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Eall~ Be Merr COME TO THE Mouzon Grocery. EARLY JUNE PEAS, FANCY SWEET CORN. BARTLETTE PEARS, CALIFORN IA PEACHES, PINEAPPLES. TOMATOES, IIEANS, Etc. All kinds ot Flavorinu;.s, Candie-s, Crackers of all kinds, and fresh. BUCKWHEAT, PANCAKE FLOUR, Catsups, Pickles, Mince Meat, very choice Apples in quart eans. Tapioea, Vermicelli, Postum Cereal, Cigars and Tobacco. The best of G roceries, and Vegeta bles of every v aiety. The t; nest _-rades of r.Tea Cori - Housekeepers. give me a trial and I w.1l please you. P. B. MOUZON. Etice~ of Discharge. I will apply to the Judge of Probate for Clarendon County on the 12th day of March. 1903, for letters of dis charge as Guardian for Earnest \c Call and Marie McCall. minors. WILLIAM HOFFMEYER. Florence, S. C., Feb. 12, 1903. Notice to Creditors. All persons having claims against the estate of S. M. Nexsen, deceased, will present them duly attested. and those owing said estate will make payment to JOHN S. WILSON, Administrator. Manninz, S. 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S. and Foreign send model, sketch orhoto ofinventionfor ~ repo Of aetbty For free book Opposite U. S. Patent Office IWASINGTON D. C. DR. J. FRANK GEIGER, DENTIST, MANNING, S. C. 'Phone No. 5. C. DAVIS, ATTORNEY AT LAW, MANNING, S. C. j. s. wnLsos~. w. C. 1ms-r WILSON & DURANT, Attorneys and Counselors at Lau MANNING, S. C. The Times DOES NEAT Job Printing. GIVE UiS A TRIAL. 4.1 4 0bG 000 By lHARLES M. SHELDON, + Auther of "in his Steps," "Robet Hardy's Sever o'pflright, If#) . bil Chardeq 3. $1i4 (fiIA PTER II. Stu e. I T. hW - I rton. RtE you quite sure you understand the situation, Luella?" 1 rJohn ordonasked the question gravc ly, but his look did not b,,etray any anxiety yet. He had been talkzing to Luella Marsh for sev eral minutes. His face also 'was grave, almost solemnly so, but there was a growing expression of uneasiness upon !t as she turned her head toward her lover. "I think so-yes," she said slowly. "In other words, you mean no,"p said Tohn Gordon, smiling slowly. Luella Marsh returned the smile and then became instantly grave again. "I would like to ask you a few more qruestions. May I?" "Of course." "Then I don't know that I am quite clear in my mind --s to your exact rea sons for leaving your own home. Will you try to make me understand that? " "Luella" - He paused, and for the first time a fear grew upon him that he was going to fail to make her un derstand the real crisis In his life. 'Was this the attitude of the 'woman who could prove to be the companion be would need? Would she hesitate and demand all these proofs and rea si al t lation, Adeta he el te eedofhe.the sinavthu far atisied i, ndua his lcedide now tray wasny ne pye He had entalicasto Lherlt Mash foran sey: "Were ntes. Hices Iawlo. was grae, plos shalemy pol but th wasd grwini expnation naie u ellas seunedecinn her anad hed "I athirty soyessh sad sromwthe ery Maxrsh returenjydl thean elean odforetsof a youh, feclusre pruestion. My fahe'?abtin "ThenoI onow, hasowlwaysbeenmtheite biton fo leany ow homlie. Wll you rymo make the uone tas "Lufa-he padusendr nd o othe orld. ti avfea grewn upon his tat mhere.gin to ail tnow make hite un rthpepand thei realssnh life. m athiUst the tiue of the rewgoan whoriecul Ipcred to bieo the pnon pe wouldneew aboul she sietat ndoeanwl thpese muchoas an areay onsal the.Ise exlnationsug Adtha le fethe nee of hitne. Sh hadsthuso fr satised hiersona heefaced ther nowl life. was nay one pssabe In hust eartando their wasrohs, the proua strinl ca vet o with as pan rty toWhnerrupt wit I wrd. "Why peoul Ie notl be this pewoplae ad thy lGfe mysted."elxr f otades ie beanbislntion anhtie to laleaeher chroning onhrhand ads thed hpeIm with comeptein sers nessma. nwi osil, swl Iasmoe wth itearsen owero tohe. time o ask birth Ieave enyse o eveyo lxury Iyo veenoysllth eledinot omoko a rhim exlusie, rouwd fily My reptied'sh abtind heace youl oward him.y beh aswe sitio of aima treble has livted. lf "srTe rom the comsmon peope :ilf he hen orn wih me oersal shere. li hatverkow the itte on Ithea peoplesant thisea lifen at faela Mars had ther ofirstrelimpose haexpergi enI care as dittl for t ho ityle a a knewaot tem. ofbtnce ta sexpeidene myng wher osition living has chngdtflndsselfh ongin toe know he peoptle as muh salread "I-ovemIts not eided; thoatly inlove Hauastance. - mutko from cloeprou expeience te ithyo tntheeirmsr.?"ntase "Ie youmrrtys" John Gorrye sdansoed wit oefmot. His Luear part gowner with ar wordsheyuttered, "Iawiel neeer"--rshefbegan and easy pohysca feet.GordTnre istantly.on lWifet a mitint nowt ow and st moioead thim suroundng hat "ait! so wanetel psdto athinheaile." he popl Ie hands coer her love, nod ash lordn wittedn pweritod.elp. hAnd yoaskngr foe le, but hme syou trmlev yorswah" hogta tobehe desiotn.o At hwie asinte heuscnition butpene that sisc thatl flwdg ef her hrace and shetuned a uerfaciae full tad hem Hialner ame ver almlydre thsnt vo her sp itho him otemle a lthtpleade Th wowaeJn hordeomenm ifea nol maeher oe wld prea. W hl shae alin whteer headur con I Days," Etc. A:X put ner nanas-h'e11n ii ner-lana looked full and frank into his face. But what she said surprised him at first until he saw its bearing on her final answer. "You used the word 'people' a good many times in what you said about your reasons for leaving your father's house. Tel? me what you mean by it." "By the word?" Ie was doubtful as to her meaning. * "Yes, just what do you mean by say ing you are moved by a love for the 'people.' " "I mean the masses, the multitudes, the people, the humanity that works with its hands for a living, the human ity that toils at the furnace and the loom and the machine, the humanity that lives on days' wages and lives to produce the things that give persons like you and me pleasure, the things we say we must have for our luxurious tastes, L-della!" John Gordon spoke for the first time with the same pas sion he had used in the interview with his father, a passion that sounded the new note of his redeemed manhood. "What have we known or cared for humanity? Our days have been wast ed in selfish and foolish gratification of the senses, while these, our brothers and sisters, have been not only uncared for by us, but actually unknown. Of what value our boasted culture, our elegant houses, our fine spun clothing, our fastidious habits, if in the refine ment of a civilization that is veneered selfishness we play our little plays like children and rever wake to the power of usefulness as grownup men and women who have giants' work to do for the weak and less fortunate?" Luella Marsh listened in genuine sur prise. This was another new phase of lier lover's character. But there were things said by him that angered her, although while John Gordon was talk ing she was saying to herself, "I did not know he had any gifts as a speak er that would bear developing." Looking up at him, noting the flush of feeling on his generally pale face, she spoke the first impulsive thought roused by what he said. "Do you really classify liv'es like yours and mine as 'useless?' Are the people, then, the only useful beings? Or is it -true that the people as you have defined them are such a needy and suffering quantity as you say? Are they not as selfish in their way as we are in ours?" He heard her in surprise. It was quickly becoming more clear to each of them that they had much to learn of each other's personality. Still, he was resolved not to argue matters. He had come with one clear, simple pur pose in his mind. He did not wish to have It obscured or put into second place. If Luella Marsh would go' with him into the lift he had chosen, I-e knew enough of her to feel certain that both their lives would be strengthened and beautified; that if she one'e cast in her lot with him she would never look back, but would go on clear to the end and bear all things with growing joy and peace. If she decided to reject him and his career because of details in it that were unknown or questiona ble, then he had no calm answer to his own heart as to the result on himself except to say that his path would be a lonely one. But he was of determina tion not to leave the matter unsettled. They were not children, but grown man and woman, and should be able to know their own minds. "Luella,~ I did not come here to argue with you"-he spoke with great gen tleness in reply to her questions--"I wanit you.'- I love.you. That means I would not hide one particle of the truth from you. If you marry me, It wIll be a life of burden bearing, It will be a future full of pain in many ways, it w~ill mean very largely a total breaking away from'aithe soi't, easy, pTisant social relations we hav~e both known since we were born. All this Is true. I would not try to soften it isr you. But It will be a Joyful life, a life of saisfaction, a life full of the conscious ness of helping to make a better world, of doing something besides playing, Lu ella!" -He forgot in his feeling what he had said ever since he knew her, that she could not be moved' by pleading, and, rising suddenly, he went over and kneeled beside her. "Luella! Tell me this simply: Do you love me enough to share the unknown future with me? Will you not come with me, trusting In our love for each other to 'bear us over hard places and explain new experi ences as Last as they become real to She trembled and hesitated. She had but to reach out her hand and put It in John Gordon's and say one word. She did not move nor speak for almost. a minute. Then she said, looking straight in front of her: "Must I give an answer now ?" "Luella, you have already given me answer! You have promised to be my wife!" The words were spoken by him in a moment of great longing as he saw her indecision and foresaw her inevitable answer. Her eyes darkened a little. "I never promised to be the wife of" "The wife of"-- John Gordon re peated after a silence so long that Its suspense was not bearable to him. "I hardly know how to finish"- She uttered a short laugh, and John Gor don rose at once to his feet. "I can never live in Hope House," she added in a low tone. "Is that your answer, then?" He stood looking at her calmly, but she did not look up. "Yes," she finally replied. "Then we must go our separate ways, so help us God:" he exclaimed in a sudden burst of passion, for his heart was hot within him. He paused a moment irresolutely and then started to go out. She had not made any motion nor lifted her head to look at him. ALt the door he turned for an instant a~id saw, to his astonish ment, that her proud head lay on her arms, which were outstretched on the table near which she had been sitting. He was back by her side, kneeling again and callintg her name. When she lifted her head, there were tears on her glowiag cheeks. "John, I cannot bear to have it so." "Then do you love me, Luella, enough to share all with me?" he cried. "Yes; I love you, John," she said slowly. But even as she said it she drew back from him a little. "At the same time I do not see why it is neces sary to live at Hdipe House." et nneesaily ther-e. but. some where aWn~on tliN-people: Luella do you not understand my reasons for wanting to know the people?" "I am not sure," she replied in a troubled tone, and then suddenly she turned away from him and put her head down on her arms again. John Gordon rose and walked up and down the room. Twice as he went past the table he paused irresolutely, his mind In a turmoil, his heart urieer tain. The third time he stopped, with a decision in his manner, and placed his hand on her head. "I do not ask you to marry me unless you can trust everything to me. If you are not able to say without any fear or doubt, 'I will go with you in all the way you have chosen,' I do not, I cannot. plead with you, Luella. Is that asking too much, dear? Can the man who loves you ask any less?" "No, no, he can ask no less! But, John, I fear to go"- She had raised her head and was looking at him with more agitation than he had ever known her to show. "I am not certain that I am fitted, that I am adapted, for such a life. I have a horror of the places the-I dQ not love the pecple, John, as you say you do. Am I to blame for that?" She asked the question almost tim idly, but nothing could soften the hard ness of the statement to him. He did not yet see that the one thing that kept her from coming to him without any questions was her lack of religious ex perience. She did not love the people because all her life had been so far devoted to a love of the things that had surrounded her social position. "No, I do not think you are to blame. But, oh, Luella, could you not learn to love them? Could you not come with me and let the future" "I could not pretend," she began, with a return of her proud attitude. "I do not ask you to pretend. If you love me, will not all the rest be possible?" She was silent a moment. Then sud denly she looked up and said frankly: "I would not be true to you if I kept anything back. I not only do not love the people as you do, but I do not see why you should sacrifice your life to them, as you plan to do. I cannot see that you will accomplish anything." "And Is accomplishment the great and only thing? Is there nothing in being or in striving regardless of ac complishment? But I cannot argue the matter. If you love me enough, Luella, all the rest will follow; if you don't, It will all be useless to you." She still looked at him with the un certain, disturbed air that had mar:-d her manner when he first began to talk to her, only the look had deepened In to an expression of doubt and painful unrest. "I do not see the need of all you plan to do. I do not see the need," she said slowly. "You would not have to see that if I you only loved me," he replied in a low tone, and there was a hopelessness in it that had not been present before. He stood looking at her, and suddenly he added: "Let us be entirely frank, Luella, that we may not misunderstand. , You ahrink from the thought of living In a place likle Hope House; you besitalieto commit your future to mae because of the physical losses, the absence in our future of these physical luxuries we have both known, Into which, we have been born-Is that it? Your love for me Is not strong enough to make this loss seem insignificant-Is that true?" It was a blunt question, and he pur posely putit bluntly, perhaps more so than was fair to her. Over her face the color deepened, and she evidently felt the implied reproach in his sum ming up of her hesitation. "That is not quite the truth." "A. part of it?" "You have no'Tight to force such a question upon me." "I have a right to know the whole truth." "You would not understand" "I would undersfand everything if you loved me enough to go with me without question." "Love does not mean being unrea sonable." "Yes, Luella, it does, at least this far-that love will trust where it can not always give reasons." She was silent again. He took a step nearer. "Luella, one question only: If I de cide that I must go to live in Hope House, will you go with me? Or will you refuse on account of the phys ical aind social loss?" She looked at him steadily at first, although her color deepened and her lps trembled. "You have no right to ask such a question." "I have-the right of a man who loves you." "Then I will say not go, not for 'the reason you think, but" "It is not necessary to explain," John Gordon answered sadly. "Luella, it is plain to me that you do not love me." "You have no right to make any such test!" she exclaimed passionately. She stood up and faced him proudly, and he simply looked into her eyes a moment and then turned and walked out of the room. This time he did not look back. As he closed the door, Lue1 la Marsh fell upon her knees by the side of the table, exclaiming: "God pity me! God have mercy!I" John Gordon went out of the house calmly enough, although his heart was torn with passionate conflict. As the current of the city swept him on, there surged up in his soul hot, anger that he had ever loved this woman who could not have the test of faith in the man who loved her. But it was at this crisis that his real religious experience rescued him from wreck. Had it not been for that this story had never been told. But as he went his way that day his anger fell, and in its place there grew up a tender memory that left no room for harsh judgment. But for the present he wvas over whelmed by the result He had put Luella Marsh into the altar place of a proud man's affection. Every day since the time she had pledged her heart to his he had thanked God for what had been given him. Her appar et response to his ambitions, especial ly noticeable In her correspondence during his absence, had exhilarated him. To find now that she would not trust her life to him because he had chosen a career of hardship and loss of physical things struck him the se verest blow he had ever experienced. The failure on the part of his father and sister to understand or sympathize became insignificant compared with this everit. As he walked along he be gan to torture himself with questions. Had he made a mistake In taking her answer as final? Had he, as she said, no right to make such a test? Was It asking too much of any woman to ask her to leave a home of luxury to which she had been accustomed from birth and go at once into surroundings that were repulsive to her? And then she had confessed that she did not love the people a he dimbt-Was that an nin "r do not ask you to marry me unless you can trut everything to me." pardonable sin? Yet he had felt when she said It as if an impassable gulf had suddenly been dug between them. Had he acted as a man should act who has so much at stake as In this case? The torture of these questions was so keen that after walking several blocks he turned to go back. "I must see her again," he kept say ing. "I cannot let It end here." He went up the steps and rang the bell. The servant who came to the door eyed him curiously. "Miss Marsh has gone out," she said, and John Gordon at first did not be lieve her until he remembered that the carriage was standing at the curb when he left Luella and that she had said something about going out to the park before tea. He slowly went down the steps, and when he was on the sidewalk be paused. Perhaips'in'~aIf his life he iad ifever felt so lonely as at that moment. The consciousness that his father and sis ter and now the woman who had promised to be his wife had repudiated his life smote him with a sense of per sonal abandonment that was keen and searching. For a moment he felt so completely alone that he let go of every motive for getion. The city and the overwhelm ing thought of its misery and sin and selfishness enraged him. "Let us eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die!" he cried out, and nothing at that inoment would have saved John Gor don except the fact that what he had mentioned to his father and sister and Luella as his religious experience was the greatest fact so far in his career. As he stood still there at the foot of the steps .gradually his spirit grew calm er. The consciousness of God in his life grew stronger. The purpose of his ambition cleared. And after a little while he started on, knowing that his life work would not be changed in Its main intent by anything that had so far happened. Only as he went on he also kifew that he could not and would not be the same man and do the same things in some parts of his earthly vi sion as if Luella Marsh had decided to walk with him in the way. It was also quite clear to him that without being able to give a good reason for it ho was not closing the chapter with Luel a yet He certainly entertained the idea of her still coming into his life. It was not from his interview with her that he drew any such hope. But he knew that he did not yet consider her action as final, or possibly it was his own action that was not final. He stopped at a corner, and the sight of a street name on a car going by de cided his next movement. "I'll go and take tea at Hope House," he said to himself, and took the car, noting, by the time, that he would reach the house just as the little family of residents were in the habit- of sit ting dowp to their evening meal. Hope House stood in the midst of its desert of tenements and its corner sa loons and vaudeville halls like an oasis of refuge and strength. Saloons to right and left and front and rear, with piles of~ brick and wood and rubbish flung together in chaotic, tumbled heaps, with openings for human be ings who streamed in and out of court and alley and doorway or sat in pallid, huddled masses on the stoops or curb lg formed the frame In which Hope House was set, unique and alone. John Gordon left the car one block from Hope House and walked down past five saloons In the block until he came to the arched entrance of the house. Going Into the little court, he breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of the familiar oleander tubs that stood against the outer wall of the cout-t, and marveled at their ability to bl'ossom with such freshness. in such surround ig. "If oleanders ever had any fragrance In this part of the city, they must almost smell of beer and sewer gas," he said to himself as he went on into the broad hall that opened on the court He was by no means a stranger to Hope House. Since his return from abroad he had been a frequent visitor and had been welcomed with that in ner wvelcomne that springs from well known common purposes. "You are just in timel" called out a quiet but cheerful voice as John Gordon stepped into the doorway of the dining hal. "Miss Manning is absent. You may take her seat by me." "I count myself fortunate," John Gor don replied as he took the seat, re turnin.g the greetings of those at the table. "We were talking about you," said the head of the house, with her quiet but earnest manner. "'Tm sorry to interrupt the conversa tion," replied John Gordon. "No interruption, we assure you. We are glad you came In, for you aye the only person who can answer a ques tion Mr. Ford just asked." "Rather a personal question, Mr. Gordon," said Ford, a student from the university, who was a resident of several months' standing. "The ques tion I asked Miss Andrews was this: 'What Is Mr. Gordon going to do? Will he possibly come in here with us?2'" John Gordon did not answer the question at once. He knew the come plete f.reedom of the social atmosphere of Hope House, especially at meal times, and understood well that his si lence would not be misconstrued as discortesy. He looked around the circle of ear nest, friendly faces at the table, and his gaze included, as It had many times before, the room itself, with its high, dark wainscoting, its few but choice portraits, Its plain but attractive home likeness;'but, as on every other occai son. his look finally came back to the face of the head of the house, for she was the genius of .the place. Grace Andrews was in her thirty sixth year. At the time John Gordon first met her at Hope .House she had been in charge of the settlement for +totre yan Twelve yearsfof asi ciatioi ~-itli dsjera-te--human prob lems such as those that swaimed like the people themselves had left on her c face marks of that huzaan, divine calmness that all great women bear who have loved the people. If Grace Andrews did not impress strangers or visitors as being great In any real sense, it was because the look of her face spoke of a quiet peace that so many people superficially associate with meekness, but do not consider as an element of power. The residents of Hope House understood all that, and the oldest residents understood It bet ter than the youngest and had more unquestioned reverence for the great- E ness of Grace Andrews th;an those i who had less knowledge of her. I It was with a deepening conscious ness of what this woman was and of her wonderful life and influence that 3 John Gordon came into her'presence. He had met her during his university career when some special studies had taken him down to Hope House. And one of the first places he had visited on I his return from abroad had been the E dining room with its fellowship life presided over by that central figure i that dominated the entire group. It was at that first meeting that he had frankly told her and the residents t something of his religious experience I and-its bearilg on his life work. It was that frank confidence that had led e up to the question by Ford. e "Well?" Miss Andrews finally said' r as John Gordon seemed ready to speak after looking at her so intently. Dur ing his silence the conversation at the C table had gone on in a quiet but nat ural fashion. Every one in Hope House always gave every one else perfect freedom for his personality, and no 1 one felt at all disturbed when John K Gordon did not reply at once to the I student's query. They all paused in I their talk when he spoke. "Ire been thinking of it. I would count it an honor to be part of your C family." He spoke to Miss Andrews, but included all the table with a ges ture. "I'm still in some doubt concern ing my future. I am sure you are enough . interested In me to care to know that I have left my own home. I am just at present without a per manent place of abode. Perhaps you would be willing to take me In." V He spoke sbmewhat lightly, but not S without a certain seriousness that they all seemed to understand. Miss An- " drews glanced at him quickly and said with a real tone of sympathy: "We would not only give you a hearty b welcome, M1r. Gordon, but count our selves fortunate to have you with us." "Thank you,"- he replied gratefully. e "I would not come into the house, of d course, except as one who would take V the position of a learner. I have every thing to learn and nothing to contrib ute. You would have to teach me the simplest duties of a resident, Miss An diews. I at least would be a very \Will- z ing and obedient pupil." "I have no doubt of that," she re plied, with a smile. "But the people who act that way are dangerously apt to be in a position to teach their teach ers in time." 1 "I shall never be able to teach the I teacher In Hope House," said John Gordon earnestly. Miss Andrews laugh- 1 ed, and the faintest tinge of color ap- I peared on her cheeks. "We are all learners here. Let him who has not learned something today hold up his hand. Not ahand in sight Oh, we are C all in the primary class! The people are the alphabet of God. And we have not yet learned the alphabet." The talk gradually circled-the table, while John Gordon continued to tefl Miss Andrews something In detail of the interview with his father and sis ter. After the meal was over the resi dents scattered to their work, but half a dozen with Miss Andrews and John Gordon lingered a few minutes in the library and living room, which opened out of the wide hall, next the old fash Ioned staircase which went up near the center of the room, for Hope House had fornf~rly beeja an old fam ily mansion, and it stood now in its solitary refinement of interior in com-. plete contrast to every building in the dismal district now ruled and ruined by the human ruins that pleaded day and night for rebuilding until the souls of the residents grew weary with the burden, and God either grew daily farther away or closer by, in propor tion as the workers in the settlement grew more and more to love the peo ple or more and more to lose faith in their redemption. When John Gordon finally went away, he had practically promised to become a permanent resident of Hope House. Something of John Gordon's1 family history was known to most of the residents, and there was enough of the romantic and unusual in such a de cslon as his to stir the imagination of the earnest young men and women who had thrown in their lot with Hope House and what It stood for in the city. When John Gordon came out from the archway and turned into the street, it was after 0 o'clock. He walked along for half a dozen blocks, trying to, realize what his life work would be In such a place. Whatever else It would be, he knew It would be a life that would demand inexorably all the manhood possible. At he stopped and looked back down the street and re alized its wretchedness, Its discomfort, its squalor, its moral filth, his beart cried out for strength, his soul i lt compassion and anger and lonynag, and his love of the people, to his in tense satisfaction, grew in spite .of what they were and because of what they were. He was still standing there, absorbed In his thought of future possibilities, when a man put his hand on his shoul der and said familiarly: "John, do you want good company? I'm with you If you do"' "David!" cried John Gordon in as-4 toishment. "Hlow do you happen to be here?" "Studying life, eh?" said David Bar- I ton as he put his arm within his friend's and walked on. "But how does it happen that you" "Having a week's vacation. Harris I told me IPd better go to Colorado. Been down here every night." John Gordon walked on In deepening astonishment. "Come up to the rooms and let us have a talk," said Barton, and John Gordon quietly agreed. They took a car and after riding two. miles left the car, walked two blocks and came out on Park IBoulevard, where David Bar ton, managing editor of. the Daily News, had apartments. When they were seated, David Bar ton turned a sharp, nervous, but kind ly face toward John Gordon. "Surpr~isecd to see me down In the regibon of Hope House? Great place, Isn't It? Worth more than a trip to the Rlockles to go through.the show." 1 "Do you- mean to say you have never been down around Hope House be fore?" "I've been there several times, my son." "Do you know Miss Andrews?" 1 "Knew her before you were out of ih echool. " -rou Tisver told me." "Why should I tell you everything at C >nce?" "Several years Is not at once," re lied John Gordon, with a smile. For answer the older man gravely r aid after a pause: "How old cre you, John?" "Thifrty." "And I'm forty. The pace is killing C 3e. Harris says I may last five years C aore. I doubt it. He is evidently ani- E )us to keep me going the five years. 0 )o I look bad?" He thrust his pale, nervous face for- 5 7ard, and John Gordon was almost hocked at his friend's manner. He E ras so much moved that he rose and vent over and laid his hand on the ither man's arm. "David, you're not well. Why don't C ou take Harris' advice and go out to Oolorado, not for a week, but for a ear?" "As bad as that?" David Barton aid dryly. "I think I'm good for the ive years. But tell nme &bout your elf." "I've left home, and I'm ging to take I ip residence in Hope House." "No! What! Live there?' David Barton seemed to pay no at ent4on to the fact of his friend's leav ag home. "I've been there, tonight and made tefinite arrangements with Miss An trews. I must go there In order to fit myself for my work." "Your work?" "Yes; for the people," replied John 'ordon simply, "Pooh! The people!" David Barton sniffed contemptuously. Who knows who the people are?" He topped suddenly, and his whole man er changed- His sharp, abrupt, indif erent alertness was smothered out of is face like magic. He rose and ralked through the room while Tohn rordon, who understood his moods tute well, listened iM astonishment. "John, listen to me. I believe I now something of your plans and am tions. You're the only man I know i rho would do what you propose to do. don't have much faith in it. At the me time I believe in you, John. I poke contemptuously of the people, ut in my heart, John, I love the peo le. I am one of them. Tonight as I aw children rotting in those holes I ould have died for them. But the 24rtyr's stuff is not in me to die for 4em except by proxy. Let me tell you, ohn, you are going at the thing back anded. What do you want to go and ve In Hope House for? Miss Andrews I ; doing splendid work, but even her fforts don't accomplish anything. Con itions are as bad there now as they rere twelve years ago. It's good flesh nd blood thrown to the lions while he politicians and the gang look Oa nd laugh at the human helplessness. Vny, it is simply an outrage on civili- - ation that a city like this lets a aWom- r n like Miss Andrews die by martyr om in that infernal hell on earth and ever gives her the financial and social upport she ought to have. And $he ounds that own the tenements and aloons and vaudeville property live In xury and pose as leaders in society d allow conditionito be created that oil a stream of desperate human prob ms over Miss Andrews that will kill er in a few years. Yes, kill her!' Davd Barton spoke with a savage nergy that made John Gordon shud .er. But when Barton had been silent moment he continued In a calmer one to make a proposition to John Gor on that John was totally unprepared "Instead of going Into Hope House rhy don't you come Into the News? I an speak for Harris that he will give. 'ou full swing on the reform page of rour own. You can have it all your iwn way. I'll help you with special tories and pictures that will make the roperty owners around Riverside ;treet squirm. Harris Is savage with he mayor because of last year's cam ,aign. He'll be glad to get even with e adlministration by showing up the otten concern. I tell you, John, there's L earthquake going to rattle the city mll this winter, and Harris and the iews will be one name for the earth nake. The old man is just in the nood for pushing the reform business n the name of the people. He .will gree to anything I say. The press is he only real power left In the city any ow. Think of what you can do for be people with the News back of you. Ve can make a special business of the ;lum' holes and make It mighty Inter sting for some of the old moneybags >f this God forsaken metropolis. Don't mswer at once. At any rate, give me -ie to cough." David Barton sat down close by John iordon and had a coughing spell that asted a few minutes.- John Gordon si ently watched him, steadily excited y the offer just made to him. Could me accept it? Was It not one of those pportnities that men have come to :hem but once? What might he not do for the people If a whole page of a reat, powerful, practically bounless; vealthy paper were at his disposal? Ihe material he could put before the uble! The conditions he could er >osel The wrongs he could right! The ives he might save! The possibilities grew larger every moment he thought David Barton finally ceased cough Ing and spoke again. "Well, will you come Into the News?. What do you say?' But John Gordon did not answer at mee. Suddenly he had thought of Lu ella Marsh. If she would not marry din as a resident of Hope House, would ;he not be proud to be the wife of a riter on one of the most powerful lales of the world? And the same bject would be gained for the people. 3ut how about his declaration that he nust know the people by direct knowl ige gained by living among them? iet could he not do that In some vay and still put this modern lever of he press under the- problem?1 He faced his friend with strong feel ng. The day had been full of events 1 'or him, but this closing event affected ima in some ways deeper than all the i [To BEi CONTINUED.] Ebarrsing F'or the Professor. Professor (to his class)-Gentlemen, I ye to apologize for a short delay in eginning this lecture. I have unfor mately left my manuscript at home, ut my boy, whom I have sent for It, ri be here shortly. Professor's Son (audibly)-Mother ouldn't find the manuscript; so she - .as sent the book you copied It from. few York Times. It is agreed by medica~l authorities hat the virulence of ~an epidemic may >e increased by the element of fear in_ he public mind. iears th The Kind You Have Always Bought THz KIND OF IF rmE To be used is very much a matte of taste. It is im'portant, though that the frames set properly the nose and at the right distan from the eyes; that the lenses be perfectly centered, and how are you to know when one is guess ing? WE NEVER GUESS. Glasses Right, Good Sight." E. A. Bultmian JEWELER AND ORICIAN Dr. Z. F. Highsmith, Optic~n., in charge of Optical Departmen 17 S. Main St., - Smter, S.C ?NONE 194. 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