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About The gazette-times. (Heppner, Or.) 1912-1925 | View Entire Issue (Oct. 8, 1914)
13 HOME AND FAEM MAGAZINE SECTION SERIAL. McCntcheoa A Fool and His Money Ww SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS INSTALLMENTS. . J" opening installments of "A Fool and His Money," Geo. Burr McCutcheon's charming novel, we learn of John Bellamy Smart, the yoong man who ii telling tfaia nory. Me hag jurt written hi first novel, and at the same time hai fallen heir to an immense fortune left him by his uncle. Smart takes a trip on the Biver Danube. II awcoTeri an ancient castle, which he purchases from an Austrian count. With his secretary, Poopendyke, he takea possession. It ia supposed to be tenanted only by the ear. tar and his family, the Schmicks. Later Smart finds a woman who is in possession of a wing of the castle that is barred to him. She grant a brief interriew, but refuse to leave. The servants appear to be in league with her, and Smart is in a quandary. Later he meets her and is captivated by her wit and Keauty. He finds that she is divorced rm wo'thleaa and scheming Austrian Count, who was awarded the custody of the lady'a child. The Count demands a million dollars from his rich American father-in-law, when na0! PT " np' The IBOtUOT abducts the child and selects the castle as a hiding place. Smart fears trouble with the authorities, but derides to assist the fair divorcee, alULOugh she warns him of the danger. A number of visitors makes it difficult to keep secret the presence of the Countess in the eastle. One guest, familiar with the caella, almost eomea upon Smart and the Connteas unawares. The woman escapes but (lama a door behind her. The visitor suspects Smart of an intrigue with the wife of hit valet, Finally the party leaves and Smart is relieved. IIOME AND FARM MAGAZINE SECTION" H O YOU MEAN to sav, Countess, Isf that" "It has all been quite satisfac torily attended to through Mr. Poopen dyke," the said. "He consulted me be fore definitely engaging any one, Mr. Smart, and I referred him to my law yers in Vienna. I do hope Hawkins and Blatchford and Henri, the chef, are quit satisfactory to you. They were recently employed by some one in the British embassy at " "Pray rest easy, Countess," I man agod to say, interrupting out of con sideration for Hawkes and Blatchford, who, I thought, might feel uncomfort able at hearing themselves discussed so impersonally. "Everything is most sat isfactory. I did not realize that I had you to thank for my present mental and gastronomical comfort. You have surroundeil me with diadems." HawkeS and Blatchford very gravely and in unison said: "Thank you, sir." "And now let us talk about some thing else," she said complacently, as if the project of getting the rest of her family into the castle were already off her mind. "I can" tell you how much I enjoyed your last book, Mr, Smart. It is so exciting. Why do you call it The Fairest of tho Fair'T" "Because my publisher insisted on substituting that title for the one I had chosen myself. Ill admit that it doesn't fit tho story, my dear Coun tess, but what is an author to do when his publisher announces that he has a beautiful head of a girl he wants to put on tho eover and that the title must fit the cover, so to speak t" "But I don't consider it a beautiful head, Mr. Smart A very flashy blonde with all the earmarks of having posed in the chorus between the days when she posed for your artist. And your heroine has very dark hair in the book. JtVhy did they make her a blonde on the eoverl" "Because they didn't happen to have anything but blonde pictures in stock," said I, cheerfully. "A little thing like that doesn't matter, when it comes to literature, my dear Countess. It isn't the hair that counts. It's tboat." "But I Bhould think it would con fuse the reader," she insisted. "The last picturo in tho book has her with inky black hair, while in all the others she is quite blonde." "A really intelligent reader doesn't have to be told that the artist changed his model before he got to tho last pic ture," said I, and I am quite confi dent sho didn't hear me grate my teeth. "But tho critics must have noticed the error and commented upon it." "My dear Countess, tho critics never see tho last picture in a book. They are much too clever for that." Sho pondered. "I suppose they must get horribly sick of all tho books they have to read." "And they never havo a chance to experienco tho delicious period of con valescence that persons with less chronic afflictions have to look for ward to," said L, very gontly. "They go from one disease to another, poor chaps." "I once knew an author at Newport who said he hated every critic on earth," sho said. "I should think he might," said I, without hesitation. It was not until the next afternoon that sho got the full significance cf the remark. As I never encourage any one who seeks to discuss my Btories with me, being a modest chap with a flaw in my vanity, she abandoned tho subject after a few ineffectual attempts to find out how I get my plots, how 1 write- my books, and how I keep from losing my mind. "Would you bo entertained by a real mystery t" sho asked, Irnning toward mo with a gleam of excitement in her eyes. Very promptly I said I should bo. Wo were having our coffee. Hawkes and Blatchford had left the room. "Well, tradition says that one of the old barons buried a vast treasure in tho cellar of this " "Stop!" I commanded, Bhaking my head. "Haven't I just said that I don't want to talk about literature t Buried treasure is the very worst form of literature." "Very well," she said indignantly. "You will be sorry when you hear I've dug it np and made off with it" I pricked np my ears. This made a difference. "Are you going to hunt for it yourself t" "I am," she said resolutely. "In those dark, dank, grewsome cel lars!" "Certainly." "Alone?" "If necessary," she said, looking at mo over the edgo of tho coffee cup. "Tell me all about it," said I. "Oh, we sha'n't find it, of course," said she calmly. I made noto of the pronoun. "They've been searching for it for two centuries without success. My that is, Mr. I'less has spent days down there. He is very kard-up, you know. It would come in very handy for him." I glowered. "I'm glad he's gone, I don't like the idea of his looking for treasures in my castle." She gave me a smile for that. CHAPTER X. I Agree to Meet the Enemy. THAT NIGHT I dreamed of going down, down, down into the bowels of the earth after buried treasure, and finding at the end of my hours of travel the countess' mother sitting in bleak splendor on a chest of gold with her feet drawn up and surround ed by an audience of spiders. For an hour or more after leaving the enchanted rooms near the roof, 1 lounged in my study, persistently at tentive to the portrait of Ludwig the Bed, with my ears straining for sounds from the other side of the secret panels. Alas! those panels were many cubits thick and as staunch as the sides of a battleship. But there was a vast sat isfaction in knowing that she was there, asleep perhaps, with her brown head pillowed close to tho wall but little moro than an arm's length from the crimson waistcoat of Ludwig the Bed for he sat rather low like a Chinese god and supported his waistcoat with his knees. A gross, forbidding chap was hel Tho story was told of him that he could quaff a flagon of alo at a single gulp, Looking at his portrait, one could not help thinking what a pitifully infinitesimal thing a flagon of alo is after all. Morning camo and with a sullou de termination to get down to work on my long neglected novel. I went dowu to breakfast. Everything about the place looked bleak and dreary and as gray as a granite tombstone. Hawkes, who but twelve hours before had seemed the ombodimcnt of life in its most resilicut form, now appeared as a drab nemesis with wooden legs and a frozen leer. My coffco was bitter, tho peaches were like sponges, tho bacon and rolls of uni form sogginess and the eggs of a strange liverish hue. I sat there alone, gloomy and depressed, contrasting tho hateful sunshine with the soft, witch ing refulgenco of twonty-four candles and the light that lies in a woman's eyes. "A fine morning, sir," said Hawkes, in a voice that seemed to come from tho grave. It was tho first tiino I had' ever heard him Bpeak so dolorously of the morning. Ordinarily he was a pleas ant voiced fellow. "Is it! " said I, and my voice sound ed gloomier than his. I was not sure of it, but it seemed to mo that he mado a movement with his hand as if about to put it to his lips. Seeing that I was regarding him rather fixedly, ho allowed it to remain susponded a littlo above his hip, i.uito on a lino with the other one. His elbows were crooked at the proper angle I noticed, so I must have been doing him an injustice. He couldn't have had anything disre spectful in mind. - "Send Mr. Poopendyke to "me, Hawkes, immediately after I've fin ished my breakfast" "Very good, sir. Oh, I beg pardon, sir. I am forgetting, Mr. Poopendyke is out He asked me to tell you he wouldn't return before eleven." "Out! What business has he to be out!" "Well, sir, I mean to say, he's not precisely out, and he isn't just what one would call in. He is up in the ahem! the east wing, sir, taking down some correspondence for the for the lady, sir." I arose to the occasion. "Quito so, quite so. I had forgotten the appoint ment." "Yes, sir, 1 thought you had." "Ahem! I daresay Britton will do quite as well. Tell him to " "Britton, sir, has gone over to the city for the newspapers. You forget that he goes every morning as soon as he has had his " "Yes, yes! Certainly," I said hastily. "Tho papers. Ha, ha! Quite right" It was news to me, but it wouldn't do to let him know it. The countess read the papers, I did not. I stead fastly persisted in ignoring the Paris edition of the New York Herald for fear that the delightful mystery might disintegrate, so to speak, before my eyes, or become the commonplace scan dal that all the world was enjoying. As it Btood now, I had it all to my self that is to say, the mysttjry. Mr. Poopendyke, reads aloud the baseball scores to me, and nothing else. It was nearly twelve when my sec retary reported to me on this particu lar morning, and he seemed a trifle hazy as to the results of the games. After he had mumbled something about rain or wet grounds, I coldly enquired: "Mr. Poopendyke, aro you employed by me or by that woman upstairs t" I would never havo spoken of her as "that woman," believe me, if I had not been in a state of irritation. He looked positively stunned. "Sir!" he gasped. I did not repeat the question, but managed to demand rather fiercely: "Aro you!" "Tho countess had got dreadfully behind with her work, sir, and I thought you wouldn't mind if I helped her out a bit," he explained nervously. "Work? What work," "Her diary, sir. She is keeping a diarv. " "Indeed!" "It is very interesting, Mr. Smart. Bather beats any novel I've read late ly. We we've brought it quite up to date. I wrote at least three pages about the dinner last night. If I am to be lievo what she puts into her diary, it must have been a delightful occasion, as the newspapers would say," I was somewhat mollified. "What did she have to say about it, Fred!" I asked. It always pleased him to be called Fred. "That would bo betraying a confi dence," said he. "I will say this much, however: I think I wrote your name fifty times or moro in connection with it." "Rubbish!" said I. "Not at all!" said he, with agree ablo spirit. A sudden chill came over me. "She isn't figuring on having it published, is shet" "I can't say as to that," was his disquieting reply. "It wasn't any of mv business, so I didn't ask," '"Oh," snid I, "I see." "I think it is safe to assume, how ever, that it is not meant for publica tion," said be. "It strikes me as be ing a bit too personal. There ore parts of it that I don't believe she'd dare to put into print, although she reeled them off to me without bo much as blush. 'Pon my soul, Mr. Smart, I never was so embarrassed in my life, She" "Never mind," I interrupted hastily "Don't tell tales out of school." He was silent for a moment, tinge ing his big eye-glasses nervously. "It may please you to know that she thinks you are an exceedingly nice man." "No, it doesn't!" I roared irascibly. "I'm damned if I like being called an exceedingly nice man." "They were my words, sir, not hers,'J he explained desperately. "I was mere ly putting two and two together form ing as opinion from her manner not from her words. She is very particular to mention everything you do for her, and thanks me if I call her attention to anything she may have forgotten. She certainly appreciates your kindness to tho baby." "That is extremely gratifying," said I acidly. He hesitated once more. "Of course, you understand that the divorce itself is absolute. It 's only the matter of the child that remains unsettled. The " I fairly barked at him. "What the devil do you mean by that, Bir? What has the divorce got to do with HI" "A great deal, I should say," said he, with the rare, almost superhuman patience that has made him so valuable to me. "Upon my soul! " was all that I could say. Hawkes rapped on the door luckily at that instance. "The men from the telephone com pany are here, sir, and the electricians. Where are they to begin, sir?" I "Tell them to wait," said I. Then I hurried to the top of the east wing to ask if she had the least objection to an extension 'phone being placed in my, study. She thought it would be very nice, so I returned with instructions for the men to put in three instruments one in her room, one in mine and one in the butler's pantry. It seemed a very jolly arrangement all 'round. As for the electric bell system, it would speak for itself. Toward the middle of the afternoon when Mr. Poopendyke and I were hard at work on my synopsis we were startled by a dull, mysterious pounding on the wall hard by. We paused to listen. It was quite impossible to locate the sound, which ceased almost immediately. Our first thought was that the telephone men were drilling a hole through the wall into my study. Then came the shaq) rat-a-ata-tat once more. Even as we looked about us in bewilderment, the portly facade of Ludwig the Bed moved out of alignment with a heart rending squeak and a long thin streak of black appeared at the inner edgo of the frame, growing wider and blacker if anything before our startled eyes. "Are you at home?" inquired a voice that couldn't by any means Lave ema nated from the chest of Ludwig, even in his mellowest hours. I leaped to my feet and started across the room with great strides. My secre tary's eyes were glued to the magic por trait. His fingers, looking like claws, hung suspended over the keyboard of tho typewriter. "By the Lord Harry!" I cried. "Yes!" The secret door swung quietly open, laying Ludwig 's face to the wall, and in the aperture stood my amazing neighbor, as lovely a portrait ts you'd see in a year's trip through all the galleries in the world. She was smiling down upon us from tho slightly elovated position, charming figure in tho very latest Parisian hat and gown. Something gray and black and exceedingly chic. I re member saying to Poopendyke after wards in response to r. question of his, (To be continued.)
