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> &VV THE. "4 *' v.-- 'If: (»y - 'JP- '•• Vk"i ••Win: iiy Wi"ipWft9cHar4<^dEdtoin.-Batmt* V ' ' ' ' •*" -- • > JSepyClgK# br Mwi» B«4m«r .*> *> *> *1# rr ^ f <!«*,£"<$i. ^ : '^f ;'. -NOI NOI HINRVP SYNOPSIS.--Wealthy and hlrhly placed In the Chicago buslneM world. Benjamin Corvet Is something of a recluse and a mystery to hla associates. After a Btormy Interview with his partner, Henry Spearman, Corvet seeks Constance Sherrill, daughter of his othar business partner, Lawrence Sherrill, and secures from her a promise not to marry Spearman until he returns. He then disappears. Sherrill learns Corvet has written to a certain Alan Conrad, in Blue Rap- Ids, Kansas, and exhibited strange agitation over the matter. Alan arrives in Chicago. Krom a statement of Sherrill it seems probable Conrad to Corvet-s illegitimate son. Corvet has deeded his house and Its contents to Alan, who takes possession. That night Alan discovers a man ransacking Corvet's apartments. The intruder thinks Alan a ghost and raves of the "Mlwaka." After a struggle the man escapes. Next day Alan learns from Sherrill that Corvet has deeded his entire property to him. Introduced to Spearman, Alan Is astonished at the discovery that he 1s the man whom he had fought In his house the night before. Spearman laughs at and defies him. # pear man poisons Constance's mind against Alan. Somebody tries to kill Alan in the night. Corvet's Indian servant, Wassaquam, tel.f Alan he believes his employer Is dead. He also tells him the legend of the Indian drum, which according to old superstition beats once for every life lost on the Great Lakes. Twenty years before, the great freighter Miwaka had gone down with twenty-five on board, but the Drum had sounded for only twenty-four, leaving the inference that one person had been saved. Luke, who has long been blackmailing Corvet, appears, talks mysteriously and dies. Alan goM to the Land of the Drum, CHAPTER XII--Continued. --10--" It vu In January, 1896, Constance ibered, that Alan Conrad had in brought to the people In Kansas; e then was "about three years old." ,'Srt^v-' If this wedding ring was his mother's, 1 ijthe date would be about right; it was •t&.: ;a date probably something more than tM year before Alan was born. Con- ' !stanoe put down the ring and picked ^'r'whiP the watch. It was like Uncle Ben- ^" ' ^ay's watch--or like one of his watches. ;.^He had several, she knew, presented *]to him at various times--watches alv; most always were the testimonials ,jgiven to seamen for acts of sacrifice vjjand bravery. The spring which opaerated the cover would not work, but ^Constance forced the cover open. There, Inside the cover as she had ^thought ft would be, was engraved ^jwrlting. Sand had seeped Into the Incase; the Inscription was obliterated |^f Jbi part IS ./ "For his courage and skill In fceam . . . master of . . . which he ^brought to the rescue of the pnssen- - fcers and crew of the steamer Wlnnejbago foundering . . Point, Lake •>; -C." firle, Nov. 26, 1890, this watch Is $&rf> 4 • "tflonated by the BufEalo Merchants' Ex- , ^ r change." L.'V Uncle Benny's name, evidently, had Vrf. . ,. -been engraved upon the outside. Cont ^ ^stance could not particularly reroem- <jer the rescue of the people of the Winnebago; 1890 was years before she . *was born, and Uncle Benny did not t?^IyS;%ell hear that sort of thing about hlmjself. v Constance left the watch open and, 'v^^jshlveilBg a little, she gently laid It T^ldswn upon lier bed. The pocketknlfe -had Do distinguishing mark of any The coins were abraded and pitm> & 0Is Jk1 Constance Choked, and Her Eyes Filled With Tears. ; ted disks--a silver dollar, a half dol- 4 iar and three quarters, not so much abraded, three nickels, and two pen ales. Constance choked, and her eyes filled with tears. These things--plainly *hey were the things found in Uncle Benny's pockets -- corroborated only too fylly what Wassaquam believed and what her father had been coming to believe--that Uncle Benny was dead. The muffler and the scrap of P*per had not been in water or In land. The paper was written In pencil ; It had not even been moistened or it would have blurred. There was nothing upon It to tell how long ago It had been written; but It had been written certainly before June 12. "After June 12." It said. That day was August the eighteenth. It was seven months since' Uncle Benny had gone away. After his strange Interview with her that day and his going home, had Uncle Benny gone out directly to bis death? There was nothing to show that he had not ik* mu&t hosA IAIB '* . .r ^-1 for many weeks, for months, in water and In sand to become eroded In this way. But, aside from this, there wns nothing that could be inferred regarding the time or place of Uncle Benny's rieuth. That the package had been mailed from Manitowoc meant nothing definite. Some one--Constance could not know whom--had had the muffler and the scrawled leaf of directions; later, after lying in water and In sand, the things which were to be "sent" had come to that some one's hand. Most probably this some one had been one who was going about on, ships; when his ship had touched at Manitowoc, he had executed his charge. Constance J|eft the articles upon the bed and threw the window more widely open. She trembled and felt stirred and faint, ns she leaned against the window, breathing deeply the warm air, full of life and with the scent of the evergreen trees about the house. The "cottnge" of some twenty rooms stood among the pines and hemlocks Interspersed with hardwood on "the Point," where were the great fine summer homes at the wealthier "resorters." • "* This was Uncle Benny's country. Here, twenty-five years before, he had first met Henry, whose birthplace -a farm, deserted now--was only a few miles back among the hills. Here^ before that, Uncle Benny had been a young man, active, vigorous, ambitious. He had loved this country for Itself and for Its traditions. Its Indian. legends and fantastic stories. Half her own love for It--and, since her childhood, It had been to her a region of delight--was due to him and to the things he had told her about It. Distinct and definite memories of th: 4 companionship came to her. This li tie bay, which had become now fi the most part only a summer playground for such as she, had been once a place where he and other men had struggled to grow rich swiftly; he had outlined for her the ruined lumber docks and pointed out to her the locn tlons of the dismantled sawmills. >> was he who had told her the nam* of the freighters passing far out, and the v names »of the lighthouses, and something about each. He had told her, too, about the Indians. She remembered one starry night when he had pointed out to her In the sky the Indian "Way of Ghosts," the Milky way, along which, by ancient Indian belief, the souls of Indians traveled up to heaven; and how, later, lying on the recessed seat beside the fireplace where she could touch the dogs upon the hearth, he had pointed out to her through the window the Indian Way of Dogg" among the constellations, by which the dogs too could make that Journey. It was he who had told her about Mlchabou and the animals; and he had been the first to tell her of the Drum. The disgrace, nnhapplness, the threat of something worse, which must have made death a relief to Uncle Benny, she had seen passed on now to Alan. What more had come to Alan since she had last heard of him? Word had reached her father through shipping circles in May and again In July which told of Inquiries regarding Uncle Benny which made her and her father believe that Alan was searching for his father upon the lakes. Now these articles which had arrived made plain to her that he would never find Uncle Benny; he would learn, through others or through themselves, that Uncle Benny was dead. Would he believe then that there was no longer any chance of learning what his father had done? Would he remain away because of lhat, not letting her see or hear from him again? She went back and picked up the wedding ring. The thought which had come to her that this was Alan's mother's wedding ring, had fastened itself upon her with a sense of certainty. It defended that unknown mother; it freed her, at least, from the stigma which Constance's own mother had been so ready to cast. Constance could not yet begin to place Uncle Benny in relation to that ring; but she was beginning to be able to think of Alan and his mother. She held the little band of gold very tenderly In her hand; she was glad thnt, as the accusation against his mother had come through her people, she could tell him soon of this. She could not send the ring to him, not knowing where he was; that was too much risk. But she could ask him to come to her; this gave that right. She sat thoughtful fqr several mln utes, the ring clasped warmly in her hand; then she went to her desk and wrote: Mr. John Welton, « , "Blue Rapids, Knn«ap : t 5 Dear Mr. Welton: 'H •It is possible that Alan ^CMrad has mentioned me--or at least told you of my father--in connection with his stay in Chicago. After Alan left Chicago, my father wrote twice to his Blue Rapids address, but evidently he had Instructed the postmaster there to forward his maii and had not made any change In those instructions, for the letters were returned to Alan's address ana in that way came back to us. We did not like to press Inquiries further than that, as of course he could have communicated with us If he had not felt that there was some reason for not doing so. Now, however. something of such supreme Importance to him has come to us that it is necessary for us to get word to him at once. If you can tell me any address at which he can be reached by telegraph or mail--or where a messenger can find him--It will oblige us very much and wiU be to his interest" She hesitated, about to dp it; than. Impulsively, she added: "I trust J* klww that. W« tare Alan's Interest at heart and that you can safely tell us anything you may know ss to where he Is or what he may be doing. We all liked him here so very much. . . .** She signed her name. There were still two other letters to write. Only the handwriting of the address upon the package, the Manitowoc postmark and the shoe box furnished clues to the sender of the ring and the watch and the oiher things. Constance herself rould not trace those clues, but Henry or her father could. She wrote to both of them, therefore, describing the articles which had com* and relating what she had done. The next noon she received a wire from Heriry that he was "coming up," It did not surprise her, as she had expected him the end of the week. Late that evening, she sat with her mother on the wide, screened veranda. The lights of some boat turning in between the points and moving swiftly caught her attention. As it entered the path of the moonlight, Its look was so like that of Henry's power yacht that she arose. It wns his way, as soon as he had decided to leave business again and go to her, to arrive He Drew Her to Him fowertully; She Felt Him Warm, Almost Rough With Passion*. J - as soon as possible} lhat had been his way recently, particularly. So the sight of the yacht stirred her warmly and she watched while It ran In close, stopped and , instantly dropped a dingey from the davits. She saw Henry in the stern of the little boat; It disappeared In the shadow of a pier . . . she heard, presently, the gravel of the walk crunch under his quick steps, and then she saw him in the moonlight among the trees. She went down on the path to meet him. "How quickly you came!" "You let yourself thigk ypu oeeded me, Connie 1" "I did. . . ' ^4".?/'. ^ He had cangffc tier tamft M-Ms and he held it while he brought her to, the porch and exchanged gratings with her mother. Then he led her on past and into the house. When she saw his face in the light, there were signs of strain in it. "You're tired, Henry!" He shook his head. **It'a been rotten hot In Chicago; then I guess I was mentally stoking all the way up here, Connie. But first, where are the things you wanted me to see?" She ran upstairs and brought them down to him. Her hands were shaking now as she gave them to him; she could not exactly understand why; but her tremor Increased as she saw his big hands fumbling as he unwrapped the mufTler and shook out the things it inclosed. He took them up one by ofie and looked at them, as she had done. His fingers were steady now, but only by mastering of control, the effort for which amazed her. He had the watch in his hands. "The inscription is inside the front," she said. She pried the cover open again and read, with him, the words engraved within. " 'As master of . . .' What ship was he master of then, Henry, and how did he rescue the Winnebago's people?" "He never talked to me about things like that, Constance. This is all?** "Yes." Henry put the things back in the box. "Of course, this is the end of Benjamin Corvet." "Of course," Constance said. 8he waa shaking again and, without willing it, she withdrew a little from Hen ry. He caught her hand again and drew her buck toward him. His hand was quite steady. "You know why I came to you as quick as I could? You know why I-- why my mind was behind every thrust of the engines?" "No." that you've denied it, not only to me and to your people, but to yourself. I, of course, knew, as I know that I am here with your hand In mine, and ae we will stand before the altar together, that he had no cause to speak against me. I've waited, Connie, to give him a chance to say to you what he had to soy; I wanted you to hear it before making you wholly mine. But now there's no need to wait any longer, you and L Ben's gone, never to come back. I. was sure of that by what you wrdte me, so this time when I started to you I brought with me-- this." He felt hi his pocket and brought out a ring of plain gold; he held It before her so that she could see within It her 6wn initials and his and a blank left for the date. Her gaze went from it for an instant to the box where he had put back the pother ring--Alan's mother's. Feeling )for her long ago gazing thus, as she must have, at that ring, held her for a moment. Was It because of that that Constance found herself cold now? You mean you want me to marry you--at once, Henry?" He drew her to him powerfully; she felt him warm, almost rough with passions. Since that day when, in Alan Conrad's presence, he had grasped and kissed her, she had not let him "realize" their engagement, as he had put It. "Why not7" he turned her face up to his now. "Your mother's here; your father will follow soon; or, if you will, we'll run away--Constance! You've kept me off so long! Yon don't believe there's anything agalnlt me, dear? Do you? Do you?" "No; no! Of course not I" "Then we're going to be married. . . . Right away, we'll have It then; up here; now!" "No; not now, Henry* Hot Hp here!" " i "Not here? Why not?* ' She could give no answer. He held her and commanded her again; only when he frightened her, he ceased. "Why must It be at once, Henry? I don't understand!" "It's not must, dear," he denied. ' '"It's Just that I want you so!" " When would it be, he demanded then; before spring, she promised at ^ast. But that was all he could make tier say. And so he let her go. The next evening, in the jnoonlight, she drove him to Petoskey. He had messages to send and preferred to trust the telegraph office in the larger town. •Ian was driving northward along the long, sandy peninsula which separates the blue waters of Grand Traverse from Lake Michigan; and, thinking of Constance, he knew that she was near. He not only had remembered that she would be north at Harbor Point this month; he had seen in one of the Petoskey papers that she and her mother were at the Sherrill summer home. His business now was taking him nearer them than he had been at any time before; and, If he wished to weaken, he might convince himself that he might learn from her circumstances which would aid him in his task. But he was not going to her for help; that was following in his father's footsteps. When he knew everything, then--not till then--he could go to her; for then he would know exactly what was upon him and what he should do. His visits to the people named on those sheets written by his father had been confusing at first; he had had great difficulty hi tracing some of them at all; and, afterward, he couid uncover no certain connection either between them and Benjamin Corvet or between themselves. But recently, h* had been succeeding better in this latter. He had seen--he reckoned them over again--fourteen of the twenty-one nam^J originally on Benjamin Corvet's lists; that is, he had seen either the Individual originally named, or the surviving relative written in below the name crossed off. He had found that the crossing out of the name meant that the person was dead, except in the case of two who had left the country and whose whereabouts were as unknown to their present relatives as they had been to Benjamin Corvet, and the case of one other. Who was in an insane asylum. He had found that no one of the others kn«# tltti "itf^'lis a But, when AIM. ftoWMftfcd, al there was one ro»innat1sH with of the original npw||f| jOwpys one circumstance bound «il together, When be had established that' circumstance as Influencing the fortunes of the first two on his Hats, he had said to himself, as the blood pricked queerly under the skin, that the fact might be a mere coincidence. When he established it also as affecting the fate of the third and of the fourth and Of the fifth, such explanation no longer sufficed; and he found It in common to all fourteen, sometimes as the deciding factor of their fate, sometimes as only slightly affecting them, but always it was there. In how many different ways. In what strange, diverse manifestations that single circumstance had spread to these people whom Alap had interviewed! No two of them had been affected alike, he reckoned, as he went over his notes of them. Now he was going to trace those consequences to another. To what sort of place would It bring him today and what would he find there? He knew only that it would be quite distinct from the rest. The driver turned aside from the road across a cleared field where ruts showed the passing of many previous vehicles; crossing this, they entered the woods. Little fires for cooking burned all about them, and nearer were parked an immense number of farm wagons and buggies, with horses unharnessed and munching grain. Alan's guide found a place among these for his automobile, and they got out and went forward on foot. All about them, seated upon the moss or walking about, were Indians, family groups among which children played. Alan saw among these looking on, the bright dresses and sport coats of summer visitors who had come to watch. The figure of a girl among these caught his attention, and he started; then swiftly he told himself that it was only his thinking of Constance Sherrill that made him believe this was she. But now she had seen him; she paled, then as quickly flushed, and leaving the group she had been with, came toward him. He had no choice now whether he would avoid her or not; and his happiness at seeing her held him stupid, watching her. Her eyes were very bright and with something more than friendly greeting; there was happiness in them too. His throat shut together as he recognized this, and his hand closed warmly over the small, trembling hand which she put out to him. All his conscious thought was lost for the moment in the mere realization of her presence; he stood, holding her hand, oblivious that there were people looking; she too seemed careless of that. Then she whitened again and withdrew her hand; she seemed slightly confused. He was confused as well; It was not like this that he had meant to greet her; he caught himself 'together. Cap In hand, he stood besl<le her, trying to look and to feel as iuiy ordinary acquaintance of her* would have looked. "What I. It, Alan? What U it about the Miwaka?" . 4TO BE CONTINUED^ J-. ^ 1 I „ -f' fteep Mentally Alert^ ;'.V: When all's said and done you're worth what's under your hood. Become mentally inert and you stagnate. Allow the "isms" and the "ifs" of the times to flood your mental carburetor and you'll choke the engine on the most crowded corner. The man who succeeds must keep everlastingly fit. He must constantly care for what's under the hood. Many a time he'll have to do what he doesn't want to do. But doing that well only makes a man of him. Small fry never do anything except what pleases. Men of big mold do many things distasteful to them to help others. In the end they're happier for It. So be a man of progress. Pay attention to what's under the hood and keep the mental machinery well tuned to It* task.--<irlt. , ... To Keep Floors In Condition.! Finished floors can be kept in good condition with a comparatively small outlay of time and strength, but the method must be adapted to the kind tit finish. Too often, an expensive and carefully applted finish is spoiled by neglect or lack of knowledge of the best methods and materials to use in cleaning. The parts of a floor that receive hardest wear, near doors, for Instance, or In halls, can be protected by small rugs, and coconut fiber of other mats placed at all entrances tq the house will reduce the mud and dirt which are carried in on shoes and which help to wear down all floor finishes. e®o<§>e®e®e®e®e®e(g)e®e®e®e<3>e®e<S)e©e®e©e®e®e©e®e@e®e®oOe SPANIEL RETRIEVES GOLF BALLS must know now!*** 'Yes, Henry," she said. 'I've been patient, Connie. Till I got your letter telling me this about Ben, I'd waited for your sake--for our sakjM--though It seemed at times it was Impossible. You haven't known quite what'8 the matter between us these last months, little girl; but I've known. We've been engaged; but that's about all there's been to It. Don't think I make little of that; yo^ know what I mean. You've been mine; but--but you haven't let me realize It, you see. And I've been patient, for I knew the reason. It was Ben polsoa' -tag your mind against me/? "No! No, Henry !" ToCtO denied li; rvo English Dog 8ourc« of Considerable ftevenue to Small Boy, His Owner and Colleague. The Manx seagull who seised a golf bait from under the very niblick of a player, was a spoil-sport as well as a gourmand. His conduct can be extenuated only on the plea of defective education. Very different it Is with the spaniel who piles a steady trade on certain links in Cornwall, England. "You don't? Oh, ffV know; you The course lies along the cliff top. . . I -_ t H . ' wl i tiltfhk an sn t»ef e. npn sDeAanwn .anri .d/ l sa lt oA pf ue, su tfrr eawm nt ) with loose rocks and thick with gorse and all kinds of tangled growth. Many a ball goes bouncing down. From the doorstep of a cottage looking on the links, an amiable spaniel watches. Is it fancy which sees his brown eyes glisten when a new ball Is abandoned? When the last golfer hies home, the spaniel's hour comes. Unhasting, systematic, he works that hank of rock and heather, where four feet have so great an advantage In security, and the nose is a safer guide to hidden treasure than the eye. His accomplice, a mere boy. who acts a* storekeeper and accountant, receives the proceeds on the brink. Up and down trots "tfct traveling sa--iber of the firm, till darkness is complete and he lolis homeward behind his col. league, whose pockets bulge with treasure to be exchanged tomorrow with Its former owners or their frond* for coin. FR/e-WNm fBo*, His My EtnaAatafjiAr (Svered Iflth Bniistt, Aesoued by Pofice. TELLS OF BRUTALITY Slept on Piece of Carpet in Crude 9mp Box--When He Cried Other Children Were Sent Down to Punish Him. Syracuse, N. Y.--The police rescued Kenneth Vermler, five years old; partly nude, from the cellar of the family home, where he is said to have been imprisoned for two months. The boy's father is Herbert Vermier, production superintendent at one of the city's largest industries. The lad, emaciated, his body and head covered with wounds and bruises, j his neck turned, probably permanently, from huddling on a piece of carpet in a crude soap box, was taken from the cellar by Mrs. Genevieve Searles, policewoman, and William Mesick, superintendent of the Society -for the Prevention of Cruelty to Children. The boy was wrapped In a blanket and taken before a justice of the peace at Eastwood, where a charge of Improper guardianship was brought against him. The court adjourned the case, giving his custodians permission to take the little boy to the matron's department at police headquarters here. Long Time in Cellar. "How long were you down in the cellar?" a police officer asked him. "I don't know Just how long, mister," the boy answered, "but it was an awful long time down there." "What did you have to eat?" "Well, sometimes they would send down a bowl of toastles, with a little milk, then a little toast." Some of the neighborhood children told Mr. M£sick and Mrs. Searles that when they were playing with the Vermler children, Kenneth' would hear them and start to cry from the cellar. When that would happen, the investigators were told, one of the other children would be sent into the cellar to whip Kenneth for crying. Dr. Mandell Shimberg, police surgeon, said the boy was suffering from malnutrition. The boy was the Syracuse Memorial hospital Tells of His Bruises. '* -i Kenneth was asked how he received the wounds on his head and body. "Those," the child said, pointing to the wounds on h^p face and head, "came from sleeping in the box. I Jtiad the box next to the... furnace. There was a carpet In the bottom. :i Vtf On Hoping for Great In spite of the fact that most people say that life is not worth living, they are always anxious to know how fcen> tenarians do it. As it is, no two reclpes for long life agree. Some of these giddy old things chew tobacco and drink a bottle of whisky after ev*ry meal, while others live on starch aodi boiling water. Apparently it doesu't matter a bit what you do, so long as you persevere. The only thing is that you have to try a thing for a hundred years or so to see whether it suits your constitution. The latest method of reaching antiquity Is that of Mrot Ann Orump, who died recently at the age of one hundred and four. She was married, but she left her husband on her wedding day, and never ss* him agata. So now you know--bil| somehow I don't think this method wll become popular among many gir*i -jMadon Oplnta* ; - \ <. Whipped Kenneth for Crying. , No pillow. That's how I hurt my head by laying on the carpet in the box." Black and blue marks on his body, Kenneth said, were from being struck with the handle of a broom. Mrs. Vermler told 'Mrs. Searles that 11 of her 12 children are at home. The oldest, Everett, seventeen, is living, with a family by wboaa bp waf adopted in Infancy. DENIED MEAT FOR TEN YEARS ^Testifies in Court She tet Express Her Pleaourf* ' * < on Saturdays. v •»<..! . Oedar Rapids, la.--Mrs. Maud Darland, wife of Clyde Darland, head of the Helping Hand Mission in Cerro Gordo county, was granted a divorce on the grounds of cruel and Inhuman treatment. She alleged she had not been permitted to eat meat for ten years, was not permitted to drink coffee or tea, could not use vinegar or pepper and could "express no pleasure" on Saturday. Their seven children, she alleged, were not permitted to play on Saturdays and were compelled to pray one hour every morning and an hour and a half every evening. The older children, she claimed, were forced to walk four miles to work, and their only food during the day was a crust of bread. She was allowed the custody of the chlWrsgf'pM $80 a nanoth alimony. Mayor Fines Brother. waverly, O.--Mayor George B. Smith the other day fined his brother Hiram A. Smith, Junior member of the firm of Charles F. Smith's Sons, hardware dealers, of which the mayor is the senior partner, f25 and costs t>ii a charge of infraction of the Sunday closing law. The junior partner testified that he sold ao incubator on Sunday upon the representation of the purchasers that their incubator had gone bad and It would be necessary to have another at to save tfcoa a tapi at the : . , v . . . V „ , J t\y o rnritmt an# Mm Resident, ,' • fctually gained eight peasli In two. «*thr time and am now eating hwgft «|Mpf|tg better and feeling bet* ter tftan I have In three or four yean," Mid Mrs. Celeota Fell, 82 Prince street, Boston, Mass., .recently. 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