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Show fe.'l ot- ,T: X TTNFPOOl OF FLAMS 77fE BBQtfZE SELL', Tff BLACK -fl4C?," 77f BRASS 36W kl COJVA? CPST BY ZOVIS J-OSEPM VAJJCE- . J,, -A ; y-5 MIXEXT surgeons tell Hugh Whitnker that six months is his '. '. f4 life limit. Peter Stark, intimate friend, finds him stunned by the news and arranges to take Whitnker on a long South sea yacht trip. The sick man sneaks off to a country hotel, intending to kill '. '. himself, but surprises a young girl in the act of drinking poison. She ; is Mary Ladislas, love-starved daughter of a New York plutocrat, de- . ' sorted by the man with whom she planned clandestine marriage. To ; save her good name, Whitnker marries the girl (knowing that six . ' months is his limit), gives her money and puts her on a train for home. ' ; He runs plump into Stark, hunting him. Months later, the yacht burns at sea. All hands die but Whitaker, who is reported lost. A delicate ; operation restores his health, and after five prosperous years in Aus- tralia, he returns to New York one back from the dead ! We find him ' ; in this Installment talking with his old law partner, Drummond, about the prospects of finding that little girl wife. A beautiful actress ' ', enters the story. the little one tn the southeast cornen . . . Shoot. .Tames !" The latter phrase was Max's way of ordering the tlriver to move on. The ear sn.nted resentfully, then pulled smoothly and swiftly away. Max waved a jaunty farewell with a lemon-colored lemon-colored hand, over the back of the ton-ueau. ton-ueau. Whitaker went up to his room In a reflective mood in which the theatrical man had little place. Since his arrival in New York he had fallen into tlu habit of seeking the view from his window when in meditative humor. A view of ten thousand roofs, inexpressh bly enchanting. . . . Somewhere perhaps in that welter of steel and stone, as eternal and as restless as the sea, was the woman Whitaker had married, working out her lonely destiny. des-tiny. A haphazard biscuit tossed from his window might fall upon the very roof that sheltered her; he might search for a hundred years and never cross her path, lie wondered. . . . The possibility that she might have married a second time did not disturb his pulse by the least fraction of a beat. He even contemplated the chance that she might be dead with normal equanimity. Fortunate, that he didn't love her. More fortunate still, that he loved no one else. Incontinently he w'rote and dispatched dis-patched a long, extravagant cablegram to Mrs. I'ettit va care of the American embassy. Utile doubting that she would Immediately answer. When eventually he strode into the white room, Max was already established estab-lished at the famous little table in the southeast corner. Whitaker was conscious con-scious of turning heads and guarded comment as he took his place opposite the little fat man. "Make you famous in a night," Max assured him Importantly. "Don't happen hap-pen to need any notoriety, do you?" "No, thanks." "Dine with me here three nights hand-running and they'll let you into the Syndicate by the back door without with-out even asking your name. P. T. A's one grand little motto, my boy." "P. T. A.?" "Pays to advertise. Paste that in your hat. Look me over," he requested abruptly, leaning back. "I guess I'm some giddy young buck, what?" Whitaker reviewed the striking effect ef-fect Max had created by encasing his brief neck and double chin in an old-fashioned old-fashioned high collar and black silk stock, beneath which his important ; j "He's Going to Get Married." chest was protected by an elaborately frilled shirt decorated with black pearl ' studs. His waist was strapped In by a pique waistcoat edged with black, i and there was a distinctly perceptible "invisible" stripe in the material of his , evening coat and trousers. "Dressed like a fool," Max summed i up the ensemble before his guest could speak. "Would you believe that de-; de-; spair could gnaw at the vitals of anyone any-one as wonderfully arrayed?" "I w'ould not," Whitaker asserted. "Yet, I'm down in the mouth, be- cause this is Sara's last appearance." , Max motioned the waiter to remove the debris of a course. "I've got it in my knob that she's my mascot. If she leaves me, my luck goes with her. I made her, all right, but she made me, too; and it sprains my sense of good business to break up a paying combination combi-nation like that." , "Nonsense," Whitaker contended warmly. "If I'm not mistaken, you ! were telling me this afternoon that you stand next to Belasco as a producing produc-ing manager. The loss of one star isn't going to rob you of that prestige, Is it?" "You never can tell," the little man contended darkly; "I wouldn't bet thirty cents my next production would turn out a hit. I've had several close calls with Sara site's threatened to chuck the stage often before this; but every time something happened to make her change her mind. I've got a hunch maybe something will happen , this time, too. If It does, I won't want any partners." ( 1 How much information do you j I' wager that Max is in a position ? ', to give Whitaker if he were of a 5 mind to do to? tXO F. -.0T.NU.D.; CHAPTER IV Continued. 1 5 I "Would you know her if you saw her?" "I don't know." Whitaker frowned with annoyance. "She's six years older " "Well, but what was she like?" Drummond pursued curiously. Whitaker shook his head. "It's not easy to remember. Matter of fact, I don't believe I ever got one good square look at her. It was twilight in the hotel, when I found her; we sat talking in absolute darkness, toward to-ward the end ; even in the minister's study there was only a green-shaded lamp on the table; and on the train well, we were both too much worked up, I fancy, to pay much attention to details." "Blonde or brune?" "I swear I don't know. She wore one of those funny knitted caps, tight down over her hair, all the time." Drummond laughed quietly. "I don't feel in a joking humor," Whitaker said roughly. "It's a serious matter and wants serious treatment treat-ment . . . What else have we got to mull over?" Drummond shrugged suavely. "There's enough to keep us busy for several hours." he said. "For instance, there's my stewardship." "Your which?" "My care of your property. You left a good deal of money and securities lying round loose, you know ; naturally I felt obliged to look after 'em. There was no telling when Widow Whitaker might walk in and demand an accounting. account-ing. I presume we might as well run over the account though it is getting late." "Half-past four," Whitaker informed him, consulting his watch. "Take too long for to-day. Some other time." Drummond's reply was postponed by the oflice boy, who popped in on the heels of a light knock. "Mr. Max's outside," he announced. "O the deuce !" The exclamation seemed to escape Drummond's lips involuntarily. in-voluntarily. He tightened them angrily, an-grily, as though regretting the lapse of self-control, and glanced hurriedly askance to see if Whitaker had noticed. no-ticed. "I'm busy," he added, a trace sullenly. "Tell him I've gone out." "But he's got 'nappointment," the boy protested. "And besides, I told him you was in." "You needn't fob him off on my account," ac-count," Whitaker interposed. "We can finish our confab later Monday any time. It's time for me to be getting up-town, anyway." "It isn't that," Drummond explained doggedly. "Only the man's a bore, and " "It isn't Jules Max?" Whitaker excitedly. ex-citedly. "Not little Jules Max, who used to stage manage our amateur shows ?" "That's the man," Drummond admitted ad-mitted with plain reluctance. "Then have him in, by all means. I want to say howdy to him, if nothing more. And then I'll clear out and leave you to his troubles." Drummond laughed a trifle sourly. "Max has developed into a heavyweight heavy-weight entrepreneur, you know." "Meaning theatrical manager? Then why not say so? But I might've guessed he'd drift into something of the sort." A moment later Whitaker was vig' orously pumping the unresisting indeed in-deed the apparently boneless hand of Jules Max. The hat that had made Hammersteln famous Max had appropriated appro-priated straight crown, flat brim and immaculate gloss bodily. Beneath it his face was small of featuje. and fat. A pince-nez sheltered his near-sighted eyes. His short, round little body was Invariably by day dressed in a dark gray morning-coat, white-edged waistcoat, waist-coat, assertively-striped trousers, and patent-leather shoes with white spats. He had a pason for lemon-colored gloves of thinnest kid and slender malacea walking-sticks. His dignity was an awful thing, as ingrained as his strut. He reasserted the dignity now with i irk of his maltreated hand, read justed his glasses, and resumed his stare. "Either," he observed, "you're Hugh Whitaker come to life or a deuced outrage." out-rage." "Both if you like." "You sound like both," complained the little man. "Anyway, you were drowned In the Philippines or somewhere some-where long ago, and I never waste time on a dead one. . . . Drummond " He turned to the lawyer with a vastly business-like air. "No, you don't !" Whitnker insisted, putting himself between the two men. "I admit that you're a great man; you might at least admit that I'm a live one." - A mollified smile moderated the small man's manner. "That's a bargain," bar-gain," he said, extending a pale yellow yel-low paw ; "I'm glad to see you again, Hugh. When did you recrudesce?" "An hour ago," Drummond answered for him ; "blew in here as large as life and twice as important. He's been running a gold farm out in New Guinea. What do you know about that?" "It's very interesting," Max conceded. con-ceded. "You've asked him, of course?" he demanded of Drummond, nodding toward Whitaker. Drummond flushed slightly. "No chance," he said. "I was on the point of doing it when you butted In." "What's this?" inquired Whitaker. Max delivered himself of a startling bit of information: "He's going to get married." Whitaker stared. "Drummond? Not really?" Drummond acknowledged his guilt brazenly: "Next week, in fact." "But why didn't you say anything about it?" "You didn't give me an, opening. Besides, Be-sides, to welcome a deserter from the great beyond is enough to drive all other thoughts from a man's mind." "There's to be a supper in honor of the circumstances, at the Beaux Arts tonight," supplemented Max. "You'll come, of course." "I'll be there and furthermore, I'll be waiting at the church a week hence or whenever it'a to come off. And now I want to congratulate you." Whitaker Whit-aker held Drummond's hand in one of those long, hard grips that mean much between men. "But mostly I want to congratulate her. Who is she?" "Sara Law," said Drummond, with pride in his quick color and the lift of his chin. "The greatest living actress on the English-speaking stage," Max announced, an-nounced, preening himself importantly. "My own discovery." "Of course I've heard but I have been out of touch with such things," Whitaker apologized. "When shall 1 see her?" "In honor of her retirement," Max answered, fussing with a gardenia on his lapel. "She retires from the stage finally, and forever she says when the curtain falls tonight." "Then I've got to be In the theater tonight if that's the case," said Whit-nkar. Whit-nkar. " 'Fraid you won't get In, though," Drummond doubted darkly. "Everything "Every-thing in the house for this final week was sold out a month ago. Even the speculators are cleaned out." "Tut!" the manager reproved him loftily. "Hugh is going to see Sara Law act for the last time from my personal box aren't you, Hugh?" "You bet I am !" Whitaker asserted with conviction. "Then come along." Max caught him by the arm and started for the door. "So long, Drummond . . ." CHAPTER V. Curtain. Nothing would satisfy Max but that Whitaker should dine with him. He consented to drop him at the Hitz-Carl-ton, in order that he might dress, only on the condition that Whitaker would meet him at seven, in the white room at the Knickerbocker. "Just mention my name to the head waiter," he said with magnificence ; "ur if I'm there first, you can't help see-i see-i lug me. Everybody knows my table |