Life — July 5, 1906 — page 32: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

away from the man who has been such a brute. Forgive me for making you un- happy, but I cannot help it Lovingly, Nora. P. S.—Pat is away and this is the first chance I have had to write. A few moments after she had penned this letter, Mrs. Murphy, restless in her miser mechanically picked up the morning Recorder, and idly swept her eye over the want columns of that enterprising paper. * 8 Ten days later Patrick Murphy, contractor, political boss and all around good fellow, returned to his home from a distant city where he had been superintending a job from which he expected to net several thousands. But as he entered his house, no Nora greeted him. He strode from the top to the bottom angrily looking for the partner of his sorrows, but not his joys. All was silent. Amazed, furious, dumbfounded, he made his way blindly down the street. It would not have been well for Nora if he could have gotten hold of her then Half way down the block he came face to face with one of his trusted henchmen—Jimmie, the demonstrator. “Hello, Mr. Murphy, what's your hurry?” I'm just home—and looking for my wife.” Jimmie drew him aside. His face was grav “Mr. Murphy,” he said, “haven't you heard? Sure, ’tis the talk of the district. She’s gone.” “Gone! Whose gone?” “Your wife. One of them Hindoo dagoes took her. She’s gone to be a queen. Skipped \doodled.”” You're crazy.” No, I ain't. Listen to me.” Little by little, in short, jerky sentences, he told Pat Murphy the story. How his wife had applied for the job; how she more nearly re- sembled the poster than any other—how the Grand Lazeer of Lyssore had planked down with- a murmur $4,000 for the machine and $1,000 more for the girl, and how he had started with both purchases nearly a week ago, the following day taking the steamer at the metropolis. Pat Murphy listened, foaming with rage “T'll have Payton’s life-blood for this!” he screamed. “I'll cut his heart out!” He didn’t have nothing to do with it!” cried Jimmie. “Don’t blame him. The dago, or whatever he is—he made the deal, through a college chap he picked up.” Pat Murphy was crying with fury. ‘The tears streamed down his cheeks. He tore his red hair frantically as he gazed off into space almost hypnotized with emotion “I loved her,” he muttered, ignoring the presence of his informer. “I was hard with her. I'll own up to that. But I loved her. Sure it was only my way. I meant no harm. And now she’s gone—gone with a Hindoo priest. Oh, Nora, Nora, how could ye! I'll chase ye to the ends of the world. I’ll kill the dirty beast of a king on his own ground. I'll after ye, Nora!” He rushed off, heedless of everything else but his departed wife—whom until this very moment, “AEE S: he never realized that he really loved. He was transfixed with but one idea, that of getting her back. At his bank he drew out his available cash. He took the first train to New York. After some frantic inquiries, he succeeded in learning the destination of the Grand Lazeer. And three days later Pat Murphy was on the high seas, in full pursuit of his truant wife, ready to do or die to get her back. He thought of nothing but Nora. The danger he incurred of following her to her destination never occurred to him. His Irish blood up. And keeping close to the trail, aided by those happy instincts that had made him so successful in politics, he arrived on a jaded horse near the white palace of the Kadoot of Lyssore just fourteen days after Nora and her faithful escort had reached that abode of the Light of the Sun and the Ruler of the Universe. ~_ * &* These fourteen days had not passed without excitement in the kingdom of Lyssore. The Lazeer—a man of resources, and fully accus- tomed to anticipate all demands—had brought with the automobile and his fair charge a plentiful supply of gasoline, carrying it through the moun tain passes in the largest tanks he could procure. ‘These tanks were placed in the royal storehouse, and were drawn on as occasion demanded. The Lazecr had had but slight practice in running the new machine. He could start it and stop it and change the gears after a fashion of his own. This information he imparted cheerfully to the succession of chauffeurs that were ordered by the capricious Kadoot. One of the royal guards was the first chauffeur. The Kadoot had, however, not run more than four miles away from the palace before the ma- chine stopped. Frantic efforts on the part of the chauffeur were of no avail. The Kadoot was not used to delays. He had had a taste of speed and wanted it, without any recess, Drawing his sabre, he gave the trembling wretch three minutes to go ahead. At the end of three minutes off came his head. When the Lazeer was sent for to adjust the trouble, he found that by a sudden jar the switch had been tumed off. ‘The price of a head lay in turning a rubber button half an inch, For the next week the Kadoot averaged a chauffeur a day. Jt began to look as though the best men in the whole kingdom would have to be sacrificed to the new toy. And all this in spite of the protests of the new queen. For it must be admitted that that lady was tender hearted. It was distressing to her to be taken out for a quiet spin in the afternoon, and have the chauffeur lose a head just because of a puncture in a tire. Her protests were by no means timid ones. For this spirited creature had come to her own at last. wed down so long by a life of barbarous neglect and cruelty, her primitive instincts had asserted themselves and she ran things with a high hand. The Kadoot was delighted. The ladies of his harem were dolls compared with this beautiful creature. And in a week’s time she had every- thing her own way—except the depletion of s—this much the Kadoot reserved for him- One moming they started out for a ride over _ the steppes, along the hard road to the distant mountain pass—the egress from the kingdom. ‘That day the keeper of the royal jewels had been detailed for the duty of chauffeur. The Grand Lazeer had filled the tank with gasoline and oiled her up a bit, and had shown the new man as best he could how to crank up and run. With a jerk and a chug they started off. “Faster, faster!” muttered the Kadoot. The chauffeur did what he had been told. He tured on the rod that advanced the sparker. The machine whirred along at forty miles an hour. The Kadoot settled back with a satisfied sigh. He had found a new sensation, and he couldn’t get enough of it. His new queen, how- ever, wore a troubled look. She knew that at any moment something might happen. It came soon enough. The man had tumed on too much gasoline, the mixture not being right. ‘The spark plugs refused to do their work, and the great machine, with a wild succession of snorts and sudden explosions, at last settled down into The Kadoot’s face grew black as a thunder cloud, “Servant!” he exclaimed to the trembling wretch in front. “Go ahead! Why do you stop thus?” “Sire!” replied the new chauffeur, prostrating himself, “‘O Lord of the Sun and Moon, have a little patience.” He fumbled frantically with the machinery, only making things worse. The new queen put her hand on the Kadoot’s upraised arm. She looked at him imploringly. “Don't—please don’t!” she exclaimed, with emphatic gestures. “Your Majesty must not blame him. He is doing the best he can.” Of no avail her play. Down came the heavy sabre, and in a twinkling there was one less chauffeur in the world. It was at this moment that over the near hori- zon—a short range of hills—a red head appeared, a keen eye looked down upon them,and Patrick Murphy, mounted on a jaded Arabian. steed, dauntless, sublime with courage, entered upon the scene. As the new queen suddenly tumed and looked upon the form and visage of her late husband, she uttered a shrick of dismay. “Patrick!” “Thesame. Sohere yoube, youheathen wretch! Little did I think, Nora, dear, to see you con sortin’ with one of them dago Hindoos. Sure he’s a handsome devil. How could ye, Nora?” At this moment he was interrupted by the Kadoot, who sprang forward with sabre still drawn. Nora threw herself between them. The Kadoot would have shaken her off, but Patrick Murphy, his political instincts well in hand, came to the rescue with his brain. He had been in tight places before. “Quick!” he exclaimed, “point to the ma- chine.” Nora pointed frantically. “Now point to me and then to the machine. Don’t you understand, Nora, darling? We must make him think I can fix it.” ‘The Kadoot lowered his sabre for an instant. Patrick sprangoff his horse, went to the machine, (Continued on page 830)