The Pearsall Leader (Pearsall, Tex.), Vol. 19, No. 49, Ed. 1 Friday, March 20, 1914 Page: 3 of 8
This newspaper is part of the collection entitled: Texas Borderlands Newspaper Collection and was provided to The Portal to Texas History by the UNT Libraries.
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THE PEARSALL LEADER, PEARSALL, TEXAS
*■
fOMAN
ii Albert
'W Pqyson
Terhune,
de Millc's Play
;j Pnoto?/km rfoPhy
vmsff & Vl.£
•miner. “Any name, Mr.
answered huskily. “Just
:mber.”
r*> you are—number one
e H’lo New York!” she
ed into the transmitter, shov-
in and out of the switch-
oo four times, "Plaza one—
Yes, Plaza one—o—o—
had gone to the first of the
booths. At its door he
said he, “would you
r.sr that receiver off your
I’m telephoning?”
.. .” she answered in evident
* the slur implied by the
■ ,‘ly removed and hung up
crescent that held the re-
r left ear. Standish had
booth door and, from the
eye, Wanda, could see
glass pane, speaking
ar smitter. But she had
i the first movement of his
-slake and Mark Robertson
‘rorii *he dining-room. She
attention to them.
I unobtrusively toward
one booths and his
lighted ever so little as
Standish's figure behind
he made no other
aoted the successful
be trap he had so palns-
i fact, he was talking
Robertson on indiffer-
Wanda heard him
race is coming down.”
• od Robertson, his face
ition of his wife’s
tonight or tomorrow
that reminds me: I
her up and ask which.
: t her at the station.
went on, “can you get
: ,^-m York ■srlr©?*’
,‘d Wanda: "but it’ll
orates to get the connec-
reniied Robertson, as she
1 the labyrinth of
olugs, "I’ll wait here for
1 Ki andish came out of
ad ;eid down a bill for
age. Robertson, the
f anticipation dying out
t b. i t of his foe, turned
: .liously upon him. Nor
■ rua till Standish had
'» hen he looked around,
•r-Jn-law in eager con-
i)8 telephone operator.
h was saying. “Could
-red Wanda, still deeply
-ndish’s request. "Not
ade me hang up the re-
:cd Blake. “He’s got
: I thought. But the
ir-ot the number, of
- vr,il h
returned. “1 got the
r moniously reached over
picked up the pad on
"Does it?” she queried sweetly. “Not t leading his forces ta person tonight | "You’ve sent over to central for that
with me, it doesn’t.” j He seldom did so. The commanding! duplicate list of all the numbers that
“Look here, young woman!” snarled1 general’s place is on a convenient! were called up from the Keswfck to-
Blake, his habitual cajm giving place ; hilltop; not in the vulgar thick of the ' day? Let me look at them.”-
to a sort of vulpine savagery. “Don’t fray. And, for divers reasons. Blake
you try to hold me up! If you do you’ll had chosen his son-in-law's apartment,
find you’ve got a wildcat by the tail.”
“Dear me!” she cried in pretty ter-
ror. '“Well, I’ll—I’ll have to think it
over. Here’s your New York wire,
Governor Robertson,” she called to
Mark. “What was the number you
wanted, please?”
Robertson came across to the rail.
Get Mrs. Robertson—my wife—on
the phone,” said he. If she's not in,
get bne of the servants. I—”
•‘You didn’t tell me the number,”
she reminded him.
“Oh,” he laughed. “Careless of me!
i forgot I wasn’t talking to my sec-
retary. He generally calls up my New
York home for me. The number is
‘Plaza one—double o—one.’ ”
There was an imperceptible pause.
A momentary contraction of Wanda’s
throat. Then, in her everlasting pro-
fessional monotone she droned into j
the receiver:
“H’lo! New York? Plaza one—o-
o—one!
• *•
/ t .•*
S
CHAPTER IX.
A Lion In a Rabbit Trap.
Mark hurried into the nearest tele-
phone booth. Wanda stared after him,
in scared fascination. Her face had
turned oddly white.
“One—o—o—one,” she repeated to
herself, dazedly, as she mechanically
jotted down the number on her pad.
"Now then!” Jim Blake was de-
manding at her elbow, “you and I wHl
settle this thing, my girl. I want that
number!”
“But—” she pleaded.
“You’ve got a bit of knowledge that
we need—and need d-d bad. A
bit of knowledge we’ve got to have—
and mean to have. Understand that?
And what we’ve got to get, we get.
Now, is it fight or not? Will you take
the money I've offered you or will you
run your silly young head Into the
hottest bunch of trouble a girl ever
met with? Wh'ich’ll it be? Speak
out!”
“I—I don’t know. It’ll disgraw, the
Woman, won’t it, if I tell?”
“It’ll smash you if you don’t! What
is it to you if she’s disgraced or not?”
“That’s so,” purred Wanda, suddenly
recovering her shattered nerves.
1 hat is it to me—or to you—if she’s
destroyed, so long as the machine
wins? And it’d be perfectly terrible
if the machine shouldn’t win. Now
wouldn’t it?”
“It’ll be terrible for any one who
tries to block it,” retorted Bl&ke, grim
and wrathful.
‘‘Well,” signed Wanda distractedly,
“1 11 just have to think it over very
^refuliy. Of course, I like you, Mr.
I lake. I’ve always admired you a lot.
You've got such a lovely personality
and—”
“Drop that!” he reared.
“And,” pursued Wanda, “I’ve always
admired the machine a lot, too. It does
things In such a businesslike way. But
—but, of course, I couldn’t really take
money from you. If I tell that num-
ber it’ll just be because I want you to
win. That’s all. Just because I want
to see you win.”
“That’s better!” grunted Blake, his
h-ce clearing. “You won’t be sorrf."
YTou bet I won’t!” she retorted, and
her young voice was as keen as a knife
blade, and as hard. “I won’t be one
bit sorrr And my conscience will be
clear. It’ll be a load off my shoulders.
But,” she ended, falling back on in-
decision, “I—I must think it over a
while.”
“A while?” echoed Blake. “There’s
no time to lose. You understand the
situation. I’ve mads it all clear to
you. if 1 don’t get that Woman’s name
before the Mullins bill comes up for a
vote it will be of no use to m,e. * And
w *’11 lose. I must know the name
tonight. I—”
“I’ll make up my mind tonight,” an-
swered Wanda cryptically: and she
returned to her novel.
on this night, as his hilltop. The tele-
phone admirably filled for him the dual
roles of spy-glass and courier. Just
now, he was listening intently to a
report from Tim Neligan at the Capi-
tol.
“Good old Tim!” he broke out after
a moment’s close attention to the re-
ceiver. “What d’ye think of that, Van
Dyke? We get the roll-call.”
“Good!” pronounced Van Dyke,
glancing up from his reading.
“Standish still in his seat?” queried
Blake into the transmitter. “Yes?
All right. Keep right on with the pro-
gram I gave you. No need to change
it unless something- unexpected cuts
loose. And it won’t. What? No.
Not yet. Can’t get a word out of her.
But we will. Don’t you worry. So
long.”
“Well,” he added to Van Dyke, as
he hung up the receiver and pushed
the telephone back on the table-desk’s
flat surface. “This roll-call gives us
another hour to breathe In.”
“We’ll need It. And more,” said Van
Dyke, returning to his reading.
“Sure you’re making that strong
enough, Van Dyke?” he asked. “Don’t
*
“Cut Out Any Flowery 8tuff and Bang
Away at the Point.” v
use the word 'utensil’ when5 'spade'
will do lust ;as well. Cut out -any
flowery stuff and bang away’at the
point.’
“They aren’t here yet,” replied
Blake. “I only sent for them a few
minutes ago. You see, I thought I
could save a lot of time by getting the
information, direct, from the girl her-
self.”
“The girl!” echoed Van Dyke dis-
gustedly. “We’ve already wasted too
much time on her. Can’t we get hold
of Standish?”
“He’ll be along pretty soon.”
“You’ve sent for him? You’re sure
he'll come for your sending?”
(“No,” drawled Blake, “I didn’t And
he wouldn’t. But Gregg started a whis-
per in the house that a scandal will
break before morning. And he threw
a hint of the same sort to the news-
paper boys.”
“Oh, if we can publish this as It’s
written here,” broke in Van Dyke,
“we’ve got him! This story makes
him out the lowest blackguard un-
hung.”
“And,” amended Blake with in-
genuous self-congratulation, “there
isn’t a word in it that hasn’t got some
sort of foundation on fact That’s say-
ing a whole lot for a campaign scan-
dal. We’ve got facts—real facts. May-
be some of ’em are twisted around so
that you’d have to look at ’em twice
before recognizing their dear familiar
faces. But they’re facta, just the
same.”
“And they’re useless,” grumbled Van
Dyke, “just because the one*fact we
need we haven’t got.”
"You mean the Woman?"
“The Woman’s name. We can’t get
any one to believe a word of the story
without that. What time is It? Oh, 1
didn’t notice the clock. The time’s
getting short—dangerously short If
we want to get this story In any of
tomorrow’s papers We must have her
name mighty quick. As it fat I’m
afraid it'll be top late for anything but
the last editions of the morning pa-
pers. What did the Associated Press
people say, when you—Y*
“Jennings promised to hold a wire
till tl^e last minute. Better take the
story around to him and tell him to
have it ready. He understands. But
be sure to tell him not to let it go till
1 give the word. A false more just
now would be a boomerang that we
couldn’t stand. Come back as soon as
you can. We may need you.””
Van Dyke, pocketing the typewritten
sheets, departed on his mission; al-
most colliding at the door with Tom
Blake, who wee coming in.
“Hello, dad!” hailed Tom. 1 Just
, dropped in on the way to the club to
say ’howdy* to Grace. Where is she?
Turned In?”
“No. Hasn’t even got in. The
train’s hours late. Washout on the
To the. Rescue.
An Englishman sat at a New York
boarding-house table. One of the
boarders was telling a story in which
a “dachshund” figured. She was un-
able for a moment to .think of the
word.
“It was one of these—what do you
call them?—one of these long German
dogs.”
The Englishman dropped his fork;
his face beamed. “Frankfurters!”—
Lipphu-ott’s Magazine.
i
Examine carefully every bottle el
CASTORIA, a safe and sure remedy for
infants and children, and aee that it.
Bean the
Signature of |
■ VM
—
Words Fail on an Occasion Like Thiel
“Why do you call your hen Man
duff, of all names?”
"Because she lays on.”
FREE JUMCE
I IS SICK WOMEi
V- ’ ‘ - £•; :•*- - , 1 *, jy.' , ’
Thousand* Hare BeenHeiped
w
Women
funds Ob
suffediag from any form of
promptly with the
woman’s <private
correspondence de-
partment of the I*-
die EL Pinkham Med-
icine £o., Lynn,’
Maas. Tear letter
wfil be opened, read
d hr a
and bett*
I •
£§!
never
“I have, replied Van Dyke, handing
Blake the edited pages. “Look It over ro*d somewhere. Mark telephoned up
and see how it strikes you
Blake took the manuscript and,
scanned its contents from beneath hie
drooped lids. As he read, a 'look of
unqualified approval replaced the
doubt on his face. He nodded em-
phatically, once or twice. In his in-
terest he unconsciously muttered, half
aloud.
“ ‘Standish, .the arch reformer, ” he
murmured. “ 'A moralist dethroned—
scandalous past of a house leader
brought to light—disciple of purity in
politics convicted of dissolute private
life’—H’m! /That's tho stuff. It’ll
make ’em sit up, I guess.”
“If we can use It,
Dyke. “As it stands, it represents
nothing but three spoiled sheets -of
white paper.’
“It’ll represe.it one perfectly good
insurgent chief split up the back, be-
fore another hour’s past,” * retorted
Blake. “I’ll have the Woman’s name
by that time.”.
“What is that stubborn little tele-
phone girl holding out for, I wonder?"
“It’s past me!” growled Blake. “If
it was a man I could size up the game
at a glance and I’d know just what
move to make. Every man has always
had his price. Except One. And we
governor of New York cooling his
s in a drafty railroad station. And,
i, Point-
••’•?’ he asked, pointing
oer inscribed there,
id Wanda, recovering
;g it back in its place
a little slam to em-
rudeness in taking it
n’t the one. Fm leav-
nk, so I can fill in the
V too valuable to put
<i ilcmat,” he approv-
.. inglv. “Well, what
»
ite,” she Interrupted,
question of—of—?’’
ollars for you. Yes,
t goes.”
crucified Him. But with women it’s
‘lake glared at her in angry doubt : different. You can’t tell what a worn-
:'re ne cou5d 6Peak again, Robert- an’s going to do. For the mighty good
on came out of the booth. j reason that she doesn’t know, herself,
mast he off. said Mark. "My but- j This Kelly girl’s got me guessing. She
a., s Grace took the train that’s j iet me think I could buy her dead easy,
e to reach Washington at eight this | TIlen she played for time. And now
.*Mong. I ve no time to waste if I m ghe’s thrown us down altogether and
to be at the station when it comes in.” j WOn’t say a word.”
He hurried off. After a second ;
glance toward the utterly oblivious
G anda, Blake followed him from the
corridor Wanda did not look up. Her
eyes were still bent eagerly on her
book. But the type was a twisting
b?ur to her senses. To herself she
was murmuring disjointedly:
“His own daughter—Mark Robert-
son’s wife—Tom’s sister—! And Jim
Biake moving heaven and earth and a
quarter-section of hell, too, to get her
name for a campaign scandal. If 1
give it to him, 1 guess a big part of
father’s debt to the machine will be
paid off. If—”
"Hello!” called Tom, crossing the
corridor from the dining-room. “What
are you reading? By {he way you
stare at that book it must have all the
best sellers looking iike the Congres-
sional Record. What’s it about?”
She raised a blank drawn face to
him
’About?” she repeated absently.
Oh, it's—It’s about a man who set a
trap for a rabbit—and caught a lion
in it.”
from the station. He’s gone back
(here. They ought to be here any
time now. Want to wait?” '
*Tm sleepy! ’* yawned Tom. “Gee,
but I wish Grace would show up!"
“So does Mark.” answered Blake.
Then, after a moment, a chuckle of
genuine amusement startled bis son.
“What’s the''Joke?” asked Tom.
“Did I miss itr
“Yes, you missed it, all right. Both
you and Grace always miss it But I
never do. I was Just thinking—my lit-
tle Grace—my kid—keeping the for-
mer
heels In
corrected Van j^rty years ago, her father was a bare-
foot kid with one suspender, pan-
handling kind-hearted old folks in the
Street with dyimg-mother stories and
getting nickels from ’em. And even
as lately as twe*:ty-two years ago.
what was I but a Chicago feity clerk
making an honest living by keeping
my eyes shut and my palm open?”
“Dad.” complained Tom, “I can’t
make you out! You always seem to
take a savage delight in rubbing in
the fact that everything we’ve got we
owe to graft.
“Well,” asked Blake, puzzled, “don’t
we? If we don’t owe it tp graft, what
do we owe it to. I'd like to know?
“To change the subject, dad,” broke
in Tom, “I’ve been making some
plans.” \
“Have, hey?” queried Blake as
though listening to the prattle of a
somewhat backward child of six. “Such,
as what, for instance?”
(TO BE CONTINUED.)
Meow hove they published a
ial erased a letter witheotthe
itedrwwfrotn, itirmore
your case. Noth-
(except year good
i has helped thoa-
Sarefr aay woman, rich or poor,
be cM *ate advantage of this
r offer of wist sin « Address
Pfakham Medicine Co., (con-
Lynn, Maes.
■M
HAD TO SAVE HIS REPUTATION i what the trouble was tm 1 had about
______ i finished It. Then I got a taste of pure
Farmer Swallowed Horrible Compound
Rather Than Have Fellow Diners
Laugh at Him.
CHAPTER X.
In the Day of Battle.
Ralph Van Dyke, corporation lawyer,
2nd the railroads' mouthpiece in Wash-
ington, sat by the desk lamp in the
library of Mark Robertson's Hotel Kes-
■ u-k suit, reading—and here and there away
“My, but this coffee tastes good!”
said Mr Lackey, as he ate a late sup-
per after a long day at the county
seat.
“Didn’t you have good coffee at the
restaurant today?” asked Mrs. Lackey,
cutting another slice of bread.
“It didn’t taste very sweet to me,”
replied Mr. Lackey, with a chuckle.
“Wasn't there any sugar on the
table?”
“Oh, yes, there was plenty of sugar
on the table,” replied Mr. Lackey:
“but you see I made a mistake, and
put in a spoonful of salt."
“Mercy me!” exclaimed Mrs. Lackey.
“You surely didn’t drink It, Hiram?"
“I had to,” answered her husband.
“You see there was a young fellow sit-
ting right by me, and I saw right
that I had done something
B ring —several typewritten sheets, j wrong, because he sort of grinned,
> ot-s the desk from him sat Jhn ; an<l winked at another young man at
n cigar in one hand, a telephone the table. I .didn’t know what the
, f iver held to his ear. ' trouble was, though. The coffee tast-
salt that hadn’t dissolved at all.”
“Well, I hope you had another good
cup after that one,” said Mrs. Lackey.
“Yes. I had another,” replied her
husband. “I gave my cup to the
waitress, and then when it came back
I said to the young man, ‘Will you
please pass me the salt?’ ”
“Hiram Lackey!” exclaimed Mrs.
Lackey, in horrified tones “You sure-
ly didn’t put salt in your coffee
again!”
“I just had to,” replied her husband.
“You don’t suppose I wanted those
young fellows to think I was such an
old farmer I didn’t know saljTfrom
6ugar, do you?”—Youth’s Comiianion.
Love Is Similar to Sunlight.
How the sunlight seems to watch
for a chance to get through the small-
est opening in the clouds! Love,
which forgives because it is love, and
which waits for every opportunity to
manifest kindness, -is not going to
wait to be asked to forgive. Ignore
the wrongs you receive and think over
the good that has been or yet may be
and the evil will dwindle Into notn-
Tbe master of the machine was notic'd kind of queer, but I didn’t realize ingness.—Robertson.
1*41* M
It fai tree
Writs for
• • 1
Kheomatfe
(fWingesj
to Sloan’s Un-
tching sad j
it* Reduces
i instantly. Re
andmrietsthat
Ikai rub—it _
SLOANS
I IU3 i
Kills Pain
gives quick rehef front chest and
throct affections. Have rou tried
others sa/t
f&£»|
L I
M
Sloan’s? Hera’s what
R«W traa I
*ltr nother 1ms
at SkMm>i _
is orar St yi
her has seed
Liniment, am
Good for Cold
fft-
mA little
cara uh
try. Sbe
before
Sloan's Liniment to
1 1
Nesroleia Gone
“*oaa% Liniment is the best tnedi-1
fa fly world. It hu rettered me
wnrarrirs. Those pains hare all gone
[ AftaS Dealam. Priee Ma, 80s. * SUM !
K mbs. stain, mstwa
BEGIN NOW
If you hove not decided upon what
Spring Ntdeto
to take, try
By arousing the liver
of accuamkMf', ^
Impurities and
pumrr Ttte OLOOO b
jgiSMHnmniinmraraajSiiifim ^
M*,
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Hudson, C. H. & Woodward, Roy. The Pearsall Leader (Pearsall, Tex.), Vol. 19, No. 49, Ed. 1 Friday, March 20, 1914, newspaper, March 20, 1914; Pearsall, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth920761/m1/3/?q=%22%22~1: accessed July 18, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu.; .