Argosy, Vol. 111, No. 1 — page 67: what you’re looking at

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

A LETTER OF DISCREDIT. of sympathy, sank in her father’s lap, and threw her arms about his neck. Brad- well’s emotions would not suffer him to speak. ‘“ Now I have another plan for getting you on your feet,” the judge resumed after a moment, “and I want you to trust me and stay here till I’ve tried it. I can’t tell you about it till I have tried it.” ‘But do you realize,’”’ Bradwell protest- ed, ‘‘ that my enemies may be still on my trail? Now that my record is known here after I’ve apparently been in hiding so long, a detective may follow me, and you'll be held up to ridicule by the whole village.” ‘Now, my boy,” the judge interposed, ‘“‘ just trust me. Stay here in my house and keep out of sight for a few days till I see what can be done. Will you do as I ask?” “Please, George,’ Agnes interceded. ‘“‘ Father never failed to help any one yet who’d let him.” ‘“‘ All right,” Bradwell surrendered. “I confess I don’t feel right about it, but [ll do as you say.” CHAPTER XIV. THE LETTER CANCELED. THE day following Bradwell’s confession and flight was one of intense excitement in Eden. Deacon Ward had retailed Brad- well’s story, with hysterical trimmings, to some belated loungers almost before the exile had boarded his train. Telephones had been busy till well into the small hours. By morning it was understood that the fugitive, after a long term in prison for a series of variegated crimes, had recently looted a bank of some hundred thousand dollars and had been tracked to Eden by the officers. It was even maintained by some that he had held Deacon Ward up at the point of a gun and robbed the cash- drawer before his mysterious disappearance. His whereabouts caused wild and diversified speculation. Much of this Judge Thurston learned di- rectly when he went down-town that day. His report to Bradwell on the state of the village sentiment confirmed the wisdom of 5T his adwice to his guest to keep out of sight for the time being. This he did so conscientiously that his presence in the little white cottage was not suspected, though several neighbors called during the day, each bursting with ill- concealed curiosity to learn how the Bradwell dénouement had affected his sponsors. Thus three days passed. Bradwell was seething with impatience to know what plan his friend the judge was working out in his behalf. Meanwhile, there was little evidence of activity on the old gentleman’s part. He had the air of a man waiting for something over which he had no control. To Brad- well’s surprise and growing bewilderment, his friend seemed more cheerful and con- tented than he had appeared before at any time since the younger man’s first arrival in Eden. He spent much of his time with Agnes, but, strangely enough, they talked but lit- tle. Their minds were full of forebodings that each dreaded to discuss with the other. It was evident that the girl was upset. Toward evening of the third day Brad- well was alone in the little back parlor where he spent most of his time, this being the safest retreat from unexpected callers. Agnes had gone out on an errand. The judge had just come in and gone to his room. There was a heavy step on the front stcop and a sharp rap at the door. He heard Mrs. Thurston go to the door and usher in a caller. A moment later she rapped gently at the parlor door, opened it, and came in, closing the door behind her. He saw that she was troubled. ‘‘ There’s a man in the sitting-room who asks to see you,” she explained. “ He’s a stranger. I never saw him before, and don’t know who he is. He seems to know you are here, so I suppose you'll have to see him.” ‘I suppose I will,” Bradwell agreed dully. He had a conviction that the caller represented the long-expected blow of his enemies. He half-expected, when he opened the sitting-room door, to confront the same thick-necked, brutal private detective whom Guthrie had put on his trail. CO lOOOLK