Historical Newspapers of South Carolina

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^mtertal^ story j iPStantonI I (1 wins n V ' ib by rfl Eleanor M. Ingram VmH Author of "The Game I<fl and the Candle," "The Hying Mercury," etc. . CJH Illustralloni by KB Frederic Tbornburgh i KM I Copyright 1UU. The Bobba- Morrt'.l Company I SYNOPSIS. At the boKlnnlnK of groat automobile race the mechanician or the Mercury. Stanton's machine, drops dead. BtranKe vouth. Jesse Floyd. volunteers, and Is accepted. In the rest durlnK the twenty- 1 four hour race Stanton meets a stranKcr. Miss Carlisle, who Introduces herself. CHAPTER II.?(Continued.) "My father Is president of a tiro company," she Idly remarked. "His tires are being used on some of the cars, the Mercury for one. I believe, and fc-? wanted to watch their testing under use. So, after a dinner engagement we could not escape, we motored down here from the city. You ?ee I have not viewed much of the race. I admit this does not look very perilous and I am a bit disappointed. I," again her short crystal laugh. "1 shall hope better things of the famous Stanton; I want to admire him very much. But I am detaining you. and you were leaving! Every thanks for your patience." "Hardly leaving, since the twenty ..fpur hour race is not six hours old," he connected briefly. "I am glad to have been of any use to you." She returned his salute; then, upon the cool Impulse of one accustomed to doing as she chose, put her question directly: "Ah?I am Miss Carlisle; I would like to know who has been good enotigh to aid me in my Ignorance." "My name la Stanton," he compiled, and went on. From the shelter of the obscurity he looked back. She had taken a step forward Into the light and her veil , unn supped nsiae as she gazed after him with an expression of acute and eager interest. She could not have fbeen older than twenty-four or five. finely cut, beautiful face framed In" wave* of ^f air hair. Floyd was sitting on a c^Iuvz-stool outside the tent, chatting with a group of men, when Stanton returned. The rest had brought back the mechanician's color and nniiuatloqj in fact, he looked ridiculously young and Irresponsible. Hut he sprang up readily at the driver's nod. "Time?" he asked, his gray eyes like burnished steel. "Yes," Stanton confirmed. And to the nearest man: "Hrlng in the car." There was an obedient commotion. Several men ran to flag the other driver; Floyd caught up goggles and cap, and knelt to tighten a legging atrap. As Stanton made his own preparations, Mr. Green bustled up to him. "We're leading," he reminded superfluously. "There isn't, really, any need for extra fast work, Stanton." Stanton snapped a buckle, saying nothing. "I telephoned to the office and told Rupert he needn't come. I told him that you had a new man." "Well?" "He said, 'Poor mut.' " The driver straightened to his full height, his firm dark face locking to broitfc inflexibility. "You lind better report his sympa thy to Floyd, whom it's meant for," he advised hardly. "I'm not interested. If the company doesn't like the wny I drive, let them get some one in my place; but while 1 do drive the car, I drive, and not Rupert or Floyd, or? any one else. I'll neither take risks nor shirk them to order." The assistant manager choked, speechless. He had no way of knowing why Stanton flashed a sullen glance toward the row of automobiles before the grand-stand, or who was meant by that "any one else." Meanwhile, he was intractable, he was insubordinate, and he was obstinate? but he was Stanton. The Mercury rolled in, the two men climbed from their seats, and there was a momentary delay i'or tank filling. Stanton took his place, experimentally speeding and retarding his motor while he waited for the workmen to finish. "Stop a minute while I fix the carburetor," requested Floyd, from lie Bide the machine. "It's colder lute at night like this. Wait, you've dropped your glove." Stanton silenced the engine. Something In the fresh voice, the boyish grace of the slight figure, the ready courtesy of the act, stirred him with a strange sensation and pricking shame at his own brutality. "Poor mut," a whisper repeated to his inner ear. When Floyd ofTered the gauntlet, the Other dropped a hand upon his shoulder. "Are ycu riding wiih me because you want the money badly enough to chance anything," Stanton demanded harshly, "or because you are willing to trust my driving?" Taken by surprise, open astonishment crossed the younger man's face, but his eyes did not flinch from the ones behind the goggles. | tnink you're the best driver oti the truck," came the steady answer. "And I'd rather trust myself to your recklessness than to some one else's mistakes, If you want to know. I guess you can steer straight enough for both of us." Stanton's hand relaxed Its hold. "Go fix your carburetor. Yes. 1 can Bteer?straight." Again the blue-black eyes flashed sneering defiance toward the grandstand; for the moment. Miss Carlisle's hope of witnessing desperate feats by the Mercury car seemed far from realization. But the Mercury had not circled the mile oval four times when the Duplex, its choked feed-pipe cleared at last, burst from the paddock with its master driver at the wheel and bent on the recovery of loBt time. The Mercury was on the back stretch of track, running cnsually near sixty miles at the moment. "Car comln'," Floyd cautioned suddenly. Stanton wised his head, alert a fractional second too late, and his closest rival shot past him, roaring down the white path. It was too much; Floyd and Miss Carlisle sank out of memory together, as Stanton reached for throttle and spark. The Mercury snarled and leaped like a startled cat. The dull period was over. The Mercury car was slightly the faster, but the Duplex held the inside line, and the difference between the drivers'was not in skill so much as in ciaredeviltry. Slower machines kept conservatively out of the way as the dangerous rivals fought out their speed-battle. Three times Stanton hunted the Duplex around the track, gaining on each lap, until the last circuit was made with the cars side by Bide, a flaming team. The spectators, scanty at this hour before dawn, rose, applauding and cheering, as the two passed again, still clinging together. But gradually It became evident that Stanton, who held the outside, was steadily crowding the Duplex luwaru xne paaaoca rence. Nor could the Duplex defend Itself from the maneuver which must ultimately force It to fall behind at one of the turns or accept destruction by collision. The machines were so close that a swerve on the part of either, the blow-out of a tire or a catch in the ruts cut In the track at certain points, meant ungentle death. Mercilessly, gradually, Stanton pressed his perilous advantage. And at the crucial moment he heard a low, exultant laugh. "Cut him closer!" urged his mechanician's eager, excited accents at his ear. "We'll get him on this turn? he'B wenkenin'? Cut him close!" The comrade triumph came to Stanton as an ilnaccustoined cordial. They were pnsslng the grand-stand. Just ahead lay the worst curve. It was partly reputation which won, If the Duplex had held firm, the Mercury must in self-preservation have yielded room. Hut the driver knew Stanton, guessed him capable ol wrecking both by obstinate persist ence in attack, and dared not meel the issue. There came the gun-like reports of a shut-off motor, the Du plex slackened Its furious pace, and Stanton hurtled past him on the turr Itself, lurching across the ruts, and led the way down the track. The witnesses in stands nnd pad dock went frantic. Floyd pumped oil Stanton snatched a glance at the min laiure watcn strapped on his wrist over his glove, and slightly reduced speed. The maneuver had been sue cessful, but the driver knew that ll might have called down upon him th< judges' Just censure and have sent hln from the track, disqualified. The number of laps steadily grev "For Mr. Stanton," the Boy Insisted on the bulletin register. A faint, dul light overspread the sky, the fore runner of the early summer dawn. A four o'clock the Mercury unexpected ly blew out a tire, reeling across ti the fence linr from the clmfli jar of sharply applied brakes. Stantoi said something, and sent his car limr ing cautiously around to the cam] where its repairers stood ready Floyd slid out of his hard, narrow seat rather stiffly. The cold graynes was bright enough now to show tie streaks of grimy dust and oil wjiei ever the masks had failed to protee the men's faces, and the effects of fa tiguo and strain of watching. Stantoi looked for the inevitable pitcher o water, but found himself confronts Instead with a grinning, admiring] awed messenger boy who held out i cluster of heavy purple flowers. "What?" marveled the disgustei driver. "What idiotic trick?" "For Mr. Stanton, sir," deferential | ly insisted the boy; who would hay addressed the president as "bo," am gibed at the czar. Stanton caught the blossoms rough ly, anticipating a practical Joke fror some fun-loving fellow-competitor, nm saw a white card dangling by a bl of ribbon. "Thank you," he read In careles penciling. "I have no laurel wreath here, bo send the vlctcr of the hear i my corsage bouquet." She had had the Imprudence, or the cool disregard of comment, to use one of her own cards. Valerie Atherton Carlisle, the name was engraved across the heavy pasteboard. She had thought that wild duel with the Duplex was an exhibition given for her,that at her wanton whim he had jeopardized four lives, one his own. I With a strong exclamation of contempt Stanton moved to fling the flowers aside to the path before the Mercury's wheels, then checked himself, remembering appearances. The orchids curled limply around his warm tlngers; suddenly the magnificent urrognnce of this girl struck him with angry humor, and he laughed shortly. "Throw them in the tent, ltlake," he requested, tossing the bouquet to one of the men. "They'll wither fast eliough." The new tire was on. As Stanton turned to his machine, after tearing the enrd to unreadable fragments, he suw r ioya watching him with curious intentness. A raw, wet mist hnd commenced to roll in from the near-by ocean. The promise of dawn was recalled, a dull obscurity closed over the motordrome, leaving even the search-lighted path dim. The cars rushed on steadily. The night had been singularly free from accidents. Only one machine had been actually wrecked, although three had been withdrawn from the contest. The officials in the judges' stand were congratulating one another, at the moment when the second disaster occurred. The mist had grown thicker, in the lights a dazzling silver curtain before men's eyes, and the track had been worn to deep grooves at the turns. The Mercury was sweeping past the grand-stand, when one of the two slower cars, being overtaken, slipped its driver's control, caught in a footdeep rut, and swerved crashing into the machine next it. Twice over It rolled, splintering sickeningly, hut Hinging both of its men clear of the wreck. The car struck, plunged on around the curve into the mist, apparently unhurt. Out across the damp dusk pierced the shriek of the klaxon, mingled with the cry of the people and the tinkle of the hospital telephone. Stanton, swinging wide to avoid the pitiful wreckage, kept on his course. "Stop!" Floyd shouted imperatively beside him. "Stop, Stanton, stop!" Stanton sped on, disregarding what he supposed was a novice's nervous sympathy. He could not aid the stunned men lying on the track, and one glance had told him that they could he safely passed; as indeed they had h?>n "Stop!" the command rang again; and as Stanton merely shook his head with impatient annoyance, the mechanician swiftly stooped forward. The motor slackened oddly, lief ore the astounded driver had time to grasp the situation, the power died from under his hands and the car was only carried forward by its own momentum. Automatically he jammed down the brakes nnd fumed in his seat to confront his companion in a wrathful amazement choking speech. Floyd faced him, even his lips white beneath his mask, but with steadfast eyes. "I know," he forestalled the tempest. "You've got the right to put me off the car?I threw your switch. I've got nothing to say. But the mist lifted and I saw what lay ahead." What lay ahead? The klaxon was shrieking madly, from all around the track came the sound of halting cars, i The rising wind pushed along the fog walls again, and they opened to reveal r the second machine of the late accident, not twenty-flve feet ahead, a tilted, motionless heap. After the collision it had staggered this far, to go down with a broken rear axle and two lost rear wheels. Its men were atill in their seats unhurt. There was an instant of silence. The -J* * avuiuru uisnhUT WHS HO <>XCIISe IOT t lie mechanician's interference, nor did Floyd offer it as such, well aware that his driver was perfectly justified in any course he chose to take. There can be but one pilot at tiny wheel. "Since I suppose you tire not equal to cranking a ninety Mercury, you had better fix the spark nnd gas while I start it," dryly suggested Stanton. "And?never do that again." He stepped out and went to the front of his car, seizing the crank and starting the big motor with tin exi ertlon of superb strength which would indeed have been impossible to the slender Floyd. When ho retook his ! seat, the mechanician made his equal1 ly laconic apology and acknowledgment of error. "1 never will," Floyd gave his word. ~ The wind shook the mist morn strongly, streamers of pink and gold trembled across the sky. The day had commenced. f (TO UK PONTINt'KO.) Humor of Artemus Ward, f Some years ago the real scream in cachinnation was Artcuuis Ward. Our 1 fathers were wont to read the wittl l" eisins of this great humorist and 'J laugh till the tears ran down their cheeks. As an example of how funny Artemus could be when lie tried, take y tills extract from his letter on JefferR son Davis, president of the Confederacy, alleged to have been written in Richmond: "Jeff. Davis is not popular here. ' She Is regarded as a southern syme pathiser, Ac yit I'm told he was kind ^ to his parents. She ran away from 'em many years ago and has never bin back This was showln' 'em a good n deal of consideration when we reflect what his conduek has been. Her eap' tur In female apparel confooses nie In regard to his sex. & you see I speak 9 of him as her and as frequent as other * wise, & 1 guess he feels so hlsseif." GAVE UP STAGE i ! FOR BUSINESS; : HAS NO REGRETS i i NEW YORK.?1 came to New < York becauso I wanted to be un ] actress. I had my wish. I was i "on the stage" ami was more successful thau the average actress. I am staying in New York because 1 ' uiivf pui a goua jou H8 u stenograpner. 1 am "off tlio stage" now. I am a ' business woman. And to say that I ' am glad that I made the change is ' putting it mildly. 1 "I have found that, for the girl who ' through force of circumstances has to ' make her own way in this world, the ' business office is so much more de- 1 sirable than the stage that It isvliard ' to make a comparison. I was just twenty two years old when it became n^essary for me to ' < begin to make my own living. In the little Ohio town where 1 had lived all 1 my life I had achieved more than u local reputation as an amateur actress. ' 1 had the talent, was well equipped ' both physically and mentally, and had ' the ambition to become a successful 1 actress My work in amateur theatricals had attracted the attention of professionals playing in our town, and for two seasons I had occasionally played minor partH in a summer stock cim- ' pany at a summer park. Quizzed for the Chorus. "(lo to little old New York; that's the place for you," said the professionals whose acquaintance I had made in this manner. "You've got to go to Broadway if you want to get started." 1 did want to get started. 1 had $Nl> in real money. I packed my suitcase, with my set of Shaw on top of my skirts, and came to West Forty-eighth strt ct to begin my start. The manager of the summer stock affair had given me two letters of Introduction to friends of his along the Riallo. One ' was to a musical comedy producer with a little otllee on Thirtv-ntnih I street. "Oil, yes," he said, glancing at my letter; ' you're the one Toin wrote mo about. Ever wear tights?" "No. sir; 1 don't wish to wear tights." 1 said. Hut he wasn't such a had fe'low aft er all. He told me that all he had was a chance in a chorus, that I was pretty lucky to he offered any kind of a job. but that if 1 didn't want it he'd do anything he could for me?for Tom's sake. Yes, he was better than the rest; the others wanted to do things for me?for my sake, lie gave ine a letter to another managef. "They're putting on a rube comedy road company." he said. "I think they'll last about as far as Railway, but you might as well go see 'em." "Trying It on the Dog." 1 took the letter and went to the second oflice. At first 1 thought that I had run into a department store where they were selling $2 near-silk petticoats for $1.98. Woiften large and women small, women old and girls young, brunettes, blondlnes, handsome, ugly, bejeweled and bedraggled?there must have been a hundred would-be .n: 1 '8 /rr=* "I Packed My Suitcase and Came to New York." actresses jammed into that BtufTy lit tie room and all of them fighting to l'l?t ?1 twuitl/.,, f r* .. 1X4.1 . ^ t lull III II*' III ill ?l 111111 * door marked "l'rivate." Alter tin hour the door opened and a boy came out. "Nothing doing today," he said. Instantly there was a babel. "Hut Mr. Klank sent for us; he said we were to oe here today sure." The boy grinned. A week later I got my lirst interview with this manager lie was fairly beside himself by this time, as bis \ show was billed to open in New Haven ! in a week and he didn't have bis company completed. He was a good fellow and a capable producer, but there | were too many handovers mixed in I with the days on which be worked. Well, I got a job. It was exciting. For six days and nights we rehearsed our heads off My part was to stroll across the stage arm-in-arm with three ; other girls whenever tho director thought It ought to be done. For this | I and the other three girls were to i drnw $1S a week. On the fatal day we went to New | Haven. That night after the perform nnce we packed our bags and sadly flitted back to New York. The show 'wouldn't do." and even the electricians knew there was no use trying It out any further. What a "Friend" Means. Three weeks later 1 got my first regular employment. It was a thinking part In one of the big Broadway successes of the year. We played at jne theater 200 times, and during that time 1 played the leading woman's part three times. I resembled her in face and ilgure, and had been made her understudy. I got $40 a week. Let me say right here that was as high as I ever got. In the spring four companies playing this success were made up to go ;>n the road. I was selected for the company that was to play tho^ south, ind my hopes rose high, as I felt sure that 1 would be given the lead. When Ihe time for rehearsing came I broached this Idea of mine to the man*ger, who was to take out the southern company. "Naw," Bald lie, "a friend of '8 (the owner of the show) Is going to tiave that." "Why?" 1 asked. "You know the part is made for me." "1 know It is." bo .?u you ought to have iu Hut I ain't heard no friend of yours putting in a Bpiel for you. The new girl la 's friend; don't you get me?" "Do you mean to Pay that Influence Is all that counts In a case like this?" I asked. "It counts enough to say that you don't get no boost till you get some pull," he said. "You could get It easy, too; you're young and look good to me." It cost me my joh to tell him what I thought of him and the methods of the owner, but 1 felt better when It was over. Experience No. 2. The road to quick preference was not one I could follow. Talent Not Key to Success. So I determined to make my talent win me my way. For the next two months 1 had a series of experiences that disgusted me. I sought employment steadily, but it was in the season when only cheap companies were being given work, and the two positions offered mo were so much lower than the one 1 had just left that 1 could not accept them. Finally 1 went on the road with a light comedy. My part was ono that fitted me excellently, and I made something that resembled a hit. It cost me something in pride to do it, because the leading man was drunk every night and persisted in pestering me with his attention. He said he would llinrrv me !in onon as hie wife got a divorce. In the meantime 1 laughed at him and told him to take his ideas elsewhere. For the rest of the tour he did everything he could to spoil my scenes, but in spite of him 1 came to New York with something of a reputation. Too Old-Fashloned. That was all the good it did me. Managers acknowledged that I was competent far beyond the ordinary, and several of them had good parts that were made for me; but what right had I to expect one of them? 1 wasn't a star. Who wae putting In a word for the? Where was my pull? My only qualification was my ability to play the parts successfully, and that wasn't enough. This is not saying that ability has not some small chance of winning recognition by itself on the stage. Hut my experience showed me that they are eo small as to be the merest kind of a gamble, and that most opportunities for success are not gained in this way alone. The landlady in my rooming house on Forty-eighth street put it all In a few words. "You're old-fashioned, dearie, and that's a handicap in this business." At the end of three years of being an actress I sat down and began to figure up. I was then twenty-five years old. mature physically and mentally, and, by the word of managers, a good actress. Yet 1 had never got beyond minor parts at a small salary; 1 had suffered?actually suffered?In the long periods between engagements. and so far as I could see nothing but some unforeseen stroke of luck could bring me the advancement neceesary for the chance of a successful career. Wrecks of Youth and Hope. All around me were the wrecks of youth and hope, women who were hanging on because they hoped and hoped for that stroke of luck to strike them. Heating them out in all lines of the profession were girls who were willing to pay any price for preference and who were paying It. I saw before me years of continued strug gles, of long waits between engagements when my savings would be swallowed up, of constantly diminishing hope. Was it worth the struggle? Was It a sensible way for a girl to spend her life? These were the questions ! asked myself, and from my experience there could hi- hut one answer?No! I began to look around. I had especial ability only In one line, that of acting. I had tried th?.t, and was ready to throw It up. As I was making my own living It was up to me to tit myself for something else, and here pood luck favored me. A girl with whom I had gone to school back home was employed In a Cortlandt street office, and In six months she was leaving to marry a young doctor employed by the road. When I told her of my resolution she said: "Why don't you try for this Job? You can study stenography and I'll help you, nnd when you are ready I'll speak to the boss." That was what I did. At the end of six months I was a fairly fast stenographer, and I got the Job. The '^11 ? salary was $20 a.week to start with. This was oaly half of what I had been getting on the stage, but there were no long spells of idleness between engagements. And that there was a chance for the future is proved , by the fact that now, three years later. I am In charge of a department of stenographers and drawing $45 a week. Hut the fact which struck me most deeply, and which made me most glad that I had deserted the paintstick for the pencil was tho difference in tho treatment accorded me. Why, it was like going Into a - different world. ah an actress?and simply because I was an actress?men had flattered mo and had pursued me in a way that nauseates any woman of character. In the ofllco there Is a difference. The men who pay me attention here do It In the same way they would wlBh other men io pay attention to their BiHters. And t' e work?for the first time I felt th' . I had got hold of something real, something vital to this world, the I was doing something truly usem I 1 "I'm in Charge of a Department and Drawing J45 a Week." ful. I found that there Is only one test In the office?"make good." And a woman can make good fully as well as a man if sho wants to do so hard enough. Is the work in the office harder? No. Because It is regular work, has same hours, and In tho end is not nearly so wearing. Is it as interesting as the work of tho stage? To me it Is much more so. It is real, it is a part of the big, busy, useful world. And lastly, my life now has thrown me into contact with men who, when they begin to court a woman, hnve intentions and hopes of honorable and happy matrimony. After all, that'B \\hat counts most with any real woman.?Grace M. Hall, in tho New York World. BRAVE PERIL AT DUTY'S CALL Missionary and His Wife Teach School Under American Flag at the Farthest Point West. An lRland of volcanic origin, made up of bleak liill? and frozen ealt marshes; n short summer, tho temperature averaging less than 40 degrees, when the tundra grass and lichens grow, and quickly maturing wild flowers, but most or the year a wattte of enow and Icefloes that pack themselves In groat hummocks twenty or thirty feet high along the shore until the currents themselves are frozen; emphasizing this desolation an Ksklmo settlement of 30ft souls; nnd In the midst, like a protecting angel (which In truth It is), a echoolhouse floating the stars and stripes, says the Christian Herald. Less than ten degrees west is the one hundred and eightieth parallel, where east begins again; and it lias always been known as "The Schoolhouse Farthest West," until recently a school has been established at Atka, on one of the Aleutian islands, three degrees still farther west. The nearest land is Indian point, Siberia, 40 miles away. Since nobody knows when, the natives traded ivory, I walrus skins and skin canoes to the Indian point natives for reindeer skins and bear ekins. They were often compelled to trade against their will, and many oattles were fought, sometimes almost to the extermination of the St. Lawrence people. The plain, one-story Bchoolhouse, with living rooms in the rear, to which the wing has since been added, was built more thnn twenty yearB ngo by the Kplscopalians for a mission, nt a cost of $3,000. About that time the missionary at Cape I'rince of Wales | was murdered by three of his schoolboys, and It was decided St. Lawrence was too remote and dangerous, and the idea was abandoned. Later the Presbyterians purchased the building for J2.000. In 1894 the United States cutter Hear landed a missionary and hie wife, Mr. and Mrs. Gambell, at the schoolhouse together with a year's supply of provisions, coal and other necessaries. Responsibility. "Is Bllgglne a man to be trusted V "In some respects. If he owes you something and says ho can't pay you, > you can place absoltuo reliance in his word." Feel Anti-Alcohol Movement, I A'- la Chappetle brewing interesta . report injury through the antl-alcobd i movement.