The Bozeman courier. (Bozeman, Mont.) 1919-1954, 1926-01-22
The Story Of a
Man Who LiUed
With Fear
Because He
Found His Son
Unworthy of
His Heritage.
In Two PartS-PART TWO
THE STORY so FAR

Stephen ClOugh is the owner OF the
largest cotton minis In ShirebOrn. He
had, through hours Of hard labor, Shaving
night and day at his looms, become man
ager and then owner of a small mill:
This he had built up in business until
he was the leader in his line. His bust
ness was his idol. He could understand
nothing else and didn't care to. his
sole ambition now is that his only son,
Roger, prove a worthy successor, and that
he CROger) carry-On the cotton milling
business attire he has gone. 1t is for
the purpose o fimpressing this upon the
son that Roger has bee unexpectedly
called into his fathers office for a con-
ference, right at u time when he had
planned al outing with a friend.
And, now the story
Yet no one could accuse him Of a vicious
life. He was merely one of the ldlers. The
pursuit Of pleasure he placed before every
thing else; pleasure in a myriad form.
BY fits and starts, when at home, he would
put in a few hours at the mill; but his
work was all pretense, and was soon aban-
dOned for his horse, his tennis racket,
golf club, his fishing rod, the dance, the
card table, for London, Paris, Vienna, the
gilded resorts Of the Mediterranean,
though it was London that chiefly capti-
waited. He was the man about town. For
marriage he prOfessed a profound distaste,
and here he held his own against women
divergent charms and no charms at all
who fluttered about him like moths
around a candle. At all the stock OF cheap
arguments against domestic life he was
an adept. Of course, there were episodes
which threatened a serious development,
but ever before he vas caught attraction
lost its power Sometimes to the great
disappointment Of his father.
"If only he'd get wed it might be the
making of him." the old man would fancy.
"SOme good, sensible lass. And there's a
plenty about. These Lancashire witches.
! Shireburn's packed wi them"
At the end of it all, though not in the
way he hoped for, it was one of the mill
/ u~ffnhn= u~hn Cu va fhn nVnnf nhnnRn 1fg
opportunity. She was one Of those from
whom factory service failed TO exact its
customary penalty. Through oil the stress
Of the mills insidiOuS heat, its searching
/ humidity, the bloom of her cheeks, her
carriage, the Saucy sparkle of her eyes
I passed unscathed. Tricked out in silks and
laceS she would have played havoc with
the hearts Of men IN Mayfair, and Roger
ClOugh fell at once to the spell she had
no thought of casting. At the outset the
girl was innocence itself. Hardly gave
him a second thought. when. in one or his
rare bouts of superficial industry, hG
walked through the weaving shed anC
saw her for the first time. Though IT Is
equally true that when the lure was
dangled before her She made but Il sorry
show Of resistance. An apparently acct
dental meeting near her home was all tina
Roger required to bring her, flattered ant
fluttering, to his arms. Afterwards theri
we're clandestine meetings in country lane.
beyond the borders of the town, and a
last that devastating episode of the letter
1t was a night Of passion, the sky blacl
as a VOLTS throat, a furious wind sweep
ing down the mOOrland slopes into the hOl
low of the sleeping town. Half an hOu
ago the market hall clock had made 1t
hin call of midnight when, as ROge
; ClOugh reached his home, the girl dartel
from the screen of the shadows cast b,
the high wall, weakly cried his name
mister Roger" and laid a hesitatini
= hand upon his arm.
Here, what's this % he demanded. Their
2 recognizing her: "Bless my life, Mabel
You here! At this incl! What's the mat
/ teri"
I Through the helpful medium of tn
b lamplight he saw that she was deeply dis
tressed, tremendously excited, too, an
e more than half afraid to meet his gaZ'
Of her speech he could make next t
nothing. 1t was so jumpled and jerky. A
he could grasp was that she was sorry
: and "W Ouldn't have bothered if she cOul
"have helped it," Nothing more. Until tt
r thing flashed out.
"Tbat letter. she cried, "the one 20
2 sent me from London. 1 took it to I'll
;. factory, l wer' reading it over again whe
=, tn tackler came along the alley and
popped it into tn weft can and-and-
= then it wer' weaving bad got a bi
And I was working at it when the engiI
II stopped and knocking off time and ! can
r away. Forgot all about the letter. 1t
there now. And somebody may find it b
fore III gates open in the morning. So
thought I'd better tell you, an see what
> to be done. And. o.. Mister Roger, /
&c proper sorry, for 1 knew you wouldn't iii
anybody to see it."
- Her concern became his-fOr himself.