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Show owom HALL I "DIDN'T HE SEND SOME WORD TO ME?" Synopsis. Tn a base hospital at Neuilly, France, his face disfigured beyond recognition, nn American soldier serving in the French army attracts at-tracts attention by his deep despondency. Asked by the surgeons for a I photograph to guide them In making over his face, he offers In derision S a picture of the Savior, bidding them take that as a model. They do so. if making a remarkable likeness. Invalided home, on the boat he meets Martin Mar-tin Harmon, New York broker, who Is attracted by his remarkable features. fea-tures. The ex-soldier gives his name as '"Henry Milliard." and his home 1 as Syracuse, New York. He left there under a cloud, and is embittered against his former fellow townsmen. Harmon makes him a proposition to sell mining stocks In Syracuse, concealing his identity. He accepts It, seeing In it a chance to make good and prove he has been underestimated. In Syracuse "nilllard" (in reality Richard Morgan) is accepted as a stranger. He visits James Cullen. a former employer, relating a story of the death of Richard Morgan, and is surprised at the regret shown by Cullen and his youthful daughter Angela. m CHAPTER III. Continued. A Willi Angela peering hard over his houlder. Mr. Cullen strained to tie-cipher tie-cipher the uneven penmanship. lie began to read aloud: "Dear Mr. Cullen: "I am asking Mr. Henry miliard lo bring you this letter personally. I ivunt him to tell you what I'm not writing, too. And you can tell other people, if you care to. "I want you to know that since I've had time to think, I've changed my mini! about a good many things. I've come to the conclusion that you were right and I was wrong. Maybe you won't remember the last talk we had together, but I do. You told me then that I didn't have it in me to make good unless I learned that I was about the must worthless young man in town, and the one with the hardest row to ioe in order to make something out of myself, and set out from there. Well, I've learned it. I had to. Of course, I couldn't agree with you at the time. That wouldn't have been expected. But over here I've had one lesson after another. Some of them were pretty bitter, but they've all helped. And since May, when I was hurt, I've had lots of time to think them over. "I never deserwd your kindness and sow I can't ever repay it. But it may please you to know that this war ias taught me what you tried to, and couldn't that I was as close to zero value at home as a man could be. It's only through this war that I've got sny pride in myself, and I'm sort of like Kipling's gentleman ranker I'm proud of myself because I've done away with all the other kinds of pride 1 used to have. And I believe I've made good not as a great general, hut as a private soldier. That was the trouble at home I was only fit to be a private, and I thought I could be a general off hand. You said I'd do well if I learned that, and I have. They gave me the Croix de Guerre, nd in n way, that proves it, doesn't 1 Notice that thev didn't even make I 1'e a corporal, though ! That's all right I haven't had enough training jet to be a corporal ! It's curious that I'll admit that, isn't it? "I want you to know that I've thought of you a great deal. I don't blame you for letting me go. I did once, but I don't now. Please think of me. though, as a man who came through at the finish, even If he'd been pretty hopeless before. "Milliard, the best man in the world, has promised to bring you this letter. 1 hope you'll be glad to see him, and to hear his side of the story. This is my apology and my blessing, if that's worth anything to you. I send a kiss to Angela. "R. M." Mr. Cullen ended with a falling inflection, in-flection, and let the hand which held the letter drop to his knee. "The letter, as you might guess from the looks of it," said Hilliard, "was written at several different times according ac-cording to his strength. I want you to realize, too, Mr. Cullen, that it was no small effort for him to write it. And then I was in Switzerland when he died, and his possessions had afl ione to one of those tape-bound bureaus, bu-reaus, so that I had a fearful time to identify myself and get what he had meant me to have, and after that, I lad to make a sudden trip to Russia, and back to England again. There were delays delays. I was 111 for several mouths myself ; I had typhoid in London. I should have mailed these things to you long ago, but he had begged me to come in person, and I had promised. And every day I expected ex-pected that in another week or two I should start for home. I feel that 1 owe you this explanation and a great plea for forgiveness for what must seem to you like gross indifference indiffer-ence on my part. But I landed hardly hard-ly two weeks ago, and I came up to Tou at the earliest possible moment." "In some ways, he was a most re-siarkable re-siarkable young man." said Mr. Cul-Jen, Cul-Jen, irrelevantly. "Nobody ever un-i-rstood why lie turned out such a Mack sheep. Came from a fine old lamilyr I suppose his father was one of the most loved men in Onondaga 'i " liick lived for years on his a father's reputation, after people stopped noticing him on his own account. ac-count. Just took advantage of the fact that nobody could quite bear to be harsh to his father's son. But he was always a wild young chap, nothing noth-ing very bad, except that just too much of anything including liquor was just enough for him ! Had too quick a temper to be diplomatic enough to hold a job, and didn't care much about working hard, and finally the tide turned, and he began to get treated just as if his father hadn't been a sort of popular idol, and then his disposition soured, and he made some bad mistakes. I gave him the last job he ever had in Syracuse, but I had to let him go . . . and I told him some plain facts wdien I did. That's what he refers to." "I assumed," said Hilliard, hesitat-ly, hesitat-ly, "that at one time he had been what you might call . . . disappointed in love? Something was weighing on him he practically admitted . . . but that was one point that he didn't appear to w'aut to confess, even to me." "He was engaged to Carol Durant." Angela had taken the cross again, and held it like a precious relic. "She broke it off, just before he went away." "The day before," added Mr. Cullen. Cul-len. "That was one of the two reasons rea-sons why he went." Hilliard nodded. "I see. ... On account of his habits?" "That was the gossip," said Mr. Cullen Cul-len heavily. "Doctor Durant was supposed sup-posed to have " "Didn't he write to her?" asked Angela, An-gela, raising her eyes. "Not that I . . ." He stopped quickly. "I trust you'll forgive me, but I'd imagined from various remarks he made at different times, that he was really . . . that he was greatly great-ly attached to you." This last was addressed ad-dressed to Angela, who was both dignified digni-fied and shaken by the suggestion. Her father, however, nodded in the negative. "Angela wasn't much more than fifteen, fif-teen, sir. They- were great friends ; he was very fond of her. No, it was Carol , Durant he was engaged to. Didn't lie ask you to see her?" "No." "But you will, I hope, won't you?" "You can see Carol here tonight, if you care to," said Angela, uncertainly. "She and . . . and a friend of hers are coming over to talk about another Red Cross drive. Carol's on the committee. com-mittee. They ought to be here any minute now." "Yes," said Hilliard. "If I'm going to see her, I think I should rather see her here." Mr. Cullen sighed stertorously. "Well, perhaps It's better . . . and I shall want to telephone this to the Herald if you don't object. It's the least we can do, all things considered." consid-ered." . . . He reflected a moment. mo-ment. "How long are you staying in town. Mr. Hilliard?" "I've made no plans whatsoever," he said, after a slight pause. "I sold my interests to a British syndicate of bankers two months ago. My home is where my baggage is. I'm thinking of taking a day or two to see certain of Dick's friends the ones he talked about most and after that, the future Is on the knees of the gods." Mr. Cullen regarded him with sincere sin-cere respect. "L would give me great pleasure," he .-,..il, a trifle pompously, "if you would be my guest for the time you're here, Mr. Hilliard. It would please me very much indeed." Hilliard's heart pounded. "And me too," said Angela, gently. Hilliard's heart threatened to suffocate suffo-cate him; not entirely because the game was going so infinitely better than he had dared to hope, but also because it was Angela who entreated him. "It's wonderfully good of you," he protested, "but I couldn't disturb you to that extent. Thank you, but " Mr. Cullen stopped him by an inclusive in-clusive gesture. "You won't disturb us In the slightest slight-est ! I wish you'd come with us. Mr. Hilliard. I should feel much belter thru having you stay downtown." "Well" said Hilliard, dubiously. His soul was filled with unholy joy, but his outward demeanor was deprecatory. depre-catory. "It's ever so kind of you; .still " "As a favor to me," urged Mr. Cullen. Cul-len. "As a favor to me," echoed Angela, and Hilliard looked attentively at her, and was obviously swayed. She noted not-ed It; he had intended her to notice it. He gave her a smile which had the power, even in her somber mood, to draw a faint response in kind. "If you're sure it won't be a hardship hard-ship to you " "Nonsense! It's settled, then, is it? I'll send one of my cars down for your things." Hilliard's eyes flickered at the Ingenuous In-genuous vanity; he had recently learned that Mr. Cullen had made more money during the past twelve months than during the previous twelve years. "Well," he said, "if you're so charitable char-itable as to insist " "I do, sir, I do! . . . You're at the Onondaga, of course?" Angela, who had been listening intently, in-tently, started up at the unmistakable echo of fool falls on the walk. "Here comes Carol !" she gasped. "And . . . and Jack! Oh, Mr. Hilliard! Oh, dad! Who's going to tell her?" As Mr. Cullen flinched, Hilliard put out his hand In a motion of supreme restraint. "Whatever Dick Morgan may have been at home," he said, "I knew him after he offered his life for a great ideal, and I'm proud that he called me his friend. I'll tell Miss Durant myself, please. It's my right." And turned to face the girl he had tried to die for, and failed. CHAPTER IV. She had always been, when he last saw her, the outstanding beauty of Syracuse, but he was astounded to behold be-hold what the interval of two years had done for her. She had taken upon up-on herself a new maturity ; her figure, exceptionally graceful, was still slender slen-der ; but suggestive of a more womanly, woman-ly, a more inclusive charm. , He was being presented to her! He, who had kissed her a thousand times, was undergoing the ritual of presentation ! and she was smiling at him with those grave, sweet eyes of hers, and calling hlra by his adopted name ! His mask of protection had never seemed so slight, so insufficient ; the fragrance of her, and the illusion caused by this, threatened his balance bal-ance and set his nerves on edge ; fortunately, for-tunately, the routine of the conventions conven-tions intervened' to save him from his inarticulateness. For one thing, there was the rite of introduction to Armstrong, Arm-strong, and after that there was a dash of promiscuous conversation,, with not a little weather philosophy in it. Then came the inexorable hush caused by the presence of a stranger whose fads and fancies are still a matter mat-ter of conjecture, and out of that hush, a question, and Hilliard was suddenly visited by a species of self-hypnosis. If he had been moved at all by the sight of Angela, whom he had loved as a younger sister, he was, by comparison, com-parison, shaken as by a whirlwind by the sight of Carol Durant, whom he had loved as a woman. Not on the train, not at the hotel, not even when he witnessed Angela's, severe grief, had he remotely conceived that this instant would be so difficult to surmount. sur-mount. What in New York had seemed seem-ed a regeneration, and earlier on this same evening had appeared a very dubious deception, was rapidly taking upon itself the color of irremediable wrong. His imagination was aroused beyond belief; and as he stared in dumb suspense at Carol, recalling a thousand episodes and a thousand privileges of the long ago, he was preyed upon by a slow-stealing gritu-ness gritu-ness of despair which left him sick with misery. She was waiting for an answer and the others were waiting, too, and watching him. He felt that guilt was stamped on his every feature . . . ft -UMI I : jfe tiffi And Turned to Face the Girl He Had Tried to Die For. . he felt that every thought of his must he as crystal to the four who waited for h I in to speak. He was himself and he was not himself; him-self; he was ostensibly Henry Hilliard, a man in whom It couldn't be suspected suspect-ed that the heart and soul of Dicky Morgan were embodied ; he was trniv seendentalist ; a appointor at his own funeral. Sight of the Croix tie (iuerre of poor Pierre I'uiout. v ho in bequeathing be-queathing that Iinpros-,ive bit of bronze to him, hadn't dreamed that he was leaving a heritage of chicanery along with it, engendered in Hilliard a thrill which nearly found its outlet in a paroxysm of wild laughter. And the newspaper, with Dutout's most genuine citation In it! And the old passport photograph which he had hidden for fear that his real name, indorsed on it, might be cabled home, together with proof to the world that he hadn't been a hero that lie had failed in this, as in every other undertaking un-dertaking of his life. And all the dates in accuracy! And if anyone cared to trace back the story, where was the Haw? Where was there a loophole? And who would recognize Dick Morgan In his cloak and mask of utler miracle? Who had? Lightninglike, his brain Included all the salient items of the picture in a single flash. There was Dicky Morgan, Mor-gan, sailing away to France which could lie proved. There was a number, num-ber, and a name attached to it, and since Hilliard's sturdy defense of Dicky Morgan had had a grain of truth in it, and one of the steps of his many-sided progress carefully omitted a name had really been assumed, as-sumed, and had endured from the date of enlistment to the date of discharge. It was the individual's- recorded name in the army and at Neuilly and it wasn't Morgan and It wasn't Hilliard and it wasn't Dutout. No one here knew it, or ever would know It ; even Harmon didn't know it; it was the first sobriquet of a shell-torn individual individ-ual who had been taken to Neuilly, and had been made whole again. No one at Neuilly had ever set eyes on Dicky Morgan's real face ! But a certain cer-tain man named Dutout had been decorated dec-orated and died, and that could be proved was proved I Hilliard had borrowed Dutout's name in perfect safety; and the trail was cold. And here was a fourth man, Hilliard to take his word for it and the world is larger than the curiosity of incere people to encompass. . No if a Neuilly surgeon ever told as one of the mysterious chapters of the war what had happened to a certain cer-tain gloomy individual that summer, the name would suggest nothing. And as far as checking up the visits of a mythical Hilliard to a very real Dutout Du-tout was concerned, who would profess pro-fess to remember? The testimony of any single witness would be immaterial. immate-rial. The voice of Carol Durant was echoing echo-ing in Hilliard's ears, and Hilliard, yielding to a tidal wave of recklessness, reckless-ness, and of swelling anger at imaginary imagi-nary wrongs, looked squarely into Carol's eyes, and spoke with winning urgency. "Yes," he said. "I have news of Morgan. In fact, I'm here in Syracuse solely because I have It. I've just been telling Mr. Cullen and Miss Cullen Cul-len that I was with him when he died." She didn't speak, at first ; she merely mere-ly looked at Hilliard and grew very white, and her lips quivered. Presently Pres-ently she swayed a little, and reached out with her hand toward the back of a convenient chair. Armstrong stepped toward her, and Angela Cullen Cul-len slipped an arm around her waist. "He's . . . dead?" she repeated, and her tone was not yet free from a certain incredulity, as though the fact were of itself impossible, and the statement of It subject to discussion. "Yes, Miss Durant." , She moistened her lips; her eyes were very bright, unnaturally bright, so that Hilliard was fascinated, and appalled. "You . . . You know that?" she asked, again with that queer inflexion of amazed doubt. ' "Yes, I know it." The others were standing as statues; stat-ues; Mr. Cullen, snatching at the first idea of consolation to present itself, fumbled for his daughter's other hand, which still retained the trophy a better bet-ter man had won. "Here's what they gave him, Carol ! T nnt ! Ttirt Cmlv ,1a I Tn'f let's think of anything but what he . . . let's be proud of him! I "" "Oh, yes," she said Inertly, and took the cross in her palm. She dropped her eyes for a moment, then raised them to the level of Hilliard's. "Didn't he send some word to me?" "No." Hilliard's nod was very ministerial. min-isterial. "No, I'm sorry, but " Her eyebrows lifted, and her nostrils nos-trils dilated the merest trifle. Her breath was coming more rapidly now; she was nearing the breaking point of her resistance, and all of them knew it. The moment was agonizedly prolonged. Hilliard, gazing without a quaver at the girl he had thought he loved beyond ail else In this world or the next, was singularly relaxed as he observed her symptoms. She had really cared, then ... so much the greater pity that she hadn't kept him caring ... as she might. "Can that be possible?" she said, hardly above a whisper. "I'm sorry but " "I wouldn't have believed It could be true." She gave a long, tremulous breath, and looked about her, half-dazed half-dazed and half-perceptive. Her eyes strayed back to Hilliard. "Tell me about it," she said, almost inaudihly. "Carol, dear!" Angela was stimulated stimulat-ed to active sympathy. "Sit down please! Oh, Mr. Hilliard !" "No yes, I . . . I'll sit down !" Her eyes seemed magnetized to Hilliard's. Hil-liard's. "Only I want to hear I want to hear!" "Tell her from the beginning," said Cullen, mopping his forehead. Get a glass of water . . . anything else, Carol?" She shook her head. "Tell me !" she si id. "I v .-.ill lo I now !" So that Hilliard. inspirited by the re:.li:;::iioi th.it he way uudei ihu pro tectorate of the shadows, and gather-Ing gather-Ing fresh assurance with every sentence, sen-tence, went through that tragic narrative nar-rative a second time. And as he told the tale of Dicky Morgan, he was greatly engulfed by the surge of Dicky Morgan's grievances; his voice trembled trem-bled with riilueousness ; be gradually lost his loathing for the part he 'ay-ed, 'ay-ed, and played it with every atom of his energy; he was a defendant, and a witness and a judge for Dicky Morgan Mor-gan all in one and bis verdict was for acquittal. Miss Durant's eyes never left his face. "And that," she said presently, "is all there is to tell?" "That's the end," said Hilliard sljn-ply. sljn-ply. And in the long hiatus which followed, he was wondering . . , wondering . . . vague aimleaa thoughts, with no beginning and no conclusive outcome, but. the central figure, fig-ure, flitting, elusive, was always Carol Durant. He told himself fiercely that he hated her, that for two vengeful years he had hated her, that he had come back-to Syracuse primarily to see her again, with his whole soul for the wounds in his heart, the wounds of his body, still . . . O God! why couldn't the surgeons have cut away his memory, and left him peace ! He was prodigiously relieved when Mr. Cullen, well-meaning but awkward, awk-ward, blurted out n paradox of eulogy. Armstrong, eager to relieve the congested con-gested ways of thought, ventured Into the realm of platitude and something in his manner caught Hilliard's attention. atten-tion. The man was actually possessive and Hilliard, having no envy of his possession, cursed him on general principles nevertheless. And then "Miss Durant!" Hilliard was again in demand; there was a flood of incoherent questioning, and he was giving details, answering queries, volunteering information which might never have been asked, describing Neuilly, the hospital, the surgeons, the nurses, the wholly indescribable inde-scribable atmosphere of France in wartime. He was strengthening his position, phrase by phrase ; his insouciance insou-ciance redoubled ; he had laid a rock foundation never to be successfully assailed. There came an abrupt pause ; Miss Durant rose and came to him, and he was ov his feet to meet her. "Thank you," she said, giving him her hands. His heart missed a beat ; his blood ran gelid. "Thank you. If you can ... I wish you'd talk to me again before you go . . . alone . . . 1 wish it very much. You've made me ... at least, I can be glad you were there ... to help him, but I want to know so much more ... so infinitely much more . . ." A fleeting impulse clawed at Hilliard's Hil-liard's judgment; he yielded to it blindly. It meant the alteration of uis pian oi acuuu, u meant a nine more of danger; and a gratuitous risk at that, but it was genius genius! "Miss Durant !" He made sure that the others were beyond the range of his voice. "Miss Durant! I said he sent no word to you; that was true as far as I knew the truth, but there's one letter he started to write just at the last ... it wasn't addressed to anyone; I didn't know who it was for. I brought it with me on the chance that I'd find out. I didn't want to speak of it before every one, because if it's yours, I thought you'd . . . you understand, don't you? I'm almost positive it was meant for you. It's only a few lines ... he wasn't ever strong enough to finish it . . . I've got it at the hotel now. May I bring it to you tomorrow?'' She held her breath for an Instant; her mouth quivered. She looked at him searchingly. "Surely. I ... I live just across on the corner, Mr. Hilliard. The brick house. Can you come early?" "How soon?" He was telling himself him-self (hat his former passions were atrophied; she was no longer able to disquiet him. His inspiration was commercial strictly commercial. "In the morning? At . . . eleven?" "I'll come gladly." "But this Hilliard person a live wire, boy, a live wire. (TO BR CONTINUED.) |
