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Show X A. Slory of Today and I of All Days t I By GEORGE AGNEW CHAMBERLAIN I W Copyright by the Century Company brought a glow of achievement to his perspiring face. Alan was placed at the newel at the foot of the great staircase stair-case and duly admonished In treble voices not to looU. The treble voices rained excited instructions on him, carried car-ried away by youth's confidence in its ability to teach Its grandmother how-to how-to suck eggs. Alan started to count slowly in sonorous tones. With a last shriek and the patter of many feet the trebles faded away into silence. Alan crept stealthily up the stairs. Out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of the twitching jumpers of the littlest, who was too fat to quite tit the I retreat he had chosen. But Alan did I not quite see until it was too late. The littlest exploded the vast breath be ; had been holding in and plunged head-j head-j long down the stairs. As he rolled by the newel he stuck out a sturdy arm and held fast. He shouted a pean of victory and once more palpitating silence si-lence fell on the house. Alan wondered If he could find the way to the little attic. He hurried along the twisted halls, up a tiny flight of steps, turned, dived through a low, narrow tnnnel and threw open the long-forgotten door. It was as though he had suddenly opened a portal on his own childhood. A great, pensioned rocking chair held the middle of the floor as wilhin his ken it always had held it. Ancient garments hung from pegs on the walls and from hooks on the rafters. A box or two and more disabled furniture littered the floor. The whole was faintly lit up by the light from a little dormer window. Nothing stirred. Alan drew a long breath. He was not disappointed. No one had thought to come here but himself. him-self. Suddenly a bit of the pendent wardrobe ward-robe was flung aside and an apparition dashed for the door. Alan sprang in front of it, threw his arms around It, held It tight. It struggled, laughed, ceased to struggle, and looked up as Alan looked down. Clem's face was very near to his. Her body, still throbbing throb-bing with excitement, was in his arms. Alan felt such a rioting surge in his blood as he had never known before. He wanted to kiss Clem. He felt that be must kiss her, that there was not strength enough left in him to do anything any-thing else. Then his eyes met hers and he forgot himself and remembered Clem. His soul cried, "Sacrilege," and he dropped his arms from about her and stepped back. Clem stood before him, dazed. She was in her stockinged feet. In each hand she held a little slipper. Her eyes were big and full of the soft reproach re-proach of the mortally wounded. Alan felt ashamed and looked away. He had to break the silence. "Well, you're caught," he said lamely. Clem dropped one slipper, threw up her hand and brushed the disordered hair from her forehead. "Yes, I'm caught," she said, and her lip trembled on the words. One day in midsummer Alan, to his disgust, was summoned peremptorily by McDale & McDale,. Half an hour's consultation was all they required and Alan was pleased to And as he left their offices that he still had plenty of time to catch the early train back to Red Hill. There, were only two afternoon after-noon trains for that difficult goal. As he strolled up the avenue he was n"'ted by the sight of a tall figure standing on the curb watching the swirl of the traffic. The figure was dressed in a heavy whipcord suit and a Stetson hat, uncompromisingly domed in the very form in which" it had been blocked by the makers. A street gamin yelled, "Hi! 'fellers, look what's got away from Buffalo Rill!" Kemp gazed sad-eyed but unmoved over his drooping mustaches, doubtless doubt-less mourning the passing of the shoot-; shoot-; ing iron and the consequent unanswerable unanswer-able affronts of a fostered civilization. Alan elbowed his way across the stream of pedestrians and clutr,!ied him by the arm. Kemp whirled around as if to meet attack, but smiled when he saw Alan's face. "I was jest calcu-latiu' calcu-latiu' on rounilin' you up," he drawled. "Where did you come from'.' Where are you off to?" cried Alan, and without waiting tor an answer he hailed a cab, hustled Kemp Into it and ordered it to his club. He forgot his early train. In the club lobby Kemp surrendered his hat reluctantly to the ready aliend-ant aliend-ant and followed Alan across soft carpets car-pets to a quiet corner where two enormous enor-mous eha'rs seemed to be making confidences con-fidences to each other. One could imagine them aggrieved at being interrupted inter-rupted and sat upon. "Well, Kemp," said Alan, "I'm glad tn see you. What's yours?" "lije 'ud a chaser," said Kemp. "Same for me, waiter," ordered Alan. "Now, Kemp, tell me all about it." "I just blowed In from Lleber's. Mr. Wayne, and I'm headed west." "How's Liober and Where's Gerry? Did I.ieber get my cable?" j Kemp looked sadly out through the window. "Lieber's dead." "Dead? I.ieber dead?" Kemp nodded. "I found him wilb everything fixed for kickin' the bucket. He knew what was the matter, but he didn't tell me what it was. Said it ' had been comin' on him for some while i an' thet the' wa'nt no he'p for it. But be got your cable. Mr. Wayne, and he wanted I should tell you that what you j done wa'nt wasted. He said there wa'n't nothin' thet could he'p him through the way that cable did. lie said it was the passpo't he'd been waitin' for an' thet you wa'n't to think it come too late, because he reckoned he was coin' to use it. Said It kinder cleared his trail for him. Them was all the things he said I should tell you." Kemp stopped talking and downed his drink. Alan sat silent and thoughtful. thought-ful. I.ieber was gone and made a gap in his life that he never knew had been filled. He wanted to know more. He turned to Kemp. "Well?" "You remember the joa tree at I.ie-ber's, I.ie-ber's, Mr. Wayne? One o' the loue-somest loue-somest trees on earth, 1 reckon, except when the Booganviller comes ont an' then It's a happy mountain o' red and pu'ple that kind o' lights up the hull desert." . Alan nodded. "Well, then, you remember the big bowlder of graywacke under the tree. That's Lieber's headstone. He had a mason up from the coast and he made us carry him out under the tree to watch the man work. He give him a model cut into a boa'd to copy f'm. I'm some reader, but them words beat me every time. I corralled 'em on a bit o' paper, though, an' here they be." Kemp drew a slip of paper from the sanfe old wallet that housed "The Purple City." He handed It to Alan. "Wish you'd put me on," he said. "All I know is it ain't American an' It ain't Mex." The words on the slip looked as if they had been printed by a child with painstaking care. Alan stared as he saw them. "Qui de nous n'a pas eu sa terre promise, son jour d'extase, et sa Su en exil?" he read slowly to himself, him-self, and then, with his eyes far away, translated tor Kemp, " 'Who of us has not had his promised laud, his day of ecstasy and his end in exile?'" Kemp nodded and held out his hand for the slip of paper. He put It back in his wallet and said, "I suppose the feller thet wrote that was thinkln' mostly of a man's mind, but when it comes to facts them words don't fit Lieber. He got more exile than was comin' to him; it et up the ecstasy an' more of the promised land. But I don' know. They's lots of folks that needs to worry more'n Lieber over crossin' the divide." They sat thoughtful for some time and then Alan remembered Red Hill. "Where are you staying, Kemp?" "Astor house." Alan looked at his watch. "Come on," he said. "We've got to hustle. We've just got time to rush down and get your bag." "What for?" drawled Kemp. "I was bound for our place out in the country when I found you. We've got just forty, minutes to catch the train. You're coming with me." A wary look came into Kemp's eyes. "Your (oiks out there, Mr. Wayne?" he asked. "Yes," said Alan, and then added, "Kemp, do you take me for a man that would steer you up against a game you don't hold cards in?" "No," said Kemp, "I don't," and then found himself hatted and hurried into a taxi before he could further protest. pro-test. If Alan had any qualms about introducing intro-ducing Kemp to Red Hill they were soon allayed. Kemp was duly presented present-ed on the lawn at Maple House. To everything in petticoats he took off his hat and said "ma'am," but before the men he stood hatted and vouchsafed a short "Howdy!" accompanied by a handshake where it was invited. Strange to Kemp must have seemed the group of which he found himself the center. At a tea table under the biggest maple sat Mrs. J. Y. She called Kemp and motioned to a chair beside her. Kemp let his lanky frame down slowly on the fragile structure, took off his domed hat and laid it on the grass at his side. For an instant Mrs. J. Y. fixed her soft, myopic gaze on him and then looked away. Clem brought him a cup of tea and a biscuit. Kemp held the cup and saucer in the hollow of his band and looked dubiously at their contents. "Would you like something else, Mr. Kemp?" asked Mrs. J. Y. softly, "some other drink, I mean?" Kemp's quick eye roved over the group. lie saw that nobody was taking tak-ing anything but tea and at the same j time he noi 1 gratefully that nobody j was watching him. The judge and !.l. Y. were talking to each other. ve, junior, and Cousin Tom were kneeling before Gerry, junior, stolen for a sliort hour from Alix. That dwarf Moloch, arrayed in starchy white that stuck out like a ballet skirt above his sturdy, fat legs, was gravely devouring a sacrifice of cake. Charlie Sterling lay full length on ttie ground i while his brood, with shrill cries at his frequent eruptions, buried and re-buried re-buried him with sofa pillows. Nance, Alan and Clem sipped tea and cheered on the children's efforts. Kemp turned a twinkling eye on Mrs. J. Y. "I ain't sayiu', ma'am, thet this mixture is my usual bev'rage, but a man don't expect to have his usual handed down f'm a pulpit, and likewise like-wise I see no call for folks turuin' their front lawns into a bar." Kemp could feci a scene; his strange nature was moved at rinding itself rubbing elbows with such a group and when Kemp was moved he always al-ways talked to hide his emotion. Mrs. J. Y.'s kindly eyes led him on, made him feel weirdly akin to those quiet, contented men and women and clean-frocked. clean-frocked. rosy-cheeked children frolicking frolick-ing against the peaweful setting of shady trees, old lawns and the rambling ram-bling house that staidly watched them like some motherly hen, wings outspread, out-spread, ever ready to brood and shelter. shel-ter. Kemp's eyes left Mrs. J. Y.'s face and swept over the scene again. "Speakin' of bars," he went ou in his soft drawl. "I don't think a missus ever has no call to handle drinks over an' above what goes In 'ud out of a I milk pall, which isn't drink In a man-I man-I ner o' speaklu'. I can't rightly rec'llect that I ever seen a missus leaniu' over either side of a bar In this country, bul I've strayed some from the home fence cn' you may be su'prised. Mis' Wayne, to know thet they's lands where no one ain't never heerd tell on a barman an' where barmaids is some commoner'!! the milkin' brand." "Yes?" said Mrs. .1. Y. encouragingly. encourag-ingly. "Sho' thing." replied Kemp; "I seen 'em. I won't forget the fust time because be-cause 1 was consld'able embarrassed I missed a steamer in Noo Yawk an the firm was In a hurry, so they senl me acrost to S'uthampton, an' while 1 was waitin' for the Brazil boat a fellei I'd picked up ou boa'd showed nil around some. Well, it wa'n't long be fore he corralled me, quite willin', ir a bar. I pulled off my hat and b says, 'Why d'you take off yo' hat?' anc I says, 'Why don't you take off yourn' Don't you see they's a lady hea'?' Ther he bust out laughln' and everybodj Uiat was nea' enough to hea' bust oul laughiu' an' the missus behind the bai laughed, too, though somehow it didn't sound as If sh-? laughed because sh couldn't be'p it." Kemp paused to blush over the mem ory. He did not notice that the judg( and J. Y. had drawn quietly nearei and that the rest of the group ol grown-ups were intent on his words "They's times," he continued, "wher it's fittin' that a man should be without shootln' Irons an' that was one of 'em I can't rightly say what would havt happened but guessin's easy. Wber he was through laughln' the feller thai was showin' me around slapped me on the back and sez, 'That ain't no lady it's a barmaid.' An' then they all laughed some mo' and the missus just kind o' laughed an' I mought 'a' been drenmln', but I thought I seen a look in her eyes thet says she wasn't laugh in' inside at all. Ever sence then I've been of opinion that a missus has nc call to handle drinks an' I ce'tainly hope I'll never see one a'doin' of if under the home fence." Kemp stayed at Maple House for a week. Before he left he was known throughout the countryside. His lanky figure, drooping mustaches, domed hat and the way he held out the reins in front of him when he rode marked him from the start, and when the youth of the surrounding farms learned thai he was a genuine cowboy that had ridden everything with four legs, they worshiped from afar and gloried in casual approaches. Just before he went away Kemp took It upon himself to call on Alix. Alan led him to where she sat on the lawn among the trees at The Firs and left him. Alix looked up in wonder a1 his tall, lank form. Kemp held his hal in his hand and twisted it nervously. "Mis' Lansing," he said, "I want you should let me say a few words to ye. I seen Mister Lansing 'bout five weeks ago." Alix sprang to her feet, her pale cheeks aflame. "Yes?" she said. "When when is he coming?" She sank down again and burled her face in her hands. The shame of putting that question to a stranger overwhelmed over-whelmed her. Kemp sat down near her. "Sho, Mis' Lansing," he said, "don' you take it hard that you're gettln' word of Mr. Lansing through me. Him an' me an' Lieber's ben 'most pardners." Tenderness had crept Into Kemp's drawl. Alix looked up. "Please," she said, "tell me all about him all about these years." Kemp hesitated before he spoke. "I ain't got the words ner the right to tell you all about them three years, Mis' Lansing, an' I can't tell you all about Mr. Lansing, 'cause the biggest part o' some men don't meet the eye it's Inside on 'em. Thet's the way It is with Mr. Lansing. I c'n tell you, though, thet Mr. Lansing is well an' strong strong enough to swing a steer by the tail. "That's what I know. Now I'll tell ye some o' my thoughts. Mr. Lansing wa'n't born to be a maverick. Right now, I'm willin' to wager, he's headed for home and the corral, but he ain't coinin' on the run he's browsin' and chewin' his cud. "When I seen him five weeks ago 1 thought on hog-tyin' him an' bringin' bim along, 'cause Mr. Wayne had tol' me about you an' the two-year-oU. But it come to me that a woman of sperlt one of ourn wouldn't want her man should be brought in. She'd sooner he'd hog-tie hissefT." Alix' head hung in thought. Her bauds were clasped in her lap. As Kemp's last words sank in the first smile of many days came to her lips. Kemp rose and said good-by. Witt his hat pulled well over his brows and his hands in his pockets, he slouched toward the gate. Alix jumped np and followed him. She laid her thin, light hand on his arm. "Thank you.' she said, a little breathlessly. Kemp's deep-set eyes twinkled down ou her. lie held out his big. rough hand and Alix gripped it. "Not good-by," she said. x, Kemp is a simple soul, for all J his travels. Will Alix be able 1 ; to worm out of him the facts I ! ; ibout Gerry's affair with little Margarita and "the boy" in South America? . I (TO BE COXTINUKD.) I j High Explosive Necessary. Edith If you didn't want Mr. Bore-leigh Bore-leigh to stay so late why didn't you drp a hint? Ethel Dropping a hint wouldn't move him unless it was made of dy naniite. What is prettier than the ; awakening love In a fine young I woman and her artless coquetry J I in leading the object of her af- I fection up to a proposal of mar- J riage? And what is more un- pleasant to witness than her re- I buff by a man who fails to un- I I derstand? I CHAPTER XXVIII Continued. ! -15- The subjectivity of a sick man disarms dis-arms woman; she knows she Is safe and abandons her .weapons of attack and defense as long- as the Invalid Is taken up with the state of his lusides. Clem was unaffected, even tender, with Alan as long as he was weak, but as Ids strength returned to him she withdrew, with-drew, one by one and gently, the Intimate Inti-mate attentions a woman accords to babes and the related helpless. But there was nothing absolute in her withdrawal; with-drawal; It was more a temptation than a denial, born of woman's innate desire de-sire to be pursued. While Alan was merely convalescent It contained a suppressed sup-pressed gayety, half demure, half mischievous, mis-chievous, but when his full strength came back and he failed to pursue, the gayety arrested itself, turned into a questioning wlstfulnoss and ended in the secret shame and blushes of the repulsed and undesired. Clem saw Alan build a barrier against her, a barrier of little tilings, each insignificant in itself but each lending and borrowing the strength of accumulation. Alan spent hours with the old captain, walked, rode and talked with J. Y. and the judge. Between Be-tween them. J. Y. and the judge had fixed up Lieber's affair and Alan had cabled. In the midst of women Alan seemed to be able to forget woman to forget her intentionally. There was nothing pointed in his avoidance. He kept his distance from Alix and Nance and Jane Elton in the same measure as from Clem. There was thus none of the single avoidance of the shy swain who lavishes attentions on all but her whom he would most dearly sue. Clem, least vain of beautiful women, sat long hours before her glass. Never before Tiad the charms It revealed been questioned, ques-tioned, never had she been forced to close in the ranks and call up the reserves, re-serves, and now she felt at a loss, unaccustomed un-accustomed to the ready moves of the coquette. Clem dropped her face in her hands and cried. Olem's tvns not the only troubled heart on tlie Hill. At The Firs Mrs. Lansing moved restlessly from room to room and stopped often to read and re-read a crumpled note Gerry's note to Alix. Alix was still In town. Mrs. Lan sing bad written to her and then wired. Alix replied telling her not to come, that she wished to be alone. For hours nt a time Mrs. Lansing replaced tin1 mirse at Gerry, junior's, side. Tie helped her. She felt that he could help Alix. She was almost plad when he developed devel-oped some tritlinir ailment becoming, to his years. She wired a?ain and this ! time Alix came, frightened. Alix was 1 HUe a wilted (lower, but she braced herself until Gerry, junior, recovered into his healthy self. Then she drooped once more and refused to be comforted. com-forted. If It had not been for Alan, Alix' trouble would h:ive east a gloom over the rest of Ited Hill, but it was known that Alan had sought out Mrs. Lan-sini; Lan-sini; and told her that not even he knew just how (Jerry's battle stood. hut that he did Unow that there was a battle and that Gerry would surely come back as soon as he had fouuht tiis way clear. So the Ilil! in general went almost untroubled on its way trying to forget that it was still awaiting a fulfillment, and even Alix began to gte:in a litt'e ova fort from the thought that nope w .is nut 'h-trivd. Her heart was sick tier faith wrak. but hope still lived Slu- .la-ig through the long days to Gfiiy. junior, and waited. At Maple House the beating of young hearts amounted to a din, but It was smUen;y stilled ty a day of drench ing ram. A f ter the very ta me excitement of seeing .1. V. and the judge off ror ttie city, gloom settled tn the faces of the children. Cousin Tom. in rubber hoots and coat, camp down the road from Klin House to Jin. I company for misery. The barn was requisitioned and Decaine the si .;t' of a subdued frolic, but it af-(':!. af-(':!. m( i'i'Vl'.t diversion. The hay v. i hi yet. the empty lofts were dreary. In the afternoon Mrs. J. Y. was besieged to surrender the house and finally did. Alan had gone to his room and closed the door. The captain was plunged in invulnerable slumber. Somebody rapped at Alan's door and he called, "Come In." The door opened and repealed Nance, junior. Behind her was a giggling, whispering throng. The spirit of fun danced In Nance's eyes. Her cheeks were flushed and her golden head was in disarray. "Oh, Cousin Alan," she cried, "grandma's given us leave for hide and seek and we're alt going to play except mother and grandma and the captain. Please come, too. Cousin Alan." From behind her came a modified echo, "Pleath do, Couthin Alan." Alan smiled and laid down his book. "Ajj right," he laughed. Maple House was a rambling abode that had grown and spread like the giant maples that sheltered it. In what age the captain had demanded a wing or some bygone Nance a nursery for her children was chronicled in the annals an-nals of the house Itself, to be revealed only to the searching, architectural eye. The key to the rambling structure struc-ture lay in the thick-walled dining room, the parlor, one bedroom and the kitchen. From the nucleus of these four rooms Maple House had grown, Imposed Im-posed and superimposed, until it overflowed over-flowed the arbitrary bourne of kitchens kitch-ens and front doors and like some mounded vine rippled off on all sides. In vast living room, sunny nurserio; and a broken fringe of broad verandas. Clem Stood Before Him Dazed. There were nooks that were satisfied and held back from further encroachment encroach-ment and there were outstanding corners cor-ners that jutted boldly out over the sloping lawns and threatened a further raid. Inside, the pr.ths of daily life ran clearly enough through the maze, but on their flanks hung rMiuy a somber den for ambush or retreat. Cavernous closet, shadowy corners, lumbered attics at-tics and half-forgotten intersiices of discarded space opened dark gorges to the intrepid, and threatened the nervous nerv-ous and unwary with what they might bring forth. The gods of childhood's games themselves could not have builded a better scene for that mot palpitating of sports, hide and seel: on a ainy day. Alan soon entered into the spirit of the game. He found himself rernllecr-ing rernllecr-ing things about Maple House th;'t tie had more than half forgotten; strange byways under the roof; a vacant chamber, cham-ber, turned into a trunk room because i one by one it had been robbed of its i windows; and lastly the little attic ! that had been, as it were, left behind ' a wall. Through this dreamland of a hundred hun-dred children flitted the brood of the , day. marshaled rather breathlessly tn I Clem and Alan. Anxious whispers, j the scurrying of lightly shod feet, then i a sudden silence but for the flutelike counting of some juvenile It, were fol-! fol-! lowed by sudden screams and a wild ! race for the goal. Maple House had ; never countenanced the effete and diluted di-luted sport of I Spy; it was all for hide and seek, where you had to hold your man when found or beat him to the goal. Great was the excitement when the littlest It of all caught Cousin Alau by a tackle around the ankle that spoke a volume of promise for the littlest It's academic career and |