The Green Forest tribune., 1916-03-24
CHAPTER XXVII-Continued.

OWdTuS ulOTuluS JuGGe was dIl dl III y Bf newspaper men so worried and dis dressed, and generally consumed with the mad passion of restraint, that there was scarcely a fingernail left in the profession, and frightened-eyed copy boys hid behind doors. Sud- denly a dozen telegraph operators. in as many offices, jumped from their desks, as if they had been touched at the same instant by a powerful cur rent from their instruments, and shout ed varying phrases, a composite of which would be nearest expressed by:
 Let 'er go!"
 IL had been eight o'clock in the eve ming in New York when Gerald Eos land had first given out his informa- tion, and at that moment it was l a m in Berlin. At 3 a. m, Berlin time, which was 10 D. m in New York, the Baron von Slachten, who had been de- talned by an unusual stress of diplo- matic business strolled to his favorite cafe. At 3:05 the Baron von 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 formallties to be observed. It IS probable, therefore, that the baron might haze gone about his peaceful way for two or three days, had not fooi American, in the advertising branch of one of the New York pa 2 formalitjes, walked straight out Inter den Linden, to Baron von Slachten's fayorite cafe, and, picking out the baron at a table with four bushy- laced 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- fessed. Could you give me few words on the subject?"
 The baron, who had been about to drink stein of beer, set down his half liter and stared at the young man blankly. His face turned slowly vel low, and he rose.
 Lass bleiben," the baron ordered the handy persons who were about to remove the cheerful advertising repre- I9s''i9SyA $''s.a es.9 .ssra gss or1yna| 7 ,sa-e, and theT the baron N.s8fd stol- | idly out of the cafe, and rode Home and wrote for an hour or so, and ato B 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 F. Allison? There was nothing the free and entire ly uncurbed wanted to know so much as that; but the f 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 good-natured men are apt to be- This thought, it must be said in justice to Allison, came last and went away first It 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 a place which had come to him as if by inspirations; 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 firmness, and walked around to the kitchen, where he found old Peabody smoking a corneob pipe, and Iabori- ously mending a pair of brooches.
 Allison went into the office and 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 flat 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 a lonely little creek, shadowed by a mournful droop- ing willow which had given the club it's name, and in the wintry breeze il waved its long tendrils against the leaden gray sky. Allison fixed his eyes on that oddly beckoning tree and strove to think. Old Peabody came pottering in, and with many a clang and chatter builded fire in the capa. cious Dutch stove; with a 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. Allison's gray eyes, unblink ing, were staring straight ahead, with no expression in them. It was as if they had turned to glass.
 Excuse me, MT. Allison. Chicken or steak? I got 'em both, one for sup per and one for breakfast"
 Allison turned slowly, part way to- Tl-- I -1.