It was near Thanksgiving time when Justina summed up enough courage to approach the Colonel in regard to money matters. The Colonel had taken immediate steps. after Mrs. Everett's death, to have himself appointed of course, with Justina's consent-administrator of the estate; and since that time nothing more had been said concerning financial arrangements. The girl had so far existed on the small amount of money that she had found in the house at the time of her bereavement. But now she felt that it was time to make some arrangements concerning her money needs, so, having fallen into the custom of the Darl way of living, she called Dawkins one bright sunny morning and asked for an appointment with the Colonel. "The master says he will see you in the library at ten o'clock, Miss," answered the grave Dawkins, a few moments later. Justina nodded and consulted her wrist watch-it was nine o'clock. "Very well," she answered, and Dawkins departed in silence. At the appointed time she was ushered into the magnificent library and was received by the Colonel with as much formality as if she had been some royal personage. "Well, my dear, what can I do for you?" he asked, after they were both seated and Dawkins had been dismissed. "I came to see about my money," she said, plunging into the subject at once. "My funds are running lowreally, I have only fifteen cents left." This statement was accompanied with just a touch of the old laughter. The Colonel smiled ever so faintly, then cleared his throat. "That's most unfortunate and quite embarrassing to me," he said. "I should have inquired concerning your financial needs before this, .but I confess that I neglected it on account of pure forgetfulness-I wonder if you can forgive me?" "Oh, you needn't feel so badly about it," she said. "You can depend upon a woman to ask for money when she needs it." The Colonel coughed and shifted his gaze to the window. He began talking: "Well, you see, you know, to be exactThen, floundering for more words, he stopped and reached for his cheque-book. He slowly filled out one of the blank cheques, carefully blotted it and handed it to her. "There's a hundred dollars," he said. "I beg a thousand pardons for such neglect it was an oversight, but I know that is a weak explanation-very weak indeed." Then, changing the subject, he said: "I hope you are satisfied with your life under our roof. Mrs. Darl tells me that you are quite a companion to her, and we both feel that you are like our own daughter." "Yes," she said, dropping the cheque in her lap and folding her hands over it; "I feel quite at home hereyou know, I've been here so much all my life. Of course, I miss mamma and———.” "Yes, I know," interrupted Colonel Darl with a wave of his, hand, "but don't talk about it. Such things are better if they are not spoken of too frequently, or even thought of." Then, before she could reply, he changed the subject again. "I wonder if you found all the papers of importance that were in the house. Are you sure you didn't overlook anything?" "Yes, I'm perfectly sure. We cleaned out every place that migh contain them, and I know mamma kept them all in the middle bureau drawer, except the ones you have. Of course, there were a lot of old receipts in a jar in the cupboard, but they were not important. We didn't even look at them. I told Mrs. Ganey to burn them with the trash." The Colonel nodded with understanding. "I see,' he exclaimed. "Then you are certain you have everything." "Absolutely certain," came the emphatic reply. She did not notice the smile of satisfaction that spread over the Colonel's thin face at her remark. After the interview she called Charles, the chauffeur, to get the limousine ready for a ride to the little cemetery on the hillside. At first, when she had made the frequent visits to the sacred spot, she felt a pang of remorse over her whole body and an empty feeling of loneliness filled her heart as she arranged the flowers on her mother's grave. But later in the autumn, when she took up the tender plants to protect them through the coming winter, her visits were made with more subdued emotion, for grief is lessened with the passing of time. "Mr. Ganey, I'm sorry to tell you that I can't pay my board bill," thus spoke Fred Forson shortly before Christmas. "I've hung on here as long as I could," he continued. "I've tried to stand the gaff and face it out, and would, too, if I had the money; but you know how things have been going since Mrs. Everett died. "I suppose I should have taken up Doctor Lants' offer," he went on, "and gone to Oliva as his assistant; but I hated to act the coward and retreat in the face of defeat. Since he took in Bonnes they've done about everything there is to do around here, although I'll give them credit for being clean-cut and honorable, and I know they've done all they could to place my prestige back where it was. That's more than Doctor Deeny has done." of the people of the village. He had seen other physicians come into the town and make hurried calls from place to place, while he sat idle in his office. He had known of bad cases in the surrounding country who had waited all night before another doctor could get to them, in preference to calling him. He had seen and heard The jolly storekeeper leaned back in his swivel chair and placed his feet on the desk. Then he locked his hands behind his head and puffed vehemently on his corncob pipe until it was going to his satisfaction. "Why?" he asked. "Has that old codger been shov- of these things, but hope still remained in his soul. ing a kick into you?" "He sure has," answered Fred. "Riley's called me the other day, out on Dry Ridge-they've stuck to me all the time, because I took one of the kids through an attack of indigestion last summer-and the next day old Deeny was called to see one of their neighbors. He stopped at the Riley's, for some reason or other, and looked Mrs. Riley over. She had bronchitis and I had given her a simple cough mixture. He picked up the bottle, held it to the light and studied it from all sides, then tasted it and looked wise. 'Huh!' he said. 'That's the medicine we give for smallpox. Do you suppose they could get her to take another dose? Not for a million dollars." Tom Ganey threw back his head and chuckled: "We'll get him yet," he cried. "You see if we don't! You almost had him beat to a frazzle before you before that operation. And we'll do it again. I never did like that old devil after he gave me a dose of dry quinine once. We'll give him all that's coming to him.' Fred shook his head mournfully. "I'd like to know how?" he mused. "I've got to sell out and pull my freight." “Why, you've been making some calls right along," declared the storekeeper. "You're not beat yet, not by a long shot." "I know I've been making calls," sighed Fred, "but they're all to see deadbeats who can't get anybody else, and they don't even intend to pay me a cent. I can't buy gasoline and wear out tires and use drugs that aren't paid for, forever, to hold such practice as that." "How about that call to see Jim Donon the other day, and the one to Henry Bean's last week? They're not deadbeats." "No, but those are about the only ones that aren't." "I'll tell you what's the matter with you," snorted Tom Ganey, unclasping his hands and bringing his feet down to the floor with a bang, eyeing Fred steadily. "It's because the Colonel called Doctor Bonnes last week when Justina was sick. Now speak the truth-isn't that so?" Tom Ganey had hit the nail on the head and Fred knew it. He had bravely stood up against the wall of opposition that confronted him on all sides from the rest. He had passed through a trying ordeal with Justina, speaking to her at every opportunity, in hope that some day something might happen that would renew their friendship. She always nodded to him, at first casually; but of late he had noticed that a pleasant smile accompanied the nod, as the big, black limousine rushed by. He had never had an opportunity to talk to her; he hoped for one, longed for one; his lonely life cried out for one passing word. Remembering their short, sweet months of companionship, he knew that she, too, was lonely; and he had hoped beyond hope that she would unbend from her anger and dignity, and call him to her bedside if she should be ill. But such was not to be. Only the week before she had been confined to her bed for five days with a cold and the Colonel had summoned Dr. Lants, who, being unable to make the call, had sent his assistant, Doctor Bonnes. The young physician knew that such had been done with Justina's consent and probably at her request, and it had been the last straw added to his load under which he could bear up. Not even his frequent visits to see the charming Virginia Donon, who entertained him with music and dancing and laughter and frivolity, could take away the depression that overwhelmed him. He knew that what Tom Ganey said was true, but he answered after hesitating only an instant: "No, it isn't that" "I know better!" chuckled the storekeeper, and his blue eyes twinkled more than usual. "I'm not as big a fool as I look, even if Alice does say I am. You're in love with that girl, and I've known it ever since I saw you look at her the first day you came here the time I took you to the house. I guess I know." "I know some other things, too," he went on. "You've been trying to make yourself believe that you're in love with Virginia Donon; but you can't do it, can you? Oh, I can tell. It's shameful the way Justina has done, but she'll come off her high and mighty perch some day, for it's a false position for her. She can't keep it up forever the stiff, formal life at the Darl's will be too much for her next summer. It's her nature to get out and run wild occasionally. It's only her pride that's keeping her where she's at. I know that pride well, for her mother who uttered those words was not the Justina of today. had it." The storekeeper reached for a pen and used the red holder to point at Fred, while he went on talking. "You're going to stay with us, here! I want you to understand that right now! You're going to stay until people forget, until the time comes when you'll make old Doctor Deeny set on his hind legs and beg, and until you take Justina out of that big stone house and put her back in the cottage again, as your wife." "It's impossible," objected Fred. "She'll never give in-she still thinks that I was responsible for her mother's death. And, besides, what will I live on?” "How much money have you got?" demanded the storekeeper. Fred realized that, and hoped for a transformation. "I'll try it a while longer," he finally decided, "if you'll take a note for the money.' "Well, all right; if that's the only way you'll have it." Tom shoved a blank note at Fred. "Fill it out, for a year, without interest." "For a year at eight per cent.," said Fred, writing. "No; with interest starting at maturity." "At eight per cent. from date." "Too much. Now, see here! If you've got to put interest in the thing at all, make it six per cent." "Eight per cent. is customary," declared Fred. "Oh, well; darn you! Make it ten, for all I care. It will all come out in the wash with the passing of time." "Twenty-five dollars, and I owe eighty dollars for * drugs." "Is that all you owe?" "Yes; except to you, for board and room." "Then, I'll tell you what you're going to live on," assured the jolly Tom, dipping his pen in the ink and writing a cheque. "You're going to live on me. There! You can pay your drug bill with that hundred and have twenty left, without touching your twenty-five. When that's there'll be more." gone Mrs. Bean had never before realized how lonely life could be without Henry's violin. It had been an institution in the household since their marriage. In fact, for a time, it had been their only piece of furniture. It had furnished amusement and recreation for Henry all these passing years. It had furnished excellent grounds for contention on her part during the same length of time. Now, Henry was depressed and quiet-he read lots. It was hard to find any excuse to shower her wrath upon him, Fred shoved back the proffered cheque. "I can't do for there was no work to urge him to except the chores that," he protested. "But you're going to do it," insisted the chuckling Tom. "I'm your manager now. It will be worth all it cost when I see Justina happy once more; and I'm not giving it to you, anyway—it's a loan. You can pay it back when you get it." "And suppose I never get it?" "Then I'll accept a gambler's loss without kicking, for I'm taking a gambling chance on you." Fred studied over this plan for a moment, not knowing whether it was a streak of good luck or simply a method of getting in so deep that he could never get out. Yet, how could he refuse the generous offer from one who had been such a staunch and constant friend? And, too, the words of the girl he loved came back to him; and the vision of her lovely face, upturned in the moonlight, was vivid. He could feel the gentle touch of her hand on his arm, and could see those wonderful eyes gazing straight at him, as she soothed his nervousness with cheerful and sympathetic words; and one remark ran through his brain: "You must not give up, never, on account of death." Oh, then it had sounded like words of wisdom; but now, had it come from the same lips, it would have twanged of idle mockery. But the Justina and the cutting of wood into stove lengths. He did the chores diligently and there was no chance for discussion concerning them; although, much to her relief, the woodpile furnished grounds for occasional hot arguments. Then, too, she missed the music; but never would she admit that fact—not even to her own self. "Here, Henry, dear. I bought this for you." It was early on Christmas Eve that she handed forth a big package from the closet, where it had been hidden for two weeks, and thus presented it to Henry, who was reading. He opened it with trembling fingers and extracted therefrom a handsome, new, brightly-varnished violin. His face was radiant with delight as he inspected it, but a dull frown of disappointment clowded his brow as he drew the bow across the strings-the tone was displeasing to his sensitive ear, which, now, could have only been satisfied with a genuine Stradivarius instrument. He played two tunes and laid it down, picking up his book. "Don't you like it?" asked Mrs. Bean. "Sure!" acknowledged Henry. think of me that way." "Isn't it a good fiddle?" "Yes, certainly; it's awful pretty." "It's nice of you to "Then why don't you play it some more?" "Well, you see, I wanted to finish what I was reading, and—and—and—. "And what?" "Well, you know, it seems that since I had that Stradivarius violin, others haven't got the tone like it." The ponderous Julia jumped across the room and grabbed him by the collar. She jerked him to a standing position, and the book clattered to the floor. She shook him and whirled him around and around, and he, remembering another similar incident, grabbed his false teeth out of his mouth and held them in his hand, so that there would be no danger of choking on them again. "Now you play that fiddle," she commanded. "What do you mean by telling me that fiddle ain't got no tone? Ain't it as good as any fiddle? Answer me that!" "But Julia, my love, I meant "Yes, I know what you meant; you meant to insult me, after all I've done for you. Play that fiddle!" The astonished little man nervously took up the bright violin and played upon it with all his might. He spent He spent the entire evening at it, playing every piece in his mental repertoire. He played and played, while she sat and listened, though she was really reading and never knew the tunes he played; but somehow, she found that she could read better with the buzz of the violin in her ears the same as it had been for twenty years. She was happy. Even after she had gone to bed, Henry sat and played The tone was rasping and he knew it, but try as he would he could get none better from it. Yet, fearing another outburst of wrath, he dared not stop. He continued for half an hour after she had retired, and at that time, nine-thirty, the form of his white-robed spouse appeared in the doorway which led to the bedroom. She was pointing her chubby forefinger at him, and he instinctively crouched down in his seat, like a frightened cur, for he knew what was coming; and the note he was playing died into a screech. on. "Henry Bean," she roared. "How do you expect a body to sleep with you sawin' on that fiddle all the time. Answer me that!" "But Julia, my love, you said to play." "I didn't say to play all night and keep me awake. Now, you come to bed this minute. I reckon that now since you've got a fiddle that there'll be no peace in this house no living with you at all. Ain't I right? Answer me that!" "Yes, yes; of course you're right, Julia, my love. I'll come to bed right away.' He deposited the violin on the stand and went to the kitchen for fuel to bank the fire. He danced about with In the meanwhile Bob Flinn was hurrying through the cold, biting sleet, toward the Ganey house, but stopped as he saw a light in Fred's office, for it was he whom he desired to interview. "I got the toothache, Doc," he announced, removing his hat and shaking the ice from it. "Fine weather for Christmas Eve, ain't it?" "Sit down here," motioned Fred, who was in a hurry to be gone. "Which tooth is it?" "The one up above on the left side, next to the back," said Bob, indicating it more plainly by placing his finger on it and at the same time continuing his talking-the words being inaudible and resembling a speech made while the speaker had a mouthful of hot mush. Fred pulled his hand away and instantly plunged the tooth forceps into his mouth. The action was quick and took Bob by surprise, but he was as quick to respond. He raised out of the chair and shoved Fred from him with both hands, forcibly, landing him against the wall. "Gosh, Doc, I just told you I couldn't stand it without takin' somethin' to kill the pain." "Sit down there and keep quiet," ordered Fred, advancing on him and brandishing the glittering forceps. "It won't hurt." Bob lurched into the corner. He searched the room hurriedly, located the coal bucket and spat at it, hitting the center. Then he rubbed his mustache with his thumb knuckle. "Honest, Doc, I can't stand it without takin' somethin'. Old Doc Pugh tried it once without givin' me anything, and I fainted right in his office-so after that Doc always give me whisky, for, said Doc, 'I've found out that whisky is the best stimulant you can take, Bob, 'cause you ain't used to it and it takes right a hold on you!' That's what Doc said, and he knowed me pretty well, Doc did. He'd doctored me for a long time. That's the reason I'm tellin' you about it, so you can have the benefit of Doc's experience without learin' me all over again. Just a couple a nips of whisky'll fix me so I can stand it without flinchin'!" "But I haven't got any whisky." "You ain't? Not yet? When you goin' to get some?" "I don't suppose I'll ever get any," answered Fred impatiently. Formerly he would have taken advantage of the chance to have some fun with the village drunkard, but now he was in no mood for humor. "You sit down there and let me pull that tooth, or else get out and get out quick." Bob picked up his hat. "I reckon I can stand it a while longer," he said dolefully, "although tomorrow's Christmas and I didn't want to suffer all day-I'm invited to the widow McCarty's to eat dinner. I 'spect I'll hike down to old Doc Deeny in the morning. He's got whisky." Phifer YOU CAN'T JUDGE THE SIZE OF A DOCTOR'S INCOME BY THE SIGN IN HIS WINDOW. This Doctor's Income Can Be Counted In Five Figures. While This One's Income Is Very Much Smaller. |