OCR Text |
Show , j 0 ' l Xfc lil ' Illustration by Z j IRWIN MYERS J 7 Copyright by Harper A Brothers DAVE BECOMES STAR REPORTER. RE-PORTER. Synopsis. David Elden, son of a drunken, shiftless ranchman, almost al-most a maverick of the foothills, Is breaking bottles with his pistol from his running cayuse when the first automobile he has ever seen arrives and tips over, breaking the leg of Doctor Hardy but not injuring injur-ing his beautiful daughter Irene. Dave rescues the Injured man and brings a doctor from 40 miles away. Irene takes charge of the housekeeping. Dave and Irene take many rides together and during her father's enforced stay they get well acquainted. They part with a kiss and an Implied promise. Dave's father dies and Dave goes to town to seek his fortune. A man named Conward teaches him his first lesson les-son in city ways. Dave has a narrow nar-row escape, ts disgusted and turns over a new leaf. Fate brings him Into contact with Melvin Duncan, who sees the inherent good in the boy and welcomes him to his home, where he meets Edith, his host's' pretty daughter. Dave becomes a newspaper reporter. g CHAPTER V Continued. He was at flie Duncan house earlier than usual Sunday afternoon, but not too early for Edith. She was dressed for tlie occasion ; she seemed more fetching than he had ever seen her. She ted the way over the path followed fol-lowed the Sunday before until again they Sitt by the rushing water. Dave had again been filled with a sense of Keenie Hardy, and his conversation was disjointed and uninteresting. She tried unsuccessfully to draw him out with questions about himself;" then tool; rlie more astute tack of speaking of her own past life. It had begun in an eastern city, ever so many years ago Chivalry could not allow that to pass. "Oh, not so very many!" said Dave. "How many?" she teased. "Guess." "Nineteen, " he hazarded. "Oli, more than that." "Twenty-one?" "Oh, less than that." And their first confidence was established. "Twenty," thought Dave to himself. "Reenie must be about twenty"' now." "And I was five when when Jack died," she went on. "Jack was my brother, you know. He was seven. . . Well, we were playing, and I stood on tlie car tracks, signaling the motor-man, motor-man, to make him ring his bell. On came the car, with the bell clanging, and the man in blue looking very cross. Jack must have thought I was waiting too long, for he suddenly rushed on the track to pull me off." She stopped, and sa looking at the rushing water. "I heard him cry, 'Oh. daddy, dad-, dad-, dy !' above the screech of the brakes." "Sorrow is a strange thing," she went on, after a pause. "I don't pretend pre-tend to understand, but it seems to have its place in life. I guess it's a natural law. Well " She paused again, and when she spoke it was in a lower, more confidential note. "I shouldn't have told you this, Dave. I shouldn't know it myself. But before that things hadn't been well. Just as good as they might in our home. . . . They've been different since." The shock of her words brought him upright. To him it seemed that Mr. and Mrs. Duncan were the ideal father and mother. It was impossible to associate as-sociate them with a home where things "hadn't been just as good as they might." But her half-confession left no room for remark. "Mother told me," she went on, after af-ter a long silence, and without looking at him. "A few years ago, 'If some one had only told me, when I was your age,' she said." "Why do you tell me this?" he suddenly sud-denly demanded. "Did You Ever Feel That You Just Had to Tell Some One?" "Did yon er feel that you Just had .o teli some one?" It wns bis turn to pause. "Yes," he corifi'K-nl. tit length. '"J'hi'Tj n il me." So he led her down through the tragedy of his youth mid the lone'v, rudderless course of his boyhood. She followed sympathetically to the day when i""tor Hardy licit 1 his daughter Irene became guests at the Elden ranch. But before the end he stopped. stop-ped. Should he tell her all? Why not? She had opened her life to him. So he told her of that last evening with Irene, and the compact under the trees and the moon. Her hand had fallen into his as they talked, but here he felt it slowly withdrawn. But he was fired with the flame of love which had sprung up in the breath of his reminiscence. reminis-cence. . . '. And Edith was his friend and his chum. "And you have been true?" she said, i but her voice was distant and strained. "Yes." "And you are waiting for her?" "Yes, I am waiting. ... It must be so." "It is cold," she said. "Let us go home." CHAPTER VI. Whatever the effect of this conversation conver-sation had been upon Edith, she concealed con-cealed it carefully, and Dave counted it one of the fortunate events of his life. He had been working under the spur of his passion for Irene, but now this was to be supplemented by the friendship of Edith. That it was more than friendship on her part did not occur to him at all, but he knew she was interested in him and he was doubly determined that he would justify her interest and confidence. But ju.sl at this time another incident inci-dent occurred which, was to turn the flood of his life into strange channels. Dave had been promoted to the distinction distinc-tion of a private office a little six-by-six "box stall." as the sport editor described de-scribed it but, nevertheless, a distinction dis-tinction shared only with the managing manag-ing editor and Bert Morrison, compiler of the woman's page. Her name was Roberta, but she was masculine to the tips and everybody called her Bert. Into Dave's sanctuary one afternoon after-noon in October came Conward. His habitual cigarette hung from Its accustomed ac-customed short tooth, and his round, florid face seemed puffier than usual. His aversion to any exercise more vigorous vig-orous than offered by a billiard cue was beginning to "reflect itself in a premature rotundity of figure. " 'Lo, Dave!" he said. "Alone?" "Almost." said Dave, without looking look-ing up from his typewriter. Then, turning, he kicked the door shut with his heel and said, "Shoot!" "This strenuous life is spoiling your good manners, Dave, my boy," said Conward, lazily exhaling a thin cloud of smoke. "If work made a man rich you'd die a millionaire. But it isn't work that makes men rich. Ever think of that?" "If a man does not become rich by work he has no right to become rich at all," Dave retorted. "What do you mean by that word 'right,' Dave? Define it." "Haven't time. We go to press at four." "That's the trouble with fellows like you," Conward continued. "Y'ou haven't time. You stick too close to your jobs. You never see the better chances lying all around. Now suppose sup-pose you let them go to press without you today and you listen to me for a while." Dave was about to throw him out when a gust of yearning for the open spaces swept over him again. It was true enough. lie was giving his whole life to his paper. Promotion was slow, and there was no prospect of a really big position at any time. He remembered remem-bered Mr. Duncan's remark about newspaper training being the best preparation for something else. With sudden decision he closed his desk. "Shoot!" he said again, but this time with less Impatience. "That's better," said Conward. "Have you ever thought of the future of this town?" "Well, 1 can't say that I have. I've been busy with Its present." "That's what I supposed. You've been too busy with the details of your little job to give attention to bigger things. Now let me pass you a few pieces of information tilings you must know, but you have never put them together before. What are the natural elements which make a country coun-try or city, a desirable place to live? I'll tell you. Climate, transportation, good water, variety of landscape, opportunity op-portunity of Independence. (liven these conditions, everything else can he added. Then there's transportation. transporta-tion. This Is one of the few centers in America which has a Norlh-nnd-South trade equal to its Kast-nnd-West trade. We're on the crossroads. Every settler who goes Into (lie North and It is a mighty North means more North-and-Soiilh trade. I tell you, Dave, (he movement is on now, and before long It'll hit us like a tidal wave. I've been a bit of a gambler all my life, but this Is the biggest Jack-pot ever was, and I'm going to sit In. Mow about you?" "I'd like lo think It over. Promotion Promo-tion doesn't come very fast on this Job. that's sure." "Yes, ii 1 1 I while you are thinking It over chances are) slipping by. I 'on I think It over Hit It over. I tell you. Dave, there are big things In Hie air. They lire beginning to move already. Move yon nnileed i be strangers .n , town of late? That's the advance guard " "Advance guard of a real estate boom ?" "Hish ! That's a bad word. Get away from . it. Say 'industrial development.' devel-opment.' "Let me elaborate. We'll say Alkali Lake is a railway station where lots go begging at a hundred dollars each. In drops a well-dressed stranger buys ten lots at a hundred and fifty each and the old-timers are chuckling over sticking him. But in drops another strairger and buys a block of lots at two hundred each. Then the old-timers old-timers begin to wonder if they didn't sell too soon. '-By the time the fourth or fifth stranger has dropped in they are dead sure of it, and they are trying try-ing to buy their lots back. All sorts of rumors get started, nobody knows how. New railways are coming, big factories are to be started, minerals have been located, there's a secret war on between great moneyed interests. The town council meets and changes "If a Man Does Not Become Rich by Work He Has No Right to Become Rich at All," Dave Retorted. (he name to Silver City having regard, re-gard, no doubt, to the alkali In the slough water. The old-timers, and all that great, innocent public which is forever hoping to get something for nothing, are now glad to buy Hie lots at five hundred to ten thousand dollars each, and by the lime they've bought It up the gang moves on. It's the smoothest game in the world, and every community will fall for it at least twice. . . . Well, they're here. "Of course. It's a little different In this case, because there really is some-, thing in the way of natural advantages to support It. It's not all hot air. "Now, Dave, I've been .dipping in a little already, and it struck me we might work together on this deal. Your paper has considerable weight, and if that weight falls the right way you won't find me stingy. For instance, an Item that this property" he produced pro-duced a slip with some legal descriptions descrip-tions "has been sold for ten thousand dollars to eastern investors very conservative investors from the East, don't forget that might help to (urn another deal that's just hanging. Sorry to keep you so long, hut perhaps you can catch the press yet." And with one of his friendly mannerisms Conward Con-ward departed. Dave sat for some minutes In a quandary. lie was discouraged with his salary, or, rather, with Hie lack of prospect of any Increase in bis salary. Conward's words had been very unsettling. unset-tling. They pulled In opposite directions. direc-tions. They fired him witli a new enthusiasm en-thusiasm for his city, and they intimated inti-mated that a gang of professional land-gamblers was soon to perpetrate an enormous theft, leaving the public holding the sack. Still, there must be a middle course somewhere. At any rate, he could use Conward's story about the land sale. That was news legitimate news. Of course. It might be a faked sale faked for Its news value but reporters are not paid for being detectives. The Evening Call carried a statement of Conward's sale, and on that statement was hung a column col-umn story on the growing prosperity of the city and Its assured future, owing ow-ing to its exceptional climate and natural resources, combined with Its co landing position on transportation transporta-tion routes, both east and west and north and south. Read what happens to Dave in the next installment. (TO Uli CUNTINUI';!).) |