CHAPTER XV
THE LAYING OF THE GHOST
It has been seen that Dalrymple had a short way with the PercyWhittakers of this world. He strode up the garden path and confrontedWhittaker, who was standing on one foot and clinging in pain and terrorto Dr. Scaife and the nurse.
"You had better remain here," he said sternly. "Miss Ogilvey has onlygone to meet her mother at York. Both ladies will probably arrive thisevening. Why are you making yourself a nuisance when everyone is doingall that is possible to serve you?"
Whittaker clutched the doctor even more tightly.
"He says that before witnesses," he quavered, "yet less than an hour agohe tried to strangle me."
"Stuff and nonsense! I don't believe it!" protested Scaife emphatically.
"I frightened him, undoubtedly," said Dalrymple. "It was necessary.Sometimes a threatened spanking is as effectual as the real thing, andMr. Whittaker's nervous system has led him to take an exaggerated viewof my intentions. The fact is that he himself was responsible for a showof violence on my part. Meanwhile, Marguerite Ogilvey, whom you havealways known as Meg Garth, Dr. Scaife, has promised to become my wife,so Mr. Whittaker and I have no further cause for quarrel. Indeed, by thetime he is able to walk downstairs unassisted, his own good sense willcome to the rescue, and blot out any unpleasant memories as between himand me.... Now, Percy, my boy, let me use my muscles to better purposethan choking the life out of you. I'm going to carry you back to bedagain."
His air of quiet domination, no less than the news which sounded theknell of Whittaker's hopes, seemed to mesmerize the neurotic youth intosilence and submission. Dalrymple took him in his arms, lifted him offthe ground with gentle care, and carried him to the bedroom he hadinsisted on leaving. The nurse followed, and he left the invalid in hercare.
Hastening to the porch, he found Dr. Scaife mopping his forehead; theworthy doctor was more upset by the frenzied statements made by Percythan by the physical effort involved by carrying him downstairs.
"Wait one moment," he said. "I'm bringing in some men whom you know.Then I shall explain everything."
He passed on to the gate.
"I want you, Hutton, and you, Mr. Dobb, to come into the house. Thosepolice officers also had better join us. Who is the other man?"
"Mr. Banks, of the _Nuttonby Gazette_," said the baronet.
"Very well. Let him come, too. Better tell him what he must not sayrather than correct his blunders subsequently in a court of law."
Mr. Dobb, being a lawyer, doubted the wisdom of admitting arepresentative of the press to their conclave, but Dalrymple's air ofauthority kept him dumb. During the drive from Nuttonby the delegate ofthe India Office had discoursed on the important position this strangeroccupied in India, and it was not for a country solicitor, who hardlyguessed what was coming, to question his decision before he knew itsscope.
And therein Dalrymple showed his genius. Banks, already in a flutterbecause of certain indiscretions in his printed references to theinquest, was at once soothed and gratified by the great man's tact. Thepolice superintendent found the ground cut away from beneath his feet bythe full and complete version of recent events which Dalrymplesupplied. Sir Berkeley and the doctor listened to the recital withill-suppressed amazement, but, at the end, they agreed, each and all,with Dalrymple's suggestion that judgment should be suspended until Mrs.Ogilvey was in Elmdale.
He did not attempt to argue that the law should not take its course.
"During the past ten years," he said, "I have held the lives andliberties of two millions of people in my keeping, so I need hardly saythat I am a most unlikely person to fly in the face of authority. Butthere are circumstances connected with this inquiry which call forcareful treatment. Some man died here, and was buried, and the law mustbe satisfied that Mr. Stephen Ogilvey was either ignorant of theoccurrence, or had no guilty knowledge of it--which is not quite thesame thing--before he can be exonerated from the grave suspicion atpresent attached to his actions of two years ago. Now, I have not thehonor of knowing either Mr. Ogilvey or his wife, but I do hold that theycould not have won the respect of their neighbors during twenty years ofresidence in this house and yet be capable of planning and committing anatrocious murder. I would point out that Mrs. Ogilvey shares some of theblame, or the guilt, of her husband. If he is a criminal, she knows it.The law looks with lenient eyes on a woman who shields a man in suchconditions, but that element in human affairs only goes to strengthen mycontention that Mrs. Ogilvey can, if she chooses, throw a flood of lighton this strange problem. She is now on her way North. Her daughter hasgone to York to meet her. In all likelihood, one or both ladies will bein Elmdale to-night. Is it not reasonable to ask that investigation bythe police into a singular occurrence now two years old should bepostponed till to-morrow? Gentlemen, I promise you this. Come hereto-morrow, say, about two o'clock, and you will be placed in possessionof every fact then known to me. It is obvious, in my opinion, that thepolice can hardly adopt any other course, but I am bound to point out toMr. Banks that the man who writes, and the newspaper which publishes,theories or speculations with regard to this matter before it is fullycleared up through the proper channel, will incur a most seriousresponsibility."
Sir Berkeley Hutton, of course, had a word to say.
"Mr. Garth, or Mr. Ogilvey as you now call him, is an old and valuedfriend of mine," he declared, "and it is my fixed and definite beliefthat if he was stung by a wasp he would find some excuse for a poorinsect which was only trying to protect itself from imaginary danger.Stephen Garth kill anybody! Stuff and nonsense!"
Mr. Dobb, too, was incredulous in so far as his friend's criminality wasconcerned.
"Mr. Garth certainly wrote the letter to the coroner," he said. "I sawit, and recognized his handwriting. Therefore, he knew that a death hadtaken place, and used a remarkably ingenious method of hoodwinking theauthorities. That, in itself, is a legal offense--the magnitude of whichalone can be estimated when we know the truth. I agree with Sir RobertDalrymple. We must await Mrs. Garth's, or, I suppose I must learn tosay, Mrs. Ogilvey's, arrival before any other steps are taken.Meanwhile, it is of the utmost importance that no word of thisdiscussion shall travel beyond these four walls."
"Will Sir Robert Dalrymple undertake to notify me of Mrs. Ogilvey'spresence?" was the very pertinent inquiry made by the policesuperintendent.
Dalrymple undertook readily to send a messenger into Nuttonby early nextmorning, and his diplomacy was rewarded by seeing the conclave break upon that understanding. Nevertheless, he passed a miserable and restlessday. He had not stemmed the torrent, but diverted it. If his faith wasnot justified, if Marguerite's mother either refused to give anyexplanation of her husband's extraordinary ruse, or denied all knowledgeof it, there was no getting away from the fact that the elderly reclusemight soon be lodged in a felon's cell.
Marguerite herself would strain every nerve to save her father, if onlyby flight, but her lover realized how futile that would prove. He hadsecured a respite--and no more. If Mrs. Ogilvey's admissions led herdaughter to journey on through the night to Warleggan, the girl mightcontrive to hurry her father out of England before the bolt fell. But towhat avail? They would be traced with ease. Their flight, the pursuit,the arrest, would only add fuel to the flame lighted by inquisitivenewspapers. Better, far better, that the man should face an inquiry atonce rather than be put on trial after a vain attempt to escape.
It was almost a relief to visit Percy Whittaker during the afternoon,and endeavor to convert him from active enmity into a sulky acquiescencein things as they were, and not as he hoped they would be. Luckily,Dalrymple had estimated a curious temperament with singular accuracy.After a long conversation, in which the older man cajoled and flatteredPercy by turns, the latter declared that he never meant to put histhreat into force.
"I'm not such an ass as to want to marry a girl who loathed the sight ofme," he said ruefully. "I tried to frighten Meg. I guessed she'd run offto Warleggan. My motive
was to separate the pair of you. Then I'dfollow, as soon as this confounded ankle of mine would permit, and tellher candidly that I was frantically jealous of you. Dash it all, and notwithout good cause! All's fair in love an' war, Mr. Armathwaite. I've anotion now that my splutter simply drove her into your arms."
"My name is not Armathwaite----" began Dalrymple, whereupon Whittakerglared at him in a new frenzy.
"I never thought it was!" he vociferated. "Let me tell you you're thebiggest puzzle of the lot. I shan't be a bit surprised if you say youare the fellow who hanged somebody here, and persuaded old Garth tostand the racket."
So, to pass the time while the nurse was eating a meal, Dalrymple toldhim the story of Barapur, and Percy heard, and was subdued, since heknew now that, come what might, Marguerite Ogilvey was lost to himforever.
Then, while Dalrymple was surveying the day's work of Smith and hismen, and declaring it was good, there came a messenger from Bellerby ona borrowed bicycle, bearing a telegram. It was from Marguerite, andDalrymple's heart danced with joy when he read:
"All is well. Father leaves for York to-night. He will join mother andme early to-morrow. Expect us about ten o'clock. Am detaining car. Love,MEG."
All is well! What was well? It was a woman's message, which assumedeverything and told nothing, except the one amazing fact that StephenOgilvey's wife had evidently decided that the period of concealment wasended, and that her husband should now vindicate himself in the eyes ofhis world.
At any rate, a youth returned to Bellerby with two bicycles and thericher by two sovereigns, so it is tolerably certain that Dalrymple'sfew words of congratulation were not delayed on the way.
The new tenant smoked and mused in the garden for another hour, untilBetty came to summon him to dinner. He was entering the house when hesaw the ghost again, a phantom divested now of eeriness, because a roundblob of sunshine shone on the wall instead of the white sockets of eyeswhich lent such a ghoulish aspect to the shadowy face. Then he did aqueer thing. Lifting the grandfather's clock, and disregarding theprotest of weights and pendulum thumping against its wooden ribs, heplaced it exactly where the reflection of the window fell. Instantly,the ghost vanished. The dark mahogany case absorbed the outlines of thefigure. The old Spanish wood glowed richly here and there where thelights were strongest, and a disk of gold illumined the dull brass ofthe clock's face. And that was the end of the Elmdale ghost! Never againwould it be seen until someone moved the clock, and Sir Robert Dalrymplevowed that such alteration should not occur in his time.
Luckily, Dr. Scaife came just as Dalrymple was sitting down to asolitary meal, and he was promptly bidden to the feast. Dalrymple showedhim Marguerite's telegram, and they discussed it for an hour, or longer,though with no result, for they could only theorize, and, since truth isstranger than fiction, even two such acute minds failed to arrive at theactual solution of the mystery.
Dalrymple went late to bed, and awoke early, to find that themuch-maligned British climate had produced another fine day. It wasjoyous to see the sun shining into his bedroom; it was still more joyousto descend the stairs, and glimpse the blue sky through the BlackPrince's visor. A current of pure, sweet-scented air came through theorifice, and seemed to presage a new span of life to the old house;Dalrymple decided, then and there, that when the turmoil had subsided,he would commission the best obtainable artist in stained glass torestore the Black Prince's features in guise befitting his character asa warrior, statesman, and true lover.
A few minutes before ten Tom Bland came with a cartload of plants from anursery. Smith and the laborers carried the boxes of flowers into thegarden, and set them on both sides of the path, so that happy chancecontrived that Marguerite should lead her parents to their old homethrough a blaze of color when the automobile brought them to the gate atten o'clock.
It is not often that any collection of mortals is privileged to see aghost in broad daylight, and in the rays of a powerful sun at that, butsuch was the lot of carrier Bland, gardener Smith, and four gapingyokels of Elmdale, not to mention a quite respectable number of otherinhabitants, when Stephen Garth alighted from the car and walkedjauntily up the garden to the porch of his own house. To save Mrs.Jackson and Betty from spasms, Dalrymple had warned them previously ofMr. Garth's coming, but the men, and Elmdale generally, were not thusenlightened, and some of them would certainly have bolted had they notseen "the new guv'nor" shaking hands with "the old guv'nor," and had notthe latter stopped to greet Begonia Smith with the exceedingly triteremark:
"Well, Smith, I'm not so dead as you thought me!"
"No, sir," said Smith, who did not find his tongue again until thenewcomers had gone into the Grange.
Then he turned to one of the men.
"All I can say, Henery, is this," he murmured huskily. "I've heerd ofpeople lookin' as though they'd bin dead an' dug up, but I'll take myoath no one has dug Mr. Garth out o' Bellerby Churchyard."
"It must be all right, though," was the philosophic answer. "Miss Megwouldn't look so happy if there was goin' to be trouble."
"Ay! But hurry up with those begonias. In with 'em!"
* * * * *
It would serve no good purpose to set forth in detail the manner inwhich Mr. and Mrs. Ogilvey cleared up the mystery on the one hand, andbecame mystified themselves on the other. Few parents can rear acharming daughter to womanhood without experiencing the surprise,almost the dismay, of finding that she has given her heart to a man ofwhom they know little. In this instance, a devoted father and an equallydevoted mother could only listen in bewilderment when the girl, who wasstill a child in their eyes, introduced "Robert Armathwaite" as herpromised husband, while their astonished eyes were only paralleled byMeg's own when the tall, grave-looking stranger proceeded to explainthat he was not Robert Armathwaite, but Sir Robert Dalrymple, K.C.S.I.
Marguerite, at first, believed he was joking. When he assured her he waseven more serious than usual, she relieved the situation by making anelaborate curtsey to her own reflection in an old-fashioned mirror inthe drawing-room.
"Lady Dalrymple!" she cried. "Presented at court by her humble self! SirRobert Dalrymple, K.C.S.I.! Lady Dalrymple, K.I.S.S.!"
Whereupon, she proceeded to invest each of them with her own order.
When the bench, the bar, the police, and the press were duly representedthat afternoon, Mr. Stephen Ogilvey spoke fully and frankly. His wifeand daughter were present, and, if Mrs. Ogilvey wept a little during therecital, it was only natural.
For she alone knew what this gentle-voiced, white-haired man had enduredduring those June days two years ago.
Even the tender-hearted Marguerite could never realize the exquisitetorture which her father had suffered voluntarily. Perhaps the presenceof her lover, combined with the reaction of the discovery that herfather had committed no actual crime, rendered her temporarily incapableof appreciating the motives which accounted for his actions.
Be that as it may, this is his story:
"To make clear the reason which led me to deceive my friends in Elmdalein such an extraordinary way, I must go back twenty-four years in mylife. I was then thirty-five years of age, and Professor of Philology ina recently-formed University in the Midlands. I was married, but, assome of you know, my first and only child was not born until the eventshappened which drove me into retirement, and led my dear wife and myselfto seek the peace and seclusion of Elmdale."
It is not to be wondered at if Dalrymple and Marguerite exchangedsmiling glances at those words; but the Professor's strange narrativeshould not be interrupted by lovers' confidences.
"I am a man of highly sensitive nature," he went on, "and my mind almostgave way under the shock when my brother James, somewhat older thanmyself, who occupied a prominent position in Birmingham as manager of animportant private bank, was reported missing from his office undercircumstances which pointed to a serious and systematic embezzlement ofthe bank's funds. Day by day the scandal enlarged its bounds. The bank
closed its doors; hundreds of people were ruined; there were severalcases of suicide among the robbed depositors; and, at last, my brother,James Ogilvey, was arrested in France, owing to a chance meeting with aman who knew him. He was brought to trial, sentenced to a long term ofpenal servitude, and passed into seeming oblivion accompanied by thecurses of thousands. My wife and I literally could not hold up our headsamong our friends in the Midlands, and, as we were not wholly dependenton my earnings, we resolved to change our name and start life anew. Atthat crisis, my mother died. Undoubtedly her death was hastened by mybrother's wrong-doing, and it is probable that she destroyed a willalready in existence, meaning to make another, but was stricken down byapoplexy before she could carry out her intention. At any rate, no willwas found, so her property became intestate. This house and groundbelonged to her, but she was unknown locally, as she left Elmdale morethan half a century ago, so, after settling some legal matters, my wifeand I determined to live here, and adopt my wife's maiden name. Therewas no great difficulty. I still continued to do my work, which wasmainly of a specialist nature, under my own name, but in Elmdale I wasalways 'Stephen Garth,' and the catastrophe in the Midlands soon passedinto the mists when our child was born.
"We reasoned that by the time she grew to womanhood, the memory of JamesOgilvey's crime would have died away. At any rate, there was nothing tobe gained by letting her know that such a person had ever existed, andyou can take it from me that she was ignorant of the fact until a latehour yesterday. Some eight years ago, my unfortunate brother wasreleased. I met him in London, supplied him with ample funds, and senthim to the Colonies, taking good care that he should know neither myaltered name nor my address. I heard no more of him until the beginningof June, two years since, when he wrote to me as 'Stephen Garth,' saidhe was coming to live in my house, being tired of a roving life, andthreatened to take lodgings in the village if I did not receive him.Now, my wife and I were determined that he should never cross ourdaughter's path if we could help it, so a journey to France wasresolved on hastily and the two took their departure. For my own part, Idecided to await my brother's coming, and try to reason with him. If heproved obdurate, I meant to join my wife and daughter abroad, and, tothat end, as Mr. Dobb is aware, I made over all my property to my wifein trust for my daughter. This step was necessary, I believe, to savethem from persecution at my brother's hands, because he had hinted atsome grievance with regard to the disposition of my mother's estate, agrievance quite unfounded, since I had dealt with him most generously onhis release from prison. In order to conceal his presence from thevillagers until I had tried every argument to prevail on him to leave meand my family in peace, I arranged to meet him at Leyburn, and drive tothe edge of the moor. I brought him to the house without anyone beingthe wiser, but I soon found I was a child in his hands. He played on myfear of publicity by agreeing to lie _perdu_ if I would supply him withdrink. I bore with the infliction for some days until, driven todespair, I refused to purchase any more alcohol. There was a furiousscene between us, and he threatened not merely exposure, but legalproceedings to force me to 'disgorge,' as he put it, his share of theproperty left by our mother, whose maiden name, by the way, Faulkner,is well known here. I realize now that James was in a state verging ondementia, but I may sum up a distressing period of four days and nightsof suffering by saying that, in a final paroxysm of rage, he was seizedwith apoplexy, and died almost instantaneously.
"Though convinced that he was dead, I hoped against hope for some hours.Then _rigor mortis_ set in, and I knew that the only man who had everinflicted an injury on my good name had struck his last and shrewdestblow by dying in my house. I want you to consider the position I was in.A man, a stranger, was lying there dead, in circumstances that demandedan inquest. I had not called for a doctor, or obtained any assistancelocally. I had sent my wife and daughter to a foreign country, obviouslyto get them out of the way. A _post-mortem_ examination would show thatdeath had taken place nearly a day before I made any stir. If Idestroyed certain documents in my brother's possession--such, forinstance, as a ticket of leave, which he had retained long after itsexpiry for the mere purpose, I firmly believe, of bringing pressure tobear on me--there would be nothing to show his identity. In a word,there was a _prima facie_ case of murder ready to be established againstme. Of course, the medical evidence would go to prove my innocence, butall the world--all of my small world, at any rate--would gape and gossipbecause of the scandal which my wife and I had given more than twentyyears of our life to escape. For the sake of my wife and daughter Iresolved upon a daring expedient. The 'Ogilvey fraud' of a previousgeneration was forgotten. Why should I not resume my own name, and letmy brother die and be buried as Stephen Garth? I saw that my ownbehavior during the past week would help the assumption that I hadcommitted suicide, while a rather marked resemblance between my brotherand myself, together with the fact that he had died from apoplexy, wouldcomplete the illusion. Moreover, there exists, in connection with thisvery house, a curious legend which condemned seven generations of itsowners to die by violence, either self-inflicted, or caused by others.James Ogilvey's death was the seventh, and I trusted to this allegedprophecy of a Spanish priest put to death by a sea-rover named Faulknerin the seventeenth century being sufficiently well known in connectionwith a shadow, or manifestation, cast on the wall by a stained-glasswindow in the staircase.
"At any rate, I steeled my heart to a dreadful undertaking, dressed mybrother in my own clothes, tied his body to a hook in the hall wherethe shadow I have spoken of is seen at this time of the year, and stoleaway across the moor after writing a letter to the coroner.
"Gentlemen, I believe I have broken the law in some respects, and I amprepared to suffer for my misdeeds. Perhaps, a long and blameless andnot wholly useless life may plead for me now. I acted as I did becauseof a certain pride in my work, and because of my love for a dear wifeand daughter. I dreamed that the dead past had indeed buried its deadbut, by a most unusual combination of simple circumstances, the wholestrange story has been brought to light. I have nothing more to say. Nowthat a long ordeal of silence is ended, I am happier to-day than I everthought to be again in my existence. I can produce a certain number ofdocuments to prove what I may term the historical part of my confession.The really vital part of it--the manner of my brother's death--canreceive no other testimony than my own, eked out by such statement as myfriend, Dr. Scaife, may find himself able to make after hearing myversion of the tragedy."
Marguerite ran to her father and threw her arms around his neck.
"If they take you before a judge, dad," she cried, "let me go into courtand tell them that I was the cause of all the trouble. Then he willwarn me not to be such a bad little girl, and sympathize with you sogreatly that he will say you leave the court without a stain on yourcharacter."
* * * * *
As a matter of fact, owing to the attitude of the authorities and withthe active assistance of Banks in the columns of the _Nuttonby Gazette_,the official inquiry into the affair attracted very little notice. Aten-line paragraph explained that it was Mr. James Ogilvey who died, andnot Mr. Stephen Garth, and a special faculty was obtained to correct theannouncement on the stone in Bellerby churchyard. Naturally, the peoplein Elmdale and the neighborhood had a pretty fair knowledge of thetruth, but everyone was so pleased to see the "professor" and his wifeagain that the thing was hushed up with remarkable ease. Even PercyWhittaker held his tongue.
Village gossip has it that Storr, the chauffeur, is badly smitten byBetty Jackson's charms. The girl's mother clinched matters by grumblingthat "sen Betty's gotten a young man there's no doin' owt wi' her." AndBegonia Smith turned the garden into a fairy-land that summer.
The Black Prince received his new and most impressive set of featuresbefore a certain noteworthy marriage took place, and beamed a courtlyapproval on the bride when she descended the stairs in her weddingdress. In fact, the Elmdale tragedy received its quietus when JamesWalker, senior, an
d James Walker, junior, watched Sir Robert and LadyDalrymple drive past their office _en route_ to Paris and the Continent.
Said the father:
"Little things often lead to the most surprising events. Who'd ha'thought, Jimmie, when we let the 'House 'Round the Corner' to a strangernamed Robert Armathwaite, that we were indirectly bringing about themarriage of Meg Garth to Sir Robert Dalrymple?"
"Well, I didn't, for one!" said the son gloomily.
THE END
* * * * *
ZANE GREY'S NOVELS
_THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS_
A New York society girl buys a ranch which becomes the center offrontier warfare. Her loyal superintendent rescues her when she iscaptured by bandits. A surprising climax brings the story to adelightful close.
_THE RAINBOW TRAIL_
The story of a young clergyman who becomes a wanderer in the greatwestern uplands--until at last love and faith awake.
_DESERT GOLD_
The story describes the recent uprising along the border, and ends withthe finding of the gold which two prospectors had willed to the girl whois the story's heroine.
_RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE_
A picturesque romance of Utah of some forty years ago when Mormonauthority ruled. The prosecution of Jane Withersteen is the theme of thestory.
_THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN_
This is the record of a trip which the author took with Buffalo Jones,known as the preserver of the American bison, across the Arizona desertand of a hunt in "that wonderful country of deep canons and giantpines."
_THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT_
A lovely girl, who has been reared among Mormons, learns to love a youngNew Englander. The Mormon religion, however, demands that the girl shallbecome the second wife of one of the Mormons--Well, that's the problemof this great story.
_THE SHORT STOP_
The young hero, tiring of his factory grind, starts out to win fame andfortune as a professional ball player. His hard knocks at the start arefollowed by such success as clean sportsmanship, courage and honestyought to win.
_BETTY ZANE_
This story tells of the bravery and heroism of Betty, the beautifulyoung sister of old Colonel Zane, one of the bravest pioneers.
_THE LONE STAR RANGER_
After killing a man in self defense, Buck Duane becomes an outlaw alongthe Texas border. In a camp on the Mexican side of the river, he finds ayoung girl held prisoner, and in attempting to rescue her, brings downupon himself the wrath of her captors and henceforth is hunted on oneside by honest men, on the other by outlaws.
_THE BORDER LEGION_
Joan Handle, in a spirit of anger, sent Jim Cleve out to a lawlessWestern mining camp, to prove his mettle. Then realizing that she lovedhim--she followed him out. On her way, she is captured by a bandit band,and trouble begins when she shoots Kells, the leader--and nurses him tohealth again. Here enters another romance--when Joan, disguised as anoutlaw, observes Jim in the throes of dissipation. A gold strike, athrilling robbery--gambling and gun play carry you along breathlessly.
_THE LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS._
By Helen Cody Wetmore and Zane Grey
The life story of Colonel William F. Cody, "Buffalo Bill," as told byhis sister and Zane Grey. It begins with his boyhood in Iowa and hisfirst encounter with an Indian. We see "Bill" as a pony express rider,then near Fort Sumter as Chief of the Scouts, and later engaged in themost dangerous Indian campaigns. There is also a very interestingaccount of the travels of "The Wild West" Show. No character in publiclife makes a stronger appeal to the imagination of America than "BuffaloBill," whose daring and bravery made him famous.
* * * * *
THE NOVELS OF MARY ROBERTS RINEHART
_"K."_
Illustrated.
K. LeMoyne, famous surgeon, drops out of the world that has known him,and goes to live in a little town where beautiful Sidney Page lives. Sheis in training to become a nurse. The joys and troubles of their younglove are told with that keen and sympathetic appreciation which has madethe author famous.
_THE MAN IN LOWER TEN._
Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy.
An absorbing detective story woven around the mysterious death of the"Man in Lower Ten." The strongest elements of Mrs. Rinehart's successare found in this book.
_WHEN A MAN MARRIES._
Illustrated by Harrison Fisher and Mayo Bunker.
A young artist, whose wife had recently divorced him, finds that hisaunt is soon to visit him. The aunt, who contributes to the familyincome and who has never seen the wife, knows nothing of the domesticupheaval. How the young man met the situation is humorously and mostentertainingly told.
_THE CIRCULAR STAIRCASE._
Illus. by Lester Ralph.
The summer occupants of "Sunnyside" find the dead body of ArnoldArmstrong, the son of the owner, on the circular staircase. Followingthe murder a bank failure is announced. Around these two events is wovena plot of absorbing interest.
_THE STREET OF SEVEN STARS._
Illustrated (Photo Play Edition.)
Harmony Wells, studying in Vienna to be a great violinist, suddenlyrealizes that her money is almost gone. She meets a young ambitiousdoctor who offers her chivalry and sympathy, and together withworld-worn Dr. Anna and Jimmie, the waif, they share their love andslender means.
* * * * *
BOOTH TARKINGTON'S NOVELS
_SEVENTEEN._
Illustrated by Arthur William Brown.
No one but the creator of Penrod could have portrayed the immortal youngpeople of this story. Its humor is irresistible and reminiscent of thetime when the reader was Seventeen.
_PENROD._
Illustrated by Gordon Grant.
This is a picture of a boy's heart, full of the lovable, humorous,tragic things which are locked secrets to most older folks. It is afinished, exquisite work.
_PENROD AND SAM._
Illustrated by Worth Brehm.
Like "Penrod" and "Seventeen," this book contains some remarkable phasesof real boyhood and some of the best stories of juvenile prankishnessthat have ever been written.
_THE TURMOIL._
Illustrated by C. E. Chambers.
Bibbs Sheridan is a dreamy, imaginative youth, who revolts against hisfather's plans for him to be a servitor of big business. The love of afine girl turns Bibb's life from failure to success.
_THE GENTLEMAN FROM INDIANA._
Frontispiece.
A story of love and politics,--more especially a picture of a countryeditor's life in Indiana, but the charm of the book lies in the loveinterest.
_THE FLIRT._
Illustrated by Clarence F. Underwood.
The "Flirt," the younger of two sisters, breaks one girl's engagement,drives one man to suicide, causes the murder of another, leads anotherto lose his fortune, and in the end marries a stupid and unpromisingsuitor, leaving the really worthy one to marry her sister.
* * * * *
KATHLEEN NORRIS' STORIES
_MOTHER._
Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.
This book has a fairy-story touch, counterbalanced by the sturdy realityof struggle, sacrifice, and resulting peace and power of a mother'sexperiences.
_SATURDAY'S CHILD._
Frontispiece by F. Graham Cootes.
Out on the Pacific coast a normal girl, obscure and lovely, makes aquest for happiness. She passes through three stages--poverty, wealthand service--and works out a creditable salvation.
_THE RICH MRS. BURGOYNE._
Illustrated by Lucius H. Hitchcock.
The story of a sensible woman who keeps within her means, refuses to beswamped by social engagements, lives a normal human life of variedinterests, and has her own romance.
_THE STORY OF JULIA PAGE._
Frontispiece by Allan Gilbert.
How Julia Page, reared in ra
ther unpromising surroundings, liftedherself through sheer determination to a higher plane of life.
_THE HEART OF RACHAEL._
Frontispiece by Charles E. Chambers.
Rachael is called upon to solve many problems, and in working out these,there is shown the beauty and strength of soul of one of fiction's mostappealing characters.
* * * * *
SEWELL FORD'S STORIES
_SHORTY McCABE._
Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson.
A very humorous story, The hero, an independent and vigorous thinker,sees life, and tells about it in a very unconventional way.
_SIDE-STEPPING WITH SHORTY._
Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson.
Twenty skits, presenting people with their foibles. Sympathy with humannature and an abounding sense of humor are the requisites for"side-stepping with Shorty."
_SHORTY McCABE ON THE JOB._
Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson.
Shorty McCabe reappears with his figures of speech revamped right up tothe minute. He aids in the right distribution of a "conscience fund,"and gives joy to all concerned.
_SHORTY McCABE'S ODD NUMBERS._
Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson.
These further chronicles of Shorty McCabe tell of his studio forphysical culture, and of his experiences both on the East side and atswell yachting parties.
_TORCHY._
Illus, by Geo. Brehm and Jas. Montgomery Flagg.
A red-headed office boy, overflowing with wit and wisdom peculiar to theyouths reared on the sidewalks of New York, tells the story of hisexperiences.
_TRYING OUT TORCHY._
Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln.
Torchy is just as deliriously funny in these stories as he was in theprevious book.
_ON WITH TORCHY._
Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln.
Torchy falls desperately in love with "the only girl that ever was," butthat young society woman's aunt tries to keep the young people apart,which brings about many hilariously funny situations.
_TORCHY, PRIVATE SEC._
Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln.
Torchy rises from the position of office boy to that of secretary forthe Corrugated Iron Company. The story is full of humor and infectiousAmerican slang.
_WILT THOU TORCHY._
Illus. by F. Snapp and A. W. Brown.
Torchy goes on a treasure search expedition to the Florida West Coast,in company with a group of friends of the Corrugated Trust and with hisfriend's aunt, on which trip Torchy wins the aunt's permission to placean engagement ring on Vee's finger.
* * * * *
NOVELS OF FRONTIER LIFE BY
WILLIAM MacLEOD RAINE
_MAVERICKS._
A tale of the western frontier, where the "rustler," whose depredationsare so keenly resented by the early settlers of the range, abounds. Oneof the sweetest love stories ever told.
_A TEXAS RANGER._
How a member of the most dauntless border police force carried law intothe mesquite, saved the life of an innocent man after a series ofthrilling adventures, followed a fugitive to Wyoming, and then passedthrough deadly peril to ultimate happiness.
_WYOMING._
In this vivid story of the outdoor West the author has captured thebreezy charm of "cattleland," and brings out the turbid life of thefrontier with all its engaging dash and vigor.
_RIDGWAY OF MONTANA._
The scene is laid in the mining centers of Montana, where politics andmining industries are the religion of the country. The politicalcontest, the love scene, and the fine character drawing give this storygreat strength and charm.
_BUCKY O'CONNOR._
Every chapter teems with wholesome, stirring adventures, replete withthe dashing spirit of the border, told with dramatic dash and absorbingfascination of style and plot.
_CROOKED TRAILS AND STRAIGHT._
A story of Arizona; of swift-riding men and daring outlaws; of a bitterfeud between cattle-men and sheep-herders. The heroine is a most unusualwoman and her love story reaches a culmination that is fittinglycharacteristic of the great free West.
_BRAND BLOTTERS._
A story of the Cattle Range. This story brings out the turbid life ofthe frontier, with all its engaging dash and vigor, with a charming loveinterest running through its 320 pages.
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