Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1913-11-09

Terry, lust what i loEf Official position with
rugatcl.
III planned to shoot ii nj him bold and crush
somehow ii don't happen that way. Head off
SAYS |, blt,>hin apologizin; but Mr.. Films SCI
himself.
~Indceds~ says he. another of his origin
\ brilliant man, Mr.. Ellins.
Hes some stayer in a scrap, believe me!
And he's got the harpoon out for this Palisad
$50 have a good many others, says Mr..
chucklin'. In fact, don't mind admitting t
rs near to being beaten on this enterprise as
been on anything in my life. But if am beat,
not be by Mr.. Ellins. 1t will be by hard-ho
Scotch farmer who owns sixty acres of scrul
which | must cross in order to complete my
wav He won't sell foot. I've been irwin
months to get in touch with him; but he as
as a cedar stump. And if | don't run a car
before next June, my charter lapses. So I'm
now to try personal interview. If | fail M
isn't worth a postage stamp. But, win or los,
for sale to Hickory Elins!"
He wa mt ugly about it. He just states the
and conversational: but somehow YOU was 4
he meant it.
"Al right" says L. "Then maybe when
you come out Ill have something definite to re
"Iou should, says he.
THAT'S where we dropped the subject.
swell ride we had up along the top of
the Palisades and on and on until We re Well
across the State line into New York. Along
about four-t thirty he says we're most there
We was rollin' through a jay four-corncrs
where the postoffice occupies one window of
the gen'ral store with the Masonic Lodge
overhead, when alongside the road we comes
across a little tow-headed GIRL maybe eight
or nine, PAWN around in the grass and sob
bin doleful.
Hold up, Martin, sings out Mr. Sturgis
to the chauffeur, and Martin jams on his
emergency so the brake drums squeal.
What do you guess? Why, Percy ].
climbs out, asks the kid gentle what all the
woe is about, and discovers that she's lost a
whole nickel that Daddy has given her to
buy lollvpops with on account of its bein'
her birthday.
snow that 5 too bad, isn't it, little one"
says Mr. Sturgis. But | guess we can fix
that. Come on Martin, take us back to
the store
Took out his handkerchief, Percy did,
and swabbed off the tear stains, al the while
talkin low and soothin' to the kid, until he
got her Gained down. And when they came
out OF the store she was carryin pound box
of choc'lat creams tied up fossy with a pink
ribbon. With her eyes plugged and SO tickled
she can't say a word, she lets go of his hand
and dashes back up the road, most likely
bent on shown the folks at home the re-
suits OF the miracle that's happened to her.
That S the kind of guy Percy ]. Stur-
gis IS, even when he has worries of his own
most thought he was due for run of luck afte
act like that. But someone must have had the
crossed: for as Martin backs up to turn aroun
meets a rear tire with broken ginger ale bott
S-s-s-sh. out goes eighty-five pounds pressur
square inch No remark from Mr. Sturgis.
a fresh cigar, and for twenty-five minutes by
clock Martin is busy Shiftin' that husky shoe
GO we're some behind schedule when we pulls
the horse chestnut trees quarter of a mile
in front OF barry, weatherbeaten old farmhou
there's a sour-faccd, square jawed old pirate sit
home made barrel chair smokin' his pipe and
gloomy at the world in gcn'ral It's Ross himself
J. don't waste any hot air irwin to melt him. He
old guy plain and simple who he is and what h
"Dinna talk to me, Mon, says Ross. "I'm