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.)