the j
moment you almost carried me off my ]
feet. 1 can understand now why your |
speeches that read so stupidly, can
sway people. But It’s only an Im-
pulse. Inside of an hour you would
question it. Inside of a day you would
regret it—”
“No! No!”
"And Inside of a week you would
be secretly reading every scrap of con-
gressional news and cursing your lot
nt being out of the fight. It would be
like all sacrifices. In time one gets to j
hating the person one made them for.
Oh, it would be misery for us both!
It would be even worse than this
week.”
“Today there seems much 1 don’t j
understand,” he retorted. “But one
thing is very clear to me: the course
you've chosen is an impossible one
for you. You must marry me. If not
for love, then because it is the right j
thing to do. I do not ask you to care
for me or even to live, in the same
house with me. But for your own sake
you must—"
“it is for my own sake that 1 must
do nothing of the sort. You get your
ideas of life from books. Too many
people do that. I am not going to let
this one mistake ruin every bit of my
future. I won't let one moment of folly
blot all my life. Men don't. Why
should women? There is still much
in the world for me. And for you, too.
if you'll look at it sanely. Oh, I know
my kind of sanity shocks you. But
it Is sanity. You are held back by
centuries of traditions. Y'our father
began life as a rtiillionaire's son. Mine
began it in an Irish orphange. Your
grandfather was a supreme court
judge. I don't know who mine was
There must be something, after all, in l
this talk of heredity. For instance. j
I don't suppose there's a girl in all
your sisters' set who would have con-1
sented to a 'honeymoon' like ours, is
there? Your sisters wouldn't have
done such a thing, would they?"
“No!" he exclaimed in involuntary
disgust
At his word and tone a fatnt red
showed across the Woman's face as If
he had struck her lightly with his'
open hand But at once she recovered
herself
“Let's say goodby and part as
friends." she suggested “No irremed- j
iable harm is done. Except for myself. |
you are the only person hurt. Y'ou'll
have to stand that as part of the price
of—"
"You are mistaken.” he broke in. j
"Others, besides myself, are affected." j
"Who?"
"I don't know. But this I do know: i
No one can live to himself or herself.
No one can say: ’My fault or folly
hurts me alone' In this miserable old
world of ours, we are all tangled up in
one another's destinies And when
one tears loose the cord that binds
him. the vibration of that wrench will
soon or late reach and affect people
whom he perhaps does not even
know "
“The cord you speak of." ahe
mocked, "la that holy bond known as
Conventionality, isn’t It? The bugbear
that the weak and the prim have
raised to scare the strong and the
courageous "
"No. Ths beaten path that ten bil-
lion failures and tragedies since the,
birth of Time have shown to he the
| only safe one. Conventionality’s path
may seem to the near-sighted to be
j twisted foolishly, and unnecessarily
! long Hut each of those twists repre-
sents the pluce where the Man in
Front wisely stepped aside to avoid
, the pitfall into which the man
' ahead of him had tumbled. And the
short cuts In the long tortuous road
| ure white with the bones of failures.”
“I'm going to walk over those same
j whitened bones in my short cut from
one point of Conventionality’s twisted
path to another. I’m going to walk
back from a union that would mean
misery to me—back to the pleasa^
home life and social life I love and
don't mean to lose. Don't worry. No
whitened bones will turn under me
and bring me a fall. I can defy the
bogy, Conventionality and still live
happy."
"Others have defied the bogy. You
are not the first nor the millionth. To
most of them It seemed as safe as it
seems to you."
“Yes? 1 should like to meet them
and compare notes."
"You will not meet them," he an-
r
swered grimly, "but you will tread on
their bones—in the short cut. Even
as some future challenger of Conven-
tionality shall one day tread on yours.”
CHAPTER II.
The Girl and the Boy.
The Hotel Keswick telephone girl
was a character. Even the politicians
who made the big Washington cara-
vansary their headquarters recognized
that. Some of them had sought to un-
bend from their labors at law building
and law-sapping long enough to try to
Improve their casual acquantance with
her. But they had one and all aban-
doned the effort.
Not that Miss Wanda Kelly was In
the very least shy. No, she had a re-
sponsive word for everybody. Only,
sometimes that word had a queer way
of searing Instead of flattering.
“If Joan of Arc had been brought
up in the alleys," once observed the
Honorable Tim Neltgan, “and If she's
been nursed on iron tonic and learned
her alphabet from George Ade's fables,
slio’d have been a dead ringer for Wan-
da Kelly."
To which the more or less Honor-
able Jim Blake had made reply:
“Maybe that hello girl was all Wan-
da when she started out. But a Kes-
wick switchboard course has made
her all Kelly. I don’t know why no
one reports her for being fresh. Ex-
cept, maybe, that he’d have to tell
what he said to her to bring out the
freBh come-back.”
In any case, no one did report Wan-
da Kelly. There, in an alcove under
the great garish stairway, she sat day
after day manipulating her racks of
switches. To her left were the tele-
phone booths; to her right the corri-
dor where all the political world pass-
ed her in review. Behind her—and,
when voices chanced to be raised in
eagerness or dispute. In easy ear-shot
—was a spot where far more history
was made than In the Capitol itself.
This historic place waB a deep niche
known to local fame as “the amen
corner.” It was off the beaten track
of the corridor, yet a vantage-point
whence everything was visible. Here
Jim Blake—long, lean, saturnine mas-
ter of the machine—had a way of sit-
ting, his eternal cigar in one corner
of his mouth, his slouch hat aslant on
his head or under his chair. And here,
like filings to the magnet, the men who
gleaned In Jim’s wake, and whose po-
litical life hung on his curt nod, would
cluster.
One evening as the dinner crowd
was drifting along the corridor toward
the huge dining-rooms, Wanda noted
that the amen corner held but two
men. Both of them she knew, and
both were very evidently awaiting Jim
Blake's return from the Capitol. More
than one passer-by along the corridor
nudged his companions and pointed
out the elder of the corner's two occu-
pants.
The object of these surreptitious
glances was a fine-looking, rather
portly man of early middle age—the
Honorable Mark Robertson, former
governor of New York, present repre-
sentative In congress from the same
state and—equally important—Jim
Blake's son-in-law. More—he was the
man whom the machine, at Its master's
orders, had slated as next speaker of
the house. Yes, and perhaps if all
one heard were true, for a far higher
office later on.
Wanda Kelly knew this. And, thanks
to overheard scraps of amen-corner
talk, she knew much more. She had
often seen Robertson. Now and then
she had received a careless nod from
him or from Ills stately young wife,
Blake’s only daughter, who so often
while congress was In session ran
down from the Robertson house In
New York for a sojourn of a day or
two with her h»shaud and father at
the capital.
Yet Wanda wasted fewer thoughts
just now on the celebrity than on the
much younger man with whom lie was
talking. And perhaps her thoughts
had telepathic power. For, as Robert-
son strolled out into the foyer, his
companion crossed directly to the
•switchboard ralj and stood looking
down at the girl
Wanda did not see him. Or. If she
“I Don’t Love You.”
did, it was not with her eyes. And
before he could speak, the telephone
buzzer rasped out.
"Wanda!" said the young man who
was leaning over the rail.
It was the third time he had broken
In. But, b»sy rattling the switch pegs,
she did not hear.
“Wanda Kelly!" he exclaimed, ex-
asperated.
She looked up with a suddenness
that startled him.
“Well?" she asked sharply.
“Will—will you marry me?” he
blurted, her unexpected word and look
driving the speech from his lips as
though he had been struck between
the shoulders.
“What?” she queried in polite sur-
prise.
“1 asked,” he said, trying to cover
up his impetuosity with a weak show
of irony, “I asked If you are going to
marry me or not.”
“No,” she answered, unruffled. “1 am
not. That's the answer. Same as
when you asked me before. And the
time before that. And so on back to
the beginning. And then some—until
you can learn to take ‘.No’ for an an-
swer.”
“I can't take it,” he returned glumly,
“and I won't take it. Maybe you think
I get a lot of fun being thrown down
like this. It means more to me than
you’ve got patience to hear. I'm going
all to smash Oh, you needn’t laugh
It Isn't so funny to me.”
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
DOC
DOC
IMMENSE STORES OF COAL'
Supplies for the Ships of All Coun-
tries Are to Be Kept Con-
stantly at Panama.
When the Panama canal Is opened
two years hence there will be coal
on hand for the ships of all the world
—a tremendous supply—which will
be added to as fast as It Is taken ,
away to the seven seas.
There will be two great coal-storage
basins—one at Cristobal, for the At-
lantic entrance, and one at Balboa,
for the Pacific At the former place
290,000 tons will be kept on hand; at
the latter 160,000. In each the stor-
age will be In huge basins of rein- :
forced concrete. In which about half
the coal will be stored under water,
for use In time of war. and the j
other half above the eea level, to be
taken from and added to continually
for the ordinary usee of commercial
and government vessels. An im-
mense plant of cranes, care, buckets
and other machinery will be installed
to handle the coal ss economically as
possible
The cranes will unload coal from
ships; s conveying system will trans-
fer It to bridges spanning the storage
basin and dump It at any place de-,
sired; and a system of buckets oper-
ating upon these bridges will make it
possible to lift coal from the storage
basin, and by means of conveyors
raise It to loading machines that will
drop It Into colliers o* lighters. The
Cristobal plant will b- capable of un-
loading 1,000 tons and loading 2,000
tons of coal each hour, and the Bal-
boa plant 500 and 1,000 tons.
Vessels requiring bunker coal will
not go alongside the wharves of the
plants, but will be coaled in mid-
stream from barges.
HENRY HOWLAND
AOplimists Alphabet
Another day to bravely strive,
With fear ..cast out and hope alive.
Be glad, be honest and be fair
And friends will greet you everywhere.
Courage makes the weak arm strong
To set right the foolish wrong.
Dread of ills far off and vague
Wrecks more lives than war or plagu*
Every day a little higher
On the way to Heart’s Desire.
For him who sits around and whines
The sun shines dimly—If it shines.
Greet the morning with a smile;
You will find It helps a pile.
Hope and courage mixed together
Brighten up the darkest weather.
If clouds be dark or winds blow chill.
Let Hope be your companion still. •
Just the will to do your best
Greatly simplifies tire rest.
Kindness makes the warm blood leap.
The more you give the more you keep.
Learn that patience Is sublime,
And keep hoping all the time.
Men have never won success
Through their hopeless grumpishness.
Never since the world began
Has poor Can’t defeated Can.
It Wat a Pity.
They have a wise ten-year-old boy in
an east end family, and some of his
sayings are really worth peddling. At
least, his father thinks they are, or he
wouidn t tell this one.
The other day the younster ap-
proached his father and stared at him
for some time.
“Daddy." he finally said, "you think
mamma is the most beautiful person
you ever saw. don't you?"
“Of course." replied the father, with
great promptness .
Again the boy scrutinized his pe*
rent
"Oee. daddy." he finally eald. “lt’e
an awful pity ahe can’t say the aama
thing about you. aia’t ttf*
Smiling every little while.
Pity those who sit In gloom,
But pass on and give them room.
Quick to gladden where you can;
Slow to grieve a fellow man.
Run to meet good news, but let
Bad news -wait out In the wet.
Say the hopeful, cheerful thing.
Strive to be encouraging.
The bruises brought us by hard luck
Are all cured by the salve of pluck.
Up Is rich and Down Is poor;
Doubt Is sad, but Faith Is sure.
View the scene through hopeful eyes
Wheresoe’er your pathway lies.
When you speak a word of cheer
All the angels lean to hear.
Exercise and good fresh air
Keep the spirit In repair.
Yott can help the sun to shine.
Just by keeping “fit and fine.”
Zero—that is all they gain
Who in hopelessness complain.
Candor That No Man Ever Exhibited.
“Now that you have made $50,000.-.
000, I suppose you are going to kee,.
right on for the purpose of trying to
get a hundred millions?”
“No, sir. You do me an injustice.
I’m going to put in the rest of my time
trying to get my conscience into a sat*
lsfactory condition.”
A Comer.
"I have heard a number of people
s&y,” she remonstrated, when her
father had taken her to task concern-
ing young Mr. Spruceleigh, “that he is
a coming man."
“Oh, I don’t deny that he's that, all
right. Only I wish he wouldn't come
so often nor stay so long.”
Progress.
“Now, young man," said Willie's
father, “I am going to lay down the
law to you.”
“All right, pa. but don’t forget that
If I don't like it I may get ma to re-
call your decision.”
Candor.
”1 am always willing to admit
when I have been convinced that
was wrong.”
"Has anybody ever been able
convince you that you were wrong”
"Not yet."
Truth About the Case.
"Why la R that people have lot
their belief In hell*"
"They haven’t. They've merel
gone out on a mental strike agalm
tt.”
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Sehy, H. E. The May Bugle. (May, Okla.), Vol. 9, No. 41, Ed. 1 Thursday, January 8, 1914, newspaper, January 8, 1914; (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metadc941241/m1/2/?q=%22%22~1: accessed July 17, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.