The Gotebo Gazette (Gotebo, Okla.), Vol. 22, No. 4, Ed. 1 Thursday, September 7, 1922 Page: 2 of 8
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GOTEBO OKLA.. GAZETTE
SMARY
MARIE
&
*By Eleanor H. Porter
Copyright by Eltuur H Porter
CHAPTER VIII—Continued.
"Was she so awfully pretty, Fa-
ther?" I could feel the little thrills
tingling all over me. Now I was get-
ting n love story!
"She was, my dear. She was very
lorely. But It wasn't Just that—It was
a Joyous something that I could not
describe. It was as If she were a
hird, poised for flight. I know It now
for what It was—the rery Incarnation
of -the spirit of youth. And she was
young. Why, Mary, she was not so
many years older than you yourself,
now. You aren't sixteen yet. And
your mother—I suspect she was too
young. If she hadn't been quite so
young—"
He stopped, and stared again
straight ahead at the dancers—with-
out seeing one of them, I knew. Then
he drew a great deep sigh that seemed
to come from the very bottom of his
boots.
"But It was my fault, ray fault,
every bit of It," he muttered, still star-
ing straight ahead. "If I hadn't been
so thoughtless— As if I could Im-
prison that bright spirit of youth In a
great dull cage ef conventionality, and
not expect It to bruise Its wings by
fluttering against the bars!"
And right there and then It came to
me that Mother said It was her fault,
too; and that if only she could live It
over again, she'd do differently. And
here was Father saying the same thing.
And all of a sudden I thought, well,
why can't they try It over again. If
they both want to, and If each says
It was their—no, his, no, hers—well,
his and her fault. (How does the
thing go? I hate grammar!) But I
mean. If she says It's her fault, and he
says It's his. That's what I thought,
snyway. And I determined right tho
and there to^ive them the chance to
try ftgaln, If speaktng would do It.
I looked up at Father. He was still
talking half under his breath, his eyes
looking straight ahead. He had for-
gotten all about me. That was plain
to be seen.
If I'd been a cup of coffee
without any coffee In It, he'd have Bai<l n°-and it couldn't be. and he was
| snw him wipe * tear from fcls eyes.
After that be put op Ills hand and sat
with bis eyes covered sll the rest of
the time I wss talking. And ha didn't
take It down till 1 said:
"And so, Father,, that's why I told
you; 'cause It seemed to me, If you
wanted to try again, and she wsnted
to try again, why can't you do It? Oh,
Father, think bow perfectly lovely t
would be If you did, and If tt worked I
Why, 1 wouldn't care whether I waa
Mary or Murie, of what I waa I'd
have you and Mother both together,
and, oh, how 1 should love It!"
j It nas here that Father's arm came
out and slipped around me In a great
big hug.
"Bless yOur heart! But, Mary, my
dear, how are we going to—to bring
this about?" Then is when my second
great Idea came to me.
"Oh, Father!" I cried, "couldn't you
come courting her again—calls and
flowers and candy, and all the rest?
Oh. Father, couldn't you? Why, Fa-
ther. of course you could I"
This last I added In my most per-
suuslve voice, for I could see the "no"
on his face even before he began to
shake his head.
"I'm afraid not, my dear," he said,
then. "It would take more than a
flower or a bonbon to—to win your
mother back now, I fear."
"But you could try." 1 urged.
He shook his head aguln.
"She wouldn't see me—If I called,
my dear," he answered.
He sighed as he said It, and I sighed,
too. And for a minute I didn't say
anything. Of course. If she wouldn't
see him—
Then another Idea came to me.
"But. Father, If she would see you—
I mean. If you got a chance, you would
tell her what you told me Just now;
about Its being your fault, 1 mean, and
the spirit of youth beating against the
bars, and all that. You would,
wouldn't you?"
He didn't say anything, not any-
thing, for such a long time I thought
he hadn't heard me. Then, with a
queer, quick drawing in of his breath,
be said:
"I think—little girl—if—If I ever
got the chance I would say—a great
deal more than I said to you tonight."
"Good!" I Just crowed the word, and
I think I clapped my hands; but right
away I straightened up and was very
fine and dignified, for I saw Aunt Hat-
tie looking at me from across the
room, as I said:
"Very good, then. You shall have
the chance." '*
He turned and smiled a little, but he
shook his head. *
"Thank you. child; but I don't think
you know quite what you're promis-
ing," he said.
"Yes. I do."
Then I told him my Idea. At first he
been stirring me. I know he would.
He was like that.
"Father, Father!" I had to speak
twice, before he heard me. "Do you
really mean that you would like to try
againT I asked.
"Eli? Wliat?" And Just the way he
turned and looked at me showed how
many miles he'd been away from me.
"Try It again, you know—what you
said," I reminded him.
"Oh, that I" Such a funny look came
to his face, half ashamed, half vexed.
"I'm afraid I have been—talking, my
dear."
"Yes, but would you?" I persisted.
He shook his head; then, with such
an oh-that-lt-could-be! smile, he said:
"Of course—we all wish that we
could go back and do It over again—
differently. But we never can."
"Yes, but. Father, you can go back,
In this case, and so can Mother, 'cause
you both want to," I hurried on, al-
most choking In my anxiety to get It
all out quickly. "And Mother said It
was her fault I heard her."
"Her fault!" I could see that Fa-
ther did not quite understand, even
yet.
"Yes, yes. Just as you said It wss
yonrs—about sll those things at the
first, you know, when—when she was
a spirit of youth beating against the
bars."
Father turned square around and
faced, me.
"Mary, what are you talking about?"
he asked then. And I'd have been
scared of his voice If It hsdn't been
for the great light that was shining
In his eyes.
But I looked Into his eyes, snd
wasn't scared; and I told him every-
thing, every single thing—all about
how Mother had cried over the little
blue dress that day to the trunk-room,
and how she had shown the tarnlsheff*
lace and said that she had tarnished
the happiness of blm snd of herself
and of me; and that It was all her
fault; thet she wss thoughtless and
willful snd exacting and a spoiled
child; and, oh. If she could only try it
over again, how differently she would
dot And there was a lot more. I
told everything—everything I could
remember. Some way, I didn't be-
lieve thst Mother would mind now,
after what Fsther had said. And I
Just knew she wouldn't mind if she
could see the look In Father's eyea as
I talked.
Ha didn't internipt me—not long
Interruptions. He did speak oat ■
quick little word now and then, at
soma of the parts: and once I know I
<-ery sure fhe wouldn't see lilin, even if
he celled But I said she would if he
would do exactly as 1 said. And I
told blm my plan. And after a time
and quite a lot of talk, be said be
would agree to- it.
And tliis morning we did It.
At exactly ten o'clock he came up
the steps of the house here, but he
didn't ring the bell. I bad told him
not to do that, and I was on the watch
for him. I knew that at ten o'clock
Grandfather would be gone, Aunt Hat-
tie probably downtown shopping, and
Lester out with his governess. I wasn't
so sure of Mother, but I knew it was
Saturday, and I believed I could man-
age somehow to keep her here with
me, so that everything would be sll
right there.
1 did it, and five minutes before ten
she was sitting quietly sewing in her
own room. Then I went downstairs to
watch for Father.
He came Just on the dot, and I let
him In and took him into the library.
Then I went upstairs and told Mother
there was some one downstairs who
"wanted to see her.
And she said, how funny, and wasn't
there any name, and where was ths
maid. But I didn't seem to hear. I
had gone into my room In quite a hur-
ry, as if I had forgotten something I
wanted to do there. But, of course, I
didn't do a thing—except to make sure
that she went downstairs to the li-
brary.
They're there now together. And
he's been here s whole hour slready.
Seems as If he ought to say something
In that length of time!
After I was sure Mother wss down,
I took out this, and began to write in
it. And I've been writing ever since.
But, oh, I do so wonder whst's going
on down there. I'm so excited over—
ONE WEEK LATER
At Just that minute Mother came In-
to the room. I wish you could bsvs
seen her. M.v stsrs. but ahe looked
pretty I—with her shining eyes and the
lovely pink In her cheeks. And young!
Hpnestly. I believe she looked younger
then I did that minute.
She Just csme snd put her srms
sround me and kissed me. and I saw
then that her eyes were all misty with
tears. She didn't say a word, hardly,
only that Father wanted to sea me,
and I was to go right -down.
And 1 went
I thought, of course, thst she was
coming, too. Bnt she didn't And
when 1 got down the stain I found I
wss sll slone; but I
Ad there was Father
waiting for me.
. He didn't ssy muck, either, st first;
but Just like Mother he put his arms
sround me snd kissed me. end held
there. Then, very soon, be begsn te
tslk; snd, oh, be said sueb beautiful
things—auch tender, lovely, aacred
things; too sacred even to write down
here. Then he kissed me again and
went away.
But he came back the next day, and
he'a been here aome part of every day
since. And, oh, what a wonderful
week It baa been I
They're going to be married. It's
tomorrow. They'd have been married
right away at the first, only they had
to wait—something about licenaes snd
a five-day notice, Mother ssld. Father
fussed and fumed, and wanted to try
for a special dispensation, or some-
thing; but Mother laughed, and said
certainly not, and that she guessed it
was Just as well, for she positively had
to have a few things; and he needn't
think he could walk right in like that
on a body and expect her to get mar-
ried at a moment's notice. But ahe
didn't mean It I know Bhe didn't; for
when Father reproached her, aha
laughed softly, and called him an old
goose, and said, yea, of course, she'd
have married him in two minutes if it
hadn't been for the five-day notice, no
matter whether 8he ever had a new
dress or not
And that'll the way it is with them
all the time. They're too funny and
lovely together for anything. (Aunt
Hattie saya they're too ailly for any-
thing; but nobody minds Aunt Hat-
tie.)
And, as I said before. It la all per-
fectly wonderful.
So lt'a all aettled, and they're going
right away on tbla trip and call It a
wedding trip. And, of course, Grand-
father had to get off his Joke about
how he thought It was a pretty dan-
gerous business; and to see that this
honeymoqp didn't go into an eclipse
while they were watching the othe^
one. But nobody minds Grandfather.
I'm to stay here and finish school.
Then, in the spring, when Father and
Mother come back, wo are all to go to
Andersonville and begin to live in the
old house again.
Won't It be lovely? It Just seems
too good to be true. Why, I don't care
a bit now whether I'm Mary or Marie.
But, then, nobody else does, either. In
fact, both of them call me the whole
name now, Mary Marie. I don't thlnk
they ever said they would. They Just
began to do It That's all.
How about this being a love ator>
now? Oh, I'm so excited I
CHAPTER IX.
Which la the Teet
ANDERSONVILLE. TWELVE YEARS
LATER
Twelve yeurs—yes. And I'm twenty-
eight years old. Pretty old, little Mary
Marie of the long ago would think.
And, well, perhupa today 1 feel Just
aa old as she would put it. *
I came up Into the attic this morn-
ing to pack a%vay some things I shall
no longer need, now that I am going
to leuve Jerry. (Jerry is my husband.)
And In the bottom of my little trunk
I found this manuscript. I had forgot-
ten that such a thing existed ; but with
Its laboriously written pages before
me, it all came back to me; and 1 be-
gan to read; here a sentence; there a
paragraph; somewhere else a puge.
Then, with a little half luugh and a
half sob, I carried It to an old rocking-
chair by the cobwebby donner window,
and settled myself to read It atralght
through.
And I have read It
Poor little Mary Marie I Dear little
Mary Marie! To meet you like this,
to share with you your Joys and sor-
rows, hopes and despairs, of those
years, long ago, Is like sitting band In
hand on a sofa with s childhood's
friend, each listening to sn eager "And
do you remember1" falling constantly
from delighted lips that cannot seem
to talk half fast enough.
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
tfAPPE
CITIES
§ in the
Jap, "White," Wants U. S. Citizenship
he la "white" and Is eligible for citi-
zenship under the law which provides
that only s "free white person, or per-
son of African descent or nativity"
may become an American citliso.
Ozawa's efforts to obtain citizenship
l egsn here several years ago. Ths
United States District court for
| Hawaii denied hla contention and this
decision was upheld by the federal
Circuit court of the Ninth district
in California. From thla decision be
appealed to the Supreme court.
Ozawa contended that originally
Japanese were of the white race.
Ozawu came to Hawaii when a
young man and was educated In the
American schools here. In one of the
briefs submitted here Osaws sld
that he had taken special palne
to educate his children in Amer-
ican public school In order that
they might become loyal American
citizens, citizenship having been ac-
quired by them through their birth on
American soil. He said his children
had not been taught the Japanese
language and that "nothing pertain-
ing to Japan or the Japanese had
been allowed to creep into their daily
Uve8, education or theli religion."
TJONOLULU, T. H—The United
States Supreme court will be
called upon next October, probably
for the first time in history, to, decide
the "color" of a man In the appeal of
Takao Ozawa, Honolulu, Japunese,
who Is attempting to gain American
citizenship by naturalisation. Upon
the outcome of the test case rests the
disposition of several other simitar
suits In which Japanese have attempt-
ed to become naturalized.
Ozawa contends that he is entitled
to citizenship on the ground that he
has sought to mold hla life along
strictly American lines In accordance
with the best American customs and
Ideals, and on the further ground that
Sing the Battle of
CHICAGO.—Strike a martial chord
w and sing, O Muse, the battle of
the watermelons! The scene was at
Morris Steinberg's fruit stand at the
Intersection of Milwaukee avenue
and Rockwell street. The casus belli,
a watermelon purchased by the little
daughter of Mrs. Mar> Regesek—of
the North Rockwell street ltegeseks—
and which, on being plugged, was pro-
nounced overripe by the buyer. Back |
It went to Steinberg's fruit stand. !
borne belligerently by Mrs. Itegesek
"This melon doesn't eat Itself at all," j his stand and heaved it mightily at
announced the customei, addiug with [ the Amazon. It caught her Just above
Watermelons!
Milwaukee avenue directness: "It's a
rotten melon."
I should sell you rotten melons?"
protested the fruit vendor, sawing the
air with his hands. "Gewlss, I
vouldn't do it. Look vunce whero I
plug him. It gives ripeness. Never
was so fine a melon."
"Take your rotten old melon, then,"
said Mrs. Itegesek, and she hurled It
at Steinberg. The bomb burst, spat-
tering the fruit vendor from bead to
foot. He seized another melon from
the ear, glancing off, to burst upon the
! pavement.
j This speeded- up the battle. Ac-
tion became fast and furious. Melon*
came hurtling through the air. Both
j combatants were red with Jrlpplng
watermelon gore. The pavement waa
a shambles. Small boys on the out-
skirts of the fray feasted on the
"duds" and the fragments.
A riot call was sent In. The police-
men seized the two belligerents and
gave them a ride.
Angel Child Sues Cold Song Writer
row
MY
AftGEL
CHILD
Peculiar Manx Cats.
The origin of Manx cats Is now at-
tributed to the arrival of these cats
on the Isle of Man from ships belong-
ing to the Spanish armada that were
wrecked there. They were probably
brought from Japan or eastern Asia,
They are a distinct species with short
forelegs, and elevated hindquarters,
and differ from other cats somewhat in
call. ways, and character. They vary
In color. People who have owned them
for long periods say they are not good
mouaers or hunters. In character they
are rather similar to a dog, being high-
ly companionable and having some of
the qualities of a guardian, but they
are not considered hunters in any
sense of th* word.
MKW York.—When a pretty young
^ girl falls In love with a poor but
charming married man, helps him get
along In the world by loaning him
nearly all of $30,(X*) which she Inher-
its, fixes him up so be can get u di-
vorce by playing the part of co-re-
spondent, and when he calls her hla
angel child and lovey duck and writes
the loveliest songs about her and
cleans up the Broadway cash market
with them—
When all these things happea and
then, after the divorce Is made fool-
proof, she asks him to marry ber, as
he has often promised her he would,
and he refuses—
Shouldn't It be worth at least $25,-
000 of the man's money, now that he
has got lots and lots of wampum and
kale?
Inez Ford, pretty Broadway show
girl, thinks so. She has begun suit
10 Supreme court for $25,000 dam-
ages for breach of promise of mar-
riage against Henny Davis, author of
"Margie." "Angel Child." "Make Be-
lieve." "Sweetheart," and other popu-
lar hits. What hurts most, Inez
says. Is that she was the Inspiration.'
Take "Angel Child," for instance.
That avas his pet name for Inez, she
says, before and after the real Mrs.
Davis staged a raid with detectives
on the love nest.
"Isn't It the limit?" pleaded Miss
Ford as she talked about her suit in
her new home at 203 West Flfty-slkth
street. "Here I even helped him get
the divorce by being named co-re-
spondent We were happy, and when
an old man I'd nursed through a long
illness died In Chicago and left me a
nice little nest-egg. about $80,000, I
let Benny have anything he wanted."
A Cock-and-Bull Story.
This is the term of an Impossible
tale. Many Ingenious explanations have
been suggested, but the phrase really
dates from Matthew Prior (1064-1121)
—"Cocks and bulls and flutes and fid
dies. Idle tales and foolish riddles."
Carp Has ths Bl«geet Brain.
Of all fish the carp, In proportion
to Its size, has the largest brain
Two Women Form the Syndicate Stable
QARATOGA, n. Y—The Syndicate
Stable has been a frequent pur-
chaser of yearling, at the Saratoga
sales. One day, for Instance, the
stuhle bought four, paying $4,800 for
the young racers.
Funny cracks greeted the formation
of the Syndicate Stable a year ago.
The wise birds called it "The Five and
Ten"—among other things. Its spon-
sors were two wealthy young women.
They were Mrs. R. I'enii Smith. Jr.,
daughter of the late K. II. Hurrlinun,
and Mrs. F. Ambrose Clark.
Hardened rail birds pointed out that
worthwhile yearlings were selllnr for
$10,000 apiece snd here these two
women were figuring on starting a
stable with $5,000.
The partners agreed to limit the
price of their purchases to $1,000
esch. They bought nine yearlings,
some of them not costing more than
1200.
The ladies were sentimental. As
the name of their stable began with
8, tho horses were named likewise:
Scarecrow. Suspicion, 'Smatter Pop,
Suslana, Syndicate, Farsnparllla. Sen-
timental Tommy and Slater Sue.
The first races of the stable were
watched with amusement, but this
soon changed to Interest when the
combined colors of the two women,
consisting of a dark body, light blue
sleeves and a canary cap. began to
flush by the Judges' stand In first
Place with considerable regularity.
Today the stable has the respect of
sll race followers. Its total Income
to dste, with their winnings and tho
sale price of Scarecrow, who was dis-
posed of r«
thaa $7,000.
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Stephens, W. B. The Gotebo Gazette (Gotebo, Okla.), Vol. 22, No. 4, Ed. 1 Thursday, September 7, 1922, newspaper, September 7, 1922; Gotebo, Oklahoma. (https://gateway.okhistory.org/ark:/67531/metapth350670/m1/2/: accessed April 19, 2024), The Gateway to Oklahoma History, https://gateway.okhistory.org; crediting Oklahoma Historical Society.