The St. Charles herald. [volume] (Hahnville, La.) 1873-1993, 1920-11-13

e. 1890. by Mcclure Newspaper syndicate.'
Mrs. Cushman Lane looked around
the table with sigh of genuine satis-
faction. 1t was just the sort OF dinner
she reveled in-smali, intimate, ana
carefully chosen. She glanced at ROO
erick Sears, the young explorer, whose
name was on everybody's lips and
whose story Of being shipwrecked Tor
q year In the South Seas was niiins
columns daily in the newspapers.
Sears was talking somewhat IN an
undertone to Carol Terhune. MRS.
Lane wished she could hear what ne
was saying. Carols hands were
clasped before her on the table, and IN
the shadowy golden light OF the candles
they looked like beautifully nodded
marble, and tdst as motionless- MRS.
Lane raised her voice IN question:
"What were you doing year ago
today, Mr.. SearsT' she asked.
The man came back to the present
with a perceptible start. .
Strange that you should ask that!
he exclaimed, with his attractive smile.
II was just telling Miss Terhune what
happened a year ago. Now that you
have asked / shall, Of course, tell you
too"-and he gave Carol Terhune
rather quizzical glance.
There was silence in the big room.
For some intangible reason every one
had simultaneously stopped talking
and paused to hear what the young ex-
plorer had to say, as II they felt q GER
tain tenseness, rather a dramatic STU
alton, in the air. From the open win
dow came the soft murmur OF the
ocean on the beach and the fragrance
of nearby garden. Deft servants
moved without sound. Carol Terhunes
hands frightened and then Withdrew m
to the shadow as Roderick Sears be-
gan.
'For two days we had been coqped
I'D in our hut while the sort OF down.
pour that only that part of the world
knows anything about swept the
island. flashing the foliage to shreds.
We took turns looking through the one
window Of which the hut boasted at a
steamer in distress, stuck fast on
coral reef. Poor devils! Our own ex-
'perience was too fresh in our minds
not to know what the men aboard must
be feeling from minute to minute.
Bowman was watching when he sud
denly gave a sort Of groan and turned
away. When Smith and got there, no
boat was in sight. We knew what had
happened.
At that moment, by some freak
which holds sway over that part OF the
country, the sun broke through, and In
i've minutes you would never have
known there had been . storm except
for the wrecked vegetation lying
around. We three Bowman, Smith
and I rushed down to the beach to
see what we could find. Beach comb
ing Is not business much In vogue
ub here but, Lord It was the one ex-
element down there. Then, too, we
hoped against hope we might be able
to help a stray survivor from the
steamer.
'The wreckage began to strew the
beach-here I chair. there a part OF q
table, barrel and bits Of unrecogniz-
able odds and ends. When darkness
came we each shouldered something
and hit the trail back to the hut.
"Smith carried the barrel, 50 of
co1rse everything In its was bis. We
watched him unpack It with all the
thrill Of Christmas stocking! Jove
what wasn't In that barrell Then at
the bottom was something wrapped up
In paper--an old Sunday supplement
Of the New York Times. Smith saw
the picture and didn't even stop to look
any further
BY cricky! Fellowsv he cried. If
here isn't Ethel Barrymore! The
names soaked Of, but I'd know her
any place
HAIl the homesickness Of the last
few months was in his voice as he
Rugged the picture to his heart. muir
muring. oh. you beauty You BIT Of
Broadwayl Next to rescuing steam
er I'd rather have found you than any
thing knowl' Poor old Smith! he
picked long nail out II the barrel
and proceeded to hang Miss Barry
more on the wall over his shakedOwn.