Northern Wisconsin advertiser. [volume] (Wabeno, Wis.) 1898-1925, 1922-08-04


Lusitania a month or two ago? That's
her business, not mine"
Clay leaned forward on q search for
information. Excuse me for buttin'
in, and me a stranger. But isn't it yore
business when she murders American
women and children?"
The pasty-faced man looked at him
with thinly disguised contempt. "You
wouldn't understand If explained"
"Mebbeso l wouldn't, but you take
whirl at it and I'll listen high, wide.
and handsome"
The man in velveteens unexpectedly
found himself doing as he was told.
There was suggestion Of compulsion
about the gray-blue eyes fastened on
his, something In the clamp of the
strong jaw that brought him up for
moment against stark reality.
1.-THE intelligentsia Of a country
know that there can be no freedom
until there is no law. Every mans
duty is to disregard duty. So, by far
Ing far on the wings of desire, he helps
break down the slavery that binds us.
Obey the Cosmic Urge of your soul re-
CARELESS Of where 1t leads you, young
man."
It was unfortunate for the poet of
Bohemia that at this precise moment
Kitty Mason, dressed in sandals and a
lilac-patterned smock, stood before
him with tray of cigarettes asking
for his trade. The naive appeal In her
soft eyes had its weight with the poet
What Is the use of living In Bohemia
If one cannot be free to follow i'm
pulse? He slipped an arm about the
girl and kissed the crimson lips up
turned to him.
Kitty started back with a little cry
OF distress.
The freedom taken by the near-poet
was instantly avenged.
A Cosmic Urge beat In the veins of
the savage from Arizona. He took the
poets advice and followed his Law
less Impulse where it led. Across the
table a long arm reached. Sinewy
fingers closed upon the flowing neck
wear of the fat-faced orator and
dragged him forward, leaving over
turned glasses in the wake of his
course.
The man in velveteens met the eyes
Of the energetic manhandler and
quailed. This brown-faced barbarian
looked very much like business.
Don't you touch me! Don't you
dare touch me - the apostle Of anarchy
shrilled as the table crashed down.
"Pll turn you over to the policel"
Clay jerked him to his feet. Hard
knuckles pressed cruelty into the soft
throat Of the Villager. "Git down on
yore ham bones ana beg the lady's par
don. Tell her you're a yellow pup, but
you don't reckon you'll ever pull
bone like that again."
The companions Of the poet rushed
forward to protest at the manhandling
of their leader. Those in the rear
damned the front ones close to Clay
and his captive. The COW puncher
gently but strongly pushed them back.
Don't get on the prod" he advised
in his genial drawl. "IThe poet he's got
an important engagement right now"
A kind Of scuffle developed. The pro-
prietor increased it by his hysterical
efforts to prevent any trouble. Men
joined themselves to the noisy group
of which Clay was the smiling center.
The excitement increased. Distant
corners of the room became the refuge
of the women. Some one struck at the
ooxr, MN obar ovor &bo boodc ~ fhnca
about him. The mass Of closely packed
human beings showed a convulsive ac-
tivity. 1t became suddenly the most
popular indoor sport at the Sea Siren
to STAY this barbarian from the desert
who had interfered with the amuse-
ments of Bohemia.
But Clay took a lot Of Staying. In
the rough-and-tumble life Of the out
door West he had learned how to look
out for his own hand. The copper
hair Of his strong lean head rose above
the tangle Of the melee like the bro
midic Helmet of Navarro. A reckless
| light of mirth dubbed ip his dare
devil eyes. The very number Of the
| opponents who interfered with each
other trying to get at him was a guar
antee of safety. The blows showered
at him lacked steam and were badly
timed as to distance.
The pack rolled across the ROOM
tipped over a table, and deluged an
artist and his affinity with hot choco-
late before they could escape from the
avalanche Chairs went over like
ninepins. Stands collapsed. Men grunt-
ed and shouted advice. Girls screamed
The Sea Siren was being wrecked by
cyclone from the bad lands.
Arms threshed wildly to and fro. The
local point of their destination was the
figure at the center of the disturbance
Most Of the blows found other marks.
Four or five men could have demol-
ished Clay. Fifteen or twenty found it
| a tough job because they interfered
with each other at every turn. They
were packed too close for hard hitting.
Clay was not fighting but wrestling.
He used his arms to push with rather
than to strike blows that counted.
The Arizonan could not afterward
remember at exactly what stage Of the
proceedings the face of Jerry Durand