Galveston Tribune. (Galveston, Tex.), Vol. 28, No. 50, Ed. 1 Thursday, January 23, 1908 Page: 4 of 8
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GALVESTON TRIBUNE: THURSDAY,
JANUARY 23,
1908.
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What prepos-
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COTTON BALING
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CONVENTION COMMITTEE.
What a hum-
♦
j
May he live, multiply
Although Count Boni has been retired to
private life, he manages to get in the
spot light now and then.
Published Every Week Day Afternoon at
The Tribune Building, 22d and Post-
office Sts., Galveston, Texas.
TERMS OF SUBSCRIPTION
Delivered by carrier or by mail, pottage
prepaid:
he said, with a humorous
glance at her, “I haven’t seen you for
That’s not wholesome for me,
... By ...
ROBERT W.
CHAMBERS.
Is this
I am half
CHAPTER
<S1X
A
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Room 628, New York City.
Entered at the Postoffice in Galveston as
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in
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Sample Copy Free on Application.
GALVESTON TRIBUNE
(Established 1880.)
Austin
ft—-f /
t V;
Even though the president never swears,
he may not be held blameless for what
i
he causes
Speaker Cannon would be available as a
presidential candidate but for three
things—his age,, his profanity and his
stand-pat views.
An answer has finally been found to the
query, What is the purpose of the in-
terstate commerce commission? It is to
make Mr. Harriman respond when he is
spoken to.
"Some of our Dundee jute merchants
who are familiar with the American
jute trade and on friendly terms with
the traders should be equal to the task
©f improving the situation for Dundee
and for the British cotton buyers. Pre-
sumably the ^Egyptian bales of cotton
.nacked in fabrics made in Calcutta.
If the Count Szechenyi wedding party
reaches the pier on time they can resolve
themselves into a reception committee
for welcoming home an American dame
with a big dent in her title of duchess.
Copyright, 1906, by the Curtis Publishing Company.
Copyright, 1906, by Robert W. Chambers.
THE RIGHT “KIND.
Bryan Eagle.
The sidewalk building microbe is at
work in Bryan.
and. prosnat.
Sou ch America has 1,000,000 more hab-
itable square miles than North America
possesses. The prospect that the south-
ern continent will catch up is small, but
its resources give it a fine chance to be a
good second.
■ r
I The Fighting
Chance.
A Chicago doctor says/ the best cure
for the grip is a joke. But who’s got the
nerve to joke with a man who has the
grip? ,
and Dupdee can do better than Cal-
cutta in the department of supplies for
American cotton packers.’!
Of course, our people could, if they
would, reform the evil that gives rise
to such complaints, but apparently con-
fident that the cotton buyers of the
world must take what is given them
and apparently have no means of re-
dress, the inexcusable carelessness
charged goes on, while those who pro-
test against it are treated with indif-
ference, if not with contempt.
Our people for their own good repu-
tation and self-respect should reform
the abuse, and do justice to their cus-
tomers.
CHANGE THE FASHION.
Paris Advocate.
Most, of us on the shady side of
'can very well remember how sweet she
looked—the girl in the calico dress.
Cotton then brought 20 cents a pound.
If the calico dress was fashionable now
it would raise the price of cotton.
Any erroneous reflections upon the stand-
ing, character or reputation of any person,
firm or corporation, which may appear in
the columns of the Tribune, will be gladly
corrected upon its being brought to the
attention of the management.
i
as the
broke
them
I SANCTUM SIFTINGS
———----
The following have been named as the
executive committee of the Business
League's convention committee: Charle;
L owler. B. Adou^, V. E. Austin, Fred C
Pabst, J. W. Jockusch, Ed F. Harris anc
J, E. Kauffman. The first five were se-
lecLed by Chairman Harris. They, to.
gether with Mr Harris and Secretary
Kauffman, were made by resolution
the whole committee, the executive com.
rr ittej.
9 1 is executive committee of the eon-
volition committee, together with that (■?;.
tu-e ^ooy, will continue *c devote every
pmsible effort to the securing of .
Democratic convention here tills year.
One story has it that the American
sailors spent $4,000,000 at Rio in four days.
The Brazilians are wondering how much
it would have been had there been
currency stringency.
/ ----------------------------------
Foraker’s only chance consists in get-
ting out an injunction restraining the
Taft voters from attending the primaries.
He has overlooked this popular Republi-
can method.
Strange that so few politicians take
little real interest in the forest preserva-
tion when they find it so necessary to
take to the tall timber every once in
while.
LET ’EM TUNNEL.
Dallas Times-Herald.
A dust storm in the gulf of Mexico
has been reported by the officers and
passengers of a Vera Cruz steamer.
Perhaps the Japs are tunneling their ■
way from Mexico to Lew York harbor.
lovely
smile
from
uncertain
spouse.
“So you had
nothing really
important to
tell me, Mr. Si-
ward?”
“Only that I
wanted you.”
“Oh, I said im-
portant! Why
have you so os-
te u tatiously
avoided me, Mr.
Siward?” she
askedlanguidly.
FTER the first few days of his
/A arrival at Shotover time had
/ threatened to hang heavily
•A 1 on Mortimer’s mottled hands.
After the second day afield he recog-
nized that his shooting career was
practically over. Then Mortimer, not
yet done with self indulgence in more
convenient forms, cast about him with-
in his new limits for occupation be-
tween those hours consecrated to the
rites of the table and the card room.
He drove four, but found that it
numbed his arms. and. that the sea air
made him sleepy. Motor cars agreed
with him only when driving with a
pretty woman. Forced through ennui
to fish off the rocks, he soon tired of
the sea perch and rock cod and the
malodors of periwinkle and clam.
Then he took up his headquarters in
the reading room on the chance of his
wife’s moving elsewhere, which she
did, unobtrusively carrying Captain
Voucher with her in a sudden zeal for
billiard practice on rainy mornings
now too frequent along the coast.
Mortimer possessed that mysterious
talent, so common among the financial-
ly insolvent, for living lavishly on an
invisible income, but, plan as he would,
he had never been able to increase that
income through confidential gossip
with men like Quarrier or Belwether
or even Ferrall. What information his
pretty wife might have extracted he
did not know. Her income had never
visibly increased above the vanishing
point, although, like himself, she de-
nied herself nothing. One short, lively
interview with her had been enough to
drive all partnership ideas out of his
head.
He was always studying women.
Years before, Grace Ferrall had snap-
ped her slim fingers in his face, and
here at Shotover the field was limited.
Mrs. Vendenning had left. Agatha
Caithness was still a pale and reticent
puzzle. Rena, Kathryn and Eileen
tormented him. Marion Page coolly
au fait yawned in his face. There re-
mained Sylvia, who, knowing nothing
about his species, met him halfway
with the sweet aud sensitive deference
due a somewhat battered and infirm
gentleman of forty-eight, until a sleek
aside from Major Belwether spoiled
everything, as usual, for her, leaving
her painfully conscious and perplexed
between doubt and disgust.
Meanwhile the wealthy master of
Blacks Fells, Beverly Plank, had found
encouragement enough at Shotover to
venture on tentative informality. There
was no doubt that ultimately he must
be counted on in New York, but no-
body except him was impatiently cor-
dial for the event, and so at the little
house party he slipped and. slid, from
every attempt at closer quarters until,
rolling smoothly enough, he landed
without much discomfort somewhere
between Mr. and Mrs. Leroy Mor-
timer. And. it was not a question, as
to “which would be good to him,” ob-
served Major Belwether, with his mis-
leading and benevolent mirth. “It was
which would be goodest quickest!”
And Mrs. Mortimer, abandoning Cap-
tain Voucher by the same token, dis-
played certain warning notices per-
fectly comprehensive to her husband,
and at first he was inclined to recog-
nize defeat.
But the general unsuccess which had
so faithfully attended him recently
had aroused the long dormant desire
for a general review of the situation
witfc his wife—perhaps even the fur-
fcivi* hope of some conjugal arrange-
ment tending toward an exchange of
views concerning possible alliance.
The evening previous, to his Intense
djagusL. bosk hostess and guests had.
ages.
you know.”
“But you see me now, and it does
not seem to benefit you.”
“I feel much better,” he insisted,
laughing, and her blue eyes grew very
it
i!
A JOY—FIVE I AY DAYS.
Yoakum limes.
February will be a. very busy month.
It will contain 29 d:ivs, Washington’s
birthday, Lincoln’s birthday, Valentine
day and five pay days,
mer.
“Only that I wanted
you.”
“Well, upon my word!” be said, with
a touch of irritation.
“Oh, you are so dreadfully literal!”
she shrugged, brushing her straight,
sensitive nose with the pink blossom.
“I only said it to give you a chance. If
you are going to be stupid, good
night!” But she made no movement
to go. “Yes, then; I have avoided you.
and it doesn’t become you to ask why.”
“Because I kissed you?”
“You hint at the true reason so chiv-
alrously, so delicately,” she said, “that
I scarcely recognize it.” The cool
mockery of her voice and the warm,
I
j.
i,
Congress is considering a bill which
provides for an official song for the navy.
Looks like Bob Taylor and his fiddle are
to get a hearing, after all.
prudent move ©f the glad,
isn’t, slow in reaching for a
poll tax receipt.
retired . early in view of the point
shooting at dawn, for not only was
there to be no point shooting for him,
but he had risen from the card table
heavily hit, and, besides, for fhe first
time his apples and port had disagreed
with him.
As he had not risen until midday,
was not sleepy. Books were an aver-
sion equaled only by distaste for b;s
own company. Irritated, bored, he
had perforce sulkily entered the ele-
vator and passed to his room, where
there was nothing on earth for him to
do except to thumb over last week’s
sporting periodicals and smoke himself
stupid.
But it required more than that to en-
snare the goddess of slumber, ry
walked about the room haunted of slow
thoughts; he stood at the rain smeared
pane, fat fingers resting on the glass,
The richly flavored cigar grew distaste-
ful, and if he could not smoke, what,
in pity’s name, was he to do?
For hours he sat in his room or
paced the four walls, doubtful, cha-
grined, furious by turns. Once he drew
out a memoran-
dum book and
stood under a
lighted sconce
studying the fig-
ures. His losses
at Shotover
staggered him,
but he had look-
ed to his wife
heretofore in
such emergen*
cies.
His uneasl*
ness had pro-
duced a raging
thirst. He
button with his
Cut this story out and keep it. You will want to rend it later if not now.,
He walked on, turning into his cor- skirmish was already a battle, and a
rough one.
As he stood there he heard voices on
the stairs. People had already begun
to retire, because late cards and point
shooting at dawn do not agree. And
a point shooting picnic in snugly elab-
orate blinds was popular with women,
or was supposed to be.
Little by little the tumult died away.
He turned and looked grimly at his
bed; then, shutting off the lights, he
opened his door and went out into the
deserted corridor, where the elevator
shaft was dark and only the dim night
lights burned at angles in the passage-
ways.
He had his rain coat and cap with
him, not being certain of what he
might be driven to, but for the present
he found the bay window overlooking
the swimming tank sufficient to begin
the vigil.
Secure from intrusion, as there were
no bedrooms on that corridor, he toss-
ed coat and cap into the window seat,
walked to and fro for awhile listening
to the rain, then sat down, his well
shaped head between his hands, and in
silence he faced the enemy.
How long he had sat there he did
not know. When he raised his face,
all gray and drawn with the tension
of conflict, his eyes were not very
clear, nor did the figure standing there
in the dim light from the hall mean
anything for a moment.
“Mr. Siward?” in an uncertain voice,
almost a whisper.
He stood up mechanically, and she
saw his face.
“Are you ill? What is it?”
“Ill? No.” He passed his hand over
his eyes. “I fancy I was close to the
edge of sleep.” Some color came back
into his face. He stood smiling now,
the significance of her presence dawn-
ing on him.
“Did you really come?” he asked.
“This isn’t a very lovely but impalpa-
ble astral vision, is it?”
“It’s horridly imprudent, isn’t it?”
she murmured, still considering the
rathet drawn and pallid face of the
man before her. “I came out of pure
curiosity, Mr. Siward.”
She glanced about her.
a big bunch of hothouse roses so she
could pass, and she settled down light-
ly on the edge of the window seat.
When he had piled some big downy
cushions behind her back she made a
quick gesture of invitation.
"I have only a moment,” she said as
he seated himself beside her. “Part
of my curiosity is satisfied in finding
you here. I didn’t suppose you so
faithful.”
“I can be fairly faithful. What else
are you curious about?”
“You said you had something impor-
tant”—
“To tell you? So I did. That was
bribery, perjury, false pretenses, rob-
bery under arms, anything you will.
I only wanted you to come.”
“That is a shameful confession!” she
said, but her smile was gay enough,
and she noiselessly shook out her
fluffy skirts and settled herself a trifle
more deeply among the pillows.
“Of course,” she observed absently,
“you are dreadfully mortified at your-
self.”
“Naturally,” he admitted.
The patter of the rain attracted her
attention. She peered out through the
blurred casements into the blackness.
Then, picking up his cap and indicat-
ing his rain coat, “Why?” she asked.
“Oh, in case you hadn’t come”—
“A walk? By yourself? A night
like this on the cliffs! You are not
perfectly mad, are you? What is the
matter, Mr. Siward?”
“Well,”
X J
■ .<
incongruous. He ttiougnr, wnn siow
surprise, that she was not yet letter
perfect in her role of the material tri-
umphant over the spiritual.
“I am sorry I came,” she said re-
flectively. “You don’t know why I
came, do you? Sbefe loneliness, Mr. Si-
ward. There is something of the child
in me still, you see. It seems my fate
to pass my life in bidding you good
night,” she said, straightening up and
turning to him with the careless laugh-
ter touching mouth and eyes again.
Then, resting her weight on one hand,
her smooth white shoulder rounded be-
side her cheek, she looked at him out,
of humorous eyes.
“What is it that women find so at-
tractive in you? The man’s experi-
enced insouciance? The boy’s uncon-
scious cynicism? The mystery of your
self sufficiency? The faulty humanity
in you? The youth in you already
showing +races of wear that hint of
future scars? What will you be at
thirty-five, at forty? Ah,” she added
softly, “what are you now? For I
don’t know, and you cannot tell ine if
you would.”
“What counts with you?” he asked
after a moment.
“Counts? How?”
“In your affections,
sesses you?”
She laughed audaciously. “Your
traits—some of them—all of them that
you reveal. You must be aware of
that much already considering every-
thing”—
One slim white hand held a rose
against her cheek; the other lay idly
on her knee, fresh and delicate as a
fallen petal, and he laid both hands
over it and lifted it between them.
“Mr. Siward, I am afraid this is be-
coming a habit with you.” The gay
mockery was not quite genuine, the
curve of lips too sensitive for a voice
so lightly cynical.
He smiled, bending there, consider-
ing her hand between his, and after a
moment her muscles relaxed and bare
round arm and hand lay abandoned to
him.
“Quite flawless—perfect,”
aloud to himself.
“Do you—read hands?”
“Vaguely.” He touched the smooth
palm. “Long life, c/ear mind and”—
he laughed—“heart supreme over rea-
son! There Is written a white lie, but
a pretty one.”
“It is no lie.”
She suddenly flushed and attempted
to close her hand, doubling the thumb
over. There was a little half hearted
struggle, freeing one of his arms,
which fell, settling about her slender
waist; a silence, a breathless moment,
and he had kissed her. Her lips were
warm this time.
She recovered herself, avoiding his
eyes, and moved backward, shielding
her face with pretty upflung elbows
out turned. “I told you it was be-
coming a habit with you!” The loud
beating of her pulses marred her voice.
“Must I establish a dead line every
time I commit the folly of being alone
with you?”
“I’ll draw that line,” he said, tak-
ing her in his arms.
“I—I beg you will draw it quickly,
Mr. Siward.”
“I do; it passes through your heart
and mine!”
“Is—do you mean a declaration
again? You are compromising your-
self, you know. I warn you that you
are committing yourself.”
“So are you. Look at me!”
In his arms, her own arms pressed
against his breast, resisting, she raised
her splendid youthful eyes, and
through and through her shot pulse on
pulse until every nerve seemed to be
aquiver.
“While I’m still sane,” he said, with
a dry catch in his throat, “before I tell
you that I love you look at me.”
“I will if you wish,” she said, with
trembling smile, “but it is useless.”
“That is what I shall find out in
time. You must meet my eyes. That
Is well. That is frank and sweet.”
“And useless—truly it is. Please
don’t tell me—anything.” > (
“You will not listen?”
“There is no chance for you if you
mean love. I—I tell you in time, you
see. I am utterly frivolous—quite self-
ish and mercenary.”
“I take my chance.”
“No; I give you none.
Interfere? A—a girl’s policy costs her
something if it be worth anything.
Whatever it costs, it is worth it to
me. And I do not love you. In so
sliort a time how could I?”
Then in' his arms she fell a-trem-
bling. Something blinded her eyes,
and she turned her head sharply, only
to encounter his lips on hers in a deep,
clinging embrace that left her dazed,
still resisting with the fragments of
breath and voice.
“Not again—I beg—you. Let me go
now. It is not best. Oh, truly, truly
it is all wrong with us now.” She bent
her head, blinded with tears, swaying,
stunned, then, with a breathless sound,
turned in his arms to meet his lips,
her hands contracting in his, and, con-
fronting, they paused, suspending the
crisis, young faces close and hearts
afire.
“Sylvia, I love you.”
For an instant their lips clung. She
had rendered him his kiss. Then trem-
blingly, “It is useless even though I
loved you.”
“Say it!”
“I do.”
“Say it!”
“I—I cannot! And it is no use—no
use! I do not know myself—this way.
My eyes—are wet. It is not like me;
there is nothing of me in this girl you
hold so closely, so confidently. 1 do
care for you—how can I help it? How
could any woman help it? Is not that
enough?”
"Until yon arc a bride—yes.”
“A bride? Stephen, 1 cannot”—
“You cannot help it. Sylvia.”
“I must! I have my way to go.”
BKirimsu was uireauy on, ana n naa mockery of her voice and the warm, <‘jjy way lies that way.”
alarmed him suddenly to find that the I quick color tinting neck and face were I “jja no! I cannot do is not
ridor, but kept straight ahead, passing
his own door, on to the window at the
end of the hall, then north along a
wide passageway which terminated in
a bay window overlooking the roof of
the indoor swimming tank.
It appeared that he had cigarettes
enough, for he lighted one presently
and, leaving his chair, curled up in the
cushioned and pillowed window seat,
gathering his knees together under his
arm.
The cigarette he had lighted went
out. He had bitten Into it and twisted
it so roughly that it presently crum-
bled, and he threw the rags of it into
a metal bowl, locking his jaws in si-
lence, for the night threatened to be a
bad one for him. A heavy fragrance
from his neighbor’s wineglass at din-
ner had. stirred up what had for a time
lain dormant, and by accident some-
thing-some sweetmeat he had tasted
—was saturated In brandy.
Now his restlessness at the pros-
pect of a blank night had quickened to
uneasiness, with a hint of fever tinting
his skin, but as yet the dull ache in his
body was scarcely more than a pre-
monition.
He had his own devices for tiding
him over such periods—reading, tobac-
co and the long, blind, dogged tramps
he took in town, but here tonight in
the rain one stood every chance of
walking off the cliffs, and he was sick
of reading himself sightless over the
sort of books sent wholesale to Shot-
over, and he was already too ill at
ease physically to make smoking en-
durable.
After awhile he began to walk mo-
notonously to and fro the length of the
corridor, like a man timing his steps
to the heavy ache of body or mind.
Once he went as far as his own door,
entered and, stepping to the wash basin,
let the icy water run over hands and
wrists. This sometimes helped to
stimulate and soothe him. It did now
for awhile—long enough to change the
current of his thoughts to the girl he
had hoped might have the imprudence
to return for a tryst, innocent enough
in itself, yet unconventional aud un-
reasonable enough to prove attractive
to them both.
Probably she wouldn’t come. She
had kept her fluffy skirts clear of him
since cup day, which simply corrobo-
rated his vague estimate of her. Had
she done the contrary his estimate
would have been the same, for uncon-
sciously, but naturally, he had pre-
judged her. A girl who could capture
Quarrier at full noontide and in the
face of all Manhattan was a girl equip-
ped for anything she dared, though she
was probably too clever to dare too
much; a girl to be interested in, to
amuse and be amused by; a girl to be
reckoned with. His restlessness and
his fever subdued by the icy water, he
stood drying his hands, thinking cool-
ly how close he had come to being
seriously in love with this young girl,
whose attitude was always a curious
temptation, whose smile was a charm-
ing provocation, whose youth and
beauty were to him a perpetual chal-
lenge. He admitted to himself calmly
that he had never seen a woman he
cared as much for; that for the brief
moment of his declaration he had
known an utterly new emotion, which
inevitably must have become the love
he had 'so quietly declared it to be.
He had never before felt as he felt
then, cared as he cared then. Any-
thing had been possible for him at that
time—any degree of love, any devotion,
any generous renunciation. Clear
sighted, master of himself, he saw love
before him and knew it when he saw
it—recognized it, was ready for it, of-
fered it, emboldened by her soft hands
so eloquent in his.
And in his arms he held it for an in-
stant, he thought, spite of the sudden
inertia, spite of the according of cold
lips and hands still colder, relaxed, in-
ert—held it until he doubted.
Then she had become intelligent
again, with a little laughter, a little
malice, a becoming tint of hesitation
and confusion. All the sense, all the
arts, all the friendly sweetness of a
woman thorough in training, schooled
in self possession, clear enough to be
audacious and perverse without danger
to herself, to the man or to the main
chance.
lie leisurely and mentally took the
measure of his own state of mind and
found all well, all intact, found him-
self still master of his affections and
probably clear minded enough to re-
main so under the circumstances.
By instinct and experience normally
temperate, only what was abnormal
and inherited might work a mischief
in this man. His listlessness, his easy
acquiescence, were but consequent up-
on the self knowledge of self control,
but mastery of the master vice re-
quired something different. He was
sick of sickness, and because in this
sickness will, mind and body are taint-
ed, too, reason and logic lack charity,
and to the signals of danger his reply
had always been either overconfident
or weak, and it had been always the
same reply: “Not yet. There is time.”
And now, this last week, it had come
upon him that the time was now. The
skirmish was already on, and it had
best for me—not best for you. 1 do
care for you; you have taught me how
to say it. But—you know what I have
done—and mean to do, and must carry
through. Then how can you love a girl
like that?”
“Dear, I know the woman I love.”
“Silly, she is what her life has made
her—material, passionately selfish, un-
able to renounce the root of all evil.
Even if this—this happiness were ours
always—I mean if this madness could
last our wedded life—I am not good
enough, not noble enough, to forget
what I might have had and put away.
Is it not dreadful to admit? Do you
not know that self contempt is part
of the price? I have no money. I
know what you hare. I asked. And it
is enough for a man who remains un-
married. For I cannot ‘make things
do;’ I cannot ‘contrive;’ I will not cling
to the fringe of things or play that
heartbreaking role of the shabby ex-
patriated on the continent. My role in
life is to mount to a security too high
for any question as to my dominance.
Can you take me there?”
“There are other heights, Sylvia.”
“Higher?”
“Yes, dear.”
“The spiritual; I know. I could not
breathe there, if I cared to climb. And
I have told you what I am—all silk
and lace and smooth skinned selfish-
ness.” She looked at him wistfully.
“If you can change me, take me.” And
she rose, facing him.
“I do not give you up,” he said, with
a savage note hardening his voice, and
it thrilled her to hear it, and every
drop of blood in her body leaped as
she yielded to his arms again, heavy
lidded, trembling, confused, under the
piercing sweetness of contact. Then
her voice, broken, breathless:
“Good night. Love me while you
can and forgive me. Good night.
Where are we? All—all this must
have stunned me, blinded me.
my door or yours? Hush!
dead with fear—to be here under the
light again. If you take me again, my
knees will give way. And I must find
my door. Oh, the ghastly imprudence
of it! Good night, good night. I—I
love you!”
ALWAYS LEADING.
Statesman.
Talking about manufacturing brick,
Texas has more material out of which
first-class brick can be manufactured
than any other dozen states in the
Union combined. Texas is what you
might call the brick state. The state
is a lot solider than a brick" to com-
mence on. There can be found genuine-
ly good brick making materials
every part* of the state.
4
Studying the figures.
punched an electric
fleshy thumb and prowled around,
waiting. Nobody came. He punched
again and looked at his watch. It as<
tonished him to find the hour was 3
o’clock in the morning. That discov-
ery, however, only appeared to in-
crease his thirst He opened the hall
door, prepared to descend into tha
depths of the house and raid a side-
board, and as he thrust his heavy head
out into the lighted corridor his eyes
fell upon two figures standing at the
open door of a bedroom. Onp was Si-
ward; that was plain. Who was the
girl he had kissed? One of the maids 1
Somebody’s wife? Who?
Every dull pulse began to hammei
in Mortimer’s head. In his excitement
he stepped halfway into the corridor
then skipped nimbly back, closing hu
door without a sound.
“Sylvia Landis, by all that's holy!"
he breathed to himself and sat down
rather suddenly on the edge of the bed,
After awhile he rose and crept tc
the door, opened it, glued his eyes tc
the crack in time to catch a glimpse
of Siward entering his own corridor
alone.
And that night Mortimer, lying
awake in bed busy with schemes, be-
came conscious oL a definite idea. It
took shape and matured so suddenly
that it actually shocked ifis moral
sense. Then it scared him.
“But—but that is blackmail!” he
whispered aloud. “A man can’t do that
sort of thing. What the devil ever
put it into my head? And there are
men I know—women, too—scoundrelly
blackguards, who’d use that informa-
tion somehow and fnake it pay too.
The scoundrels!”
He squirmed down among the bed-
clothes with a sudden shiver, but the
night had turned warm.
“Scoundrels!” he said, with milder
emphasis. “Blackmailers! Contempti-
ble pups!”
He fell asleep an hour later, mutter-
ing something incoherent about scom>
drels and blackmail.
And meanwhile in the darkened
house from all round came the noise
of knocking on doors, sounds of people
stirring, a low voice here and there,
lights breaking out from transoms, the
thud of rubber shod heels, the rattle
of cartridges from the echoing gun-
room. For the guests at Shotover were
awaking lest the wet sky, whitening
behind the east, ring with the whim-
pering wedges of wild fowl rushing
seaward over empty blinds.
*******
The unusual stillness of the house in
the late morning sunshine was pleas-
ant to Miss Landis. She had risen
very late, unconscious of the stir aud
movement before dawn, and it was
only when a maid told her as she
came from her bath that she remem-
bered the projected point shooting and
concluded with an odd, happy sense of
relief that she was almost alone in
the house.
A little later, glancing from her bed-
room window for a fulfillment of the
promise of the sun which a glimpse
of blue sky heralded, she saw Leila
Mortimer settling herself in the for-
ward seat of a motor car and Beverly
Flank climbing in beside her, and she
watched Plank steer the big machine
across the wet lawn while the machin-
ist swung himself into the tonneau,
aud away they rolled, faster, faster,
rushing out into the misty hinterland
where the long streak of distant forest
already began to brighten, edged with
the first ra.vs of watcrv sunshine.
(To Be Continued.)
The dilapidated condition in which
American cotton bales arrive at Eu-
ropean destinations would long ago
have driven American cotton out of the
market if it had been subjected to any
competition But the fact that our
staple commands and controls the mar-
kets of fhe world seems to confirm our
people in the wretched manner in
which their cotton is packed for trans-
portation.
This subject has been brought
cently into notoriety by an article on
the subject which recently appeared in
a, Dundee, Scotland, newspaper, sent to
the department of commerce at Wash-
ington by United States Vice Consul
Allan Baxter at that Scotch city. It is
is follows:
"As,Dundee supplies the world with
jute-packing fabrics, it is worthy of
note that English and continental cot-
■ ton buyers are making bitter outcry
over the disagreeably ragged condition
In which bales of American cotton ar-
rive at their destination. From Egypt
cotton bales arrive in this country in
good and safely packed condition, but
the cotton bales from the United States
In mere rags of wrappers, with the re-
sult- that serious loss is inflicted on
British buyers.
"The other day visitors to the port of
Manchester watched the discharging of
the steamers Eastry, from Savannah,
and Merchant Prince, from Alexandria.
Both steamers were discharging cotton
cargoes at the same quay Out of the
hold of the Eastry came a constant
succession of what could only by cour-
tesy be described as bales. They' looked
more' like dilapidated rag bags. In
spite of the most careful handling, they
shed part of their precious contents at
every movement, and it was obvious
that never. at any time had the ma-
jority of the bales been properly
covered. Out of . the Merchant Prince
came the Egyptian bales, perfectly rec-
tangular, neat , and. trim, clearly
marked, and with hardly a lock of cot-
ton visible anywhere.
"The truth seems to-be that Ameri-
can cotton bales have almost ceased to
become a scandal, and have become a
mere' derision. These are no longer
covered by wrappers, but by mere ves-
tiegs of covering inadequate for the
protection of American cotton from
wet, dirt and loss in transit. The one
phase of American packing of cotton
that remains real is that of the charges
for packing and for material. The
British cotton buyer pays for packing
fabrics, and' the Amciican packer can
afford to pay a fair price for packing
fabrics.
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Galveston Tribune. (Galveston, Tex.), Vol. 28, No. 50, Ed. 1 Thursday, January 23, 1908, newspaper, January 23, 1908; (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth1345828/m1/4/?rotate=180: accessed July 17, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu.; crediting Rosenberg Library.