Harrisburg telegraph. [volume] (Harrisburg, Pa.) 1879-1948, 1914-08-01

some consideration for me. You would smoke
whether it was agreeable or not. But 1 like
the odor of a good cigar. And 1t always helps
you to think"
Braine lit the cigar and began his customary
pacing. At length he paused.
Suppose we have a real old fashioned
coaching party out to the old mansion we
know about?"
and what shall we do there?"
MAKE the mansion an enchanted castle
where sometimes people who enter can't get
out. Do you think you could get her to GOT"
Il can try"
"Olga, I must have that girl; and I must
have her soon. Sometimes 1 find myself
nightly puzzled over the whole thing. II
Hargreave is alive, why doesn't he turn up
now that it's practically known that his
daughter presides over his household? l
might understand it if 1 didn't know that
Hargreave is really afraid of nothing. Where
is the man with the five thousand, picked
up at sea? What was the reason for Jones
carrying that box out in broad daylight?
Who is the chap watching across the street?
Sometimes l believe in my soul-if 1 have
one.-that Hargreave is playing with us,
playing! WE'LL" finging the half consumed
cigar into the crate, " the Black Hundred al
ways goes forward, win or lose, and never
~forgets."
I've are a fine pair! " said the woman
bitterly.
I'VE are exactly what fate intended us to
be. They wrote you down in the book as a
beautiful body with a crooked mind. They
wrote me down as the devil, doomed to roam
earth's top till I'm killed"
"Killed?"
why, yes. I'm not the kind of chap who
dies in bed, surrounded by the weeping men,
bers of the family, doctor, nurse, and priest.
I'm a scoundrel; but it has this saving grace,
1 .enjoy being a scoundrel. Now, I'm going
up to the club. There's nothing like a game
of billiards or chess to smooth that wrinkle
which seems to worry you"
In the great newspaper Office there was a
mighty racket. Midnight always means pan
demonium in the city room of a metropolitan
daily. Copy boys were rushing to and fro,
messengers and printers with sticky galleys
in their hands reporters were banging away
at their typewriters, and intermingling you
could hear the c~easeless clickety-click from the
telegraph room.
The managing editor came out of his office
and approached the desk OF the night city
editor.
Editorial page gone DOWN."
Twenty minutes ago." said the night city
editor.
al wanted a stick on that Panama rumpus."
TOO late"
Where's Jim Norton?"
"At the chamber of commerce banquet. The
major is going to throw a bomb into ths
enemy's camp
Nothing on the Hargreave stuff"
"No. Guess III better put that in the
cubbyhole. He's dead"
"No will found yet?"
mot a piece as big as a postage stamp"
"That will leave the girl in a tough place.
No will, no birth certificate; and worst of all,
no photograph of the old man himself. I don't
see why Jim sidestepped this affair. He the
only man in town who knew anything about
Hargreave."
He hasn't given it up; but he wants to
cover it ON his own, turn the yarn over when
he's got it, no false alarms"
"Ah! So that's the game?"
"Yes; and Jim is the sort every paper
needs. When the time comes the story turns
up, if there is one. Here he is now. Looks
like an actor in the fourth act of a drama.
Good looking chap, though"
Norton came in through the outer gates. He
was in evening clothes, top hat. A dead
cigaret dangled between his lips.
How much do you want?" asked the night
city editor.
Column and a half"
"of with your glad rags!"
Anything good?" asked the managing ed
itor.
The lid has been ammed on tight. No