Lexington wheatfield., August 29, 1907, Image 6

THE GIRL WITH
A MILLION
By D. C Murray
CHAPTER XV. (Continued.)
The smaller rascal assenting, though
with an evil grace, they walked toward
Dobroski's lodging, which was but half a
mile distant. Zeno renewed his gay lit
tle snatches of song, and Frost's furtive
eyes were everywhere as they went. The
old anarchist was at home, and they were
at once admitted to his presence. I J is
usual air of mournful fatigue was more
than commonly noticeable as he rose to
welcome his visitors.
"After what happened last night, dear
sir," said Zeno, when the greetings were
over, "I thought I could not do less than
wait upon you. But first I saw my
Irind, Mr. Frost. I believe I have more
than half convinced him of the justice of
the side you take. In fact," smiling at
Frost, "I think I may say he is almost
converted to your side. But the wrongs
that are done daily excite him. He longs
for an immediate result. I have preached
patience in my own way, and I think we
can extract from him now a promise that
be will abide by your conviandment."
"Thank you, Wroblewskoff," said Dob
roski, brightening somewhat. "I thank
you also, Mr. Frost. If you are willing
to listen to any words of mine, I would
rounsI patience. I will not speak of
moral questions, for there are times when
we must be a law unto ourselves. But
I will ask you to look at the prudential
aspect of the case. We want the people
with us in our fight for liberty, and the
. way to win them is not to alarm them, to
mutilate them, to scatter fire and death
among them. A (man will not give his
good will to him who causes him to live
in terror. Before fhis fight of ours can
be won many will die by sword and fire,
and to many the cause of tyranny looks
righteous. There are things which it is
not easy to understand, and this Is one of
them. Tyrants will claim their sacri
fices, and the sacrifices will be paid. This
is inevitable ; and it is useless to say that
we dread bloodshed. Let us win the
people wherever we can. And do not
think, sir, that national hatreds, however
strong, will ratify the deeds we speak
of."
This speech, for all the oratorical turns
with which it was embellished, was deliv
ered with a weary quietude. Zeno sat
like one enwrapped, and was almost as
eloquently receptive in his - silence as
O'Rourke himself could have been. Frost
explored the carpet with his shifty eyes.
There was silence for a little while, and
then Zeno spoke.
"Well, Mr. Frost?" His voice was
hushed a little from its common tone.
"'What do you say?"
"I say," returned Frost, "that Mr.
Dobroski is more experienced than we
are, and that bis voice ought to carry
weight in our councils. I say that if we
are to win we must stick ' together ;i and
if there must be a split and It seems
there must be the wise men will throw
their allegiance on the side of their tried
leaders." Here be gave another lurking
glance at 2eno. "On the side," he added,
"of authority and experience." '
"You declare, then," cried Zeno, in a
tone of triumph, "for Mr. Dobroski?"
"I declare for Mr. Dobroski," said
Frost, without looking up. "Unreserved
ly." "I thank you sir," Dobroski, extending
to him a hand, which Frost did not take
until Zeno nudged him, when he took it
with a shamefaced alacrity.
""There are others I do not despair of," "
said the beaming Zeno, rubbing his hands.
"They must be approached. But there is
one thing" lowering his voice, "there are
Home among our late friends who will be
dangerous. To you, sir." Dobroski smil
ed. "But yes,'.' said Zeno, eagerly; "yes,
yes, dear sir." He hurried on rapidly in
Polish, as if the urgency of his interest
In Dobroski drove him to find expression
. In his native tongue. "They must be
watched. Indeed, dear sir, in this you
must be guided. We must practice a lit
tle duplicity. It is regrettable, but I can
not help myself. I shall join their coun
cils, offering always such arguments as
you yourself would bring, or as you may
igive me for special cases. And since
many of them are blind enough and fools
enough ' to be suspicious of your good
faith, I, dear sir, shall undertake to watch
you for their side. I shall be able thus
to watch them, ''and yet to be in constant
intercourse with you."
"That may be as you will," said the
old man, with his melancholy smile. "It
will give at least one reasonable voice to
their deliberations. But the position will
be a difficult one to hold."
"Ah, sir," cried Zeno, "a little labor
a little difficulty a little danger. What
are these?"
"You will not see me for a little while,"
said the old man. "I am going to the Con
tinent again for a few days. The events
of last night make it necessary that I
should consult with Mr. O'Rourke. I will
advise you of my return. In the meantime
you may do something to restrain the vio
lence of our friends."
"I will try, dear sir," said Zeno, rever
entially, and with that he and Frost
went away. ,
"What were you talking about when
you started that foreign lingo?" Frost
asked, when they bad reached the street,
Mr. Zeno translated pretty faithfully, but
Frost shook his head at the translation.
"You're a lot too clever for me, you are,"
te muttered, grumbling. "I've seen snakes
in my time, but I never saw your equal."
"Thank you, dear Frost," cried Zeno,
pinching bim in a jocose , and amicable
svay. "Iu make me proud,"
CHAPTER XVI. .
On the morning after their talk In the
garden Farley and O'Rourke breakfasted
together alone. After breakfast O'Rourke
took the road to Houfoy. He was walk
ing along with his hands behind him, and
his eyes bent to the roadway, when he
heard a voice which spoke his name and
gave him an actual start
"Good morning, Mr. O'Rourke," said
the voice, and turning swiftly in the
direction from which it came, he beheld
the pretty widow standing in the middle
of the dry water course, alone. She was
very prettily dressed in a light morning
costume of a faint yellowish tone, with
certain bright devices of flowers about
It everywhere, and she wore a peasant's
hat of straw, twisted into a very coquet
tish shape, and bound about with a rich
silk handkerchief, in which was Bet a
silver brooch.
O'Rourke absorbed the charming vision
as a whole. He leaped to the broad
grass-grown top of the low wall and
raised his hat with a smile. His wavy
reddish hair and his beautiful beard and
mustache shone in the sun like gold, and
his handsome face was as gay as a hoy's.
It is not improbable that he looked as
charming to the pretty widow as the
pretty widow looked to him. She came
tripping and blushing and smiling over
the stones of the river-bed, and O'Rourke
ran down the slope with so excessive an
alacrity that he failed to notice that it
broke suddenly away at the foot. Mrs.
Spry screamed faintly, but O'Rourke,
who was too late to stay himself, made
the necessary leap in safety It was but
nine or ten feet deep, and he had soft
turf to alight on and advanced smiling,
with his crisp hair shining and his right
hand outstretched toward her.
"Good morning," he said, "this is a
delightful encounter for me."
Mrs. Spry had a bouquet of wild flow
ers in her right hand and a book in her
left, but she set the flowers in the hol
low of her arm and accepted O'Rourke's
pi offered hand. He held hers longer than
the absolute necessities of a morning sa
lute demanded, and Mrs. Spry blushed
and drooped her eyes before his ardent
gaze.
"You have been gathering flowers?"
he said, mastering himself by an effort,
but even then hardly knowing what he
said. "Quite a charming little nosegay."
She held it toward him and their hands
met again. The small bouquet was not
tied, and lest the flowers should fall he
put both hands to it, taking her right in
his left whilst he gathered the blossoms
together. She felt that his hands were
trembling a little, and he bungled with.
the flowers. Just then their eyes met,
the little widow's expressive orbs looked
almost frightened, and O'Rourke was as
white as if he were about to faint or to
be hanged, or to lead a forlorn hope. He
dropped the flowers and took the hand
which held the book. The little widow
let the volume fall beside the fallen blos
soms. She. drooped her head, and the
bosom of the pretty morning dress flut
tered visibly. O'Rourke said not a word,'
but he gave a great slow sigh and drew
her toward him by the hands. Then he
simply put both arms around her and
stooped, and kissed her hot cheek. Still
ho said not a word, but his heart beat
like a hammer, and he pressed her to
him as if to Stifle its outrageous riot.
"Am I too insolent?" he said at length.
The pretty widow did not seem to think
so, for she stood upon her fallen blossoms
with her cheek upon his breast, and made
no effort to escape. "I have loved you
from the minute I first saw you. Can
you can you love me a little?"
His tremor was like the tremor of a
lover to the little widow's mind. He
played the part better than he knew.
"Ye-es," said the lady in a whisper,
shrinking into herself as she spoke. Then
there was another lengthy spell of si
lence, broken by the near clash of a
horse's bells and the crack of a carter's
whip. At these sounds they started guilt
ily apart, and O'Rourke, falling upon
one knee, gathered up the dropped posy
and the book, and they walked side by
side, silently, by the dry water course
until they came upon a spot hidden from
the road, where the remaining stump of a
great felled beach made a convenient
seat. '
"Shall we sit here for a little while?"
O'Rourke asked. The lady seated herself
in silence, and seeing that she had taken
a place too near the center to allow room
for her companion, moved a little, and
drew her dress on one side. O'Rourke ac
cepted the Invitation thus dumbly con
veyed, and placing one arm around her
waist, drew her nearer toward him.
"Do you think," he said, not being able
to find anything more original to say
just then, "that you will be able to learn
to love me just a- little?"
The pretty little woman began to trem
ble, and searching blindly for her hand
kerchief, found it at last, and hiding her
face behind It with both hands, began
to cry.
"I I knew," she sobbed, "that it was
wicked, but I I loved you when I saw
you at Boston. I've al-always thought
about you since, and when I came to
Eu-Europe I hoped that I should meet
you.f
The ways of the human heart are
strange, but at this confession the fas
cinating patriot experienced a twinge of
shame. For one fleeting second he felt a
genuine hate of humbug.
, "I will love yoa very dearly," he laid,
a moment later, and he meant it.
What was to prevent him from loving
her? Nothing, if she could always flat
ter his self-love as well as she had done
just now.
But he had to go baok to his pre
tenses. Nature and culture between them
had done so much for him that he had
forgotten how to walk straight.
"I haven't much to offer you," he said.
"I am poor, and I can't give you a grand
homo."
She was In bucIi a flutter at the ac
complishment of all her hopes, so glad
and so shaken to think herself this hero's
heroine, this handsome, eloquent, famous,
devoted patriot's chosen, that Bhe was
half hysterical. She dropped her hand
kerchief from her tear-stained eyes, and
clapped both hands together like a child,
and laughed In his face.
"Why, I've got six million dollars 1"
He felt Instantly and swiftly he had
played the fool in pretending not to
know that she was wealthy. The very
openness of her statement seemed to say
so. What need had there been for so
silly pretense when she had told him her
own heart so plainly? And with this
swift and Instant sense in his mind he
turned the sum into English money and
saw that though it was smaller than he
had fancied, it was prodigious still. But
he was committed to his useless humbug
now, and could not go back from it.
"Six million dollars?" he said, like a
man amazed. "Twelve hundred thousand
pounds? Oh 1 I am glad I did not know
that, or I should have never dared to
speak. I knew," he went on, to soften
down his blunder, lest It should have
dangerous consequences later on "I knew
that you must have money, and the
thought frightened me. If I had known
the truth, I should never have dared."
"I am glad, then," she answered, hid
ing her face in her 'hands, "that you
didn't know."
"It frightens me still" he said. "I
can scarcely dare to think of it."
"But you do love me, don t you?" she
whispered, shrugging her shoulders with (
a childish shrinking gesture of appeal,
and looking up at him through her hands.
"Love you?" he cried, and throwing
both arms around her he drew her to his
breast. She lay there quite contented,
and he, looking over her shoulder with a
smile that was almost wild, said to him
self, "You have won, Hector you have
won. You're a made man."
She put up her lips to be kissed in as
matter-of-fact a way as if she had been
a child, though she blushed very prettily
as she did so. O'Rourke put his arms
around her and kissed her, and suddenly,
with a little cry, she whisked away from
him, and ran quickly into the shelter of
the trees. The love-maker, thus abruptly
left, Btared after her until she had dis
appeared, and then, turning, started to be
hold the near figure of an elderly man
who was walking away, with a firm reso
lution not to have seen anything express
ed in the very curve of his shoulders.
The slowly retreating figure was that of
Dobroski, whom he had imagined to be
far away in London arranging for the
destruction of empires. What could have
brought him here?
'But in a little while, making up his
mind that he had certainly been seen,
and resolving to take the matter in the
boldest way, he marched at a good round
pace after the retreating Dobroski, and
by and by came up with him. There was
a faint twinkle in the eye of the old
anarchist, though but for that he was
as grave as a statute. The mere fact
of brisk motion seemed to have restored
O'Rourke to his usual condition. He
took the bull by the horns.
"You saw me a minute or two back,
sir?"
The twinkle in Dobroski's eye broad
ened Into a smile.
"Forgive me," he said; "I tried not
to see you or to be seen."
"I am going to be married, sir," said
O'Rourke. "And that is my business
over there. . It is a secret at present, at
my future wife's desire."
"I wish you happy," said the old man,
with an almost fatherly look. "A good
woman is a crown unto her husband. If
you have chosen well your wife will not
hold you back from the great work to
which you have set your hand." O'Rourke
said nothing, but he listened with an air
of deference. "I am here," pursued Dob
roski, "on purpose to seek you. Can
you give me, now, a little of your time?"
"I am always and entirely at your ser
vice, Mr. Dobroski," answered O'Rourke.
"Let me ask you one question to be
gin with. Did you know the policy of
Mr. Frost and his associates?"
"I have never worked intimately with
them," said O'Rourke, "but I know their
general policy."
"We have broken apart," said Dob
roski, mournfully. "I have had to tell
them that we cannot work together."
O'Rourke sighed and threw his hands
abroad with a hopeless gesture. They
might fight it out, between them now, but
he had to look as if he cared for fame
a little longer, and then he would be free.
He could already hear the perfervid ora
tory which would pursue him into his re
tirement, and he knew that it would be
powerless to disturb him for a moment.
"At least," said Dobroski, "you and I
will go on working together?" He did
not guess the current of his companion's
thoughts how should he? but the si
lence seemed to hurt him.
"Yes," said O'Rourke. He would rath
er not have said it, but it had to be said.
"We must go on working, win or lose."
"And I may trust to you until the
end?" the old man asked, laying both
hands upon him and bringing him to a
halt.
O'Rourke lifted his eyes and looked
him in the face. "You may trust me,"
he said, "until the end."
(To be continued.)
Patient OItsu Reminder.
Patient But Isn't this a large fee?"
Doctor The Inheritance tax might
be bigger. New York Sun.
Sleeping Outdoors
Many pwsous, ultu iu uust will In
the world to live lu obedience to the
laws of health, make a failure of the
open-air night, of which one now henrg
so much, and which is, In fact, the
chief dependence In the treatment of
tuberculosis.
There are several reasons why the
attempt to sleep outdoors, whether lit
erally or in a wide-open room, results
In failure. It Is such a radical de
parture with so many persons that they
do not have the first Idea how to start
It A great many of them have at the
back of their minds a sort of linger
ing impression that discomfort Is a part
of the treatment ; that to become Hard
ened one must be wretched, and thnt
misery and virtue are both compan
ions. As comfort is not expected, there
are no plans made to capture It. The
would-be disciple of health simply
throws up all the windows, gets into
bed with the usual coverings, perhaps
lies all nlgbt with the uncovered head
In a direct draft of air, shivers In
seml-wokefulness for hours, and then,
on rising in the morning chilled and de
vitalized, perhaps coughing and sneez
ing, condemns the whole scheme as a
snare, returns the next night to the
closed-window plan, and launches hlm
Belf upon society as the prophet of
stuffiness.
This Is all wrong, and a little thought
will show why. If the night air Is to
be breathed as it comes straight from
outside, as It should be, preparations
must be made to welcome It, and a
room In which the temperature is 20
or 80 degrees . Fahrenheit cannot be
occupied in the same clothing as one
kept at 60 degrees.
Down coverlets are invaluable for
these cold, fresh-air nights, for they
are as light as they are warm. Many
persons are averse to heavy bedcloth
lng, and they are right Weight does
not necessarily imply warmth, and It
Is foolish to use up vital force In hold
ing up heavy weights during the hours
consecrated to rest!
The sleeping garment itself should be
of some light and warm material, pref
erably woolen. Special thought should
be given to the protection of the head.
People, at any rate in this part of the
world, are not accustomed to" going
bareheaded In the open air, so there Is
really no reason why they should ex
pect to do so with Impunity for seven
or eight hours In cold weather at night
A soft cap cut to cover the ears and
to hang down the back of the neck
should always be worn. This shape
closes the little space between the cap
and the bedclothes and lncidentaly pre
vents many a stiff neck.
A hot-water bottle Is a good friend
on a bitter night, and is worth more
than many top spreads, for the bottle
generates heat, while the spread only
retains It Youth's Companion.
Clever With the Card.
Some years ago a certain county Jail
was undergoing extensive alterations,
during which time a gang of pickpock
ets, four In number, ( were arrested one
market day. Owing to the alterations
the lot were confined for a time. in one
cell, but were placed, under strict sur
veillance, the care of them being spe
cially intrusted to the sergeant. The
day after during his rounds he spied
them playing cards, when he promptly
opened the door and summoned a fel
low constable, on whose arrival the
cell and the prisoners were most care
fully searched, but no cards were
found. However, the card playing still
continued until the day on which the
pickpockets were to be sent to the as
sizes for trial. Then the superintend
ent, a very kind man and a great fa
vorite with every one, asked thein as
a favor to tell him where they had hid
den the cards. They told him that as
soon as the sergeant and his comrade
entered their cell they stuck the pack
In his pocket and picked It again be
fore he left, as a proof of which they
presented him with the much used
pack. Pearson's Weekly.
The Modern Hero.
"He Is wonderfully handsome," said
the Impressionable girl. "He looks like
the hero of a novel." ,
"Not at all," answered Miss Cay
enne; "he Is neither a gentlemanly
burglar nor an, adept In slang."
Washington Star.
Obeyed Orders.
"What are you crying about?"
"Bobby's got an apple and I ain't"
"But I told him to' give you a bite."
"That's why Itn crytn' ; here's the
marks of his teeth." Houston Post
Food for thought la often responsi
ble for Intellectual dyspepsia. .
N0RTHWE8T HONORED.
Professor Elliott, of W. 8. C, Con
tributes to Cyclopedia. '
It la well known that Prof. L. II.
Bailey, of Cornell university, has been
working for three years past on an ex
tensive publication to be known aa The
American Cyclopedia of Agriculture.
This is to be published In several vol
umes and it Is expected that it will be
accepted by the reading publio as the
standard reference work on rural affairs.
It has been many years since such a
work has been attempted and nothing
of such an extensive nature has ever
been undertaken before in America.
Profeegor Bailey has called to his aid
the best known writers on agriculture
throughout the entire country, who
have written up the various subjects on
which they were recognized as authori
ties. The entire work may be referred
to as the combined efforts of the agri
cultural specialists of America and
when published will no doubt find a
place in the library of most progressive
farmers.
It is significant that when it came to
the very Important subject of wheat,,
that Professor Bailey recognized the
great Northwest and its place as one of
the leading wheat producing regions by '
calling on Professor E. . Elliott, head
of the Agrioutlural department at the
State college of Washington, to prepare
this most important srticle. This has
been done by Prof. Elliott and the mat
ter is now in the hands of the publish
ers. The article in question consists of
about ten thousand words, with numer
ous illustrations, and would be suffi
cient in itself to make quite a book If
published separately. It covers the
entire subject of wheat production in
America. and at the same time atten
tion is particularly called to the great
regions of the Northwest where the pro
duction and quality of this cereal have
placed it in the forefront. Our wheat
growers aie to be congratulated in the
fact that the article in question hat
been prepared by cne so familiar with
the subject and who is doing so much
to advance the industry throug the
work being done by his department at
the state experiment station and at the
various cereal stations established in
the state as well as through the wheat
producers organization which was Ini
tiated by him.
AID TO "DRY FARMING."
Washington 8tate College Conducting
Extensive) Experiments.
The problem of "dry farming" now
before the farmers of the semi-arid re
gions of the Pacific Northwest has been
taken up by the Experiment Station of
Washington, and it is hoped to work
out a .method of farming for these re
gions which will increase their crop
bearing capacity. Ihe present opera
tions of experimentation are largely
relative to the physics of soils, and are
in charge of Piofeseor H. B. Berry, soil
physicist of the State college. Dis
easing this problem, Mr. Beriy stated;
"Among the questions which we
must answer are: What la the best
method of conserving toil moisture?
What is the value of disking the sum
mer fallow early in the spring before it
can be plowed? What is the value of
the sub-surface packer? If the crop
suffers from drouth, is it because there
is not sufficient moisture in the soil, or
is it because the plants cannot take the
moisture from the soil?
In the former case we must endeavor
to devise a cultural method to conserve
moisture; and in the latter case, we
must develop a strain of plants that
can take moisture from the soil, which'
is a plant breeding problem." ,
Figs Thrive in Polk County.
Figs as large and perfectly developed
as those raised in the most favored por
tion of California are grown at the town
home of Mrs. E. F. Lucas, in Mon
mouth. Specimens of the fruit were
brought to Dallas by Mrs. Martha Cos
per, who had been visiting in the nor
mal schcol town. The figs were of de
licious flavor and were far superior to
the California fruit usually found in
the Oregon markets. .
Mrs. Lucas' tree is seven years old,
the nutting having been brought from
California in 1000. Ihe tree is making
a luxuriant growth and has already
reached a height of 12 feet. Th-ee
crops of fruit are borne each year, liie
specimens brought to Dallas by Mrs.
Coeper included ripe and green fruit
of the second crop and half grown fruit
of the third crop. The tree has been
in bearing four years.
Qood Money In Peach Crop,
ShiDments of earlv Crawford rmnrhn
from Roseburg this year will aggregate
a total of nearly 20,000 boxes. This is
the estimate given by E. P. Drew, who
is handling the shipments of the local
iruitgrowers' association, whose mem
bership embraces nearly all of the
peach growers in that vicinity.
Growers have realized cood nrlnna fa
their product. Peaches of average size
ana quality Drougni lom eo to 80 cents
nr box. whll thorn nf Vilohn. r...J
l J " V. g.CUV
brought as high aa $1.25 per box.
Alter aeauoimg transportation charges,
these prices left the trrownra nub
margin of profit. Most of the fruit
was maraeiea in rorruana.
In the southern part of California root
gardens are becoming features -of all the)
new buildings.