The Tomahawk., 1915-12-30
CHAPTER xxVII-Continued.

the mad passion of restraint, that
there was scarcely fingernail left IN
the profession, and frightened-eyed
copy boys hid behind doors. Sud
denly dozen telegraph operators, in
rs many Offices, jumped from their
desks, as If they had been touched at
the same instant by powerful cur
rent from their instruments, and shout
ed varying phrases, composite OF
which would be nearest expressed by:
Let 'er go!"
1t had been eight o'clock in the eve
n.15 IL 1Hssw York when Gerald Eos
land Rad first given out his inforn1a.
ton, and at that moment it was a. m.
In Berlin. At 3 a. M, Berlin time,
which was 10 p. m. in New York, the
Baron Won Slachten, who had been de-
ts.ned by an unusual stress of diplO-
matte business strolled to his favorite
cafe. At 3:05 the Baron Won Slach-
ten became the most thought about
man In his city, but the metropolitan
press of Berlin is slightly fettered and
more or less curbed, and there are
certain formalities to be observed. 1t
Is probable, therefore, that the baron
might have gone about his peaceful
way for two or three days. had not a
fool American, in the advertising
branch of one of the New York pa
pers, in an entire ignorance of decent
tormalities, walked straight out Inter
den Linden, to- Baron Won Slachten's
tavorite cafe, and, picking out the
baron at table with four bushy-
faced friends made this cheerful re-
mark, in the manner and custom of
Journalists In his native land:
well, baron, the International
Transportation company has con-
tossed. Could you give me few
words on the subject?"
The baron, who had been about to
drink a stein of beer, set down his half
liter and stared at the young man
blankly. His face turned slowly yell
low, and he rose.
LASS bleiben," the baron ordered
the handy persons who were about to
remove the cheerful advertising repre-
sentative and incarcerate him for
life. and then the baron walked stol-
idly out of the cafe, and rode home
and wrote for an hour or So, and ate
Z heavy early breakfast, and returned
to his study, and obligingly shot him.
self.
This was at seven a. M, Berlin time,
which was two a. m. in New York;
and owing to the nervousness of an
old woman servant, the news reached
New York at three a. m, and the big
wheels began to go around.
Where was Edward E. Allison?
There was nothing the free and entire
ly uncurbed wanted to know so much
as that; but the t. and e. u was
doomed to disappointment in that one
desire of it's heart. Even as he had
stumbled down the steps of the Sar
gent house, Allison was aware of the
hideous thing he had done; aware, too,
that Jim Sargent was as violent as
thought, it must be said in justice to
Allison, came last and went away
first 1t was from himself that he
tried to run away, when he shot his
runabout up through the park and
into the north country, and, by devious
roads, to place which had come to
him as If by inspiration; the Willow
club, which was only open in the sum-
mertime, and employed a feeble old
caretaker in the winter. To this haven
bleak and cold as his own numbed
soul, Allison drove in mechanical
6rmness, and walked around to the
kitchen, where he found old Peabody
smoking corncob pipe, and labori-
ously mending a pair of breeches.
closed the door after him. It was
damp and chill in there, but he did not
notice It, He sat down in the swivel
chair behind the fat top desk and
rested his chin in his hands. and
stared out of the window at the bleak
and dreary landscape. Just within his
range of vision was lonely little
creek, Swallowed by mournful droop-
ing willow which had given the club
it's name, and In the wintry breeze it
waved It's long tendrils against the
ieaden gray sky. Allison fixed his eyes
on that oddly reckoning tree and
strcve to think. Old Peabody came
potterfng In, and with many clang
and CHATTER builded fire in the capa
cious Dutch stove; with longing
glance at Allison, for he was starved
with the hunger of talk, he went out
again
At dusk he once more opened the
door. Allison had not moved. He
still sat with his chin in his hands.
looking out at that weirdly waving
willow Old Peabody thought that he
must be asleep until he tiptoed up at
the side. Aiiison's gray eyes. unblink-
ing, were staring straight ahead with
no expression in them 1t was as II
they had turned to glass.
Excuse me, Mr.. Allison. Chicken
or steak? got 'em both, one for sup
ner and one for breakfast"
Allison turned slowly. part way to-
wards nee body; not entlreiy.
..,,f- rcroofad Pea.