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About Polk County itemizer. (Dallas, Or.) 1879-1927 | View Entire Issue (Dec. 17, 1908)
7 “The Peril and the Prize” W ritten E xpressly for this M agazine by David K yle Nicholson &== Their coming had been a irystery, their CHAPTER I. had been a greater. They had gone ET others say what they may, I oing been absolutely noiseless and unseen, claim that for a bachelor there is as ad completely as if they had never existed. no comfort like that of a fur Now seven years had passed and the nished room. A hotel gives a certain was as complete as ever. Not a measure of independence, but you are mystery inquiry ever had been received to never for a moment unaware that you are single indicate that elsewhere in the world was in a hotel. You are one of many, and no anybody matter how long you stay, you never feel going. interested in their coming and that you are at home. A boarding-house Now for good or ill I had chosen to is a place where you have all the disad make Lucy Dean the object of my roman vantages and none of the advantages of tic and sentimental regard. It was not suf hotel life. Private board, so called, means ficient to make me lose any of my good that your privacy is in all respects reduced three meals a day or to cause me any to the minimum. Extensive apartments particular grief at any time. It was make a man feel as if he were a fish and rather a luxury than otherwise. It filled the only one in, say, Lake Ontario. But my dreams whenever I chose to be senti a well-furnished room with good light, mental, gave me a chance believe that proper heat and an obliging landlady will I, too, had had my romance to and insure all the comfort any reasonable man a vision whenever I hummed supplied “Annie can desire; and the feeling that he is lord or other lovesick tune. Also it of all within his four walls comes to him is Laurie” possible that her memory had prevented and comforts him when, wearied and dis me from falling in love with some pretty gusted. he comes home at the close of a stenographer whom I met in the course of trying business day. and marrying and living happily I had engaged such a room as I had my work after in a Harlem flat, up four flights long desired. It had no outlook w’orth ever mentioning, but I am much more inclined of I stairs. around my comfortable lodg to reading than to looking out of the win ings looked which I had determined should be dow. If I were anxious for a view of out my home for years to come, and of doors, I had only a short w’alk to River then took down many a volume and began to side or Central Park. The room was spa read for the thousandth time Thackeray’s cious, my own belongings were duly “Cane-Bottomed Chair,” sentimentally im placed, the fire was blazing in the grate agining that many years had passed and and I settled down to my first evening’s that I had grown old and white-haired, enjoyment of my newly occupied apart - but still dreaming of the days of my youth ment. I wras so well satisfied that I felt and fitting my Lucy to the Fanny of the that it would be years before 1 should poem. True, she had never been in the have occasion to choose other quarters. and I had no cane-bottomed chair, 'And yet so uncertain are the affairs of room when we are determined to be senti human life that I was destined never but we do not stick at trifles. to spend a single night within those mental I could hardly be blamed for my sen walls, even though the clock was just then timent. With or without reason, seh- striking the hour of ten. tiinent is bound to play a part in our lives i I leaned back in my chair in dreamy and—I had seen Lucy Dean. Seldom is enjoyment, accentuated by the fact that to given, below stars, a vision of beauty morrow was Thanksgiving Day and there such as I had the beheld in the brief months was no going to the office. I am not of our acquaintance. The clear blue eyes, lazy, but who does not enjoy a respite the light, rippling brown hair, faultless from the regular daily grind of business? complexion, the high, smooth the brow, the I determined the hotel at which I would frank, innocent expression, the merry dine on the morrow, the excursion I laugh, the silvery voice, the dancing step would take, the theatre I would attend. never could be forgotten. And she was Then, though my years are not so many good as beautiful, with the strong intelli as they are now, I fell to thinking of the gence necessary to complete goodness, past. Everything is relative and the young kind, sympathetic and true. Never. I felt man looks back a fcwr years to what seems assured, would I see her again and, though the distant past and sings “Auld Lang I might grow old, Lucy would remain to Syne” as sentimentally as the most ancient me always the same. of his ciders. How long I might have gone on dream I cannot say. We never may know, This was especially the case with me. ing we think we may. what would who. in coming to the city years before, though happened if something else had not. had in a moment completely severed with have I was brought back to earth by a loud the past. On leaving the little academy knock at my door. 1 promptly opened and which had furnished me with all that I could afford'in the. way of higher educa confronted my visitor. tion, I had gone straight to the city and It was the man with the raw-beef face and dingy green uniform of a public hack- by an odd chance stumbled into a satis driver. factory position. I exchanged letters with “Ziss Mr. West mark?” he asked in the my friends and relatives, but they grew language and husky voice of his kind. less and less frequent and harder and “That is my name,” I answered. harder to write. I had a few new-formed “Zare’* down in de street wants friend> in the city, but they occupied little ’a see you,” a lady of my time or thoughts. So I worked “All right, he I’ll said. come down,” I said, through the day «and at night went to my though with profound wonder as to who room and read and thought about the could wish to see me. It must be. I past. vaguely thought, some distant relative That evening, which above all others from the country to let me know the must stand out in the memories of my hotel at w'hich she come wras staying. life. I was thinking, as I often did, of I followed the hackman to Lucy Dean. I had known her but a year the street where the carriage downstairs at the when I was at the academy, but she was curb. He at once climbed stood to his seat still before me. a joyous vision such as after flinging open the door of the car I never expected to see again. There was A face leaned forward from a mistery about her. too, or rather, about riage. lier father and family. They had come to within. “How de do? I suppose you don’t know the little town and rented a house and me?” catne a thin voice. “I am Mrs. Min Lucy had gone to the academy, the father ton, Professor Monroe’s sister,” she said, had walked about with his head bowed after I had admitted I did not know. and an aunt had kept the house and kept “The professor is in that for a $pw out visitors; and people wondered and days and he wants you Brooklyn to take dinner with talked and shook their heads. Where him to-morrow.” they came from nobody knew. Often “Why,” I “said, in astonishment. “I times the question was hinted and some heard that Professor Monroe died three times put point blank. ago!” “Papa does not want me to talk about years “Well, of all things in the world!” said his affairs,” Lucy would reply with so the woman, a feeble laugh. “If he sweet a smile that there was no chance is dead it is with the last hour. How for offense. The two elders were shorter on earth did within you ever hear such a thing and more decisive in their replies. as that?” One day the news went round the little “I had a letter from one of my class town that the Deans were gone. They mates,” I said. had rented a furnished house and the rent “Well, you come over to Brooklyn to was paid three months in advance. They morrow and see whether he is dead or owed nothing in the village. Nobody had not. Do you know if there are any more any word of their going. Nobody had of his boys in the city?” seen them at the station. They had no “I believe there are several,” I said. “I liorsc, no carriage. They had not engaged will try to look up such addresses as pos any, so far as anybody knew. Their flight sible and let you know to-morrow.” L “I think it would be better,” she said, “if you would give me the names now. and I will look up the addresses and have as many of them as possible to dinner to-morrow. But won’t you get into the carriage while we talk? The air seems very chilly to me.” “Certainly,” I said, and stepped within. Just then the hackman shouted out some indistinguishable words. “What is it?” said the woman, rising and putting her head out of the carriage. “I say as how- I’ve been drivin’ round long enough.” he said. “I’ve got to see the color of your money or I’ll drive youse to the station, see?” “No need of your insolence!” said the woman, taking out her purse and stepping to the sidewalk. “How much is the bill?” What the hackman’s response was I never knew, for the woman flung shut the door of the carriage, and at the" same moment there was a forward lurch and the horses went away at a gallop. 1 jumped up in the dark and tried the door of the carriage, but I could find no w’ay to open it. I shouted, but in vain. I could hear a steady clattering of what I knew not, but it was sufficient to drown my voice, shut within the close confines of the swiftly moving vehicle. On the carriage went—on and on and on. in spite of all my frenzied efforts to escape. Why I was being taken thus was a mystery. At first I thought of the ludicrous, if annoying, explanation that the woman was an impostor who had given the hackman the slip after beating him out of her fare and that the latter was taking me to the police station to answer for tl^ sins of another. This explanation faded as the carriage continued on and on. I heard the crash of the elevated trains, the clang of the street car gong, together with the continuous beat of the horses’ feet upon the pavement. Pres ently all these sounds ceased and we were going along dirt roads. The city was be ing left behind. I threw myself back on the cushions and defiantly awaited the outcome of my adventure. I was utterly and hopelessly puzzled as to why anybody should take the trou ble to kidnap me, for I w'as neither a maiden fair, a soldier brave nor a king dom’s heir, a traitor vile nor a millionaire, and why they should take such elaborate pains to carry off a broker’s clerk with six dollars in his pocket was too much for my comprehension. On we went. Like other foolish and impatient persons I asked if that ride ever would find an end. Of course it found an end, as does whatever is evil and dis tressing in life. The motion of the car riage slowed and then stopped. There was a long wait and then the carriage door was thrown open and I looked upon a landscape brilliantly lighted by moonlight. ‘*Comc out, young feller,” said the husky voice of the driver. “Nobody’s oin’ to hurt you. But if you try to reak away or go puttin’ lip a fight you’ll come to a sudden stop, see?” I saw, fortunately for my health and comfort. There were five or six fellows standing about and as tough-looking a lot as one could wish to see. “This w’ay, cully,” said one of them, seizing my arm. “Hands off!” I said, angrily, shaking myself loose. “I am not trying to get away. Here I ani. What do you want witli me?” “Want you to go in the house and keep quiet!” said one of the gang. “Mebbe you’d like to say something to me in particular!” said the one who had laid hands on me. “I certainly would!” I said. “If the rest will see fair play. I’ll promise you an in teresting tw’o minutes.” “I’m ready for you, «all right,” the bully said. “Get out, you fool!” said another, chucking him unceremoniously aside; “the boss wouldn’t stand for it.” “Don’t be afraid, young feller,” he con tinued, “you’re goin’ to get a square deal. Just be peaceable and you’re all right. But there ain’t no use gettin’ mad about if ’cause there’s no good in tryin’ to buck the whole gang. Right in at that door!' Common sense again came to my rescue. It w’ould have been a fine piece of heroics for me to cry “Die, villain!" or something of that sort and fling myself at the toughs, but there is no doubt tjiat I would have gained a broken head, a bloody nose, two black eyes and an assortment of sore, if ■ 5 > not broken, ribs in return for my demon stration. I thought it over and decided to let the villains die at some other time and place, though I prayed that it might be soon. I walked unhesitatingly through the door and into a dark hall. The door closed with a bang, and I heard it locked from the outside. There was an uncom fortable wait, and then a door opened at the other end of the lviU and a fat, middle-aged woman appeared, carrying a small lamp. “How do?” she said, as she came for ward with a kind of vacant grin, appar ently intended to express welcome. I stood stiffly and did not return her greeting. “ This way and I’ll show you your room,” she said, still grinning and show ing a row of teeth which, while perfect, w’ere absurdly small and with wide spaces between them. % I could see no reason for standing in the hall, so I followed without a word. Up two flights of stairs I went, and then I was shown a room which, while un doubtedly a prison for the time, was a most luxurious one. I saw a bed with snow-white linen, easy chairs, a table, a bookcase filled to overflowing. The room was spacious, the ceiling was lofty, the carpet was thick and fine. A grotesque feature, considering the undoubtedly crim inal nature of the place, was a huge iami! Bible, occupying the place of bailor on the table at the centre of the room. “That looks comfortable, doesn’t it?” said the woman, pausing at the door. “I hope the boys hain’t been rough with you nor nothin’, ’cause they had orders not to be. You’ll be treated right, don't be afraid. The boss wants to see you a little bit in the in*»ruin’ and then you’ll go all ri^ht, an’ mebbe a tidy bit in your pocket. Its more of a joke like than anything else.” “Quite a joke,” I said, stiffly. ‘T il be back in a minute,” she said, shutting the .door, which closed with a spring lock. I saw nor heard anything of the gang, but I knew that they were not far away, and it w’ould be follv to attempt rushing past the fat woman who was con stituted my jailer. She came back speed ily, bearing a plate of sandwiches and a glass of milk. “You’ll find these are good.” she said, putting them on the table. “You must be hungry after your long ride.” “Is it very far?” I asked, thinking thus to gain a clue, even if a slight one, as to where I was. “Well, now ! Do you think I’m such a green one as to answer questions like that?” the woman answered, laughing and shaking her fat—well. I believe that polite writers would probably call it her sides. J drew up to the sandwiches without a vvord. and the woman was gone, bid ding me a cheerful good-night. I was indeed hungry, and the sand wiches were certainly good. I ate until l was satisfied, and then, though I knew it was far toward morning. I began look ing around the room. The window was not barred, but it was nt least thirty feet from the ground, and I could near the steady crunch of the gravel in the walk in the garden beneath, which told me that there was some one doing duty as sentry to prevent any effort at escape. The walls w’ere of stone, the door was of heavy oak. If I had attacked it with my penknife probably after many hours I could have pierced it, but to what purpose? I was there to stay until my captors saw fit to give me freedom. I looked ai the books. They were of an assortment such as any person of taste might select, and certainly nothing likely to indicate a criminal or even morbid taste. I looked in the flyleaves for some inscriu tion, but found nothing, such search in one ease having been anticipated by tearing out the writing. I looked at the pictures on the wall. There were three of them, paintings of rare merit. One was a laud scape showing an excellent combination of lake and mountain. Another showed sev eral boys engaged in a game of marbles. The other was a portrait of a lady, and in from of this I stood with starting eyes, just as my lamp, burning low’, started to flicker preparatory to going out. It was a picture of Lucy Dean. CHAPTER II. The expiring light left me no choice but to go to bed. I had expected, in my fever ish excitement, to lay awake until morn ing, but Morpheus is a god who plays (Continued or p tig< ■?).