Author: Sewell Ford
Category: Humorous
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CHAPTER XIX
SOME HOOP-LA FOR THE BOSS
I must say it wa'n't such a swell time for Mr. Robert to be indulgin' inany complicated love affair. You know how business has been, speciallyour line. And our directors was about as calm as a bunch of high schoolgirls havin' hysterics. Jumpy? Say, some of them double-chinned oldplutes couldn't reach for a glass of ice water without goin' throughmotions like they was shakin' dice.
It's this sporty market that had got on their nerves. You know, allthese combine rumors--this bunk about Germany buyin' up plantswholesale, and the grand scrabble to fill all them whackin' big foreignorders, with steamer charters about as numerous as twin baby carriagesalong Riverside Drive. Why, say, at one time there you could have soldus ferryboats or garbage-scows, we was so hungry for anything that wouldcarry ocean freights.
And, of course, with Old Hickory Ellins at the helm, the CorrugatedTrust was right in the thick of it. About twice a week some fool yarnwas floated about us. We'd sold out to Krupps and was goin' to close;we'd tied up with Bethlehem; we'd underbid on a flock of submarines andwas due for a receivership--oh, a choice lot of piffle!
But a few of them nervous old boys, who was placid enough at annualmeetin's watchin' a melon bein' cut, just couldn't stand the strain.Every time they got fed up on some new dope from the Wall Street panicpeddlers, they'd come around howlin' for a safe and sane policy. I stoodit until here the other mornin' when a bunch of soreheads showed upbefore nine o'clock and proceeds to hold an indignation meetin' in frontof my desk.
"Gwan!" says I. "Nobody's rockin' the boat but you. Go sit on yourcheckbooks."
They just glares at me.
"Where is Old Hickory?" one of 'em wants to know.
"About now," says I, "Mr. Ellins would be finishin' the last of threesoft-boiled eggs. He'll show up here at nine-forty-five."
"Mr. Robert Ellins, then?" demands another.
"Say, I'm no puzzle editor," says I. "Maybe he'll be here to-day andmaybe he won't."
"But we couldn't find him yesterday, either," comes back an old goatwith tufts in his ears.
"That's a way he has these days," says I.
No use tryin' to smooth things over. It's Mr. Robert they'd been sore onall along, suspectin' him of startin' all the wild schemes just becausehe's young. I'd heard 'em, after they'd moved into the directors' room,insistin' that he ought to be asked to resign. And what they was beefin'specially about to-day was because of a tale that a Chicago syndicatehad jumped in and bought the _Balboa_, a 10,000-ton Norwegian freighterthat we was supposed to have an option on. It was the final blow. Thatsatisfied 'em they was being sold out, and their best guess was that Mr.Robert was turnin' the trick.
I was standin' by, listenin' to the general grouch develop, andwonderin' how long before they'd organize a lynchin' committee, when Ihears the brass gate slam, and into the private office breezes Mr.Robert himself, lookin' fresh and chirky, his hat tilted well back, andswingin' a bamboo walkin'-stick. When he sees me, he springs a wide grinand grabs me by the shoulders.
"Torchy, you sunny-haired emblem of good luck!" he sings out. "What doyou think! I've--got--her!"
"Eh!" says I. "The _Balboa_?"
"The _Balboa_ be hanged!" says he. "No, no! Elsa--Miss Hampton, youknow! She's mine, Torchy; she's mine!"
"S-s-s-sh!" says I, noddin' towards the other room. "Forget her a minuteand brace yourself for a run-in with that gang of rag-chewers in there."
Does he? Say, without even stoppin' to size 'em up, he prances right inamongst 'em, free and careless.
"Why, hello, Ryder!" says he, handin' out a brisk shoulder-pat. "Ah, Mr.Larkin! Mr. Busbee! Well, well! You too, Hyde? Hail, all of you, and thetop of the morning! Gentlemen," he goes on, shakin' hands right and leftwithout noticin' how reluctant some of the palms came out, "I--er--Ihave a little announcement to make."
"Humph!" snorts old Busbee. "Have you?"
"Yes," says Mr. Robert, smilin' mushy. "I--er--the fact is, I am goingto be married."
"The bonehead!" I whispers husky.
Old Lawson T. Ryder, the one with the bushy white eyebrows and the heavydewlaps, he puffs out his cheeks and works that under jaw of hismenacin'.
"Really!" says he. "But what about the _Balboa_? Eh?"
"Oh!" says Mr. Robert casual. "The _Balboa_? Yes, yes! Didn't I tellsomeone to attend to that? A charter, wasn't it? Torchy, were you----"
I shakes my head.
"Perhaps it was Mr. Piddie, then," says he. "Anyway, I thought Iasked----"
"Here's Piddie now, sir," says I. "Looks like he'd been aftersomething."
He's a wreck, that's all. His derby is caved in, his black cutaway allsmooched with lime or something, and one eye is tinted up lovely. In hisright fist, though, he has a long yellow envelope.
"The charter!" he gasps out dramatic. "_Balboa!_"
And, by piecin' out more jerky bulletins, it's clear that Piddie haspulled off the prize stunt of his whole career. He'd gone out after thatcharter at lunchtime the day before, been stalled off by office clerksprobably subsidized by the opposition, spent the night hangin' aroundthe water-front, and got mixed up with a dock gang; but, by bein' onhand early, he'd caught one of the shippin' firm and closed the optionbarely two hours before it lapsed. And as he sinks limp into a chair heglances appealin' at Mr. Robert, no doubt expectin' to be decorated onthe spot.
"By George!" says Mr. Robert. "Good work! But you haven't heard of mygreat luck meantime. Listen, Piddie. I am to be married!"
I thought Piddie would croak.
"Think of that, gentlemen," cuts in old Busbee sarcastic. "He is to bemarried!"
But it needs more 'n a little jab like that to bring Mr. Robert out ofhis Romeo trance. Honest, the way he carries on is amazin'. You mighthave thought this was the first case on record where a girl who'd saidshe wouldn't had changed her mind. And, so far as any other happenin'swas concerned, he might have been deaf, dumb, and blind. The entire newsof the world that mornin' he could boil down into one officialstatement: Elsa had said she'd have him! Hip, hip! Banzai! Elsa forever!He flashed that miniature of her and passed it around. He nudges LawsonT. Ryder playful in the short ribs, hammers Deacon Larkin on the back,and then groups himself, beamin' foolish, with one arm around old Busbeeand the other around Mr. Hyde.
Maybe you know how catchin' that sort of thing is? It's got the measlesor barber's itch beat seven ways. That bunch of grouches just couldn'tresist. Inside of five minutes they was grinnin' with him, and when Ifinally shoos 'em out they was formin' a committee to shake each otherdown for two hundred per towards a weddin' present.
I finds it about as much use tryin' to get Mr. Robert to settle down tobusiness as it would be teachin' a hummin'-bird to sit for hisphotograph. So I gives up, and asks for details of the big event.
"When does it come off?" says I.
"Oh, right away," says he. "I don't know just when; but soon--verysoon."
"Home or church?" says I.
"Oh, either," says he. "It doesn't matter in the least."
"Maybe it don't," says I, "but it's a point someone has to settle, youknow."
"Yes, yes," says he, wavin' careless. "I've no doubt someone will."
He was right. Up to then I hadn't heard much about Miss Hampton's fam'lyexcept that she was an orphan, and I expect Mr. Robert had an idea therewa'n't any nosey relations to butt in. But it ain't three days after theengagement got noised around that a cousin of Elsa's shows up, a Mrs.Montgomery Pulsifer--a swell party with a big place in the Berkshires.
Seems she'd been kind of cold and distant to Miss Hampton on account ofher bein' a concert singer; but, now that Elsa has drawn down a prizelike Robert Ellins, here comes Mrs. Pulsifer flutterin' to town, allsmiles and greatly excited. Where was the wedding to be? And thereception? Not in this stuffy little hotel suite, she hopes! Why not atCrag Oaks, her place near Lenox? There was the dearest littleivy-covered church! And a perfectly charming rector!
Then Sister Mar
jorie is called in. Sure, she was strong for the frillystuff. If Brother Robert had finally decided to be married, it must bedone properly. And Mrs. Pulsifer's country house would be just theplace. Only, she had an idea that their old fam'ly friend, the Bishop,ought to be asked to officiate. The perfectly charming rector mightassist.
"Why, to be sure!" says Mrs. Pulsifer. "The Bishop, by all means."
Anyway, it went something like that; and the first thing Mr. Robertknows, they've doped out for him a regulation three-ring splicefest withall the trimmin's, from a gold-braided carriage caller to a specialtrain for the Newport guests. And, bein' still busy with his rosydreams, Mr. Robert don't get wise to what's been framed up for him untilhere Saturday afternoon out at Marjorie's, when they start to spring theprogramme on him.
"Why, see here, sis," says he, "you've put this three weeks off!"
"The bridesmaids' gowns can't be finished a day sooner," says Marjorie."Besides, the invitations must be engraved; you can't get a catererlike Marselli at a moment's notice; and there is the organ to beinstalled, you know."
"Organ!" protests Mr. Robert. "Oh, I say!"
"You don't expect the Lohengrin March to be played on drums, I hope,"said Marjorie. "Do be sensible! You've been best man times enough toknow that----"
"Great Scott, yes," says Mr. Robert. "But really, sis, I don't want togo through all that dreary business--dragging in to the wedding-march,with everyone looking solemn and holding their breath while they stareat you! Why, it's deadly! Gloomy, you know; a relic of barbarism worthyof some savage tribe."
"Why, Robert!" protests Marjorie.
"But it is," he goes on. "Haven't I pitied the poor victims who had togo through with it? Think of having to run that gauntlet--morbidlycurious old women, silly girls, bored men--and trying to keep step tothat confounded dirge. Wedding march, indeed! They make it sound morelike the march of the condemned. _Tum-tum-te-dum!_ Ugh! I tell you,Marjorie, I'm not going to have it. Nor any of this stodgy, grewsomefuss. I mean to have a cheerful wedding."
"Humph!" says Marjorie. "I suppose you would like to hop-skip-and-jumpdown to the altar?"
"Why not?" asks Mr. Robert.
"Don't be absurd, Robert," says she. "You'll be married quiterespectably and sanely, as other people are. Anyway, you'll just haveto. Mrs. Pulsifer and I are managing the affair, remember."
"Are you?" says Mr. Robert, lettin' out the first growl I'd heard fromhim in over a week.
I nudges Vee and we exchanges grins.
"The groom always takes on that way," she whispers. "It's the usualthing."
I was sorry for the Boss, too. He'd been havin' such a good time before.But now he goes off with his chin down and his brow all wrinkled up.Course we knew he'd go straight to Elsa and tell her his troubles. But Icouldn't see where that was goin' to do him any good. You know how womenare about such things. They may be willin' to take a chance along somelines, but when it comes to weddin's and funerals they're stand-patters.
So Sunday afternoon, when I gets a 'phone call from Mr. Robert askin' meto meet him at Miss Hampton's apartment, and he adds that he's decidedto duck the whole Crag Oaks proposition and do it his own way, I demandssuspicious:
"But how about Miss Elsa?"
"She feels just as I do about it," says he. "Come up. She will tell youso herself."
And she does.
"I think it's the silly veil to which I object most," says she. "As ifanyone ever did see a blushing bride! Why, the ordeal has them halfscared to death, poor things! And no wonder. Yes, I quite agree withRobert. Weddings should be actually happy affairs--not stiff, gloomyceremonies cumbered with outworn conventions. I've seen women weep atweddings. If I should catch one doing that at mine, I should be temptedto box her ears. Really! So we have decided that our wedding must be amerry one. That is why, Torchy, we have sent for you."
"Eh?" says I, gawpin'.
"You are to be best man," says Mr. Robert, clappin' me on the back.
"Me?" I gasps. "Ah, say!"
"Your Miss Verona," adds Elsa, "is to be my only bridesmaid."
"Well, that helps," says I. "But how--where----"
"It doesn't matter," says Mr. Robert. "Anywhere in the State--or I canget a Connecticut or New Jersey license. It shall be wherever youdecide."
"Wha-a-at?" says I.
Mr. Robert chuckles.
"As best man," he goes on, "we appoint you general manager of the wholeaffair; don't we, Elsa?"
She nods, smilin'.
"With full powers," says she.
"We'll motor out somewhere," adds Mr. Robert. "You and Miss Vee take thelimousine; we will go in the roadster. If Marjorie and Ferdie wish tocome along, they can join us in their car."
"How about a dominie?" says I. "Do I pick up one casual along the road?"
"Oh, I forgot the Reverend Percy," says Mr. Robert. "He's consented toquit that East Side settlement work of his for a day. You'll have totake him along. Now, how soon may we start? To-morrow morning, say?"
"Hel-lup!" says I. "I'm gettin' dizzy."
"Then Tuesday," says he, "at nine-thirty sharp."
"But say, Mr. Robert," says I, "just what----"
"Only make it as merry as you know how," he breaks in. "That's the mainidea; isn't it, Elsa?"
Another nod from Elsa.
"Robert has great faith in you as a promoter of cheerful affairs," saysshe. "I think I have, too."
"That being the case," says I, "I got to live up to my rep. or strip agear. So here goes."
With which I breezes out and pikes uptown to consult Vee.
"Did you ever hear anything so batty?" says I.
"Why, I think it's perfectly splendid fun," says Vee. "Just think,Torchy, you can do anything you choose!"
"It's the choosin' that's goin' to bother me," says I. "I'm nomatrimonial stage manager. I don't even know where to pull the thingoff."
"I've thought of just the place," says she. "Harbor Hill, the VernonMarkleys' place out on Long Island. They're in the mountains now, youknow, and the house is closed; but----"
"You ain't thinkin' of borrowin' their garage for this, are you?" saysI.
"Silly!" says she. "Mrs. Markley's open-air Greek theater! You must haveseen pictures of it. It's a dream--white cement pergolas covered withwoodbine and pink ramblers, and a wonderful stretch of lawn in front. Itwould be an ideal setting. She's a great friend of Aunty's. We'll justwire for her permission; shall we?"
"Listens good," says I. "But we got to get busy. Tuesday, you know. Whatabout eats, though?"
"There's a country club only half a mile away," says she.
"You're some grand little planner," says I. "Now let me go plot out howto put the tra-la-la business into the proceedin's."
I had a hunch that part would come easy, too; but after a couple ofhours' steady thinkin' I decided that as a joy producer I'd beenoverrated. The best I could dig out was to hunt up some music, and byMonday noon that was my total contribution. I'd hired a band. It's someband, though--one of these fifteen-piece dance-hall combinations thathad just closed a Coney Island engagement and was guaranteed to tear offthis affair in zippy style. I left word what station they was to get offat, and 'phoned for a couple of jitneys to meet 'em. For the rest, I wasbankin' on my luck.
And right on schedule we makes a nine-thirty getaway--three machines inall; for, while Marjorie had thrown seventeen cat fits when she firstheard that Brother Robert had renigged, she shows up with Ferdie at thelast minute. Catch her missin' out on any kind of a weddin'!
"But just where, Robert," she demands, "is this absurd affair to takeplace?"
"Haven't the least idea," says he. "Ask Torchy."
So I names the spot, gives the chauffeurs their route directions, andoff we booms across the College Point ferry and out towards the far endof the north shore. The Reverend Percy turns out to be kind of a solemn,serious-minded gink. Seems he'd been in college with Mr. Robert, hadrooms just across the hall, and accordin' to his tell them must haveb
een lively days.
"Although I can't say," he adds, "that at all times I enjoyed beingpulled out of bed at 2 A.M. to act as judge of an ethical debate betweena fuddled cab-driver and a star halfback who had been celebrating afootball victory. I fear I considered Bob's sense of humor somewhatoverdeveloped. Just like him, running off like this. I trust the affairis not going to be made too unconventional."
I winks at Vee.
"Only an open-air performance," says I, "with maybe a little cheerin'music to liven things up. His instructions are to have it merry."
"Ah, yes!" says the Reverend Percy. "Quite so. I understand."
If he did he was a better guesser than me. For I was more or less atsea. We hadn't more than whirled in through the stone gate-posts ofHarbor Hill, too, than I begun to scent complications. For there, linedup in front of the house, are four other machines, with a whole mob ofpeople around 'em.
"Why!" says Vee. "Who can they be?"
"Looks like someone had beaten us to it," says I. "I'll go do somescoutin'."
Course, one close-up look is all that's needed. It's a movie outfit. I'mjust gettin' hot under the collar, too, when I discovers that the gentin charge is none other than my old newspaper friend, Whitey Weeks. I'dheard how he'd gone into the film game as stage director, but I hadn'tseen him at it yet. And here he is, big as life, wearin' a suit of noisyplaids as usual, and bossin' this assorted bunch of screen favoriteslike he'd done it all his life.
"A little lively with those grease-paints now, ladies," he's callin'out. "This isn't for a next spring release, you know."
"Huh!" says I, strollin' up. "Got the same old nerve with you, eh,Whitey?"
"Well, well!" says he. "The illustrious and illuminating Torchy! Don'ttell me you've just bought the estate?"
"Would it matter to you who owned it," says I, "if you wanted to use itbad?"
"Such cruel suspicions!" says he. "Sir, my permit!"
He's got it, straight enough--a note to the lodge-keeper, signed by Mrs.Vernon Markley, and statin' that the Unexcelled Film Company was tohave the courtesy of the grounds any afternoon between the 15th and25th.
"You see," explains Whitey, "we're staging an old English costume piece,and this Greek theater of Mrs. Markley's just fits in. Our presidentworked the deal for us. And we've got to do a thousand feet between nowand five o'clock. Not in the same line, are you?"
And he glances towards our crowd, that's pilin' out of the cars andgazin' puzzled towards us.
"Do we look it?" says I. "No, what we was plannin' to pull off here wasa weddin'. That's the groom there--my boss, Mr. Robert Ellins."
"Bob Ellins!" says Whitey. "Whe-e-ew!"
"Mrs. Markley must have forgot," says I. "Makes it kind of awkward forus, though."
"But see here," says Whitey. "A real wedding, you say? Why, that's odd!That's our stunt, with merry villagers and all that stuff. Now, say, whycouldn't we---- Let's see! Do you suppose Mr. Ellins would mind if----"
I got the idea in a flash.
"He won't mind anything," says I, "so long as he can be married merry.He's leavin' that to me--the whole act."
"By Jove!" says Whitey. "The very thing, then. We'll---- But who else isthis arriving? Look, coming in, two motor-buses full!"
"That's our band," says I.
"Great!" says Whitey. "Rovelli's, too! Say, this is going to be a bit ofall right! Have him form 'em on between those cedars, out of range. Nowwe'll just get your folks into costume, let our company trail along aspart of the wedding procession, and shoot the dear public the realthing, for once. What do you say?"
Course, considerin' how Mr. Robert had shied at a hundred or sospectators, this lettin' him in on a film exchange circuit might seem alittle raw; but it was too good a chance to miss. Another minute, andI'm strollin' over, lookin' bland and innocent.
"Any hitch?" says Mr. Robert. "Have we got to the wrong place?"
"Not much," says I. "This is the right place at the right time. Didn'tyou tell me to go as far as I liked, so long as I made it merry?"
"So I did, Torchy," he admits.
"Then prepare to cut loose," says I. "This way, everybody, and get onyour weddin' clothes!"
For a second or so Mr. Robert hangs back. He glances doubtful at MissHampton. But say, she's a good sport, she is.
"Come along, Robert," says she. "I'm sure Torchy has planned somethingunique."
I didn't dispute her. It was all of that. First we groups the ladies onthe south veranda behind a lot of screens, and herds the men around thecorner. Then we unpacks them suitcases of Whitey's and distributes thethings. Such regalias, too! What Mr. Robert draws is mostly two coloredtights, spangled trunks, a gorgeous cape, peak-toed shoes of redleather, and a sword. Maybe he didn't look some spiffy in it!
You should have seen Ferdie, though, with a tow-colored wig clapped downover his ears and his spindle shanks revealed to a cold and cruel worldin a pair of faded pink ballet trousers. For the Reverend Percy they dugout a fuzzy brown bathrobe with a hood, and tied a rope around hiswaist. Me, I'm dolled up in green tights and a leather coat, and get abugle to carry.
How frisky a few freak clothes make you feel, don't they? Mr. Robertbegins cuttin' up at once, and even Ferdie shows signs of wantin' toindulge in frivolous motions, if he only knew how. The reg'lar moviepeople gets the idea this is goin' to be some kind of a lark, and theyjoins in, too. When the ladies appeared they sure looked stunnin'. MissHampton has on a fancy flarin' collar two feet high, and a skirt like aballoon; but she's a star in it just the same. Sister Marjorie, who's abit husky anyway, looks like a human hay-stack in that rig. AndVee--well, say, she'd be a winner in any date costume you could name.
Meanwhile Whitey has posted his camera men in the shrubbery, where theycan get the focus without bein' seen, and has rounded us up for a littlepreliminary coachin'.
"Remember," says he, "what we're supposed to be doing is a wedding, backin the days of Robin Hood, with all the merry villagers given a day off.So make it snappy. We want action, lots of it. Let yourselves go. Laugh,kick up your heels, let out the hi-yi-yips! Now, then! Are you ready?"
"Wait until I start the band," says I. "Hey, there, Mr. Rovelli! Musiccue! Something zippy and raggy. Shoot it!"
Say, I don't know how them early English parties used to put it overwhen they got together for a mad, gladsome romp on the greensward, butif they had anything on us they must have been double-jointed. For, withMr. Robert and Miss Hampton skippin' along hand in hand, Vee and mekeepin' step behind, a couple of movie ladies rushin' the Reverend Percyover the grass rapid, and the other couples with arms linked, doin'fancy steps to a jingly fox-trot--well, take it from me, it was gaydoin's.
And when we'd galloped around over the lawn until we'd bunched for theweddin' picture in front of this Greek theater effect, the ReverendPercy had barely breath enough left to go through his lines. He does,though, with Mr. Robert addin' joshin' remarks; and we winds up bygivin' the bride and groom three rousin' cheers and peltin' 'em withroses as they makes a run through the double line we forms.
Yep, that was some weddin', if I do say it. And the sit-down luncheonI'd ordered at the Country Club in Mr. Robert's name wa'n't any skimpyaffair, even though we did spring an extra number on 'em offhand. Forthe boss insists on goin' just as we are, in our costumes, and luggin'along all the movie people. The reckless way he buys fizz for 'em, too!
And, by the time the party breaks up, Whitey Weeks is so full ofgratitude and enthusiasm and other things that he near bubbles over.
"Torchy," says he, wringin' my hand fraternal, "you have given mycompany the time of their lives. They're all strong for you. And, say,I've got a thousand feet of film that's simply going to knock 'em coldat the first-run houses. Any time I can----"
"Don't mention it," says I. "Specially about that film. The boss don'tknow yet that you had the camera goin'. Thought it was only rehearsin',I guess. All he's sure of now is that he's been married merry. And if heever forgets just how merry, for a
dime he can go take a look andrefresh his mem'ry, can't he? But I'm bettin' he never forgets."
THE END
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JOHN FOX, JR'S. STORIES OF THE KENTUCKY MOUNTAINS
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list.
THE TRAIL OF THE LONESOME PINE.Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.
The "lonesome pine" from which the story takes its name was a tall tree that stood in solitary splendor on a mountain top. The fame of the pine lured a young engineer through Kentucky to catch the trail, and when he finally climbed to its shelter he found not only the pine but the _foot-prints of a girl_. And the girl proved to be lovely, piquant, and the trail of these girlish foot-prints led the young engineer a madder chase than "the trail of the lonesome pine."
THE LITTLE SHEPHERD OF KINGDOM COMEIllustrated by F. C. Yohn.
This is a story of Kentucky, in a settlement known as "Kingdom Come." It is a life rude, semi-barbarous; but natural and honest, from which often springs the flower of civilization.
"Chad," the "little shepherd" did not know who he was nor whence he came--he had just wandered from door to door since early childhood, seeking shelter with kindly mountaineers who gladly fathered and mothered this waif about whom there was such a mystery--a charming waif, by the way, who could play the banjo better that anyone else in the mountains.
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The scenes are laid along the waters of the Cumberland, the lair of moonshiner and feudsman. The knight is a moonshiner's son, and the heroine a beautiful girl perversely christened "The Blight." Two impetuous young Southerners' fall under the spell of "The Blight's" charms and she learns what a large part jealousy and pistols have in the love making of the mountaineers.
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ZANE GREY'S NOVELS
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list
THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARSColored frontispiece by W. Herbert Dunton.
Most of the action of this story takes place near the turbulent Mexican border of the present day. A New York society girl buys a ranch which becomes the center of frontier warfare. Her loyal cowboys defend her property from bandits, and her superintendent rescues her when she is captured by them. A surprising climax brings the story to a delightful close.
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Another fascinating story of the Mexican border. Two men, lost in the desert, discover gold when, overcome by weakness, they can go no farther. The rest of the story describes the recent uprising along the border, and ends with the finding of the gold which the two prospectors had willed to the girl who is the story's heroine.
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A picturesque romance of Utah of some forty years ago when Mormon authority ruled. In the persecution of Jane Withersteen, a rich ranch owner, we are permitted to see the methods employed by the invisible hand of the Mormon Church to break her will.
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GROSSET & DUNLAP, PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK