The Richmond palladium. (Richmond, Ind.) 1906-1907, 1906-10-25

caught the marx. 1t Ud0 Deen agreed
between them that only engagemen ts
essential TO Chilcote's public life need
be carried through during his absence
and these to save his confusion were
to be crossed in blue pencil. The rest
for the most part social claims, were
to be left to circumstance and Loder's
inclination, Chilcote's cratic memory
| always accounting for the breaking OF
| trivial promises.
But Loder in his new energy was
| anxious for obligations. The desire for
| fresh and greater tests grew with in
| diligence. He scanned the two lines
| with eagerness. The first was an in
| terview with Gresham, one of Chill
cote's supporters in Wark; the other an
i engagement to lunch with Fraide. At
| the idea of the former his interest
| quickened, but at thought of the latter
/ 1t quailed momentarily Had the entry
been royal command it would have
affected him infinitely less. For a
space his assurance faltered. Then by
| coincidence the recollection of Eve and
| Ewes words of last night came back to
| him, and his mind was filed with a
| new sensation.
| Because of Chilcote he was despised
| by Chilcote's wifei There was no de-
| nying that in all the pleasant excite
| ment of the adventure that knowledge
| had ranked. 1t came to him now link
ed with remembrance of the slight, re
| luctant touch of her fingers, the family
evasive dislike underlying her glance
1t was trivial thing, but it touched
his pride as a man. That was how he
put it to himself. 1t wasn't that he
valued this woman's opinion-any wo-
mans opinion. 1t was merely that it
touched his pride. He turned again to
the window and ga.ed out, the engage
ment book still between his hands.
What if he compelled her respect?
What if by his own personality cloak
ed under Chlcote's identity he forced
her to admit his capability? 1t was
matter of pride, after all-scarcely even
of pride; self respect was a better
word.
Satisfied by his own reasoning, he
turned back into the room.
"See to those letters, Greening,' he
said. "And for the rest of the morn
ing's work you might go on with your
Khorasan notes. 1 believe We'll all
want every inch of knowledge we can
get in that quarter before we're much
older. I'll see you again later" With
a reassuring nod he crossed the room
and passed through the door.
He lunched with Fraide at his club
and afterward walked with him to
Westminster. The walk and lunch
were both memorable In that hour he
learned many things that had been
sealed to him before. He tasted his
first draft of real elation, his first drop
of real discontinue. He saw for the
first time how great man may con-
descend-how unostentatiously, how
fully, how delightfully."-. He felt what
tact and kindness perfectly combined
may accomplish. and he burned in
wardly with a sense of duplcity that
crushed and elated him alternately.
He was John Loder, friendless, penni-
less, with no present and no future yet
he walked down Whitehall in the full
light of day with one of the greatest
statesmen England has known.
Some strangers were being shown
over the terrace when he and FraiCc
reached the house, and, noticing the
open door, the old man paused
Il never refuse fresh air." he said.
"Shall we take another breath of it
before settling DOWN." He took Lo-
der's arm and drew him forward. As
they passed through the doorway the
pressure of his fingers frightened. Il
shall reckon today among my pleasant
est memories, Chilcote.'' he said grave
ly. Il can't explain the feeling, but l
seem to have touched Ewes husband.
the real you, more closely this morning
than l ever did before. 1t has been a
genuine happiness" He looked up with
the eyes that through all his years of
action and responsibility had remained
SO bright.
But Loder paled suddenly, and his
glance turned to the river-wide, mys-
FERROUS, secret. Unconsciously Fraide
had stripped the illusion. 1t was not
John Loder who walked here; it was
with his position, his |
wife. He half extri- |
Gated his arm, but Fraide held it.
NO. he said. Don't draw away |
from me. You have always been too |
ready to do that. 1t is not often l have |
a pleasant truth to tell. I won't be de- |
prived of the enjoyment
"Can the truth ever be pleasant, sir?"
Loder echoed Chilcote.
Fraide looked up. He was half a |
head shorter than his companion,
though his dignity concealed the fact.
'.Chilcote," he said seriously, give up /
cynicism! 1t is the trademark of fail
ure, and 1 do not like it in my
Loder said nothing. The quiet in
sight of the reproof, its mitigating
kindness. touched him sharply. In
that moment he saw the rails down
which he had sent his little car of ex-
stence spinning, and the sight daunted
him. The track was sleeper. the gauge
than he had guessed; there
were curves and sidings upon which
he had not reckoned. He turned his
head and met Fraide's glance.
Don't count too much on me, sir"
be said slowly. Il might disappoint
you again" His voice broke off on
he last word. for the sound of other
voices and of laughter came TO them
acroSS tho fprraap a cr0rro of two |