Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1927-03-27

| IN friend or Henry Martin S
] answered. I've got letter for you
l was beginning to get pretty angry.
+" Henry Martini He laughed un
wife. over there. She's his friend
hardly know him I don't know
| when Tc seen a man L disliked a:
much at first sight.
There was rustic from the Other
side of the room, and Mrs. Whitne,
| came towa4S us. 1 understood at once
| whatever civilizing influences there
! were about the bungalow. Did yot
ever do that-ever step out of no
where, in a wild sort of country, anC
meet suddenly man or woman who
might have come straight from q
pleasant, we'll bred room, filled with
books and flowers and quiet, nice peo
pie? It's a sensation that never loses
its freshness. Mrs. Whitney was like
that. ! wouldn't have called her beau
tiful. she was better. You knew she
was good and clean cut and thorough
bred the minute you saw her. She
was lovely, too; don't misunderstood
me, but you had more important
things to think about when you were
talking to her.
Just at the moment, was wonder
ing how any one who so evidently had
been crying could, all at once, greet a
stranger with so cordial a smile. But
she was all that-all nerve. I don't
think I ever met a woman quite like
her-so fine, you understand"
X x X X
HARDY paused. "TIave any Of you
l. l. chaps got a cigarette?" he asked
and I noticed that his hand, usually
the steadiest hand imaginable, trem-
bled ever so slightly. WELL" he be-
gan again, there you are! 1 had
tumbled into about as pitiful a trag-
edy as you can imagine, with not a
soul about but Chinaman, a couple
of Scotch stationary engineers, an
Irish foreman, two or three young
mining men and a score Of Mexicans.
MY first impulse was to get out the
next morning, but / didn't go. ] had
talk with Mrs. Whitney that night
after her unattractive husband had
taken himself off to bed, and somehow
couldn't leave just then. l hunted
out the Irish foreman and shared his
cabin. The Whitneys asked me to
visit them. but 1 didn't feel like doing
50. The Irishman would sit in the eve-
nings and stare up at the Whitney
bungalow on the hill above.
That Jim Whitney's a bad one
he confided to me once. Wan o these
days I'll hit him over tn head with
a pick and be hung for murther. Now,
why dye suppose a nice girl like that
sticks by him?'
But I got to know the answer to
that question sooner than / had ex-
pected. You see. went up to the
Whitneys often, in the afternoon, or
for dinner or in the evening. and I
talked to Mrs. Whitney q great deal,
sometimes just sat and lis
tened to her play the piano. She
didn't talk much; she wasn't what
you'd call a particularly communica-
tive woman, but, bit by bit, I pieced
seems that she had run away with
Whitney 10 years before Oh, yes,
Henry Martin. That had been
schoolgirl affair. Nothing serious, you
But the Whitney matter
had been different. She was greatly
in love with him. And the family had
disapproved. Some rich, stuffy peo-
pie. gathered. But she had taken
matters In her own hands. And now
she was going to stick by her choice.
There was quirk in her brain: we
all have a quirk somewhere, and that
was hers. She felt that she had ruined
his career; he had been a brilliant
young engineer, but her family had
picked up a row and, as they were
powerful enough and nasty enough,
had more or less bounded him out of
the East. OF course. personally, /
never thought he showed any of the
essentials of briiliancy, but that's
neither here nor there; she did.
so there she was, that white and
gold woman, with her love of music
and her love Of books and her love of
fine things, and her gentleness, shut
up with a beast that got drunk every
night and twice day on Sunday. It
was worse even than that. One night
we were sitting out on the veranda-
her scarf slipped of and saw scar
on her arm near her shoulder" Hardy
stopped abruptly and began to roll
little pellet of bread between his
thumb and his foreflnger; then his
tense expression faded and he sat back
In his chair.
Let me have another cigarette" he
said to Jarrick. mo, wait a minute!
I'll order some"
LIE called waiter and gave his in
= = structions.
You see," he continued, when you
run across as few nice women as I do,
that sort of thing Is more than ordi-
narily disturbing. And then, I suppose
It was the setting and her loneliness,
and everything. Anyway. stayed on.
II gave out that / was prospecting
that part of Arizona. In the mornings
would take a horse and ride out
INTO the desert. / loved it, too; It was
so big and spacious and silent and hot.
One day / met Whitney on the edge
Of town. He was sober, as he always
was when he had to be--he was a
brute, in his way. He
stopped me and asked If had found
There's gold here, he said. Lots
Of the Ten Strike Mine? Well, it's
over there He swept with his arm
the line of distant hills to the north.
The crazy Dutchman that found 1t
staggered into Almuda, 10 miles down
the valley. just before he died. and his
pockets were bulging with samples
pure gold, almost. And that's the last
they ever heard of 1t. Lots of men
have tried-lots of men. Some day
I'll go myself, surer than shooting
And he let his hands drop to his
sides and stared silently toward the
north, a queer. dreamy anger in his
eyes. We seen IotS or mining men,
lots Of prospectors. in my time, and 1t
didn't take me long to size up that
look of his. Aha, my friend" I said
to myself. so you've got another vice.
have you? II isn't only rum that's got
q hold on you. Ard / turned my
horse into the town.
But our conversation seemed to
have stirred something in Whitney's
brain that had been at work there a
long time. After that he would never
let me alone about his Ten Strike
mine. over there he would say and
point to the north. He would chew
On the end of cigar and consider.
1t isn't very far, you know. One
day-maybe two. All we needs
water. No water there-at least none
fat,,ad Ii thaoa foli1atI.a sx.l.....-1.