The Indianapolis times. [volume] (Indianapolis [Ind.]) 1922-1965, 1923-01-02

nO- KNOW peace. Iramplng IN Au1rCn-
dacks. Baptized Elizabeth at Harris -
It was almost like housekeeping to
come in this way upon that curiously
abrupt Ware-hke statement of the
minister's: "Tramping In Adirondacks.
Baptized Elizabeth at Harris"
The discussion In the parlor had
become heated and occasionally words
in voice not Wares reached Sylvia
distinctly. Some one was alternately
bcseeching and threatening the min
lister. 1t was clear from the pauses
in which she recognized Wares deep
tones that he was yielding neither TO
the opportunities nor the threats Of
his clustering caller. Sylvia had i'm
asined that the storms of life had
passed over the retired clergyman,
and she was surprised that such an
interview should be taking place In
his house. She was about TO retreat
TO the dining room to be out of reach
OF the voices when the parlOr door
opened abruptly and Thatcher ap-
peared, with anger Enthusiastically
showing in his face, and apparently
disposed to resume in the halI the
discussion which the minister had ter
minated in the library. Sylvia rose
with the book still in her hand and
walked to the end of the room; but
any one in the house might have
heard what Thatcher was saying.
That's the way with you preach
ers; you talk about clean politics, and
when we get all ready to clean out
a bad man, you duck; you're lot
Of cowardly dodgers. I tell you, 1
don't want you to say "a word or fig
ure in this thing at all; but you give
me that book and III scare Mort Bas-
sett out of town. I'll scare him clean
oft Of Indiana, and he'll never show
his head again. Why, Ware, I've been
counting on it. that when you saw
we were in a hole and going to lose,
you'd come down from your high
horse and help me out. I tell you,
there's no doubt about It; that won-
ans the woman I'm looking for:
guessed It the night you told that
story up there in the house-bOat.
Quit this business. Ed" the min
lister was saying; I'm an old friend
OF yours. But I won't bulge an inch.
I'd never breathed a word OF that
story before and I shouldn't have told
It that night. It was so far back that
I thought II was safe. But your idea
that Bassett had anything TO do with
that Is preposteroUs. Your hatred
of him has got the better Of you, my
friend. Drop it; forget It. II you
can't whip him fair. let him win"
Not much I won't; but I didn't
think you'd go back on me; thought
better Of you than THAR
Thatcher strobe to the door and
went out, slamming It after him.
The minister peered into the L.
brary absently, and then. surprised
to find Sylvia, advanced TO mees
her, Tmiling gravely. He took both
her hands. and held them, looking
into her face.
whats this you've been reading?
All. that bookr' The volume slipped
into his hands and he glanced ct it,
frowning impatiently. Poor little
book. I ought to have burned it years
ago; and I ought to have learned by
this time to keep my mouth shut
They've always said looked like an
Indian, but an Indian never tells any
thing. I've told Just one story too
many. Mea maxima culpas'
He sat down IN the big chair be
side his desk, placed the book within
reach, and kept touching IT as he
talked.
IT saw Mr.. Thatcher" said Sylvia.
He seemed very much arou3eL l
couldn't help hearing word now
and then"
That's all right. Sylvia I've
known Thatcher for years, and last
fan I went up to his house-boat on
the Kankakee for a weeks shooting.
Allen and Dan Harwood were the
rest Of the party-and happened to
tell the story Of this little book-an
unfinished story. We ought never TO
tell stories until they are. finished.
And It seems that Thatcher, with
a zeal worthy OF a better cause. has
been raking up the ashes OF an old
affair OF Bassett's with a woman, and
he's trying to hitch II on to the story
told him about this book. He says
by shaking this at Bassett he can
persuade him that he's got enough
ammunition to blow him out OF the
water. But don't believe a word OF
II; I won't believe such a thing Of
Morton Bassett. And even If I did,
Thatcher can't have that book.
owe It TO the woman whose baby I
baptized UP there in the hills to keep
it. And the woman may be living,
too. for all I know. I think Of her
pretty often. She was game; wouldn't
tell anything. If a man had deceived
her she stood by him. Whatever she
was-I know she was not bad, not
bit Of 1.-THE spirit Of the hills had
entered into her-and those are
cleansing airs up there. I suppose
it all made the deeper impression on
me because I was born up there my
self. When I strike Adirondacls in
print put down my book and think
a while. It's a picture word. 1t
brings back my earliest childhood as
far as 1 can remember. 1 call words
that make pictures that way moose
words: they jump up In your memory
like a scared moose in a thicket and
crash into the woods like a cavalry
charge. I can remember things that
happened when I was three years old:
one day father shot a deer in our
cornheld and I recall It perfectly. The
general atmosphere of the old place
steals over me yet. The very thought
of the pointed spruces, the feathery
tamaracks, all the scents and sounds
Of summer, and the long, white
winters does nv soul good now The