The Lakeland evening telegram. (Lakeland, Fla.) 1911-1922, 1916-01-07

lips. She sounded the horn several
times in troubled, nervous call for
help that quavered on the still noon
air vibrantly.
Not dead, hope" called a CHEEKY
voice from the shaded veranda, and
she lifted her face to it eagerly. An
other car stood at the side entrance.
and she knew it was the doctor.
With the help of the gardener,
Forbes was lifted into the house, and
laid on a couch in the quiet, old-fash-
Toned sitting room. Ruth stood by
during the examination. ready with
anything the doctor should need. The
coat and shirt had to be cut away
from the dislocated shoulder.
Now then, we'll just slip this back
where it belongs, and it's mighty good
for him he won't feel it. Hold his
head over there, Miss Hopewell. Just
balance it on your shoulder, will your"
Which made a striking picture to
Bart Austin, just entering. He hesi-
tate6 on the threshold, watching with
lowered chin, catching that strange
little click as the bone slipped into
its place, catching, too, the agonized
groan from Forbes lips, as he was
hauled back to consciousness by the
pain. But most of all, in the picture,
there stood the slim kneeling form of
the girl, holding Forbes head on her
own arm, and soothing him with low,
swift words of womanly sympathy.
Couple of broken ribs, and Grip
pied wrist Better stay here and be
nursed up Bit" said the doctor,
later.
Mother insists that he stay, as it
was all my fault said Ruth, gently.
Austin stood over Forbes at the
couch by the open window.
I'll take you up to Hartford to the
hospital, if you say the word, old
man." he said, in low tone The
cars all right now. She only rammed
her nose into the bank anyhow, and
bumped her beauty spots a bit. 1t
was you who hit the telegraph pole.
Don't you want to get out of this coy
corner?"
mo, l don't" returned Forbes,
placidly, half closing his blue eyes,
I'm very badly hurt, Bart. You dom
pity me bit. You run on to Boston,
and attend to business there, and
pick lne up on the return trip. That S
week hence. Say, take look out
of tie window and tell me the color
Of "a htrc
think clearly for the scent of them
They're little red ones, crimson
rambler" said Bart, but Ruth turned
her head and smiled.
1.-THE red ones have only a very
faint scent, Mr.. Austin. Those that he
likes are the large cream white ones.
We call them brides roses out here
1t was a month before Bart Aus
tins big red roadster found its way
along the river road again, and up
the drive under the elms. He waited
a minute or two, and sounded his
horn. It was an alarmist, that horn,
none of your sweet-voiced sirens for
Bart.
Presently Mrs. Hopewell came slow.
ly down the broad veranda steps. She
was slender and charming even at
forty-seven, a faded edition of Ruth
at eighteen.
How are your" said Bart, cheer.
fully, lifting his leather cap. I'm
Bart Austin, Forbes friend. l hope
he's all right now. I told him I'd
stop on the way home from Boston
and pick him up, but l was delayed a
bit"
Mrs. Hopewell smiled amusedly.
and shook her head.
"Oh, dear. you're very much too
late. Ruth and Jack were married
three days ago. and have started on
their wedding trip in the runabout.
Jack was very hasty, thought, but
he wanted to be married while the
brides roses were still in bloom. For
a business man, he has quite q good
deal of sentiment"
Austin's face was buried IN his
hands, and his shoulders shook with
laughter.
Sentiment" he repeated. well.
II you don't mind, Mrs. Hopewell, I'd
call it balmy touch Of sunshine be-
meath his curling locks. And yet"
he hesitated. Mrs. Hopewell was NOV
ing away graciously. Bart addressed
the empty car as the one sure place
of sympathy. Yet she was certainly
all girl. wish I'd hit that telegraph
pole myself"