The Seminole Sentinel (Seminole, Tex.), Vol. 14, No. 11, Ed. 1 Thursday, May 20, 1920 Page: 7 of 8
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THE SEMINOLE SENTINEl
The Man Nobody Knew
HOL WORTH Y^H ALL
(Copyright hy Dodd. M»*d B Co.,
CHAPTER XIV—Continued
* —16—
"1 suppose that has to be the an-
swer. Well—”
“III tell Embree you didn’t accept.”
Hilliard reached for his hat. “And I
mustn’t bother you any more this
morning; we’ve both too much to do.
I only wanted to see you a moment
and tell you the news and get your
check. But when Cullen and I come
back—” His smile was glorious.
They were shaking hands at the
door of the ante-room.
“That’ll be before the holidays,
♦on't It I We expect you to take
Christmas dinner with us, of course.
Mrs. Durant and Carol would never
forgive you If you didn’t—and neither
would L”
Hilliard flushed with pleasure.
"Nothing would please me better
. . . and you'll tell Mrs. Durant and
Carol how grateful I am . . . and how
sorry I am I can’t even stop now to
say good-by, won’t you?” As a matter
of fact, he wasn’t going to stop be-
cause he knew that If he did he might
never get to Montana. And there was
need of quick action against Harmon's
cut-throat partners In New York.
“Surely I will. And I’ll also tell them
what an altruist you are. I still don’t
feet exactly right about It—but the
world's the world. . . . And I’m not
going to refuse an Investment just be-
cause there happens to be money In It 1
Good-by 1 Good luck—my boy!"
CHAPTER XV.
Already at daybreak It was a white
Christmas; white underfoot, white
overhead, dancing, swirling white of
snow In the winter air. Hilliard, lift-
ing himself on his elbow to watch It
from the car window, was unreserved-
ly thrilled by the appropriateness of It
.Nature, which had been sulking for a
weeb-or more, had finally consented to
dress the season. But the thrill dis-
solved. and anxiety took Its place when
he discovered that it was past eight
o’clock, and this was only Buffalo I
His watch, and the railway folder, gave
him Indigestible food for thought, aud
the snow, taking Upon Itself the role of
a barrier to traffic, was suddenly less
agreeable to look at Wreaths in the
windows of nearby houses, holly ber-
ries and red ribbon, glimpses of feath-
ery fir boughs and tinsel through the
curtains—all these awoke within him
a new and u disturbing fancy that at
the end of tw<» thousand miles of
vlklonlng he might he Irretrievably
late! Illoglcally he made haste to rise;
he wanted to flavor his impatience by
counting landmarks.
The diner was half filled when he
arrived for breakfast, and the train
was still standing In the yards. As
the conductor wished him a perfun.*-
tory Merry Christmas, Hilliard smiled
obliquely.
“Not unless you make up some speed
between here and Syracuse,” he said.
“Not much chance of that,” said the
conductor, punching the order slip.
"It’s deep snow from here on, sir.
Lucky If we’re In In time for your
lurkey!”
Hilliard sighed, brightened as the
train dragged Itself Into sluggish mo-
tin \ and gave his attention to the
landscape. It was typically a scene
from a Christmas card; all It needed,
at any moment, was a few lines of en-
gravings In the foreground to be a very
fair counterpart of the catda which
Hilliard had ordered sent out to all his
friends. He smiled, expansively, at the
conception of what the name of Hil-
liard on those cards npw meant to
Syracuse. They were undoubtedly
magnifying Ms grandeur now; be knew
enough of human nature "to realise
that In his home-coming he was cer-
tain to be greeted as a multi-million-
aire. And It wasn’t multi—It was only
the possibility of a single one!
The thought of riches turned his
mind to the Individuals who would
share In them; Dr. Durant, who, unless
he chow, need never keep office hours
again—be could devote himself to (he
research he loved; Cull^, whose blind,
bulldog faith had made him forever
Independent, even Rufus Waring,
whose modest contribution, accepted
- out of spleenless commiseration, bad
swelled to the dignity of four figures,
and given him the means io show rhe
world to Angela. And ’Hillard himself
ihad made far more than all the other
jventnrera combined—* ot In money,
(perhaps, but In dividends payable In
itbe medium of hls self-respect
And yet, as the realities stood, now,
jha was sensitive to the nothingness of
!hls triumph, until such time as he had
some one to divide It with him. For
Ithere Is little pleasure In a monopoly
wf happiness; not even • Joke Is fully
established until some one appears to
share It; a secret Is delectable only
when It's repeated, a conquest Is
empty without the popular acclaim, or
(he arrival of the lilstorlun. He felt
this keenly; he reflected that of all the
syndicate, he alone was without a
beneficiary. And today, wh$*n he haJ
steeled himself to speak to Carol , . .
Like countless generations of men
before him, he began vaguely to
wander what he should do If aha re-
fused him.
What would be left? Only the shell
of achievement. Would he go buck to
France? or would he remain In Amer-
ica, and struggle for success by en-
dowing war charities out of hls glori-
ous Income-to-be? Also . . . and
this was enervating . . . what
should he say to her? It Is given to
few men to propose twice, In different
characters, to the same girl.
The train plowed r.nd panted through
the thickening drifts; Hilliard’s watch
was coming out of hls pocket at flve-
mlnute Intervals; here was Rochester
at last . . . three hours late . . .
and there, shining dimly through
banked clouds, was the sunl Tho
train seemed warmed to greater effort
hy Its mere appearance; Hilliard, who
had measured time hy weeks, then by
dsys, and more recently by reluctant
hours, begnn to mark the minutes from
his mental calendar.
And then, after an Interminable
century of Impatience, the outlying vil-
lages, gray and smoky; the flat wastes
of Solvay; the road slowly becoming
streets; the buildings adding height
. . , Syracuse I
Hls feet were on the platform; he
was hurrying forward. Ahead of him
. . . and In hls excitement he stum-
bled heavily . . . there, coming
toward him . . . Carol and the
Doctor, beftirred and rosy ... no
question of the welcome they were
bringing him!
Hls own initial remarks were grossly
Incoherent. There were no words to
fit the situation; perhaps he did It
greater Justice by the disconnected
sounds be made. And then he was
entering the Doctor’s dosed car; they
were bouncing over the cobbles of the
lower city; they were attacking the
grade of James street, and he was
peering ont In an ecstasy of memory
at the houses where he had played In
boyhood.
Two o'clock . 1 . on time for
dinner to the second I A house hang-
ing with evergreen; a Christmas
spirit permeating every nook und
cranny; Chrlatmas odora—not all of
evergreen—drifted in tantalizing whiffs
to meet him.
A Joyous Interlude; a gay proces-
sion ; a hush; a gravely spoken bless-
Ing—Oh, that Christmas!
**•••*•
There came n time early In the eve-
ning when Hilliard found himself
alone with Carol. He had a vngne
recollection that they had been sent
to look for something ... a corn
popper, or some other equally futile
article . , . and for an instant
he marveled at their expecting to find
It In the sun-parlor, where they had
wandered. But the sun-parlor was hap-
pily unoccupied; and there were com-
fortable chairs In it; and something
very green and red and seasonable In
all the windows; so that they both de-
layed prodigiously, and exchanged a
number of highly Inconsequential re-
marks about the decorations. Pres-
ently, without so much as a transient
thought for the corn-popper, they sat
down with one accord. From a dis-
tance the murmur of cheerful voices
In the living room was an adequate
accompaniment to their thoughts.
Hilliard’s head was dropped low; hls
reverie was so profound that not even
Carol's voice could rouse him—not un-
til she spoke a second time.
“I said—a penny for them,” she re-
peated. amused.
“Oh!” Hilliard's awakening was ex-
plosive. “Why, that’s queer .
I was Just thinking about that my-
self I I mean the first Sunday I ever
came np here to dinner. Yon said
the same thing then. Remember It?”
“Yes, indeed . . . and they were
a wonderful bargain at the price 1”
He didn’t seem to recall that she had
ever looked so mischievous.
“They are now, then,” be said. “Be-
cause It’s Jnst as it was before—I was
thinking about you.” Regarding her,
he was transported anew by her love-
liness. And It wasn’t only her ex-
ternal loveliness that he adored, It wee
what she had of sympathy, and kind-
ness. and sweetness of disposition,
very womanly girl she was ... not
a flaming character to blase and die,
but a steady and enduring soul .
speh as he craved . . .
She turned her head away.
-I was very angry at yo« this non-
lug,” she said; “I thought you’d for-
gotten about me entirely." *
Hilliard affected alarm. “How could
that happen?"
“Not even so much as a little card
with ‘Merry Christmas’ on It," she
sahl. “Father and mother had one
from you, hut as for me—" She
opened her hands In emptiness. "I
looked over every one of them twice."
Hilliard felt hls pulses quicken.
“Doesn't my coming to vou make up
little for Itr
“No, I’m afraid It doesn’t—not In
that way. I’m still very childish about
Christmas. 1 have to see It—even If
It's only in the tiniest little remem-
brances. I'm very much hurt. I’ve
been telling myself it must be the post-
man’s fault.”
He denied It bravely. “It wasn’t the
postman’s—It was mine. Because I
didn't Intend to send you a remem-
brance at all—I Intended to bring It
I planned to give It to you before din-
ner, but when I was so late, and
everybody was waiting—"
She turned with gratifying quick-
ness.
“Did you bring It?"
“Yes," he said, “I brought It. I'm
net quite sure whether you’ll like It
or not-*”
“I’ll like anything you brought!"
The pronoun lmd oh infinitesimal em-
phasis all to itself.
Hilliard cleared hls throat
“When I was young—”
“I beg your pardon?”
Ht laughed at high pressure and be-
gan over again.
“When I was young. Mother Grundy
had a very small collection to choose
from—books and candy and flowers.
If I’d send you anything by mall, I
think I’d have had to obey the rules.
My early training was pretty severe,
Bu‘ I thought if I brought It myself,
perhaps I could be more original."
’How originalT* she asked, with
pretty animation.
Hls heart was pounding relentlessly;
he had lost the elaborate recital which
he carefully prepared; and It was gone
without a trace. He had to depend
on presence of mind.
“Since T couldn’t keep to my sched-
ule. I’ve been saving It up to give you
when everything was propitious.” He
“It's My Gift to You. But Before You
Open It"
tendered her a package, tied with holly
ribbon; It was smaller than a book,
and smaller than any orthodox carrier
of confection, “Don’t open It Just yet,
please."
She looked at It, pinched It, dropped
It In her lap, and laughed softly.
“Is there such a mystery about Itr
“Yea, there Is." Hilliard felt himself
begin to go with the current of hls
mood. He set up awkwardly. “All
that you could ever think of asking
about me . . . where I’ve been and
what I’ve done ... Is In that box.
It's everything ... a biography, and a
history . . . and It’s my gift to you,
too. But before you open It—” He
had to pause to collect himself. “I’ll
have to make an explanation.” He
fought with It and found bla lips
strangely sealed.
“Is It so very hard to maker she
asked at length.
"Almost Impossible ...” He was
seeing black and red. Bren If "every-
body” had expected Mm to do this
thing (as Angela had long since as-
sured him) what reason did ho have
to hope for pardon} "What mould
you. think." he asked, perilously, "of a
man who cored enough about you to
risk everything he had In the world
not hls valuables In the sense of
money . , . but all hls ambitions for
everything; all hls dreams; all bis
Ideals; all hls hopes ... on a Christ-
mas gift? What would you?"
She frowned adorably.
"And . .. he's not Just a Uttle hit
quixotic?”
“Not at nil . . . tflippose he did It
deliberately, and after a great deal of
thought. Just on the chance that It
might please you? When It would
either do that—or end their friend-
ship r
She fingered the small package over
and over.
“Why, I should think that If this
. . mythical person were so very anx-
ious to please me be wouldn't take
quite so much risk."
“But when I’m the mythical person
myself—that’s different, Isn’t It?"
“Why should it be?” She gave him
no opportunity to see her face.
“You’ve forgotten a great deal. I
told you once thnt If you knew ail that
I’ve been ... all that I’ve done .
you might not be so willing to have my
friendship, noyway."
"No." she said, subdued. “I’ve not
forgotten, but you have I I said that I
didn’t believe you,"
•You’re Holding It all In your hands."
said Hilliard. Hls expression, as he
gazed at her, was Infinitely yearning;
but hls voice was even and low. “I
spent a good many hours over this
wondering whether It was right
for me to take such a risk cn this day,
above all others . . . aud finally, I
thought It out this way; If it pleases
you, It ought to make the day better
yet ... If It doesn’t. It would have
been Just as unwelcome to you at any
other time. Understand, I’ll never at-
tempt to excuse anything . . . we’re
beyond that All I can do is to wait.
I’m giving you . . . will you open It
now. please?” .
Her fingers bungled with the knot
and he made as though to help her.
“No,” she sidd, bolding the package
away from him. ”1 wunt to open It all
myself!"
Hilliard, rigid, watched her. A
phrase was beating heavily agalnat hls
consciousness . . . one of the Proverbs
. . . something about the bread of de-
ceit, and ashes . . .
The knot gave way; and the tissue
wrapping, falling aside, disclosed an
oblong pasteboard box. Carol lifted
the Ud aud Hilliard caught hls breath.
There were two cabinet photographs;
uppermost was a very excellent like-
ness ot Hilliard himself. She looked
at him perplexedly; lie was getting out
hls fountain pen. His baud was cold,
unsteady.
“It lacks something, uoesn’t It?” he
said, In an undertone. “Let me have
It a moment.” While she followed
hls every movement, he wrote, with
hls left hand and somewhat painstak-
ingly, au Inscription and gave buck the
picture.
“Christmas, 1916,” she rend, “with
love from Henry Hilliard.” She
Hushed hotly.
“Now look I” be said, Ignoring her
reaction. “The . . . next oue.” Me-
chanically she took out the second
photograph; It was u duplicate of the
picture of Dicky Morgan ou the Doc-
tor's desk. Her cheeks were suddenly
devoid of color, she stared fearfully at
him without speaking.
"That lacks something, too,” he said;
and hls voice waa yielding to the tre-
mendous strain upon him. With con-
spicuous care he shifted the pen to
his right hand; held It poised for a
moment, guve her a smile of Ineffable
pathos, closed hls teeth bard. "1 have
a very useful little trait,” he said;
“I’m ambidextrous." And wrote hls
message.
She had the evidence before her—
the Inimitable, unmistakable, ornamen-
tal script of another personality.
“Christmas, 1916—and love from Dick
to Carol."
“The real gift la underneath,” he
said, and hls diction now was foreign
even to himself. “Bnt ... no, no; go
on . .
Her uncertain, exploring fingers had
touched a smaller box; It sprang opet
In her palm; within, was a gorgeously
flashing, scintillating, living gem, set
In platinum. Her bands, unsteady now
as were his own, closed over It as
though to guard and shelter it Her
eyes sought hls, and held them—fright
was meeting fright.
“And In my thought.” he said, “arw
all the sweet memories I have of yon
... and all the fragrance of you .. .
and In the stone there ... there’s a
story for yon to read .. . bigger than
any book could hold ..." She still
made no answer; she was holding her
three gifts tightly, and staring at Mg
staring . ,. not la the revulsion he
had imagined, not In the meamrslsen
contempt he had feared, hat with the
wraith of a smile trembling on her
pale Dpi "Only one of the photo-
graphs Is to keep,” he said thickly.
“One of the two ... I'm giving yon
the chance to eay which It ia . . .
which one of the two you want to live
... If you want either of thoee men to ■
go on loving you ... or If you want
them both to go away—for always I”
In her eyes, there was another mira-
cle; her eyes were soft, and Indicative
of a great relief, rather than of a great
shock; and as he watched, spellbound,
he saw that tears were creeping Into
them, and not of sorrow but of great
Joy. In that moment hls most stupefy-
ing discovery was made, and the mag-
nitude of It, the portent of It, set hla
brain at naught, and left him destitute
of reason.
"Carol!" he said, petrified. “Carol!”
Mute, she shook her head. Looking
him full In the eyes, she flinched sud-
denly, and a great sob burst In her
throat The photograph of Dicky Mor-
gan was in her hand; she held It a
moment, trembling, and then, whiln
her breath came faster and her shoul-
ders quivered, she tore It across and
across, finer and finer, until only fragi
mentary scraps remained—and theta
she let fall in her lap, unheeded. Tha
likeness of Hilliard, the lying, radiant
face of the man nobody knew—thla
she had eelzed, and this she had
clutched to her breast, spasmodically,
as though In fear to have It snatched
away from her.
Hilliard was very close to her; and
hls whole being was concentrated In
hls eyes.
“Carol 1" he said to her again In that
stranger’s voice. “Carol . . . You
. . . you knewl” To him the fact
was unbelievable.
Tardily, unwillingly, she raised her
headt
‘ From the very first day,” she said
brokenly. “Both dad and I . . .
and no -one else; not even mother
. yonr eyes told us both, and
we’ve trusted you ao . . . and
waited so surely ... we knew It
would come out all right In the end,
somehow . . . and . , . and
. I do like ray gift I It does
make the day better." And then, In a
soft whisper, “Henry 1"
She had called him “Henry" and
even In the spell of hls confusion, he
throbbed to the significance of It
The lover was eager, but the prodigal
was startled back from the very thresh-
old of love.
“From the first day l" he breathed,
electrified. “And you trusted me like
that . . . when you knew whet I
was doing—” ■ •
She was laughing and crying at the
same time; hls hungry arms went out
to her und found her; words were
coming tumultuously to him and he'
said them as they came. 8omehow
the ring was on her finger; and she
had kissed it there. Between them,
partnered, n sacred understanding as>
Imperishable as bronze had arisen;
they both knew, without the necessity
of prolonged speech, what hls future
was to be. They hoth knew In whati
capacity he was to face the world;(
they knew the brimming fullness of her
pardon and the brimming fullness of
hls regret. These truths were mutual-
ly confirmed; the shabby past was ltt-‘
dlsllngulsbably merged with the fresh
and vivid present; their pledges to this,
end were upon their lips. The world
was lying helpless at their feet . . .
the wonderful, sensitive, receptive
world which had respected and hon-
ored and urtmlred him In the days of
hls regeneration, and would continue,
paying the reward of hls request.
In an Irresistible passion of humility
and shume and courage, he tried to tell
her the sums of hls deceits; her lips
prevented him.
“You mustn’t!" she murmnred.
“Never! You let me chooee—I want
It this way."
Dazed, triumphant, he waa re-Uving
by-gone Incidents, seeing faint cinee
develop Into mighty revelations, com-
prehending at last the supreme love
and supreme faith of the two who had
waited for hls victory, and kept hla
secret shut within their hearts, thfit
he might stand the ordeal, and prove
triumphant. And now, the reputation
that was already hls . . . the loft-
ier reputation which he should conse-
crate himself to build . . . not
only for the pleasure of the building,
but also because there were those to
whom he owed It . . . ■
Behind them, a firm footfall. Hil-
liard was on hls feet, hls arm Instinct*
Ively protecting Card. Doctor Durant
was smiting on them from the door-
way . . . grave, benevolent, pe-.
ternal. He, too, became a common
partner to the understanding; an Inter-
change of glances was sufficient He
came In swiftly; bis hands outstretch-
ed, hls bead lifted high In the pride of
a father who haa looked upon hla cMl-
dren, and found them true to each oth-
er, and to him.
“What I" he said. “Have you proved
It already—my son?”
, THE END.
An Englishman has Invented an
electrical method for giving a person
a permanent complexion by n form M
tattooing. ,
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Stone, Harry N. The Seminole Sentinel (Seminole, Tex.), Vol. 14, No. 11, Ed. 1 Thursday, May 20, 1920, newspaper, May 20, 1920; (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth556047/m1/7/: accessed July 17, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu.; crediting Gaines County Library.