The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa on August 29, 1894 · Page 3
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The Algona Upper Des Moines from Algona, Iowa · Page 3

Algona, Iowa
Issue Date:
Wednesday, August 29, 1894
Page 3
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^•I^SSPPI ' *'rji', \ * tPMtlPraH BIB 'CHAPTER IX.—(Continued.) ' It devised the entire estate, including slaves, and excepting one thousand dollars per annum, to Samuel, the oldest son—to Joseph Blake, *on of Jefferson Blake, and grandson Of the testator. And it provided that Until the return of Joseph, and proof of his identity, the elder son, Samuel, and Myra, wife of Jefferson, should remain in joint charge and occupancy of the estate, dividing the income equally between them. When, two weeks later, Vivette re- KNseeived a letter from her father, announcing the cessation of cholera in -the city, and inviting her return, she •and Adolf bid farewell to Gray Sulphur Springs and returned to Cincinnati. \ CHAPTEU X. LOST S1KDAT.— ADOLF WEDDING DEPAllTB— A te¥:__ J FEW DAYS BE- fore,the return of Adolf and Vivette to Cincinnati Joseph Gust called upon Old Charley Molier to inquire about a lost medal and chain, which (not remembering that Molier had • known of the medal), he said he had worn upon his neck from boyhood; but that-upon taking a bath a few days before, he had hung his coat and vest upon a hook in, the ante-room, after having put the medal and chain in a pocket of the latter; and that on resuming his. clothing after the bath he had discovered that the medal had been stolen. And now he had come to Molier, hoping that the thief might have offered the medal to him for sale. Molier was startled, expressed regret, said he had seen the medal years before, and would know it; that it had not been offered to him. And he volunteered to see the other dealers in similar articles, and to hunt through the pawnbrokers' shops, saying that he might recover it thus, when Gust himself, being a stranger to them, might fail. Gust thanked Molier for his interest in the matter—which was evidently genuine—and left. Molier made a thorough search among the pawnbrokers, and -all places where a thief might probably dispose of such an article, but in vain. The medal and chain were not. to bp found. Then Old Charley remembered the wax impressions of the medal which he had taken when ho made the duplicate, and which he had carefully preserved, and, in a small box, saved from the fire with a few other articles, he found the waxen' discs with the inscriptions still perfect. But he kept his own secret, hoping this wax might yet prove valuable, both to Gust and himself. He visited the hotels to learn whether the man Blakewell (as he had called himself) was in the city; and he Toswtecl to all such expedients to ascertain that fact as would be likely to occur to the mind of a man as crafty .as himself. It was still all in vain. No clue to the lost medal could be :foirnd. When Adolf and Vivette, returning -it(.\ Gray Sulphur Springs, crossed the ferry from Newport to Cincinnati, • 'they turned the team over to a veterinary surgeon at the landing to treat one of the horses which ha3 fallen lame, and took a carriage for their home on Lower Market street. It was a joyfu meeting between Vivette and hei father, and mutual congratulations passed between them on their escape from cholera. But soon as Vivette entered her father's bedroom, she ex<claimed; "Oh, papa! some O ne has been sick here," . • Then seeing in her father's face •expression of assent, she added; "Oh, why did you not send fo» me?" "What would Ihavo done?" inquired Adolf, with a quizzical lool<\ Then it was Old Charley's turn to be .surprised! "And you have had cholera, Adolf, as well as I? Who nursed you?" "1 owe my life to Vivette. But where •in this panjc-fetrieken city, uncle, could .» nurse he found fpryou?" «\ was very sick," replied Molier; ihftd a quack doctor who cured me by -•Steam. He sent two young- nien to Burse me—God bless'em." "God, bless thejn, indeed!" and I looked after him and took the doctor's orders and saw to the giving of the'inedicine—that's all. It was calomel, the doctor said, that cured him." Old Charley laughed a low chuckle, and said: "My doctor said No. 0 cured me, and that calomel was even worse than cholera! But we are all alike. We laugh at the doctors and decry their remedies while we are .well; but no sooner are we sick than we call for both — calomel or 'No. 0'— it's all the same. I got well on a bushel of boiled oats!" "Why, papa!" exclaimed Vivette. "I didn't swallow them, of course, Vivette. They just wrapped, me up in the oats boiling hot; never felt anything k> reviving in my life." After Adolf went out, and father and daughter were alone, Old Charley took a small memorandum book, and, with pencil in hand, requested Vivette to give him a statement of all she had learned of the people at Gray Sulphur Springs. "But I have it already written down in full, papa; you will not need to write." Then she looked in her reticule for the memoranda. The notes were not there. She searched her traveling bag, her portfolio, her pocket book and the bosom of her dress; they were nowhere to be found. 'I had the little book in my hand just before we left the ferryboat and entered the carriage. We took a hack —No. 20, for I observed it—I must have dropped it in the carriage—or possibly in the boat. But it is no matter. I have it every word in my memory. The Blake family has had a strange history, and I can remember it all." '•The Blakewell family you mean?" suggested her father. "No; their name is Blake—not Blakewell." "And you are sure of that?" "Perfectly sure; there was 'Old Tom' Blake,as everybody called the father- he died while we were there, poor old man!—and his son, 40 years old or more—Sam Blake (they only use half the name in Kentucky, it seems); Sam ALQONA IOWA. WSPNEBPAY. AMPM? 20, MM, "tit. Gust write to vott?—how is it, tot pet? 1 ' * ' f "He wrote to me ,t>nce; I could not prevent that." "And didn't want to very rimelij eh?'! (not unpleasantly). "Did he fifty anything about my attack of cholera?" "Not a wortt. Of course he did not know of it, or he would have told me," "No, he would not. He did kflow it; but he knew also I would not wish you to learn of my sickness iintil yottr return." Then after a brief hesitation, "Vivette, it was Joseph Gust nursed me all through that terrible agony!" The girl started, suppressed an exclamation, but made no response. "Do you know anything of Joe Gust's history? Has he told you any of his suspicions as to his parentage? Have you heard anything about that matter in any way?" "Not a word, papa, from him or from others. Why, papa?" "Very good. Do not ask him if you meet—as I suppose you will." "You did not forbid that, papa." "No; I do not now forbid it. Has your cousin Adolf asked your hand?" "He has." "You rejected him?" "It gave me great pain to do so, on your account, papa—and his." "I can not doubt your word, my daughter; but you know the alternative?" "I pledged you not to marry without your approval. I can not break any word, even " "Even for Joe Gust, my pet? Never mind, keep your pledge. And now for the Gray Sulphur." And for two hours Vivette recited to her father what she had learned of the Blakes and their history—Molier taking notes in his memorandum book. At length ho said: "And neither yourself nor anybody else has any suspicion as to what became of Jeff Blake and—and the boy?" "I have none, certainly; and I know that Mrs Blake has none. She told me all her feelings. She is a noble woman, papa." ' .•, f is'the host and general superintendent at the Springs; and Mrs. Myra Blake— a very nice lady (she and I became friends); and this Myra Blake is the widow of a lost son named 'Jeff'—Jefferson I suppose—who has riot , been heard of for thirteen years." :-'.- .?'"That will do, Vivette, for the present; you are a good girl and have done well. Say nothing to Adolf about this —nor to any one—now or hereafter. Come up to my room after supper and tell me all you can remember." Then old Molier went to th city cleric and asked to IK shown the list of jhackney carriages in the city, with names of owners, thei residence and the number assigned tc each carriage. finding No. 30, h went to Walnut street, found the had and the owner, and also learned tha the driver who had been driving when Adolf and Vivette had entered the ear riage had left the city and gone no om knew where. Nothing was known o his having found a memorandum o: any papers. Molier took the name and an accurate description of the missing driver, writing it carefully in his memorandum book; and thon re turned home, vexed and a good dea an "Adolf lyui cholera \$ the buj, did pot rea^h, $0 stage, pf Ulnn«v»lin.3 -- WOO -»--' --1 . " — ?t Sr* TUKN SUE LOOKED IN JJKR WETJOULE. mystified. The driver had been described to him as an Englishman— or perhaps a Canadian, 20 or 33 years old, tall and of fine proportions, and went by the name of Smithers— Matthew Smithers. He had been some time at a hotel as usher before coining to the employ of the carriage owner, though he was an export driver and familm* with horses. Vivette spent the evening alone with her father. Before asking Vivette for lull particulars of all she had learned at Gray Sulphur Springs, he took occasion to say: "Vivctto, of cour&o, you did not write t9 Mr. Gibt while at the ' O"Mosit certainly not, jny dear papa, 4 rpnjj^l you woud n wr you J woujd n^ write "Good night, my daughter.. It i getting late." And when Vivette had retired, 01 Charley talked to himself: "Get the whole story—old Tom was his grandfather—Sam Blake well his uncle—great scoundrel- father was Jeff—-high life folks, ah( rich—Joe's a m:m all over—has go Kentucky blood!—gets the whole es tata by tho will—sorry for Adolf though; couldn't be helped—bad abou the medal: but the wax will cure tha —and that lost memorandum may breed trouble." And so he muttered on for half an hour, when he prepared for bed, saying as he tumbled in: _ "I'll bring Mr. Sam Blakewell to time!" And in ten minutes he snored like one with a clear conscience. And now Adolf Molier was prepar ing for his return to New Orleans. He had been met with such an emphatic "No" from his cousin Vivette's lips—all regardful of his feelings, though it had been—that he abandoned his suit in despair, though he loved her all the more. He had ne,ver read a certain now oft-quoted poem, but he meditated on what "might have been," like one forsaken of all men as well as one woman., But Vivette kissed him goodbye when he left with much honest cousinly^warmth, but not a spark of love. And Adolf left for Now Orleans wise enough to be thankful for what he got, remembering Dr. Goforth's philosophy, and regretting that he was not six feet high in his stockings. A few days after Adolf Molier had departed for New Orleans, Mr. Joseph Gust, junior, called at Charley Molier's jewelry store to say that he had been commissioned by his father and mother to invite Mr. Molier and daughter to be present at the thirty-first anniversary of their marriage. And ho requested that the old man should communicate the invitation to his daughter, ' 'They deserve to be your father and mother, Joe—excuse me; I knew you as 'Little Joe' when you did not know yourself—and for Gust's sake—I have known him for twenty years—and for yours, Mr.—Gust, I would like to be there. But I never go out. Vivette will go; she is in her room; she would be pleased to have her invitation at first hands. Will you go up?—first door to the right above stairs." Gust needed no urging; he went at once. Vivette was pleased, and promised to go, of courss. It had been long since they had met under her father's roof, though they had frequently met elsewhere; and her father had himself sent him up! They discussed this fact, and wondered what might be its import. They did not talk tender nonsense; their love was too well established for that; and arranging that Gust was to call for her at 8 in the evening, the long-baffled lovers separated with nope renewed. At the appointed hour there were gathered at the pleasant home of Mr. Mrs. Joseph Gust, a small and select (because carefully selected) coni' ?any. Among these, Rev. William Burky, ("Billy Bxu-ky" as everybody called him), was certainly the most noted. He had, in his day, tied the marriage knot more frequently than any man "west of the mountains." A marriage performed by any other was lardly a marriage at all. And when pronounced the ceremony complete, >y saying way down in his throat, be- wixt a chuckle and a growl, "In ac- ordance with the law of God and of he state of Ohio, i pronounce you xusband and wife," every one present elt that if the knot slipped it was not he fault of Billy Burky. He had lost is voice straining to reach refractory inners at "camp-meetings" many .years before, and he ever after that spoke in a bvdl-frog whisper—hoarse, but cfceery. Fat, rotund, jolly, socia- S'O^,* , W P* word *» <M> B°* with. T 23 Mme. Elveda had said tot her husband, "I will not obey you. Woman is the equal' of man." So iliey had separated, and mad a m e had become indeed the rebel queen of her seXj the leader of the great cause. She hod written a book which told everything in the history of Woman, and all the women who believed that they were equal to men had joined her standard. She was very wealthy, and her wealth gave her power, and she used it for the cause* In her own mind sho had dedicated her daughter to the ctvuso from her birth. She should tako up and finish the work of her mothei'. But a day came when an explanation and an understanding were required. You are displeased with me, mother. I have seen it for a lon°- time." 'No, Franecsca." The older lady laid down her pen and turned her chair. "Sit down and let us talk. I am not displeased. I have no right to be displeased with anything you do. You are free to work out your own career. I am only disappointed. I think I have the right, my child, to feel some disappointment." "Yes—oh!—yes—and yet—" she paused, standing with joined hands, like a little girl trying to find an excuse. _ 1 have done ray best to fill you witlj the doctrines that I preach and profess. And you have known ever sinoo you could understand anything what I hoped of you when you should arrive at womanhood." "Yes—I have known that." "What lias come between us, child? Until quite lately—until a few weeks ago—you were still eager and interested. Has anything happened?" "Yes, a groat deal has happened, and all in the last week or two. ] seem to have awakened. Everything looks different. It began with that business of Harold and his—you know," she blusliod and looked guilty. "Ho asked me if I would marry him. Well, I gave him an answer, such an answer as you ap proved. You expected that answer of me, did you not? Well, I gave it. Mother you have constantly assured me that I am free,.but I have only been free since I gave that answer to Harold. I gave it dutifully, and because I believed what you wished must bo right. "After Harold went away I began to reflect for the first time what love might moan—applied to myself, mind, not to an abstract, conditional son—to myself." "Well!"' Mme. Elveda looked up sharply. "I see myself," said the girl, lifting her head and looking into space" "standing beside him—beside the real raau, you know—that is the first thing in love. You get at the real creatures whom nobody knows but yourself— without any uniforms and liveries quali- pur- SHE BUJ8UED AND LOOKED QUII.TV. and trappings and'titles—the real man is he really is. I say I see myself itanding beside him and close to him, so that"I understand for tha first time how great 'and "noble he really is, while I myself am so weak and small. I see that I can love him chiefly because he is so great and strong. I tremble because I am so small and so weak. •How can he love mo? Oh, mother, how could such a girl as I feel anything but little and feeble in the presence of such a man? Yet it does not humiliate me that he is my superior. The greater he is the more I love him. Can any woman love a man unless she respects him? Can she respect him unless he is greater than herself? Can she marry him unless she loves him? And after she has married such a man how can she ever venture to call herself his equal?" "Humph! But the man is said 'to worship the woman. Would not your lover be thinking much the same 'of you?" "He could not unless he foolishly mistook the worth of her dress and her jewels for the worth of the woman herself. Well, mother, those thoughts have filled ray brain ever since that morning. Before that I never considered what love might mean*, r<or how love might break down all arguments." "I hope, then, that you will speedily desist from the consideration of &>o dangerous a subject.'' shook her head. "1 thiuk not," she replied gwely. "8in.ce, most wpaien njarrv, ij ja ajj, Jej e$uai by 4 mature, ta&j? possess ties which differ aftd yet each other. But we oftly 6la5m for women a recognized equality; as equal share in the 1 management of the tvorld ad welt as of the house. The greatest fool in the eyes oi the' law is a man whose civic rights are equal to those of the wisest man. Assume legal equality to woman— she will herself take care of the rest." Irrancesca shook her hea j. \ "If the man is Stronger an-.l the wo* an loves him he will prevail." "You need not consider love at all, Frattcesca, unless— — •" "There is no unless, mother. My love Chapter is closed. 'Since 1 can not accept Harold's courtship t can think of no other mah. That is why I am free to tell you what 1 have discovered—what love would mean to me." • . Her mother groaned. "You have got all • thia ' otit bf Harold's proposal? Oh, what fools women are! How can we make them stand up for themselves?" "Well, mother, that is my case— 1 am one of the fools. But, of course, there may bo marriages where people don't love each other. Then it would be easy for each to go his own way. Neither would care." "Good heavens!" cried Mme. Elveda. Had I known what mischief that young man was going to do, he should never have entered my house." "But. my dearest mother, women, you say, must bo the equals of men; otherwise — otherwise — well — but — given the case of a woman who loves a man greatly her supsrior. Equality in that case is impossible, and* submission is a joy. Will you grant the possibility of such a case?",, "When the woman is 'a fool— yos." "Lot mo go on confessing, mother. Sinco I have boon thinking of those things I have bagun to feel a kind of repugnance to the whole question. You say that I have sat inattentive nl your meetings. It is because the subject seems altogether altorad. The speeches of your 'friends have bscomo a flow of meaningless words — words — words— words that I know by heart — words that have no moaning." There is a_ voice within mo that keeps on asking tha sumo question: 'If women are the. equals of men, why don't they prove it? They are, you see, as well educated; they will become leaders in everything if they were man's equals. Yet all leaders in everything are men — always men. And if we scoro a little triumph of a degree at Cambridge, wo rejoice as much as if Huxley were a woman or Darwin were in petticoats. Why don't women prove their equality? And why, when a woman loves a man, doas she cheerfully become his servant? Why do not women who love their husbands assert their equality?" •'No. But think seriously about the questions — the great questions — at issue. Put aside this nonsense about love, which is only an incidont— an illusion — a pleasant, short-lived dream. Suppose you have had it; let it pass. Consider 'the great question of woman's condition. Perhaps you might with advantage read my book again." "I know it by heart— except the figures; the degradation of women, their hard lot, their miserable wages, I know it all. When wo discussed the position and condition of women at Newham I used to employ your facts and your arguments. I had the greatest success with thorn. They convinced everybody; but somehow, they moved noboity. How is it that arguments never movo anybody? The poets and novelists move the world; logic never moves. We all agreed that we were the equals of men; we would never, never show submission to any man. Aud now I hear that they are all marrying in the usual way, without any heroics about submission,". "That means that under existing social arrangements they only obtain a certain amount of personal freedom jy accepting the authority of a hus- land." I read once of a person who n-eachtsd himself into infidelity. •Sometimes I think that is my case. My arguments no longer persuade me. They arc-sounds • and words car- •ying no sense. Woman is man's equal Oh! you have proved it in your'l'upk and in your articles and pamphlets. Aud all tha women in the world except one or two tako the lower place without re volt or murmur, They have never, in a single line of intellectual work, proved themselves his equal. And they only love a man wheii they fael him to b3 greater and stronger tlia,n themselves, All that proves nolhiag'. ' And yet— I say these things, mother,., because they explain my present' condition. Perhaps'it is a passing cloud," "You make me more unhappy, child, than I can say. "I am very sorry. But I have nearly finished. In niyHjpresent frame of mind you see that I cannot possibly help you in your work. I am quite out of harmony with it. I understand just through considering how it might have been had I allowed myself to love Harold, that the submissive wife may be, after all, the happiest, I sus> pect that women are not the intellec' tual equals pf men any more than they are their physical equals. In short, I am in a state of doubt and confusion-" Would a life of art satisfy your soul? My dear, I offer you a life of action," '•I do not know what would satisfy my soul. In imagination I sea a sub, missive wife, who tells me ehe is happiest." When weeks had parsed p,nd •JFran, cesca had found f^ey 'and Wftr* ' ft ail toy life t*tfom in thb #ofld toiffs f tsalare- attd* Gwd's law. H is piness as t tterjtf ittfagiJigfl 1 . r the wdrld ttfta gfB*fi 66 I am in it, not' aiitSide df ' ft. passing shtfw has be'ctHtfe {tort 6f It eternal drama itt tfhieh 1, td my humble part. I have fty and my cousins, t am ao longef out kith and kih." "Will you not 'neklidwledg'e' lover as well?" he whispered. 1 ' jf es— 1 haye— you. W>at J 1 want or look to have? Let me, j Anthony, have the comhiott'lott better can there be than the lift tended by the Lord for all?" • "tfrancesca!" , Harold t&olc ' hand. "JVancesca, m? fcosa Sharon!" " ' "Patience, Harold. Oh, dear —she laid her other hand ofl tiers shoulder— "suffer me t8 be my father— my o\Vn father— a Httttt? longer. Oh, you cannot tell whift & happiness it is to hear his voice, only '' to Serve him and obey him! A little "> longer, Harold! Then, if it please lay ., ' lord and if his handmaiden still finds favor in his eyes— ".—Adapted ffotit Waltov Besant's latest novel for tlio , Cincinnati Comraoroial-GaZette. REPOSED TO BE RESCUED. Tho Actress Fncoil Death Bather -JChau Sail In a Gerinnn Ship. "One of my most exciting advbn*' turos," said Mr. Strakosh to a Washington Post reporter, "was an inci- •• dent which happened when I was managing the South American tour 1 of Mme. Sarah Bernhardt. We were» on tho British steamer Cotopaxi—-,' and a good, stout vessel she was— but somehow or other, as we were passing through the straits of Magellan wo ran into a sand bank. The ' ' steamer draw eighteen feet of water, and had, unfortunately, entered the \> straits at low water. Every one bo- > lieved that we were shipwrecked, •that our engagement at Chile would i never bo fulfilled, and that we were doomed to stay whore wojjjwore for three weeks-—.for you mus$ know that it is only usual u -' for the steamers of this line to pass there every 'throe weeks. Sarah was distracted. Sho tore her hair, sho beat her breast in hor inimitable manner, and she used the—well, classical—language for which she is noted. There wo were and there was no prospect of relief. This was about 9 o'clock in the mouninff. The scene can bettor bo imagined than described. The ladles were in tears and frightened out of their boots, and even tho men of the company felt uncomfortable. Tho assurances of the captain that all would be well were of no avail, and everybody was in despair. At last about"noon the smoke of an approaching steamer was seen in tho distance. Every- body's hopes revived. Aid was at hand and wo would be rescued from our unpleasant position. Time went by and tho steamer drew near. As she approached the Cotopaxi hoisted signals of distress, and she bore down upon us. But as soon as her flag was recognizable patriotism got the bettor'of fear. The vessel flew the Gorman colors] Sarahjdid not hesitate a moment. Her alarm disappeared. Hushing to the captain, a bluff English sailor, she flopped on her. knees before him and implored him for the love of God and of Franco not to turn her over to the tender mercies of her enemies, Sho would rather stay shipwrecked all hor life, abandon her profession and lose all hor hopes of artistic and financial success than sot foot upon the deck of a German ship. Surprised at liar change of tone the captain I consented and told the German captain that his passengers did not need assistance, and the Teuton sailed away. Hushing down to her cabin Mine. Bernhardt brought out a silken. French tri-color which had been presented to her by some .admirer and as the German sailed away she hoisted the flag of France and waved it triumphantly at the parting foe. At 7 p. m. tho tide rose and we ' floated and reached our do^tjn,a,tl9a in safety." •————__ V ^ riylnis I'lsh. i Officers of the tsieauiOr Essex re* port a school of flying fish in tho Kappahannook river, Virginia, FJy< „ ing fish swim in shoals varying in number from a dozen to a hundred '' or more. They often leave the, = water at once, darting through the, air in the same direction for §0(J yards or more, and then descend t« * the water quickly, vising again, and then renewing their flight, Some-' times the dolphin may be seen in * rapid pursuit, taking great leaps, out of the water, and gaining upon " t its prey, which take shorter ftnd , shorter flights, vainly trying to es* cape, until they sink exhausted^ Sometimes the larger sea birds oatoh flying fish in the air. The quest whether the flying fish, uae tfceU' at all 0,3 wings is nut fully <Jeoiae4. '4.he power of flight is limited ta thg time the fins remain moist. "Cha.vles has an Hjjow does he shpvv "He \v»s two hquve front d.PQi> early thi* Judge. Wvs , S)io Knew y« w jjju Mrs, Kingslev—W^n't band out very late last ni Mrs, Yon Blttwr, sw But I felVBtti'ci }je' vi^ld/b HW he was Q*n« .tQ

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