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Show By ETHEL HUESTON -prudce of tSe'parsonace- Copyright Bobbs-Merrill Co. THE PROFESSOR COMES TO SEE THEM ATJ MAKES AN ANNOUNCEMENT THAT DEPRESSES CAROL ! THEN SHE SURPRISES HIM i Synopsis. Tin; slory concerns the household of Rev. Mr. Starr, a Methodist minister si t Mount Murk, In., and the affairs of his five lovenlile daughters Prudence, the eldest; Fairy, the next; Carol and I.ark, twins; and Connie, the "hahy." Prudence marries and poos away. Hit place as "mother" In the homo is taken hy Aunt Grace. 1'airy Is engaged to wed. The twins and the "haliy," just coming into womanhood, have the usual bny-nnd-girl love affairs, and the usual amazing adventures of adolescence. CHAPTER VII Continued. 8 "Did they tell you about It?" "Yes, they told me. They told me." "Come on Into my ollice," he said, "you must write it up while It is fresh In your mind. You'll do It better while the feeling is on you." Lark Razed at him stupidly, not comprehending. com-prehending. "Write It up?" she repeated confusedly. confus-edly. "Yes, for the paper. How they looked, what they said, how It happened everything. We want to scoop on it." "nut I don't think they would want It told." Lark gasped. "Oh probably not, but people want to know about It. Don't you remember what I told you? The press Is a powerful pow-erful taskmaster. He asks hard duties of us, but we must obey. We've got to give the people what they want. There's a reporter down from Burlington Burling-ton already, but he couldn't get anything any-thing out of them. We've got a clear scoop on It." Lark glanced fearfully over her shoulder. A huge menacing shadow lowered black behind her. The press ! She shuddered again. "I can't write It up," she faltered. "Mrs. Daly she Oh, I held her in my arms, Mr. Raider, and kissed her, and we cried all morning, and I can't write It up. I I am the minister's daughter, you know. I can't." "Nonsense, now, Lark," he said, "be sensible. You needn't give all the sob part. I'll touch it up for you. Just write out what you saw, and what they suld, and I'll do the rest. Run along now. Be sensible." Lark glanced over her shoulder again. The press seemed tremendously tremendous-ly big, leering at her, threatening her. Lark gasped, sobblngly. Then she sat down at Mr. Raider's resk, and drew a pad of paper toward her. For five minutes she sat immovable, immov-able, body tense, face stern, breathless, rigid. Mr. Raider after one curous, satisfied glance, slipped out and flosed the door softly after him. He felt he could trust to the newspaper instinct to get that story out of her. Finally Lark, despairingly, clutched a pencil and wrote : Terrible Tragedy of the Early" Morning. Daly Family Crushed With Sorrow. Her mind passed rapidly back over the story she had heard, the father's occasional wild bursts of temper, the pitiful efforts of the family to keep his weakness hidden, the Insignificant altercation al-tercation at the breakfast table, the cry of the startled baby, and then the sudden ungovernable fury that lashed For Five Minutes She Sat Immovable, Body Tense, Face Stern. him. the two children ! Lark shuddered shud-dered ! She glanced over her shoulder again. The fearful dark shadow was very close, very terrible, ready to envelop en-velop her in its smothering dcptVss. She sprang to her feet and rushed out of the ollice. Mr. Raider was in the doorway. She flung herself upon him, crushing the paper In his hand. "I can't," she cried, looking in terror over her shoulder as she spoke. "I can't. I don't want to be a newspaper woman. I don't want any literary career. I am a minister's daughter, Mr. Raider. I can't talk about people's troubles. I want to go home." Mr. Raider looked searchingly into the white face, and noted the fright-wied fright-wied eves. "There, now," he said sooth- I ugly, "never mind the Daly story. I'll cover it myself. I guess it was too hard an assignment to begin with, and you a friend of the family and all. Let it go. You stay at home this afternoon. after-noon. Come bad: tomorrow and I'll start you again. Maybe I was too hard on you today." "I don't want to," she cried, looking back at the shadow, which seemed somehow to have receded a little. "I don't want to be a newspaper woman. I think I'll be the other kind of writer not newspapers, you know, just plain writing. I'm sure I shall like it better. I wasn't cut out for this line, I know. I want to go now." "Run along," he said. "I'll see you later on. You go to bed. You're nearly near-ly sick." Dignity? Lark did not remember that she had ever dreamed of dignity. She just started for home, for her father. fa-ther. Aunt Grace and the girls ! The shabby old parsonage seemed suddenly sudden-ly very bright, very sunny, very safe. The dreadful dark shadow was not pressing so close to her shoulders, did not feel so smotheringly near. A startled group sprang up from the porch to greet her. She flung one arm around Carol's shoulder, and drew her twin with her close to her aunt's side. "I don't want to be a newspaper woman," wom-an," she cried, in n high excited voice. "I don't like it. I am awfully afraid of The Press " She looked over her shoulder. The shadow was fading away I:the distance. "I couldn't do it. I---" And then, crouching, with Carol, close against her mint's side, clutching one of the soft hands in her own, she '.old the story. "I couldn't, Fairy," she declared, looking beseechingly into the strong kind face of her sister. "I couldn't. Mrs. Daly sobbed so, and her hands were so brown and hard, Fairy, she kept rubbing my shoulder, and saying, 'Oh, Lark, oh. Lark, my little children.' I couldn't. I don't like newspapers, Fairy. Really, I don't." Fairy looked greatly troubled. "I wish father were at home," she said very quietly. "Mr. Raider meant all right, of course, but it was wrong to send a young girl like you. Father is there now. It's very terrible. You did just exactly right, Larkie. Father will say so. I guess maybe it's not the job for a minister's girl. Of course, the story will come out, but we're not the ones to tell it.v "But the career," suggested Carol. "Why," said Lark. "I'll wait a little and then have a real career, you know, stories, and books, and poems, the kind that don't harrow people's feelings. I really don't think It is right. Don't you remember Prudence says the parsonage parson-age is a place to hide sorrows, not to hang them on the clothesline for every one to see.v She looked for a last time over her shoulder. Dimly she saw a small dark cloud all that was left of the shadow which had seemed so eager to devour her. Her arms clasped Carol with renewed intensity. "Oh," she breathed, "oh, isn't the parsonage lovely, Carol? I wish father would come. You all look so sweet, and kind, and oh, I love to be at home." CH AFTER VIII. A Clear Call. The tinkle of the telephone disturbed the family as they were at dinner, and Connie, who sat nearest, rose to answer an-swer the summons, while Carol, at her corner of the table struck a tragic attitude. at-titude. "If Joe Graves has broken anything, he's broken our friendship for good and all. These fellows that break themselves them-selves " "Break themselves?" asked her father fa-ther gravely. "Yes any of his members, you know, his leg, or his arm, or If he has, I must say frankly that I hope it is his nock. These boys that break themselves at the last minute, thereby breaking dates, are " "We'd," Connie said calmly, "if you're through, I'll begin." "Oh, goodness, Connie, deafen one ar and listen with the other. You've got to learn to hear in a hubbub. Go on then, I'm through. But I haven't forgotten that I missed the Thanksgiving Thanksgiv-ing banquet last year because Phil broke his ankle that very afternoon on the ice. What business had he on the ice when he had a date " "Ready?" asked Connie, as the phone rang again, insistently. "Go on, then. Don't wait until I get started. Answer it." Connie retuoT ;d the receiver and called the customary "Hello." Then, "Yes, just a minute. It's for you, Carol." Carol rose darkly. "It's Joe," she said in a dungeon-dark voice. "lie's broken, I foresee it. If there's anything any-thing I despise and abominate it's a breaker of dates. Men have no business busi-ness being broken, except their hearts, when girls are mixed up in it. Hello? Oh; oh-h-h! Yes it's professor! How are you? Yes, indeed oh, yes. I'm going to be home. Y'es, indeed. Come about eight. Of course I'll be here nothing important it didn't amount to anything at all just a little old everyday affair. Yes, I can arrange ar-range it nicely. We're so anxious to see you All right Good-by." She turned back to the table, her face flushed, eyes shining. "It's professor! pro-fessor! He's in town just overnight, and he's coming out. I'll have to phone Joe" "Anything I despise and abominate it's a breaker of dates," chanted Connie. Con-nie. "Oh's that's different," explained Carol. "This Is professor! Besides, this will sort of even up for the Thanksgiving banquet last year." "But that was Phil and this is Joe!" "Oh. that's all right. It's just the principle, you know, nothing personal about it." She stood thoughtfully beside the table, her brows puckered unbecomingly. unbecom-ingly. "I think," she said at last slowly, with wary eyes on her father's quiet face, "I think I'll let the tuck out of my old rose dress. It's too short." "Too short! Why, Carol" interrupted inter-rupted her aunt. "Too short for the occasion, I mean. I'll put it back tomorrow." Once more her eyes turned cautiously fatherward. "You see, professor still has the 'little twinnie' idea in his brain, and I'm going go-ing to get it out. It isn't consistent with our five feet seven. We're grown up. Professor has got to see it. You skoot upstairs, Connie, won't you, there's a dear, and bring it down, both of them, Lark's too. Lark where did you put that ripping knife? Aunt Grace, will you put the iron on for me? It's perfectly right that professor should see we're growing up. We'll have to emphasize it something extra, or he might overlook It. It makes him feel Methuselish because he's so awfully smart. But I'll soon change his mind for him." In less than two minutes the whole family was engaged In growing Carol up for the occasion. They didn't see any sense in it, but Carol seemed so unalterably convinced that It was necessary nec-essary that they hated to question her motives. If her idea had been utterly to dura-found dura-found the unsuspecting professor, she succeeded admirably. Carefully she planned her appearance, giving him just the proper interval of patient waiting wait-ing In the presence of her aunt and sisters. Then, a slow parting of the curtains and Carol stood out, brightly, gladly, her slender hands held out in -'el come, Carol, with long skirts swishing swish-ing around her white-slippered feet, her slender throat rising cream-white above the soft fold of old rose lace, her graceful head with its royal crown of bronze-gold hair, tilted most charmingly. charm-ingly. The professor sprang to his feet and stared at her. "Why, Carol," he exclaimed ex-claimed soberly, almost sadly, as he crossed the room and took her hand. "Why, Carol! Whatever have you been doing to yourself overnight?" Of course, it was far more "overnight" "over-night" than the professor knew, but Carol saw to it that there was nothing to arouse his suspicion on that score. He lifted her hand high, and looked frankly down the long lines of her skirt, with the white toes of her slippers slip-pers showing beneath. He shook his head. And though he smiled again, his voice was sober. "I'm beginning to feel my age," he said. This was not what Carol wanted, and she resumed her old childish manner with a gleeful laugh. "What on earth are you doing in Mount Mark again, P'fessor!" When Carol wished to be particularly coy, she said "p'fessor." It didn't sound exactly ex-actly cultured, but spoken in Carol's voice was really irresistible. "Why, I came to see you before your hair turned gray, and wrinkles marred you " "Wrinkles won't mar mine," cried Carol emphatically. "Not ever! I use up a whole jar of cold cream every three weeks ! I won't have 'em. Wrinkles! Wrin-kles! P'fessor, you don't know what a time I have keeping myself young." She joined in the peat of laughter that rang out as this age-wise saM-ment saM-ment fell from her lips. "You'll be surprised," he said, "what does bring me to Mount Mark. I have given up my position in- New-York, New-York, and am going to school aga'n in Chicago this winter. I shall be here only tonight. Tomorrow I begin to study again. I am changing my line of work. The fact s. I'm going to enter the ministry min-istry mynelf. and will have a couple of years In a theological seminary first. Utter stupefaction greeted this explanation. ex-planation. Not one word was spoken. "I've been going Into these things rather deeply the last two years. For a year I've felt it would finally come to this, but I preferred my own job, and I thought I would stick it cut, as Carol says. But I've decided to quit balking, and answer the call." Aunt Grace nodded, with a warmly approving smile. "But, professor," said Carol faintly and falteringly, "didn't you tell me you were to get five thousand dollars a year with the institute from this on?" "Yes. I was." Carol gazed at her family despairingly. despairing-ly. "It would take an awfully loud call to drown the chink of five thousand thou-sand gold dollars in my ears, I am afraid." "It was a loud call." he said. And he looked at her curiously, for of all the family she alone seemed distrait and unonthusiastic. "But, professor," she argued, "can't people do good without preaching? Think of all the lovely things you Carol Was Standing Among the Rose-Bushes, Rose-Bushes, Tall and Slim. conld do with five thousand dollars! Think of the influence a prominent educator has! Think of " "I have thought of It, all of it. But haven't I got to answer the call?" "Tell us all about It," said Fairy cordially. cor-dially. "We are so Interested in it. Of course, we think It Is the finest work In the world." She looked reproachfully reproachful-ly at Carol, but Carol made no res-sponge. res-sponge. He told them, then, something of his plan, which was very simple. He had arranged for a special course at the seminary in Chicago, and then would enter the ministry like any other young man starting upon his lifework. "I'm a Presbyterian, you know," he said. "I'll have to go around and preach until un-til I find a church willing to put up with me. T won't have a nresldine elder to make a niche for me." He talked frankly, even with enthusiasm, en-thusiasm, but always he felt the curious curi-ous disappointment that Carol sat there silent, her eyes upon the hands in her lap. Once or twice she lifted them swiftly to his face, and lowered them instantly again. Only he noticed when they were raised, that they were unusually deep, and that something lay within shining brightly, like the reflection reflec-tion of a star in a clear dark pool of water. - "I must go now," he said, "I must have a little visit with my uncle, I just wanted to see you, and tell you about it. I knew you would like It." Carol's hand was the first placed in his, and she murmured an inaudible word of farewell, her eyes downcast, and turned quickly away. "Don't let them wait for me," she whispered to Lark, and then she disappeared. The professor turned away from the hospitable door very much depressed. He shook his head impatiently and thrust his hands deep Into his pockets like a troubled boy. Half-way down the board walk he stopped, and smiled. Carol was standing among the rose bushes, tall and slim in the cloudy moonlight, waiting for him. She held out her hand with a friendly smile. "I came to take you a piece, if you want me," she said. "It's so hard to talk when there's a roomful, isn't It? I thought maybe you wouldn't mind." "Mind? It was dear of you to think of it," he said gratefully, drawing her hand into the curve of his arm. "I was wishing I could talk with you alone. You won't be cold?" ( In this case the course of true love seems destined to run rmoothly. Professor Duke convinces con-vinces Carol that he is doing the right thing in studying for the ministry. (TO BE CONTINUED.) |