Odd Numbers
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CHAPTER XIX
TURNING A TRICK FOR BEANY
Where'd I collect the Flemish oak tint on muh noble br-r-r-ow? No, notsunnin' myself down to Coney Island. No such tinhorn stunt for me! Thisis the real plute color, this is, and I laid it on durin' a little bubbletour we'd been takin' through the breakfast doughnut zone.
It was Pinckney's blow. He ain't had the gasolene-burnin' fever very harduntil this summer; but when he does get it, he goes the limit, as usual.Course, he's been off on excursions with his friends, and occasionallyhe's chartered a machine by the day; but I'd never heard him talk ofwantin' to own one. And then the first thing I knows he shows up at thehouse last Monday night in the tonneau of one of these big seven-seaterroad destroyers, all fitted out complete with spare shoes, hat box, and adouble-decker trunk strapped on the rack behind.
"Gee!" says I. "Why didn't you buy a private railroad train while you wasabout it, Pinckney?"
"Precisely what I thought I was getting," says he. "However, I want youand Sadie to help me test it. We'll start to-morrow morning atnine-thirty. Be all ready, will you?"
"Got any idea where you're going, or how long you'll be gone?" says I.
"Nothing very definite," says he. "Purdy-Pell suggested the shore road toBoston and back through the Berkshires."
"Fine!" says I. "I'd love to go meanderin' through the country with youfrom now until Christmas; but sad to say I've got one or two----"
"Oh, Renee tells me we can make it in four days," says Pinckney, noddingat the chauffeur. "He's been over the route a dozen times."
Well, I puts the proposition up to Sadie, expectin' she'd queer it firstjump; but inside of ten minutes she'd planned out just how she couldleave little Sully, and what she should wear, and it's all fixed. I triedto show her where I couldn't afford to quit the studio for two or threeweeks, just at this time of year, when so many of my reg'lars need tunin'up after their vacations; but my arguments don't carry much weight.
"Rubbish, Shorty!" says she. "We'll be back before the end of the week,and Swifty Joe can manage until then. Anyway, we're not going to missthis lovely weather. We're going, that's all!"
"Well," says I to Pinckney, "I've decided to go."
Now this ain't any lightnin' conductor rehash. Bubble tourin' has itsgood points, and it has its drawbacks, too. If you're willin' to takethings as they come along, and you're travelin' with the right bunch, andyour own disposition's fair to middlin', why, you can have a bang uptime, just like you could anywhere with the same layout. Also, I'mwillin' to risk an encore to this partic'lar trip any time I get thechance.
But there was something else I was gettin' at. It don't turn up untilalong durin' the afternoon of our second day out. We was tearin' alongone of them new tar roads between Narragansett Pier and Newport, and Iwas tryin' to hand a josh to Renee by askin' him to be sure and tell mewhen we went through Rhode Island, as I wanted to take a glance atit,--for we must have been hittin' fifty an hour, with the engine runnin'as smooth and sweet as a French clock,--when all of a sudden there's abang like bustin' a paper bag, and we feels the car sag down on oneside.
"_Sacre!_" says Renee through his front teeth.
"Ha, ha!" sings out Pinckney. "My first blow-out!"
"Glad you feel so happy over it," says I.
It's a sensation that don't bring much joy, as a rule. Here you are,skimmin' along through the country, glancin' at things sort of casual,same's you do from a Pullman window, but not takin' any int'rest in thescenery except in a general way, only wonderin' now and then how it ispeople happen to live in places so far away.
And then all in a minute the scenery ain't movin' past you at all. Itstops dead in its tracks, like when the film of a movin' picture machinegets tangled up, and there's only one partic'lar scene to look at. It'smighty curious, too, how quick that special spot loses its charm. Also,as a gen'ral rule, such things happen just at the wrong spot in the road.Now we'd been sailin' along over a ridge, where we could look out acrossNarragansett Bay for miles; but here where our tire had gone on the blinkwas a kind of dip down between the hills, with no view at all.
First off we all has to pile out and get in Renee's way while he inspectsthe damage. It's a blow-out for fair, a hole big enough to lay your twohands in, right across the tread, where we'd picked up a broken bottle,or maybe a cast horseshoe with the nails in it. Then, while he proceedsto get busy with the jack and tire irons, we all makes up our minds to agood long wait; for when you tackle one of them big boys, with the rimsrusted in, it ain't any fifteen-minute picnic, you know.
Course, Pinckney gets out his fireless bottles and the glasses andimproves the time by handin' around somethin' soothin' or cheerin',accordin' to taste. Not bein' thirsty, I begins inspectin' the contagiousscenery. It wa'n't anything an artist would yearn to paint. Just backfrom the road is a sort of shack that looks as though someone might becampin' out in it, and behind that a mess of rough sheds and chickencoops.
Next I discovers that the object down in the field which I'd taken for ascarecrow was a live man. By the motions he's goin' through, he's diggin'potatoes, and from the way he sticks to it, not payin' any attention tous, it seems as if he found it a mighty int'restin' pastime. You'd mostthink, livin' in an out of the way, forsaken place like that, that mostany native would be glad to stop work long enough to look over a hotlookin' bunch like ours.
This one don't seem inclined that way, though. He keeps his back bent andhis head down and his hands busy. Now, whenever I've been out in amachine, and we've had any kind of trouble, there's always been a gawpin'committee standin' around, composed of every human being in sight at thetime of the casualty, includin' a few that seemed to pop up out of theground. But here's a case where the only party that can act as anaudience ain't doin' his duty. So a fool freak hits me to stroll over andpoke him up.
"Hey, you!" says I, vaultin' the fence.
He jerks his head up a little at that, kind of stares in my direction,and then dives into another hill of spuds.
"Huh!" thinks I. "Don't want any city folks in his'n, by chowder! Buthere's where he gets 'em thrust on him!" and I pikes over for a closerview. Couldn't see much, though, but dirty overalls, blue outing shirt,and an old haymaker's straw hat with a brim that lops down around hisface and ears.
"Excuse me," says I; "but ain't you missin' a trick, or is it because youdon't feel sociable to-day? How're the murphies pannin' out thisseason?"
To see the start he gives, you'd think I'd crept up from behind andswatted him one. He straightens up, backs off a step or two, and openshis mouth. "Why--why----" says he, after one or two gasps. "Who are you,please?"
"Me?" says I. "Oh, I'm just a stray stranger. I was being shot throughyour cunnin' little State on a no-stop schedule, when one of our tireswent out of business. Hence this informal call."
"But," says he, hesitatin' and pushin' back the hat brim, "isn'tthis--er--aren't you Professor McCabe?"
Say, then it was my turn to do the open face act! Course, knockin' aroundas much as I have and rubbin' against so many diff'rent kinds of folks,I'm liable to run across people that know me anywhere; but blamed if Iexpected to do it just walkin' out accidental into a potato orchard.
Sure enough, too, there was something familiar about that long thin noseand the droopy mouth corners; but I couldn't place him. Specially I'dbeen willin' to pass my oath I'd never known any party that owned such ascatterin' crop of bleached face herbage as he was sportin'. It lookedlike bunches of old hay on the side of a hill. The stary, faded out blueeyes wa'n't just like any I could remember, either, and I'm gen'rallystrong on that point.
"You've called my number, all right," says I; "but, as for returnin' thecompliment, you've got me going, neighbor. How do you think I'mlooking?"
He makes a weak stab at springin' a smile, about the ghastliest attemptat that sort of thing I ever watched, and then he shrugs his shoulders."I--I couldn't say about your looks," says he. "I recognized you by yourvoice. Perhaps you won't remem
ber me at all. I'm Dexter Bean."
"What!" says I. "Not Beany, that used to do architectin' on the top floorover the studio?"
"Yes," says he.
"And you've forgot my mug so soon?" says I.
"Oh, no!" says he, speakin' up quick. "I haven't forgotten. But I can'tsee very well now, you know. In fact, I--I'm---- Well, it's almost nighttime with me, Shorty," and by the way he chokes up I can tell how hard itis for him to get out even that much.
"You don't mean," says I, "that--that you----"
He nods, puts his hands up to his face, and turns his head for a minute.
Well, say, I've had lumps come in my throat once in a while before onsome account or other; but I never felt so much like I'd swallowed aprize punkin as I did just then. Most night time! Course, you hear oflots of cases, and you know there's asylums where such people are takencare of and taught to weave cane bottoms for chairs; but I tell you whenyou get right up against such a case, a party you've known and liked, andit's handed to you sudden that he's almost in the stick tappin'class--well, it's apt to get you hard. I know it did me. Why, I didn'tknow any more what to do or say than a goat. But it was my next.
"Well, well, Beany, old boy!" says I, slidin' an arm across his shoulder."This is all news to me. Let's get over in the shade and talk this thingover."
"I--I'd like to, Shorty," says he.
So we camps down under a tree next to the fence, and he gives me thestory. As he talks, too, it all comes back to me about the first timesome of them boys from up stairs towed him down to the studio. He'ddrifted in from some Down East crossroads, where he'd taken a course inmechanical drawin' and got the idea that he was an architect. And agreener Rube than him I never expect to see. It was a wonder somemilliner hadn't grabbed him and sewed him on a hat before he got to42d-st.
Maybe that gang of T Square sports didn't find him entertainin', too.Why, he swallowed all the moldy old bunk yarns they passed over, and whenthey couldn't hold in any longer, and just let loose the hee-haws, hetook it good natured, springin' that kind of sad smile of his on 'em, andnot even gettin' red around the ears. So the boss set him to sweepin' thefloors and tendin' the blueprint frames on the roof.
That's the way he broke in. Then a few months later, when they had a rushof contracts, they tried him out on some detail work. But his drawin' wastoo ragged. He was so good natured, though, and so willin' to do anythingfor anybody, that they kept him around, mainly to spring new gags on, sofar as I could see.
It wa'n't until he got at some house plans by accident that they foundout where he fitted in. He'd go over a set of them puzzle rolls that meanas much to me as a laundry ticket, and he'd point out where there wasroom for another clothes closet off some chamber here, and a laundrychute there, and how the sink in the butler's pantry was on the wrongside for a right handed dish washer, and a lot of little details thatnobody else would think of unless they'd lived in just such a house forsix months or so. Beany the Home Expert, they called him after that, andbefore any house plans was O. K.'d by the boss he had to revise 'em.
Then he got to hangin' round the studio after hours, helpin' Swifty Joeclean up and listenin' to his enlightenin' conversation. It takes amighty talented listener to get Swifty started; but when he does get histongue once limbered up, and is sure of his audience, he enjoys nothin'like givin' off his views in wholesale lots.
As for me, I never said a whole lot to Beany, nor him to me; but Icouldn't help growin' to like the cuss, because he was one of themgentle, quiet kind that you cotton to without knowin' exactly why. Notthat I missed him a lot when he disappeared. Fact was, he just droppedout, and I don't know as I even asked what had become of him.
I was hearin' now, though. It wa'n't any great tragedy, to start with.Some of the boys got skylarkin' one lunch hour, and Beany was watchin''em, when a lead paper weight he was holdin' slipped out of his hand,struck the end of a ruler, and flipped it up into his face. A sharpcorner hit him in the eye, that's all. He had the sore peeper bound upfor three or four days before he took it to a hospital.
When he didn't show up again they wondered some, and one of the firminquired for him at his old boardin' place. You know how it is in town.There's so many comin' and goin' that it's hard to keep track of 'em all.So Beany just faded out.
He told me that when the hospital doctor put it to him flat how bad offhis bum lamp was, and how the other was due to go the same way, he juststarted out and walked aimless for two days and nights, hardly stoppin'.Then he steadied down, pulled himself together, and mapped out a plan.
Besides architectin', all he knew how to do was to raise chickens. Hefigured that if he could get a little place off where land was cheap, andget the hang of it well in his head before his glim was dousedaltogether, he might worry along. He couldn't bear to think of goin' backto his old home, or hangin' around among strangers until he had to beherded into one of them big brick barracks. He wanted to be alone andoutdoors.
He had a few dollars with him that he'd saved up, and when he struck thislittle sand plot, miles from anywhere, he squat right down on it, builthis shack, got some settin' hens, and prepared for a long siege in thedark. One eye was all to the bad already, and the other was beginnin' togrow dim. Nice cheerful proposition to wake up to every mornin', wa'n'tit?
Does Beany whine any in tellin' it, though? Never a whimper! Gets off hislittle jokes on himself about the breaks he makes cookin' his meals, suchas sweetenin' his coffee out of the salt bag, and bitin' into a cake ofbar soap, thinkin' it was a slice of the soggy bread he'd make. Keeps hiscourage up, too, by trying to think that maybe livin' outdoors andimprovin' his health will help him get back his sight.
"I'm sure I am some better already," says he. "For months all I could seeout of my left eye was purple and yellow and blue rings. Now I don't seethose at all."
"That so?" says I, battin' my head for some come-back that would fit."Why--er--I should think you'd miss 'em, Beany."
Brilliant, wa'n't it? But Beany throws back his head and lets out thefirst real laugh he's indulged in for over a year.
"No, hardly that," says he. "I don't care about carrying my rainbowsaround with me."
"But look here, Beany," says I. "You can't stay here doin' the poultryhermit act."
"It's the only thing I'm fit for," says he; "so I must."
"Then you've got to let us send you a few things occasionally," says I."I'll look up your old boss and----"
"No, no!" says he. "I'm getting along all right. I've been a littlelonesome; but I'll pull through."
"You ought to be doin' some doctorin', though," says I.
He shrugs his shoulders again and waves one hand. "What's the use?" sayshe. "They told me at the hospital there wasn't any help. No, I'll juststay here and plug it out by myself."
Talk about clear grit, eh! And maybe you can frame up my feelin's when heinsists there ain't a thing I can do for him. About then, too, I hears'em shoutin' from the car for me to come along, as they're all ready tostart again. So all I does is swap grips with Beany, get off some foolspeech about wishin' him luck, and leave him standin' there in the potatofield.
Somehow I didn't enjoy the rest of that day's run very much, and whenthey jollies me by askin' who's my scarecrow acquaintance I couldn't workmyself up to tellin' 'em about him. But all I could think of was Beanyback there pokin' around alone in the fog that was settlin' down thickerand thicker every day. And in the course of two or three hours I had athought.
"Pinckney," says I, as we was puttin' up in Newport, "you know all sortsof crackerjacks. Got any expert eye doctors on your list?"
He chews that over a minute or so, and concludes that he has, a Dr. JasonCraige, who's right here in town.
"He's the real thing, is he?" says I.
"Most skillful oculist in the country," says Pinckney, "and chargesaccordingly."
"As high as fifty a throw?" says I.
"Fifty!" says Pinckney. "You should see his Cliff Walk cottage."
"Let's,"
says I. "There's a friend of mine I'd like to have him take alook at to-morrow."
"No use," says Pinckney. "He drops his practice entirely during hisvacation; wouldn't treat an Emperor then, I've heard him say. He's a gooddeal of a crank on that--and billiards."
"But see here, Pinckney," says I, and I goes on to give him the wholetale about Beany, puttin' it over as strong as I knew how.
"Sorry," says Pinckney; "but I know of no way in which I could induce himto change his custom. He's Scotch, you know, and as obstinate as---- Holdon, Shorty! I've an idea. How strong will you back my game ofbilliards?"
Now of all the erratic cue performers I ever watched, Pinckney gets themedal. There's times when he can nurse 'em along the cushion and run upquite a string, and then again I've seen him play a game any duffer'd beashamed of. But I begins to smell out his scheme.
"If it means a chance for Beany," says I, "I'll bid good-by to fivetwenties and let you do your worst."
"A wager of that sort would tempt Craige, if anything would," saysPinckney. "We'll try it on, anyway."
Whether it was the bluff Pinckney threw, or the insultin' way he suggeststhat the Doc don't dare take him up, I can't say. All I know is thatinside of half an hour we was in Jason Craige's private billiard room,him and Pinckney peeled down to their shirts, and at it.
As a rule I could go to sleep watchin' the best three-ball carom gameever played; but durin' this contest I holds the marker's stick and nevermisses a move. First off Pinckney plays about as skillful as a trainedpig practicin' on the piano; but after four or five minutes of punkexhibition he takes a brace and surprises himself.
No need going into details. Pinckney wins out, and the Doc slams his cueinto the rack with some remark about producin' the charity patientto-morrow. Did I? I routs Renee out at daylight next mornin', has himmake a fifty-mile run at Vanderbilt Cup speed, and we has Beany in theeye expert's lib'ry before he comes down for breakfast.
It takes Dr. Craige less'n three minutes to discover that the hospitalhand who told Beany he was bound to lose both lamps was a fat brained nutwho'd be more useful drivin' an ashcart. The Doc lays Beany out on aleather couch, uses a little cocaine in the right place, monkeys around aminute or so with some shiny hardware, and announces that after he's laidup for twenty-four hours in a dark room, usin' the wash reg'lar, he'll beable to see as well as any of us.
It's a fact, too; for Beany goes back on his old job next Mondaymornin'.
"By Jove!" says Pinckney, after the trick is turned. "A miracle,Craige!"
"Miracle be blowed!" says the Doc. "You accomplished the miracle lastnight, Pinckney, when you ran thirty-two buttons on scratch hits."
THE END
* * * * * *
THE NOVELS OFGEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list.
GRAUSTARK. Illustrated with Scenes from the Play.
With the appearance of this novel, the author introduced a new type ofstory and won for himself a perpetual reading public. It is the story oflove behind a throne in a new and strange country.
BEVERLY OF GRAUSTARK. Illustrations by Harrison Fisher.
This is a sequel to "Graustark." A bewitching American girl visits thelittle principality and there has a romantic love affair.
PRINCE OF GRAUSTARK. Illustrations by A. I. Keller.
The Prince of Graustark is none other than the son of the heroine of"Graustark." Beverly's daughter, and an American multimillionaire with abrilliant and lovely daughter also figure in the story.
BREWSTER'S MILLIONS.
Illustrated with Scenes from the Photo-Play.
A young man, required to spend one million dollars in one year, in orderto inherit _seven_, accomplishes the task in this lively story.
COWARDICE COURT.
Illus. by Harrison Fisher and decorations by Theodore Hapgood.
A romance of love and adventure, the plot forming around a social feud inthe Adirondacks in which an English girl is tempted into being a traitorby a romantic young American.
THE HOLLOW OF HER HAND. Illustrated by A. I. Keller.
A story of modern New York, built around an ancient enmity, born of thescorn of the aristocrat for one of inferior birth.
WHAT'S-HIS-NAME. Illustrations by Harrison Fisher.
"What's-His-Name" is the husband of a beautiful and popular actress whois billboarded on Broadway under an assumed name. The very oppositemanner in which these two live their lives brings a dramatic climax tothe story.
Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted FictionGrosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York
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ZANE GREY'S NOVELS
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list
THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS
A New York society girl buys a ranch which becomes the center of frontierwarfare. Her loyal superintendent rescues her when she is captured bybandits. A surprising climax brings the story to a delightful close.
THE RAINBOW TRAIL
The story of a young clergyman who becomes a wanderer in the greatwestern uplands--until at last love and faith awake.
DESERT GOLD
The story describes the recent uprising along the border, and ends withthe finding of the gold which two prospectors had willed to the girl whois the story's heroine.
RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE
A picturesque romance of Utah of some forty years ago when Mormonauthority ruled. The prosecution of Jane Withersteen is the theme of thestory.
THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN
This is the record of a trip which the author took with Buffalo Jones,known as the _preserver of the American bison, across the Arizona desertand of a hunt in_ "that wonderful country of deep canons and giantpines."
THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT
A lovely girl, who has been reared among Mormons, learns to love a youngNew Englander. The Mormon religion, however, demands that the girl shallbecome the second wife of one of the Mormons--Well, that's the problem ofthis great story.
THE SHORT STOP
The young hero, tiring of his factory grind, starts out to win fame andfortune as a professional ball player. His hard knocks at the start arefollowed by such success as clean sportsmanship, courage and honestyought to win.
BETTY ZANE
This story tells of the bravery and heroism of Betty, the beautiful youngsister of old Colonel Zane, one of the bravest pioneers.
THE LONE STAR RANGER
After killing a man in self defense, Buck Duane becomes an outlaw alongthe Texas border. In a camp on the Mexican side of the river, he finds ayoung girl held prisoner, and in attempting to rescue her, brings downupon himself the wrath of her captors and henceforth is hunted on oneside by honest men, on the other by outlaws.
THE BORDER LEGION
Joan Randle, in a spirit of anger, sent Jim Cleve out to a lawlessWestern mining camp, to prove his mettle. Then realizing that she lovedhim--she followed him out. On her way, she is captured by a bandit band,and trouble begins when she shoots Kells, the leader--and nurses him tohealth again. Here enters another romance--when Joan, disguised as anoutlaw, observes Jim, in the throes of dissipation. A gold strike, athrilling robbery--gambling and gun play carry you along breathlessly.
THE LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS,
By Helen Cody Wetmore and Zane Grey
The life story of Colonel William F. Cody, "Buffalo Bill," as told by hissister and Zane Grey. It begins with his boyhood in Iowa and his firstencounter with an Indian. We see "Bill" as a pony express rider, thennear Fort Sumter as Chief of the Scouts, and later engaged in the mostdangerous Indian campaigns. There is also a very interesting account ofthe travels of "The Wild West" Show. No character in public life makes astronger appeal to the imagination of America than "Buffalo Bill," whosedaring and bravery made him famous
Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York
&nb
sp; * * * * * *
B. M. Bower's NovelsThrilling Western Romances
Large 12 mos. Handsomely bound in cloth. Illustrated
CHIP, OF THE FLYING U
A breezy wholesome tale, wherein the love affairs of Chip and DeliaWhitman are charmingly and humorously told. Chip's jealousy of Dr. CecilGrantham, who turns out to be a big, blue eyed young woman is veryamusing. A clever, realistic story of the American Cow-puncher.
THE HAPPY FAMILY
A lively and amusing story, dealing with the adventures of eighteenjovial, big hearted Montana cowboys. Foremost amongst them, we findAnanias Green, known as Andy, whose imaginative powers cause many livelyand exciting adventures.
HER PRAIRIE KNIGHT
A realistic story of the plains, describing a gay party of Easterners whoexchange a cottage at Newport for the rough homeliness of a Montanaranch-house. The merry-hearted cowboys, the fascinating Beatrice, and theeffusive Sir Redmond, become living, breathing personalities.
THE RANGE DWELLERS
Here are everyday, genuine cowboys, just as they really exist. Spiritedaction, a range feud between two families, and a Romeo and Julietcourtship make this a bright, jolly, entertaining story, without a dullpage.
THE LURE OF DIM TRAILS
A vivid portrayal of the experience of an Eastern author, among thecowboys of the West, in search of "local color" for a new novel. "Bud"Thurston learns many a lesson while following "the lure of the dimtrails" but the hardest, and probably the most welcome, is that of love.
THE LONESOME TRAIL
"Weary" Davidson leaves the ranch for Portland, where conventional citylife palls on him. A little branch of sage brush, pungent with theatmosphere of the prairie, and the recollection of a pair of large browneyes soon compel his return. A wholesome love story.
THE LONG SHADOW
A vigorous Western story, sparkling with the free, outdoor, life of amountain ranch. Its scenes shift rapidly and its actors play the game oflife fearlessly and like men. It is a fine love story from start tofinish.
Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted FictionGrosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York
* * * * * *
BOOTH TARKINGTON'S NOVELS
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.
SEVENTEEN. Illustrated by Arthur William Brown.
No one but the creator of Penrod could have portrayed the immortal youngpeople of this story. Its humor is irresistible and reminiscent of thetime when the reader was Seventeen.
PENROD. Illustrated by Gordon Grant.
This is a picture of a boy's heart, full of the lovable, humorous, tragicthings which are locked secrets to most older folks. It is a finished,exquisite work.
PENROD AND SAM. Illustrated by Worth Brehm.
Like "Penrod" and "Seventeen," this book contains some remarkable phasesof real boyhood and some of the best stories of juvenile prankishnessthat have ever been written.
THE TURMOIL. Illustrated by C. E. Chambers.
Bibbs Sheridan is a dreamy, imaginative youth, who revolts against hisfather's plans for him to be a servitor of big business. The love of afine girl turns Bibbs' life from failure to success.
THE GENTLEMAN FROM INDIANA. Frontispiece.
A story of love and politics,--more especially a picture of a countryeditor's life in Indiana, but the charm of the book lies in the loveinterest.
THE FLIRT. Illustrated by Clarence F. Underwood.
The "Flirt," the younger of two sisters, breaks one girl's engagement,drives one man to suicide, causes the murder of another, leads another tolose his fortune, and in the end marries a stupid and unpromising suitor,leaving the really worthy one to marry her sister.
Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted FictionGrosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York
* * * * * *
GROSSET & DUNLAP'S DRAMATIZED NOVELS
THE KIND THAT ARE MAKING THEATRICAL HISTORY
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask far Grosset & Dunlap's list
WITHIN THE LAW. By Bayard Veiller & Marvin Dana. Illustrated by Wm.Charles Cooke.
This is a novelization of the immensely successful play which ran for twoyears in New York and Chicago.
The plot of this powerful novel is of a young woman's revenge directedagainst her employer who allowed her to be sent to prison for three yearson a charge of theft, of which she was innocent.
WHAT HAPPENED TO MARY. By Robert Carlton Brown. Illustrated with scenesfrom the play.
This is a narrative of a young and innocent country girl who is suddenlythrown into the very heart of New York, "the land of her dreams," whereshe is exposed to all sorts of temptations and dangers.
The story of Mary is being told in moving pictures and played in theatresall over the world.
THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM. By David Belasco. Illustrated by John Rae.
This is a novelization of the popular play in which David Warfield, asOld Peter Grimm, scored such a remarkable success.
The story is spectacular and extremely pathetic but withal, powerful,both as a book and as a play.
THE GARDEN OF ALLAH. By Robert Hichens.
This novel is an intense, glowing epic of the great desert, sunlitbarbaric, with its marvelous atmosphere of vastness and loneliness.
It is a book of rapturous beauty, vivid in word painting. The play hasbeen staged with magnificent cast and gorgeous properties.
BEN HUR. A Tale of the Christ. By General Lew Wallace.
The whole world has placed this famous Religious-Historical Romance on aheight of pre-eminence which no other novel of its time has reached. Theclashing of rivalry and the deepest human passions, the perfectreproduction of brilliant Roman life, and the tense, fierce atmosphere ofthe arena have kept their deep fascination. A tremendous dramaticsuccess.
BOUGHT AND PAID FOR. By George Broadhurst and Arthur Hornblow.Illustrated with scenes from the play.
A stupendous arraignment of modern marriage which has created an intereston the stage that is almost unparalleled. The scenes are laid in NewYork, and deal with conditions among both the rich and poor.
The interest of the story turns on the day-by-day developments which showthe young wife the price she has paid.
Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted FictionGrosset & Dunlap, 526 West 26th St., New York
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THE NOVELS OFSTEWART EDWARD WHITE
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.
THE BLAZED TRAIL. Illustrated by Thomas Fogarty.
A wholesome story with gleams of humor, telling of a young man who blazedhis way to fortune through the heart of the Michigan pines.
THE CALL OF THE NORTH. Ills. with Scenes from the Play.
The story centers about a Hudson Bay trading post, known as "TheConjuror's House" (the original title of the book.)
THE RIVERMAN. Ills. by N. C. Wyeth and C. F. Underwood.
The story of a man's fight against a river and of a struggle betweenhonesty and grit on the one side, and dishonesty and shrewdness on theother.
RULES OF THE GAME. Illustrated by Lejaren A. Hiller.
The romance of the son of "The Riverman." The young college hero goesinto the lumber camp, is antagonized by "graft," and comes into theromance of his life.
GOLD. Illustrated by Thomas Fogarty.
The gold fever of '49 is pictured with vividness. A part of the story islaid in Panama, the route taken by the gold-seekers.
THE FOREST. Illustrated by Thomas Fogarty.
The book tells of the canoe trip of the author and his companion into thegreat woods. Much information about camping and outdoor life. A splendidtreatise on woodcraft.
THE MOUNTAINS. Illustrated by Fernand Lungren.
An account of the adventures of a five months' camping trip in theSier
ras of California. The author has followed a true sequence ofevents.
THE CABIN. Illustrated with photographs by the author.
A chronicle of the building of a cabin home in a forest-girdled meadow ofthe Sierras. Full of nature and woodcraft, and the shrewd philosophy of"California John."
THE GRAY DAWN. Illustrated by Thomas Fogarty.
This book tells of the period shortly after the first mad rush for goldin California. A young lawyer and his wife, initiated into the gay lifeof San Francisco, find their ways parted through his downward course, butsucceeding events bring the "gray dawn of better things" for both ofthem.
Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted FictionGrosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York