The Olney Enterprise. (Olney, Tex.), Vol. 11, No. 16, Ed. 1 Friday, August 6, 1920 Page: 3 of 12
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THE OLNEY ENTERPRISE
I'-- „'
I »
By CLIFFORD S. RAYMOND ■
Illustrated by IRWIN MYERS ^ Copyright by George H. Doran Co.
THE HAUNTED POOL.
Syopsis. — Dr. John Michelson,
jivat beginning his career, becomes
resident physician and companion
of Homer Sidney at Hartley house.
Mr. Sidney is an American, a semi-
invalid, old and rich and very de-
sirous to live. Mrs. Sidney is a
Spanish woman, dignified and reti-
cent. Jed, the butler, acts like a
privileged member of the family.
Hartley house is a fine old isolated
country place, with a murder story,
a “haunted pool,” and many watch-
dogs, and an atmosphere of mys-
tery. The “haunted pool” is where
Richard Dobson, son of a former
owner of Hartley house, had killed
his brother, Arthur Dobson. Jed
begins operations by locking the
ddctor in his room the very first
night. Doctor John fixes his door
so he can’t be locked in. He meets
Isobel, daughter of the house, and
falls in love at first sight. In the
night he finds the butler drunk and
holding Mrs. Sidney by the wrist.
He interferes. Mrs. Sidney makes
light of it. John buys a revolver.
John overhears Jed telling Mrs.
Sidney he will have his way. In
reply she says she will not hesitate
to kill him. Mrs. Sidney asks John
to consent to the announcement of
his engagement to Isobel. The
young people consent to the make-
believe engagement. Later they
find it is to head off Jed. who
would marry Isobel. Jed tries to
kill John, but the matter is
smoothed over. John, though “en-
gaged’ to Is- ;pl, conceals his love.
Mr. Sidney visits a nearby prison
and has Dobson, the murderer,
pointed out. Queer stories of the
“haunted pool” are told.
Oz
CHAPTER V—Continued.
—6—
“And tell sad stories of the deaths
of kings,” said Jed, drawing his chair
jnearer to the fire and spreading out
Ms hands before it. He was drinking
more rationally now, sipping his wine
instead of gulping it He had arrived
at his desired state and wished to
maintain it.
Mr. Sidney seemed to feel a com-
fortable glow as Jed drank. There
was no doubt that by suggestion he
obtained physical sensations of stimu-
lation and joviality.
“If we had a ghost,” said Mr. Sid-
ney, “it would walk on such a night.”
The wind made an extraordinary at-
tack upon the windows as he spoke
and sucked a soughing sound from the
chimney.
“Tell the doctor the story of the
pool,” Mr. Sidney said to Jed. “We
are in the comfortable werewolf state.
Let’s have our legend. Do you want
to add a shiver to your contentment,
f'. doctor?” he asked.
“I want to hear the story," I said.
“So do I, once again,” said Mr. Sid-
ney, “—on such a night.”
“This place once belonged to a fam-
ily named Dobson,” said Jed.
“It was a very old family-—for
American families,” said Mr. Sidney.
“Came over in 1640,” said Jed.
“English Puritans from Holland,”
said Mr. Sidney. “Go ahead, Jed. I
•sha’n’t interrupt.”
“After the capture of New Amster-
' dam from the Dutch by the English,
the Dobsons came down from the
north and bought this manor-house
from the Dutch family that had it.
Then the Dobsons lived here in a sim-
ple fashion.
“They renamed it Hartley house for
their father, who was Hartley Dobson.
That’s its name now."
“I don’t want to break in unneces-
sarily,” I said, “but where do you get
your information, Jed?”
“It’s all in records in the library,”
he answered, “and if I am going to tell
the story I want a fair chance. . . .
A lot of generations of Dobsons lived
here. There was always a Dobson fam-
ily in the house, and the property
came down to the generation that
made this story. There were two boys
( in that family—a half century ago—
j the sons of James and Henrietta Dob-
son.
“Henrietta Dobson died when her
son Richard was nine years old and
her other son Henry was seven years
old. James Dobson died two years la-
ter, and the boys were parentless.
This family was an argument against
families.”
“That’s one of the heterodox notions
I have instilled in an innocent mind,”
said Mr. Sidney. “Jed, you must not
repeat phrases in your narratives. You
parrot things and try to pass them as
observations.”
“You’ll have him surly in a moment,”
I suggested, “and then where is the
story?”
“I never knew him surly,” said Mr.
Sidney, “and he couid not be in his
genial wine.”
Jed showed the flicker of a malig-
nant glance in my direction and went
on with his story evenly and good-na-
turedly.
“I don’t pretend to have all the de-
tails or to understand it,” he said;
“but from what I learn, Richard Dob-
son, the elder brother, was strong and
brutal. Henry Dobson, the younger
brother, wa? frail and sensitive. I
guess they bated each other from the
cradle.
“Dick, when he was four and Henry
Aras two, found ways of tormenting his
younger brother. The best thing Hen-
ry ever had from Richard was con-
tempt.”
“I Mve known families of that na-
ture,” said Mr. Sidney. “Our conven-
tions teach us to regard a family tie
as a sacrament. In many cases it is
only an odious obligation leading to
tragedy.”
“Dick knew all of Henry’s weakness-
es,” Jed continued. “Sometimes he
would torture him physically, by twist-
ing his wrist or rolling him over on
the ground when young girls were
around. Sometimes he would torture
him without laying hands on him.
“Dick was a thick-headed brute, but
he had a genius for cruelty. When
their parents died and the boys ap-
proached their majority, Henry was al-
most an imbecile for fear of Dick.
“Dick wanted then to get his inheri-
tance and go out into the world, but
the estate was left in trust until both
boys were of age. Dick came of age
and was obliged to wait two years for
Henry.”
1 was astonished by the succinct and
philosophical brevity of this ignorant
man’s narrative. Mr. Sidney was at
ease In his chair with his eyes closed
and a placid expression of pleasure on
his face. Jed was active in gesticula-
tion as he talked. That was the ef-
fect of the wine. The wind continued
to pull at the chimney and scold in the
corners.
“Jed has read a great deal to me,”
said Mr. Sidney without opening his
eyes. “I think he has become theatric.”
“Well,” said Jed, “to shorten a story,
when Dick, being twenty-one, found
that he had to wait two more years for
Henry, he became more brutal than
ever. In some way or other, the night
of the murder the two brothers hap-
pened to meet in a tavern in a village
not far from Hartley house. Henry
did not want to go home with his
brother, but they both got drunk and
they started to walk home together.
“No one has been able to do much
more than guess at what took place,
but it was known that Richard was a
brute and that Henry was scared of
him but was not a coward. They must
have had a violent quarrel.
“There was a cottage near the pool.
The only person in it at the time was
a little girl, whose parents were not at
home. She was awakened by cries
and swearing. She said that she heard
one man say? ‘They’ll find you dead In
the morning.’ Then she heard sounds
of a struggle and was scared and hid
her head under the bedclothes.
“When her parents came home she
told them what she had heard, and
they went out with a lantern to the
place from which the noise came. They
found parts of Henry’s clothing. The
next day Richard was found, ten miles
away, still drunk. He confessed that
he had killed his brother In a drunken
rage.
“Afterward he said that he hadn’t,
but he admitted that there had been a
quarrel. It was a most celebrated
!«»•/*
At the Edge of the Pool a Man Was
Revealed in the Moonlight.
trial. Richard was convicted, though
the state could not produce any in-
dubitable physical evidence of Henry’s
death. The contention over this evi-
dence made the case noted./
“Richard Dobson is in the peniten-
tiary at Alwick now. Henry’s ghost
is what is supposed to come back to
the pool.”
The wind howled outside, and the
fire burned cheerfully. As a romanti-
cist I felt rebellious. The ghost story
lacked antiquity. A good ghosf story
would not have any human element in
it a prisoner in a nearby penitentiary.
It was too common a savor of the pres-
ent.
“But Stevenson would have liked the
story,” said Mr. Sidney. “It has so
much hate in it. Probably it is be-
cause I live here where this tale of
hate has its scene that I enjoy ‘The
Master of Ballantrae’ so much.”
CHAPTER Vi.
When I said good-night to Mr. Sid-
ney and Jed I did not go to my room.
A little alcoholic stimulant to one un-
accustomed to it will break down rou-
tine.
1 went to the library to select a book
and take it to my room. The fire in
the library was burning cheerfully.
The wind had a clear sweep at the
windows, To a slightly exhilarated
perception the circumstances were al-
luringly comfortable.
I found a good book, but lost the in-
clination to go to my room. I sat down
in a comfortable chair, having turned
off all the lights except that of the
reading lamp. The library was large,
and when the reading lamp alone was
lighted there were -deep shadows and
the room was largely in darkness.
I read for a while and then fell
asleep. I had no intention of doing
that, but drowsiness came irresistibly
and I was gone before I could force
myself to go to bed.
It was two o’clock when I awoke.
The wind had died down. I felt rest-
less and uneasy, not being accustomed
to falling asleep in this fashion. The
sensation of waking up and having
perceptions struggle to establish not
only location but identity was unpleas-
ant.
I started then for bed but
stopped at the main door of the house
on my way. I went to look to the fas-
tenings and found that Jed. whose
duty it was to close the house, had for-
gotten to lock and bar the door.
It was this incident of seeing the
chain hanging down and of going to
the door that suggested a cure for my
unpleasant restlessness after the nap
in the library. I opened the door and
went outside for a walk.
The moon in its last quarter was
rising in a cloud-filled sky. There "was
light one instant and then dark. I ex-
pected the dogs to join me, but none
came.
A challenge arose within me—to go
down by the way toward the haunted
pool. It was the moral taunt of a sug-
gested cowardice. I thought of the
place and of all I had been told of it;
and the instinctive apprehension, per-
ceptible as I stood on the steps to the
entrance, provoked the challenge.
Itseemed imperative. It would have
been a moral retreat to go back into
the house, as would have been sensible,
lock the door and go to bed. That
seemed like backing down in the face
of an Inviting danger. These chal-
lenges are inconsequential, but they
seem important to character.
I did not have the real moral cour-
age, which was to turn my back on the
invitation and go indoors. I went down
the steps to prove to myself my confi-
dence in myself—thereby disproving
it.
As I neared the pool, the moon went
behind a cloud. I came to a clump of
bushes. The moon came from behind
its cover. There was a gentle flood
of returning light. I was in, or rather
behind, a screen of trees and brush
The pool was fifty feet away.
At the edge of the pool a man was
revealed in the moonlight. He leaned
on a stick.
The moon went behind another
cloud, and the figure on the bank be-
came indistinct. It almost disappeared.
I stood still, with apprehensive shud-
ders working up and down my spine,
The phenomenon was outrageous and
unbelievable. The moonlight flashed
out again for an instant. I saw the
figure again but persuaded or tried to
persuade myself that I did not see it,
to say to myself that it was a bush
twisted into extravagant shape by my
imagination.
The moon went under a great dark
cloud. I made a moral and physical
retreat. I did not run. That would
have been an honest confession and
expression of desire. I was hypocriti-
cal and walked, hut my moral defeat
was complete.
There was a man at the haunted
pool.
I had seem him and something had
deterred me from speaking to him,
finding out who he was or why he was
there.
*******
A really violent change came into
our lives. A suggestion that Mr. Sid-
ney go to the South for the winter was
acted upon, and within a month I was
separated from the place and people
so important in my affections. Doc-
tor Brownell had been called to Hart-
ley. house by Mr. Sidney’s discourag-
ing condition. Our invalid had over-
taxed himself the evening he displayed
such activity in his room, such un-
usual strength and agility. The fol-
lowing morning he was almost in col-
lapse. I was alarmed and telephoned
Doctor Brownell, who came out at
once.
“You will see his will pull him
through,” he said. “If It were not for
that, I should be alarmed.- He -s very
low.”
“I blame myself for permitting the
unusual exertion,” I said. “My judg-
ment was deluded, I think, by my hap-
piness at seeing him so strong. He
really seemed strong. It did not seem
fictitious or unnatural.”
Doctor Brownell said that the phe-
nomenon was not new in his experi-
ence with Mr. Sidney’s case.
“I have had it six years,” he said,
“and this is the sixth time he has gone
from unexplained and unnatural
strength to extreme ahd dangerous
weakness. And always in the fall—
somewhere about this time. Each time
I have seen his will assert itself and
strengthen him In his exhaustion.”
The day I called Doctor Brownell I
had been too concerned and alarmed
to pay much attention to anyone but
Mr. Sidney and did not observe until
toward evening that Jed was malig-
nantly unfriendly again in his attitude
toward me. Finally he made it appar-
ent by a bit of vicious insolence. I
had determined never again to take
hold of that nettle gingerly b.ut to
clutch it.
“What do you mean by that?” I
asked.
“There is a plague of officiousness
about here, or has been since you
came.” he said. “You locked the front
door last night some time, didn’t you?”
“I found it open this morning, and
after I had walked about the grounds
wm
FULLY OCCUPIED,
^‘How are things going these days?”
asked the washing machine agent who
visited the hamlet, now and again.
“Finer than frog hair!” replied the
landlord of the tavern at Grudge.
“Business is so lively and everybody
so busy that now’days hardly ever
more than a dozen fellers gather
around a dog fight, unless, of course,
there are more than two dogs in iL”
m
Turning a Deaf Ear.
Mrs. Bacon—How is your sister get-
ting along taking boarders?
Mrs. Egbert—Oh, splendidly 1 She
hasn’t heard a complaint from one of
her boarders yet.
“Why, I did not know she was get-
ting as deaf as that!—London An-
swers. ,
\
n
“Do You Have to Be Judge of My
Habits?”
for a while I came in and threw the
bolt,” I told him.
He seemed unpleasantly astonished
—jolted and disturbed.
“You were abroad last night!” he
exclaimed.
“You had locked me in, I know,” I
said, “—or thought you had. I found
my door bolted when I went back to
my room. I wasn’t in it when you
bolted it,” I added. “I was asleep in
the library. When I awakened I went
outside for a moment. The door was
unfastened. I bolted it when I came
in." y
Jed was more disturbed, and he
showed it
“Where did you go?” he asked.
“I walked around,” I saitl, “down by
the river.”
His discomposure became acute. He
looked sick.
“Where were the dogs?” I asked. “I
didn’t see any.”
He tried to smile.
“They were with me,” he said. “I
was out, and you locked me out. That’s
why I have been so indignant. I came
back and found I had to break into the
house. I was in a hurry. You wouldn’t
have liked it ',oarself.”
“I don’t like it myself. I don’t like
being locked in my room. ’ I’ll not have
it. I ‘thought I had given you to un-
derstand tliat it would not be toler-
ated. I do not want to annoy the fam-
ily by complaints, but I will not en-
dilre that.”
“Well, you can see the occasion for
it. You were loose last night, and
your conscientious officiousness made
trouble. I knew your type, the moment
I set eyes on you. I said here’s
trouble-making person with a duty.
You show it. Of course, you had to
bolt that door. You could not assume
that it was open for a purpose. No
thought of anybody that might be out-
side! I knew you. That’s why we’re
safe only when you are locked in yoyr
room.”
“Well, I’ll not have it,” I insisted
“and you can understand that. It is
flat. Why do you have to run around
the grounds at night?”
“Do you have to be judge of my
habits? If you do, it may satisfy you
to know that I frequently have many
duties to perform for Mr. Sidney in
the night. I frequently drink too much
wine. I frequently walk around the
grounds to clear my head and be able
to db what is needed by Mr. Sidney.”
My mind had jumped to a conclu-
sion.
“Were you at the pool last night?” 1
asked.
“Yes,” lie said.
He was very ugly.
“You seem to be a Pan! Pry,” he
said. “You ought to be manacled.”
I was not interested in Jed. I was
thinking of my figure at the pool. As
embodied in Jed It did not fascinate
me.
“It might have been In
Montevideo.”
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
SAY “DIAMOND DYES” *,
Don't streak or ruin your material ha tt
or dye. Insist on “Diamond Dyea,*
lay dVectiona in package.
“CORNS"
Lift Right Off Without Pain
fX
im
Drop a little
Doesn’t hurt a bit!
"Freezone” on an aching corn, instantly
that corn stops hurting, then shortly
you lift It right off with fingers. Truly I
Your druggist sells a tiny bottle of
“Freezone” for a few cents, sufficient to
remove every hard corn, soft corn, or
corn between the toes, and the calluses,
without soreness or irritation.
Penalty of Borrowing.
Just before leaving for a dance I
telephoned a friend of mine and asked
her if she would let me take her eve-
ning scarf. She said she would. When
my escort arrived, not wanting him to
know I borrowed clothes, I saidr
“We’ll have .to call at Peggy’s to get-
my scarf.” When we rang the bell her
small sister came to the door with
the scarf on her arm and said: c“Sis
says she’s glad to let you take it, but
please be careful and don’t lose It,’*
—Exchange.
MOTHER!
f **>£..<
BOOSTING IT.
Friend—Everything is going up.
Poet—Yes, yesterday a literary
lady offered me a nickel for my
thoughts.
The Last Word.
Far more than all red terror gangs
Of evil glim
I hate the bally putt that hangs
Upon the rim.
Deceived.
Miss Loftibrow—Why did you leave
the agricultural college?
Miss Manchaser—It was a swindle.
The catalogue mentioned thorough
courses in husbandry. I took two
terms and there wasn’t even a hint
about husbands.
The Vital One.
“I have taken up the study of eth-
nology, and what puzzles me is what
Is the greatest problem of the races?”
“That’s easy. It is to guess right
which horse Is going to win."
She Knew Then.
“George, who Is that old man who
stared at me so during dinner?
“Oh, that’s Mr. Doan, the famous
insanity expert!” — Cartoons Maga-
zine.
California Syrup of Figs*'
Child’s Best Laxative
\C -
V
r'
i
/
Accept “California” Syrup of Figs
only—look for the name California on
the package, then you are sure your
child Is having the best and most harm-
less physic for the little stomach, liver
and bowels. Children love, its fruity
taste. Full directions on each bottle
You must say “California."—Adv.
Will Enlighten Jack, Too,
Mother—Do you mean to tell me
that you and Jack Addlepate are to
marry?” ,
Daughter—I not only mean to tell
you, mamma, but Jack.
The Same Thing.
Barr—I hear that you are leading a
double life.
Carr—Not exactly. It’s costing me
double to lead the same life I led years
ago.—Judge.
NEW USE FOR THE
PHONOGRAPH.
“Gee, this human roulette wheel
is great. Just like Coney Island!”
True.
Just keep this in mind:
It is true of the most,
The less ft man does
The more he will boast.
Nearly All Water.
Mushrooms generally consist of 90
per cent water, but the remaining 10
per cent Is more nutritious than fecund,,
Hire Him.
Boss—I don’t like to hire this fellow.
I don’t know whether he can sell our
goods or not.
Manager—I’ll assure you he’s good.
He could sell glasses to the eyes in g
potato.
The Best Reason.
“But,” we persisted, “how can you
admire Dickens, Hawthorne, Samuel
Pepys and the rest of those famous
old authors If you do not read them?”
“That is the reason,” grimly replied
Hostetter Smith.
A Timely Precaution.
“They sneer at a snail as a model
for a good business man.”
“Of course they do.”
“But they can sneer at him no long-
ger, for wherever he goes he carries
his house with him on his head.”
A Captious Critic.
B. L. T. criticizes a Transcript ad-
vertiser for saying that the furnished
apartment to let is “ideal for man and
wife or bride and groom.” Why so
fussy, old top? Every one knows that
a wedded pair are bride and groom
until the honeymoon is over, and that
often lasts quite a spell—until, in fact,
she starts cooking or asks him for
money.—Boston Transcript.
One dose of Dr. Peery’s "Dead Shot" ex
Worms or Tapeworm. Its action upon
and Bowels is beneficial. No sec-
after purgative necessary.—Adv.
e (
pejs Worms
the Stomach
ond doss or
Earthquakes in the United States.
In 1919 the United States was shak-
en eighty-seven times by earthquakes.
In 1918 it was shaken 127 times. Few
of these quakes were sufficiently
strong to be felt except .by the seismo-
graphs of the United States weather
bureau.
After Ten Years—
Eatonic Proves the Best
“I say, God bless eatonic,” writes
Mrs. Delia M. Doyen. “I can truth-
fully say, after suffering with, stomach
trouble for ten long years, that I have
never had anything do me so much
good as this one box of eatonic.”
We print these grateful words from
this dear lady, so that sufferers every-
where may have hope and a little
faith—just enough to give eatonic a
trial. Why, folks, last year over half
a million people used eatonic and
found relief.
This is the secret: Eatonic sim-
ply takes up tftfe excess acids, poisons
and gases, and carries them right out
of the body. Of course, when the
cause is removed, the sufferer gets
well. Stomach trouble causes about
seventy non-organic diseases, so, If
you are suffering any kind of misery,
not feeling well, go right to your drug-
gist today and obtain a big box of
eatonic; cost Is a trifle. Use it and
find quick, sure relief.
Make this test—you will see, and
then, If you are not satisfied, your
druggist will hand your money back.
He does not want one penny unless
eatonic pleases you. Adv.
Camping.
“Yes. I'm going camping. Wouldn’t
trade my prospects for any other kind
of vacations. I’ve never been camp-
ing before.”
“I judge as much, seeing you’re so
set on going now.”—Louisville Cour-
ier-Journal.
You would not think any duty small
If you yourself were great.
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Shuffler, R. The Olney Enterprise. (Olney, Tex.), Vol. 11, No. 16, Ed. 1 Friday, August 6, 1920, newspaper, August 6, 1920; Olney, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth1113683/m1/3/?q=%22~1~1%22~1&rotate=90: accessed July 16, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu.; crediting Olney Community Library.