Weird note, I took the liberty of taking pictures just in case I needed them to tell other users of this game. So, I play Roblox from time to time, whenever I feel like it. It's an okay game in total, it's only the community that needs fixing. Enough about my opinions, though, whenever I'm on Roblox, I browse the games section. Sometimes, there are games that have effort and games that don't. One example of such games would be work at a pizza place. Basically, this place is a game that has you either going around delivering pizzas or cooking them. That's not all, though, it does have personal homes to give the game more appeal. You can decorate said homes with items such as chairs and labs. Anyways, on with the story, I decided to play work at a pizza place, because I had nothing better to play on Roblox. When I clicked on the game, I noticed something changed about the game's picture and description. The description, instead of saying work together to get the pizzas to the customers, it said work together to get the pizzas to the victims. I'm not sure if it was a really late April Fools joke, not likely, or something else. I came up with the assumption that it was probably a joke, what with people eating pizzas described as victims. Anyways, I pressed play and it loaded up a game server that had no one in it. It must have been luck to join a server that's completely empty, but I expected people to join. After waiting about a few minutes, no one arrived and I was beginning to plunder, if anyone was going to join at all. As I was waiting for nothing, I decided to explore the empty place. I went to my house to just hang out for a bit, when I noticed something was going on. One of the walls in my house was turning around, as if there was some sort of spin script inside. I was beginning to think that this was some sort of joke. This never happened before, and knowing that made me even more confused. I don't know what dude one was doing this for, maybe for laughs and giggles, it still confused me though. I continued exploring the place, even if people still didn't even join. I went to the pizzeria to climb on top just for fun, when I noticed that the sign was different. It was just a black texture, nothing else. This is, where my computer started to act up. As I was staring at the black texture, my computer time was going crazy. I opened up the calendar and it read 2006, and the time said 8 hours 88 minutes and 88 seconds PM. I was confused at this point, so I decided to just close the Roblox game, thinking I was just tired, was 205 AM at the time. Going to sleep always helps but in this case it is very creepy. It feels like I'm second back in time.


And reactions have continued to trail the recent highway kidnap of many travelers plying the road of Abuja Kadunaway by gunmen. The National Publicity Secretary, Iowa Consultative Forum, Emanuel Yahweh, is calling out the government. The group is saying that the government should not exist if it's not serious about protecting Nigerians and their property. Jacinta Obyuku has more. Sunday afternoon, November 21st, many travelers plying Abuja Kadunaway were kidnapped by gunmen. And it was not the first time travelers had been relayed by criminals on Nigeria highways. The incidents of kidnapping, robbery and killings on major highways in the country is worrisome. The Iowa Consultative Forum believes the government is not taking the spate of insecurity seriously. No wonder why a government like that has spending so much on security can also avail a particular spot and stop this criminal from taking this other very particular spot. So we think they are not doing their job seriously. It is a government and the government cannot protect life of property. That government has no business of being in existence. On the controversial repentance of Bukohara members, Ariwa group stressed that old habits die hard. They want insecurity curtailed, especially on the highways, and they want the government to be determined to take some critical steps. Some of these people are ascended by because of the influence of their sponsor. Why are you having to take people whom you are not sure of their anticipates? The government and the security agencies carry out thorough investigation. We may never know. People who plan to travel on their roads will be careful. They don't take their own personal security measures or whatever. You hear about these things. You think it will not happen to you.  The bottom line however is that the Nigerians want to feel secure about their daily activities, whether on the highway or elsewhere. They want to see those perpetrating heinous crimes across the country nabbed and brought to justice so as to serve as a deterrent to others. Just enter Ubuco for Plus TV Africa.


CHAPTER VII Carlotta Harrison pleaded a headache and was excused from the operating room and from prayers. I'm sorry about the vacation, Miss Greg said kindly, but in a day or two I can let you off.  The girl managed to disassemble the triumph in her eyes. Thank you, she said languidly and turned away. Then, about the vacation, I am not in a hurry. If Miss Simpson needs a few days to straighten things out, I can stay on with Dr. Wilson. Young women on the eve of vacation were not usually so reasonable. Miss Greg was grateful. She will probably need a week, thank you. I wish more of the girls were as thoughtful with the house full in operations all day and every day. Outside the door of the anesthetizing room, Miss Harrison's languor vanished. She spent along corridors and up the stairs, not waiting for the deliberate elevator. Inside of her room she closed and bolted the door and, standing before her mirror, gazed long at her dark eyes and bright hair. Then she proceeded briskly with her dressing. Carlotta Harrison was not a child. Though she was only three years older than Sidney, her experience of life was as of three to Sidney's one. The product of a curious marriage, when Tommy Harrison of Harrison's minstrels, touring Spain with his troop, had met the pretty daughter of a Spanish shopkeeper and he looked with her, she had certain qualities of both, a Yankee shrewdness and capacity that made her a capable nurse, complicated by occasional outcroppings of southern Europe, furious bursts of temper, slow and smoldering vindictiveness. A passionate creature, in reality, smothered under hereditary Massachusetts caution. She was well aware of the risks of the evening's adventure. The only dredge she had was of the discovery of her escapade by the hospital authorities. Nurses were sharply drawn, nurses were forbidden more than the exchange of professional conversation with the staff. In that world of her choosing, of hard work and little play, of service and self-denial and vigorous rules of conduct, discovery meant dismissal.  Her yellow hair was drawn high under her low black hat. From her Spanish mother she had learned to please the man, not herself. She guessed that Dr. Max would wish her to be inconspicuous, and she dressed accordingly. Then, being a cautious person, she disarranged her bed slightly and thumped a hollow into her pillow. The nurses' rooms were subject to inspection, and she had pleaded a headache. She was exactly on time. Dr. Max, driving up to the corner five minutes late, found her there, quite matter of fact but exceedingly handsome, and acknowledged the evening's adventure much to his taste. A little air first, and then supper, how's that? Air first, please, I'm very tired. He turned the car toward the suburbs, and then, bending towards her, smiled into her eyes. Well, this is life! I'm cool for the first time to-day. After that they spoke very little. Even Wilson's superb nerves had felt the strain of the afternoon, and under the girl's dark eyes were purplish shadows. She leaned back, weary, but luxuriously content. Not uneasy, are you? Not particularly. I'm too comfortable. But I hope we're not seen. Even if we are, why not? You are going with me to a case. I've driven Miss Simpson about a lot. It was almost eight when he turned the car into the drive of the White Springs Hotel. The six to eight supper was almost over. One or two motor-parties were preparing for the moonlight drive back to the city. All around was virgin country, sweet with the early summer odors of new-cut grass, of blossoming trees and warm earth. On the grass terrace over the valley, where ran Sidney's unlucky river, was a magnolia full of creamy blossoms among waxed leaves. Its silhouette against the sky was quaintly heart-shaped. Under her mask of linger, Carlotta's heart was beating wildly. What an adventure! What a night!  She could keep hers. If she were skillful and played things right, who could tell? To marry him? To leave behind the drudgery of the hospital? To feel safe as she had not felt for years? That was a stroke to play for. The magnolia was just beside her. She reached up and, breaking off one of the heavy-scented flowers, placed it in the bosom of her black dress. Sidney and Caleb Moyne were dining together. The novelty of the experience had made her eyes shine like stars. She saw only the magnolia tree shaped like a heart, the terrace edged with low shrubbery, and, beyond, the faint gleam that was the river. For her, the dish-washing clatter of the kitchen was stilled. The noises from the bar were lost in the ripple of the river. The scent of the grass killed the odor of stale beer that wafted out through the open windows. The unshaded glare of the lights behind her in the house was eclipsed by the crescent edge of the rising moon. When dinner was over, Sidney was experiencing the rare treat of after-dinner coffee. La Moyne, grave and contained, sat across from her, to give so much pleasure and so easily how young she was and radiant. No wonder the boy was mad about her.  Ah! That was too bad. Another table was being brought. They were not to be alone.  Two places, she commented, lovers, of course, or perhaps honeymooners. Kaye tried to fall into her mood. A box of candy against a good cigar they are a stalled married couple. How shall we know? That's easy. If they lull back and watch the kitchen door, I win. If they lean forward, elbows on the table and talk, you get the candy. Sidney, who had been leaning forward, talking eagerly over the table, suddenly straightened and flushed. Carlotta Harrison came out alone. Although the tapping of her heels was dulled by the grass, although she had exchanged her cap for the black hat, Sidney knew her at once. A sort of thrill ran over her. It was the pretty nurse from Dr. Wilson's office. Was it possible? But of course not. The Book of Rules stated explicitly that such things were forbidden. Don't turn around, she said swiftly. It is the Miss Harrison I told you about. She is looking at us. Carlotta's eyes were dimmed for a moment by the glare of some house lights. She dropped into her chair with a flash of resentment at the proximity of the other table. She languidly surveyed its two occupants. Then she sat up, her eyes on Lemoine's grave profile turned towards the valley. Lucky for her that Wilson had stopped in the bar, that Sidney's instinctive good manners forbade her staring, that only the edge of the summer moon shone through the trees. She went white and clutched the edge of the table with her eyes closed. That gave her quick brain a chance. It was madness, tuned madness. She was always seeing him, even in her dreams. This man was older, much older. She looked again. She had not been mistaken. Here, and after all these months, Kay Lemoine, quite unconscious of her presence, looked down into the valley. Wilson appeared on the wooden porch above the terrace and stood, his eyes searching the half-life for her. If he came down to her, the man at the next table might turn, would see her. She rose and went swiftly back towards the hotel. All the gaiety was gone out of the evening for her, but she forced a lightness she did not feel. It is so dark and depressing out there, it makes me sad. Surely you do not want to dine in the house. Do you mind? Just as you wish, this is your evening. But he was not pleased. The prospect of the glaring lights and soiled linen of the dining-room jarred on his aesthetic sense. He wanted a setting for himself, for the girl. Environment was vital to him. But when, in the full light of the moon, he saw the purplish shadows under her eyes, he ever got his resentment. She had had a hard day. She was tired. His easy sympathies were roused. He leaned over and ran his hand caressingly along her bare forearm. The you'll wish is my law, tonight, he said softly. After all, the evening was a disappointment to him. The spontaneity had gone out of it, for some reason.  She sat back in her chair, eating little, starting at every step. Her eyes, which by every rule of the game should have been gazing into his, were fixed on the oil-cloth-covered passage outside the door. I think, after all, you are frightened. Terribly. A little danger adds to the zest of things. You know what Nietzsche says about that? I am not fond of Nietzsche. Then with an effort, what does he say? Two things are wanted by the true man, danger and play. Therefore he seeketh woman as the most dangerous of toys. Woman are dangerous only when you think of them as toys. When a man finds that a woman can reason, do anything, but feel, he regards her as a menace. But the reasoning woman is really less dangerous than the other sort. This was more like the real thing. To talk careful abstractions like this, with beneath each abstraction its concealed personal application. To talk of woman and look in her eyes, to discuss new philosophies with her freedoms, to discard old creeds and old moralities. That was his game. Wilson became content, interested again. The girl was nimble-minded. She challenged his philosophy and gave him a chance to defend it. With the conviction, as Hermione went on, that Lemoine and his companion must surely have gone, she gained ease. It was only by wild driving that she got back to the hospital by ten o'clock. Wilson left her at the corner, well content with himself. He had had the rest he needed in congenial company. The girl stimulated his interest. She was mental, but not too mental. And he approved of his own attitude. He had been discreet. Even if she talked, there was nothing to tell. But he felt confident that she would not talk. As he drove up the street, he glanced across at the page-house. Sydney was there on the doorstep, talking to a tall man who stood below and looked up at her. Wilson settled his tie in the darkness. Sydney was a mighty pretty girl. The June night was in his blood. He was sorry he had not kissed Carlotta good night. He rather thought, now he looked back, she had been expecting it. As he got out of his car at the curb, a young man who had been standing in the shadow of the tree-box moved quickly away. Wilson smiled after him in the darkness. That you, Joe, he called. But the boy went on. End of Chapter 7. Recording by Todd. Chapter 8 of K. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. K by Mary Roberts Reinhardt. Chapter 8. Sydney entered the hospital as a probationer early in August. Christine was to be married in September to Palmer Howe. And, with Harriet and Kay in the house, she felt that she could safely leave her mother. The balcony outside the parlor was already underway. On the night before she went away, Sydney took chairs out there and sat with her mother until the dew drove Anna into the lamp in the sewing room and her daily thoughts reading. Sydney sat alone and viewed her world from this new and pleasant angle. She could see the garden and the whitewashed fence with its morning glories. And, at the same time, by turning her head, view the Wilson house across the street. She looked mostly at the Wilson house. K. Rue Moyni was upstairs in his room. She could hear him tramping up and down and catch, occasionally, the bittersweet odor of his old briar pipe. All the loose ends of her life were gathered up, except Joe. She would have liked to get that clear, too. She wanted him to know how she felt about it all, that she liked him as much as ever, that she did not want to hurt him, but she wanted to make it clear, too, that she knew now that she would never marry him. She thought she would never marry, but if she did, it would be a man doing a man's work in the world. Her eyes turned wistfully to the house across the street. K's lamp still burned overhead, but his restless tramping about had ceased. He must be reading. He read a great deal. She really ought to go to bed. A neighborhood cat came stealthily across the street and stared up at the little balcony with green glowing eyes. Come on, Bill Taft, she said. Reginald is gone, so you are welcome. Come on. Joe drummed, passing the house for the fourth time that evening, heard her voice and hesitated uncertainly on the pavement. That you, Sid, he called softly. Joe, come in. It's late. I'd better get home. The misery in his voice hurt her. I'll not keep you long. I want to talk to you. He came slowly toward her. Well, he said hoarsely, you're not very kind to me, Joe. My God, said poor Joe, kind to you. Isn't the kindest thing I can do to keep out of your way? Not if you are hating me all the time.  Then why haven't you been to see me? If I've done anything, her voice was a tingle with virtue and outraged friendship. You haven't done anything, but show me where I get off. He sat down on the edge of the balcony and stared out blankly. If that's the way you feel about it, I'm not blaming you. I was a fool to think you'd ever care about me. I don't know that I feel so bad about the thing. I've been around seeing some other girls and I notice they're glad to see me and treat me right too. There was boyish bravado in his voice, but what makes me sick is to have everyone saying you've jilted me. Good gracious. Why, Joe, I never promised. Well, we look at it in different ways. That's all. I took it for a promise. Then suddenly all his carefully conserved indifference fled. He bent forward quickly and catching her hand, held it against his lips.  That's the truth. I wish I could die. The cat, finding no active antagonism, sprang up on the balcony and rubbed against the boy's quivering shoulders. A breath of air stroked the morning glory vine, like the touch of a friendly hand. Sidney, facing for the first time, the enigma of love and despair sat. Rather frightened in her chair. You don't mean that. I mean it, all right. If it wasn't for the folks, I'd jump in the river. I lied when I said I'd been to see other girls. What do I want with other girls? I want you. I'm not worth all that. No girl's worth what I've been going through. He retorted bitterly, but that doesn't help any. I don't eat. I don't sleep. I'm afraid sometimes of the way I feel. When I saw you at the white springs with that rumor chap, ah, you were there. If I'd had a gun, I'd have killed him. I thought, so far, out of sheer pity, she had left her hand in his. Now she drew it away. This is wild, silly talk. You'll be sorry tomorrow. It's the truth, doggedly. But he made a clutch at his self-respect. He was acting like a crazy boy, and he was a man, all of 22. When are you going to the hospital? Tomorrow. Is that Wilson's hospital? Yes. Alas for his resolve. The red haze of jealousy came again. You'll be seeing him every day, I suppose. I dare say I shall also be seeing 20 or 30 other doctors and 100 or so men patients, not to mention visitors. Joe, you're not rational. No, he said heavily. I'm not. If it's got to be someone, Sydney, I'd rather have it the rumor upstairs than Wilson. There's a lot of talk about Wilson. It isn't necessary to malign my friends. He rose. I thought, perhaps, since you are going away, you would let me keep Reginald. He'd be something to remember you by.  I set Reginald free that day in the country. I'm sorry, Joe. You'll come to see me now and then, won't you? If I do, do you think you may change your mind? I'm afraid not. I've got to fight this out alone, and the less I see of you, the better. But his next words belied his intention, and Wilson had better look out. I'll be watching. If I see him playing any of his tricks around you, well, he'd better look out. That, as it turned out, was Joe's farewell. He had reached the breaking point. He gave her a long look, linked, and walked rapidly out to the street. Some of the dignity of his retreat was lost by the fact that the cat followed him close at his heels. Sydney was hurt, greatly troubled. If this was love, she did not want it. This strange compound of suspicion and despair injured pride and threats. Lovers in fiction were of two classes, the accepted ones who loved and trusted, and the rejected ones who took themselves away in despair, but at least took themselves away. The thought of a future with Joe always around a corner, watching her, obsessed her. She felt aggrieved, insulted. She even shed a tear or two, very surreptitiously. And then, being human and much upset, and the cat startling her by its sudden return and selfish advances, she shooed it off the veranda and set an imaginary dog after it, whereupon, feeling somewhat better, she went in and locked the balcony window and proceeded upstairs. You, my knees, light was still going. The rest of the household slept. She paused outside the door. Are you sleepy? Very softly. There was a movement inside. The sound of a book put down. Then, no, indeed. I may not see you in the morning. I leave tomorrow, just a minute. From the sounds, she judged that he was putting on his shabby gray coat. The next moment, he had opened the door and stepped out into the corridor. I believe you had forgotten. I, certainly not. I started downstairs a while ago, but you had a visitor. Only Joe drummed. He gazed down at her quizzically. And, is Joe more reasonable? He will be. He knows now that I shall not marry him. Poor chap. He'll buck up, of course. But it's a little hard, just now. I believe you think I should have married him. I am only putting myself in his place and realizing, when do you leave? Just after breakfast. I am going very early. Perhaps. He hesitated, then hurriedly. I've got a little present for you, nothing much.  In fact, we bought it together. He went back into his room and returned with a small box. With all sorts of good luck, he said, and placed it in her hands. How dear of you, and may I look now? I wish you would, because if you would rather have something else, she opened the box with excited fingers. Taking away on its satin bed was a small gold watch. You'll need it, you see, he explained nervously. It wasn't extravagant under the circumstances. Your mother's watch, which you had intended to take, had no second hand. You'll need a second hand to take pulses, you know. A watch, said Sidney, eyes on it. A dear little watch to pin on and not put in a pocket. Why, you're the best person. I was afraid you might think it presumptuous, he said. I haven't any right, of course. I thought of flowers, but they fade and what have you.  Don't apologize for making me so happy, she cried. It's wonderful, really.  After that, she must pin it on and slip into stand before his mirror and inspect the result. It gave, reminding a queer thrill to see her there in the room among his books and his pipes. It make him a little sick, too, in view of tomorrow and the thousand odd tomorrows when she would not be there. I've kept you up shamefully, she said at last, and you get up so early. I shall write you a note from the hospital, delivering a little lecture on extravagance, because how can I now, with this joy shining on me and about how to keep Katie in order about your socks and all sorts of things, and, and now, good night. She had moved to the door and he followed her, stooping a little to pass under the low chandelier. Good night, said Sidney, goodbye, and God bless you. She went out and he closed the door softly behind her. End of chapter eight. Chapter nine of K. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. K. by Mary Roberts Reinhardt. Chapter nine, Sidney never forgot her early impressions of the hospital, although they were chaotic enough at first. There were uniformed young women coming and going efficient, cool-eyed, lower voice. There were medicine closets with orderly rows of labeled bottles, linen rooms with great stacks of sheets and towels, long vistas of shining floors and lines of beds. There were brisk interns with duck clothes and brass buttons, who eyed her with friendly, patronizing glances. There were bandages and dressings and great white screens behind which were played little or big dramas, baths or deaths. As the case might be. And overall brooded the mysterious authority of the superintendent of the training school, dubbed the head for short. 12 hours a day from seven to seven with the off-duty intermission, Sidney labored at tasks which revolted her soul. She swept and dusted the wards, cleaned closets, folded sheets and towels, rolled bandages, did everything but nurse the sick, which was what she had come to do. At night she did not go home. She sat on the edge of her narrow white bed and soaked her aching feet in hot water and witch hazel and practiced taking pulses on her own slender wrist with Kay's little watch. Out of all the long, hot days, two periods stood out clearly to be waited for and cherished. One was when, early in the afternoon, with the ward in spotless order, the shades drawn against the August sun, the tables covered with the red covers and the only sound, the drone of the bandage machine as Sidney steadily turned it. Dr. Max passed the door on his way to the surgical ward beyond and gave her a cheery greeting. At these times, Sidney's heartbeat almost in time with the ticking of the little watch. The other hour was at twilight when, work over for the day, the night nurse with her rubber-soled shoes and tired eyes and jangling keys having reported and received the night orders. The nurses gathered in their small parlor for prayers. It was months before Sidney got over the exaltation of that twilight hour and never did it cease to bring her healing and peace. In a way, it crystallized for her what the day's work meant, charity and its sister service. The promise of rest and peace into the little parlor filled the nurses and knelt, folding their tired hands. The Lord is my shepherd. Read the head out of her warren Bible. I shall not want. And the nurses, he maketh me to lie down in green pastures. He leadeth me beside the still waters and so on through the psalm to the assurance at the end. And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. Now and then there was a death behind one of the white screens. It caused little change in the routine of the ward. A nurse stayed behind the screen and her work was done by the others when everything was over. The time was recorded exactly on the record and the body was taken away. At first it seemed to Sidney that she could not stand this nearness to death. She thought the nurses hard because they took it quietly. Then she found that it was only stoicism, resignation, that they had learned. These things must be and the work must go on. Their philosophy made them no less tender. Some such patient attachment must be that of the angels who keep the great record. On her first Sunday half holiday she was free in the morning and went to church with her mother going back to the hospital after the service. So it was two weeks before she saw Oomai Ni again. Even then it was only for a short time Christine and Palmer Howe came in to see her and to inspect the balcony. Now finished. But Sidney and Oomai Ni had a few words together first. There was a change in Sidney. Oomai Ni was quick to see it.  Her mouth was tender as always but he thought it drooped. There was a new atmosphere of wistfulness about the girl that made his heart ache. They were alone in the little parlor with its brown lamp and blue silk shade and its small nude eve which Anna kept because it had been a gift from her husband but retired behind a photograph of the minister so that only the hand in a bare arm holding the apple appeared above the reverend gentleman. Kay never smoked in the parlor but by sheer force of habit he held the pipe in his teeth. And how have things been going? Asked Sidney practically. Your steward has little to report. Aunt Harriet, who left you her love has had the complete order for the Laurence Trousseau. She and I have picked out a stunning design for the wedding dress. I thought I'd ask you about the veil or rather in a quandary. Do you like this new fashion of draping the veil from behind the guaffure in the back? Sidney had been sitting on the edge of her chair, staring. There, she said, I knew it. This house is fatal. They're making an old woman of you already. Her tone was tragic. Miss Laurence likes the new method but my personal preference is for the old way with the bride's face covered.  Katie has a new prescription, recipe for bread. It has more bread and fewer air holes. One cake of yeast. Sidney sprang to her feet. It's perfectly terrible. She cried.  Not, but that it's good for you. But Katie has made bread without masculine assistance for a good many years. And if Christine can't decide about her own veil, she'd better not get married.  I never meant you to adopt the family. Kay removed his pipe and gazed earnestly into the bowl. Bill Taft has had kittens under the porch, he said. And the grocery man has been sending short wait. We've bought scales now and weigh everything. You are evading the question, dear child, I am doing these things because I like to do them. For, for some time I've been floating and now I've got a home. Every time I lock up the windows at night or cut a picture out of a magazine as a suggestion to your Ontario, it's an anchor to winward. Sidney gazed helplessly at his imperturbable face. He seemed older than she had recalled him. The hair over his ears was almost white. And yet, he was just 30. That was Palmer House age and Palmer seemed like a boy. But he held himself more erect than he had in the first days of his occupancy of the second floor front. And now, he said cheerfully, what about yourself? You've lost a lot of illusions. Of course, but perhaps you've gained ideals. That's a step life observed Sidney with the wisdom of two weeks out in the world. Life is a terrible thing, Kay. We think we've got it and it's got us, undoubtedly. When I think of how simple I used to think it all was, one grew up and got married and perhaps had children. And when one got very old, one died. Lately, I've been seeing that life really consists of exceptions.  And this took an effort, but she looked at him squarely. And people who have children but are not married, it all rather hurts. All knowledge that is worthwhile hurts in the getting. Sidney got up and wandered around the room, touching its little familiar objects with tender hands. Kay watched her. There was this curious element in his love for her that when he was with her, it took on the guys a friendship and deceived even himself. It was only in the lonely hours that it took on truth. Became a hopeless yearning for the touch of her hand or a glance from her clear eyes. Sidney, having picked up the minister's picture, replaced it absently so that Eve stood revealed in all her pre-Apple innocence. There is something else, she said absently. I cannot talk it over with mother. There is a girl in the ward, a patient. Yes, she is quite pretty. She has had typhoid, but she is a little better. She's not a good person, I see. At first, I couldn't bear to go near her. I shivered when I had to straighten her bed. I, I'm being very frank, but I've got to talk this out with someone. I worried a lot about it because, although at first I hated her, now I don't. I rather like her. She looked at Kay defiantly, but there was no disapproval in his eyes. Yes, well, this is the question. She's getting better. She'll be able to go out soon. Don't you think something ought to be done to keep her from going back? There was a shadow in Kay's eyes now. She was so young to face all this, and yet, since face that she must, how much better to have her do it squarely? Does she want to change her mode of life? I don't know. Of course, there are some things one doesn't discuss. She cares a great deal for some man. The other day, I propped her up in bed and gave her a newspaper, and after a while, I found the paper on the floor and she was crying. The other patients avoid her, and it was some time before I noticed it. The next day, she told me that the man was going to marry someone else. He wouldn't marry me, of course, she said, but he might have told me. You, my knee, did his best that afternoon in the little parlor to provide Sydney with a philosophy to carry her through her training. He told her that certain responsibilities were hers, but that she could not reform the world. Broad charity, tenderness, and healing were her province. Help them all you can, he finished, feeling inadequate and hopelessly didactic. Cure them, send them out with a smile, and leave the rest to the Almighty. Sydney was resigned, but not content. Newly facing the evil of the world, she was a rampant reformer at once. Only the arrival of Christine and her fiance saved his philosophy from complete route. He had time for a question between the ring of the bell and Katie's deliberate progress from the kitchen to the front door. How about the surgeon, young Wilson? Do you ever see him? His tone was carefully casual, almost every day. He stops at the door of the ward and speaks to me. It makes me quite distinguished for a probationer. Usually, you know, the staff never even see the probationers and the glamour persists. He smiled down at her. I think he is very wonderful, said Sydney valiantly. Christine Lorenz, while not large, seemed to fill the room. Her voice, which was frequent in penetrating her smile, which was wide and showed very white teeth that were a trifle large for her beauty. Her all embracing good nature dominated the entire lower floor. Kay, who had met her before, retired into silence and a corner, young Howe smoked a cigarette in the hall. You poor thing, said Christine and put her cheek against Sydney's. Why, you're positively thin. Palmer gives you a month to tire of it all. But I said, I take that back. Palmer spoke indolently from the corridor. There is the look of willing martyrdom in her face. Where is Reginal? I brought some nuts for him. Reginal is back in the woods again. Now look here, he said so only. When we arranged about these rooms, there were certain properties that went with him. The lady next door who plays Pateruski's menu ad six hours a day and Kay here. And Reginal, if you must take something to the woods, why not the menu ad person? Howe was a good looking man. Thin, smooth shaven, aggressively well dressed this Sunday afternoon in a cutaway coat and high hat with an English Malacca stick. He was just a little out of the picture. The street said that he was wild and that to get into the country club set, Christine was losing more than she was gaining. Christine had stepped out on the balcony and was speaking to Kay just inside.  But Palmer is a pauper, practically. We are going to take our meals at home for a while. You see certain things that we want we can't have if we take a house, a car, for instance. We'll need one for running out to the country club to dinner. Of course, unless father gives me one for a wedding present, it will be a cheap one. And we're getting the Rosenfeld boy to drive it. He's crazy about machinery and he'll come for practically nothing. Kay had never known a married couple to take two rooms and go to the bride's mother's for meals in order to keep a car. He looked faintly dazed. Also, certain sophistries of his former world have out-achieved chauffeur being costly. In the end, Rose in his mind and we're carefully suppressed. You'll find a car great comfort, I'm sure, he said politely. Christine considered Kay rather distinguished. She liked his graying hair and steady eyes and insisted on considering his shabbiness, suppose she was conscious that she made a pretty picture in the French window and preened herself like a bright bird. You'll come out with us now and then, I hope. Thank you. Isn't it odd to think that we are going to be practically one family? Odd, but very pleasant. He caught the flash of Christine's smile and smiled back. Christine was glad she had decided to take the rooms. Glad that Kay lived there. This thing of marriage being the end of all things was absurd. A married woman should have men friends. They kept her up. She would take him to the country club. The women would be mad to know him how clean-cut his profile was. Across the street, the Rosenfeld boy had stopped by Dr. Wilson's car and was eyeing it with the cool, appraising glance at the street boy whose sole knowledge of machinery has been acquired from the clothes washer at home. Joe Drummond, eyes carefully ahead, went up the street. Tilly, at Mrs. McGee's, stood in the doorway and fanned herself with her apron. Max Wilson came out of the house and got into his car. For a minute, perhaps, all the actors, save Carlotta and Dr. Ed, were on the stage. It was that vet noir of the playwright and ensemble Kay, Hermione, and Sidney, Palmer Howe, Christine, Tilly, the younger Wilson, Joe, even young Rosenfeld, all within speaking distance, almost touching distance, gathered within and about the little house on a side street, which Kay, at first grimly and now tenderly called home. End of chapter nine. Chapter 10 of Kay. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Kay by Mary Roberts-Reinhardt, chapter 10. On Monday morning, shortly after the McGee prolonged breakfast was over, a small man of perhaps 50, with iron gray hair and a sparse goatee, made his way along the street. He moved with the air of one having a definite destination, but by no means definite reception. As he walked along, he eyed with a professional glance, the elanthus and maple trees which, with an occasional poplar, lined the street. At the door of Mrs. McGee's boarding house, he stopped. Owing to a slight change in the grade of the street, the McGee house had no stoop, but one flat doorstep. Thus it was possible to ring the doorbell from the pavement, and this the stranger did. It gave him a curious appearance of being ready to cut and run if things were unfavorable. For a moment, things were indeed unfavorable. Mrs. McGee herself opened the door. She recognized him at once, but no smile met the nervous one that formed itself on the stranger's face. Oh, it's you, is it? It's me, Mrs. McGee. Well, he made a conciliatory effort. I was thinking, as I came along, he said, that you and the neighbors had better get after these here caterpillars. Look at them maples now. If you want to see Tilly, she's busy. I only want to say, how'd you do? I'm just on my way through town. I'll say it for you. A certain doggedness took the place of his tentative smile. I'll say it to myself, I guess. I don't want any unpleasantness, but I've come a good ways to see her, and I'll hang around until I do. Mrs. McGee knew herself routed and retreated to the kitchen. You're wanted out front, she said. Who is it? Nevermind. Only.  Tilly went suddenly pale. The hands with which she tied a white apron over her gingham one were shaking. Her visitor had accepted the door open as permission to enter and was standing in the hall. He went rather white himself when he saw Tilly coming toward him down the hall. He knew that for Tilly, this visit would mean that he was free, and he was not free. Sheer terror of his errand filled him. Well, here I am, Tilly. All dressed up and highly perfumed, said poor Tilly, with the question in her eyes. You're quite a stranger. Mr. Schwitter, I was passing through, and I just thought I'd call around and tell you. My God, Tilly, I'm glad to see you. She made no reply, but opened the door into the cool and shaded little parlor. He followed her in and closed the door behind him. I couldn't help it. I know I promised. Then she, she's still living, playing with paper dolls. That's the latest. Tilly sat down suddenly on one of the stiff chairs. Her lips were as white as her face. I thought, when I saw you, I was afraid you'd think that. Neither spoke for a moment. Tilly's hands twisted nervously in her lap. Mr. Schwitter's eyes were fixed on the window, which looked back on the McGee yard. That spirea back there is not looking very good.  Tilly found speech at last. I don't know why you come around bothering me, she said, Dolly. I've been getting along all right. Now you come and upset everything. Mr. Schwitter rose and took a step toward her. Well, I'll tell you why I came. Look at me. I ain't getting any younger, am I? Time's going on and I'm wanting you all the time. And what am I getting? What have I got out of life? Anyhow, I'm lonely, Tilly. What's that got to do with me? You're lonely too, ain't you? Me? I haven't got time to be. And anyhow, there's always a crowd here. You can be lonely in a crowd. And I guess, is there anyone around here you like better than me? Oh, what's the use? Cried poor Tilly. We can talk our heads off and not get anywhere. You've got a wife living. And unless you intend to do away with her, I guess that's all there is to it. Is that all, Tilly? Haven't you got a right to be happy? She was quick of wit and she read his tone as well as his words.  She had jumped to her feet, but he only looked at her with understanding eyes. I know, he said. That's the way I thought of it at first. Maybe I've just got used to the idea, but it doesn't seem so bad to me now. Here are you, dredging for other people when you ought to have a place all your own and not getting younger anymore than I am. Here's both of us lonely. I'd be a good husband to you, Till, because whatever it'd be in law, I'd be your husband before God. Tilly cowered against the door, her eyes on his, here before her, embodied in this man, stood all that she had wanted and never had. He meant a home, tenderness, children, perhaps.    Tilly found her voice at last. I couldn't do it, Mr. Shawitter. I guess I'm a coward. Maybe I'll be sorry, perhaps, if you got used to the idea. What's that to do with the right and wrong of it? Maybe I'm queer. It don't seem like wrongdoing to me. It seems to me that the Lord would make an exception of us if he knew the circumstances. Perhaps, after you get used to the idea, what I thought was like this. I've got a little farm about seven miles from the city limits and the tenant on it says that nearly every Sunday, somebody motors out from town and wants a chicken and waffle supper. There ain't much in the nursery business anymore. These landscape fellows buy their stuff direct and the middleman's out. I've got a good orchard and there's a spring so I could put running water in the house. I'd be good to you, Tilly, I swear it. It'd be just the same as marriage. Nobody need know it. You'd know it. You wouldn't respect me. Don't a man respect a woman that's got courage enough to give up everything for him? Tilly was crying softly into her apron. He put a work hardened hand on her head. It isn't as if I'd run around after women. He said, you're the only one since Maggie. He drew a long breath. I'll give you time to think it over. Suppose I stop in tomorrow morning. It doesn't commit you to anything to talk it over. There had been no passion in the interview and there was none in the touch of his hand. He was not young and the tragic loneliness of approaching old age confronted him. He was trying to solve his problem and Tilly's. And what he had found was no solution but a compromise. Tomorrow morning, then, he said quietly and went out the door. All that hot August morning Tilly worked in a daze. Mrs. McGee watched her and said nothing. She interpreted the girl's white face and sat lips as the result of having had to dismiss a witter again and looked for time to bring peace as it had done before. Lu Moine came late to his midday meal. For once the mental anesthesia of endless figures had failed him. On his way home he had drawn his small savings from the bank and mailed them in cash and registered to a back street in the slums of a distant city. He had done this before and always with a feeling of exaltation as if for a time at least the burden he carried was lightened. But today he experienced no compensatory relief. Life was dull and stale to him. Effort ineffectual. At 30 a man should look back with tenderness. Forward with hope. Kay, Lu Moine dared not look back and had no desire to look ahead into empty years. Although he ate little, the dining room was empty when he finished. Usually he had some cheerful banter for Tilly to which he responded in kind. But what with the heat and with heaviness of spirit? He did not notice her depression until he rose. Why, you're not sick, are you, Tilly? Me, oh no, low in mind. I guess it's the heat, it's fearful. Look here, if I send you two tickets to a roof garden where there's a variety show, can't you take a friend and go tonight? Thanks, I guess I'll not go out then, unexpectedly.  Kay let her cry for a moment. Then, now, tell me about it. I'm just worried, that's all. Let's see if we can't fix up the worries. Come, now, out with them. I'm a wicked woman, Mr. Lu Moine. Then I'm the person to tell it to. I, I'm pretty much a lost soul myself. He put an arm over her shoulders and drew her up, facing him. Suppose we go into the parlor and talk it out. I'll bet things are not as bad as you imagine. But when, in the parlor that had seen Mr. Shawitter's strange proposal of the morning, Tilly poured out her story.  The wicked part is that I want to go with him, she finished. I keep thinking about being out in the country and him coming in to supper. And everything nice for him and me clinging up and waiting. Oh my God, I've always been a good woman until now. I, I understand a great deal better than you think I do. You're not wicked. The only thing is, go on, hit me with it. You might go on and be very happy. And as for the, for his wife, it won't do her any harm. It's only if there are children. I know, I've thought of that, but I'm so crazy for children. Exactly, so you should be. But when they come and you cannot give them a name, don't you see? I'm not preaching morality. God forbid that I, but no happiness is built on a foundation of wrong. It's been tried before, Tilly. And it doesn't pan out. He was conscious of a feeling of failure when he left her at last. She had acquiesced in what he said, knew he was right. And even promised to talk to him again before making a decision one way or the other. But against his abstractions of conduct and morality, there was pleading in Tilly the hungry mother heart. Law and creed and early training were fighting against the strongest instinct of the race. It was a losing battle. End of chapter 10, chapter 11 of K. This is a labor box recording. All labor box recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit laborbox.org. K by Mary Roberts Reinhart. Chapter 11, the hot August days dragged on, mercilessly sunlight beat in through the slotted shutters of ward windows at night from the roof to which the nurses retired after prayers for a breath of air. Lower surrounding roofs were seen to be covered with sleepers, children dozed precariously on the edge of eternity. Men and women sprawled in the grotesque postures of sleep. There was a sort of feverish irritability in the air. Even the nurses stoically unmindful of bodily discomfort spoke curtly or not at all. Miss Dana in Sydney's ward went down with a low fever. And for a day or so, Sydney and Miss Grange got along as best they could. Sydney worked like two or more, performed marvels of bed making, learned to give alcohol baths for fever with the maximum of result and the minimum of time, even made rounds with a member of the staff and came through, creditively. Dr. Ed Wilson had sent a woman patient into the ward and his visits were the breath of life to the girl. How are they treating you? He asked her one day abruptly. Very well. Look at me squarely. You're pretty and you're young. Some of them will try to take it out of you. That's human nature. Has anyone tried it yet? Sydney looked distressed. Positively, no. It's been hot. And of course it's troublesome to tell me everything. I think they're all very kind. He reached out a square, competent hand and put it over hers. We miss you in the street, he said. It's all sort of dead there since you left. Joe Drummond doesn't moon up and down anymore. For one thing, what was wrong between you and Joe, Sydney? I didn't want to marry him. That's all. That's considerable. The boy's taking it hard, then seeing her face. But you're right, of course. Don't marry anyone unless you can't live without him. That's been my motto and here I am, still single. He went out and down the corridor. He had known Sydney all his life during the lonely times when Max was at college and in Europe. He had watched her grow from a child to a young girl. He did not suspect for a moment that in that secret heart of hers he set newly enthroned in a glow of white light as Max's brother. That the mere thought that he lived in Max's house, it was, of course, Max's house to her, sat at Max's breakfast table, could see him whenever he wished, made the touch of his hand on hers a benediction and a caress. Sydney finished folding linen and went back to the ward. It was Friday and a visiting day. Almost every bed had its visitor beside it. But Sydney, running an eye over the ward, found the girl of whom she had spoken to in a moiny, quite alone. She was propped up in bed, reading. But at each new step in the corridor, hope would spring into her eyes and die again. Want anything, Grace? Me, I'm all right. If these people would only get out and let me read in peace, say, sit down and talk to me, won't you? It beats the mischief the way your friends forget you when you're laid up in a place like this. People can't always come at visiting hours. Besides, it's hot.  Do you think she's been here once? She hasn't. Then, suddenly, you know that man I told you about the other day? Sydney nodded. The girl's anxious eyes were on her. It was a shock to me. That's all. I didn't want you to think I'd break my heart over any fellow. All I meant was I wished he'd let me know. Her eyes searched Sydney's.  Her hair had been cut short and her nightgown open at the neck showed her thin throat and prominent clavicles. You're from the city, aren't you, Miss Page? Yes, you told me the street, but I've forgotten it. Sydney repeated the name of the street and slipped a fresh pillow under the girl's head. The evening paper says there's a girl going to be married on your street. Really? Oh, I think I know. A friend of mine is going to be married. Was the name Lawrence? The girl's name was Lawrence. I don't remember the man's name. She is going to marry a Mr. Howe, said Sydney briskly. Now, how do you feel? More comfy? Fine. I suppose you'll be going to that wedding if I ever get time to have a dress made. I'll surely go. Toward six o'clock the next morning, the night nurse was making out her reports on one record, which said at the top, Grace Irving, age 19, and an address which, to the initiated, told all her story. The night nurse wrote, did not sleep at all during night. Faye said and I staring, but complains of no pain. Refused milk at 11 and three. Carlotta Harrison, back from her vacation, reported for duty the next morning and was assigned to EWORD, which was Sydney's. She gave Sydney a curled little nod and proceeded to change the entire routine with the thoroughness of a Central American Revolutionary President. Sydney, who had yet to learn that with some people authority can only assert itself by change, found herself confused, at sea, half resentful. Once she ventured a protest. I've been taught to do it that way, Miss Harrison. If my method is wrong, show me what you want and I'll do my best. I am now responsible for what you have been taught and you will not speak back when you are spoken to. Small as the incident was, it marked a change in Sydney's position in the ward. She got the worst off duty of the day or none, small humiliations were hers. Late meals, disagreeable duties, endless and often unnecessary tasks, even Miss Grange, now reduced to second place, remonstrated with her senior. I think a certain amount of severity is good for a probationer, she said. But you are brutal, Miss Harrison.   She's going to be one of the best nurses in the house. Report me then. Tell the head I'm abusing Dr. Wilson's pet probationer that I don't always say please when I ask her to change a bed or take a temperature. Miss Grange was not lacking in keenness. She did not go to the head, which is unethical under any circumstances, but gradually there spread through the training school a story that Carlotta Harrison was jealous of the new page girl, Dr. Wilson's protégé. Things were still highly unpleasant in the ward, but they grew much better when Sydney was off duty. She was asked to join a small class that was studying French at night as ignorant of the cause of her popularity as of the reason of her persecution. She went steadily on her way and she was gaining every day. Her mind was forming. She was learning to think for herself. For the first time, she was facing problems and demanding an answer. Why must there be gray servings in the world? Why must the healthy babies of the obstetric ward go out to the slums and come back? In months or years, crippled for the great fight by the handicap of their environment, rickety, tuberculosis, twisted, why need the huge mills feed the hospitals daily with injured men? And there were other things that she thought of every night on her knees in the nurses parlor at prayers. She promised if she were accepted as a nurse to try never to become calloused, never to regard her patients as cases, never to allow the cleanliness and routine of her ward to delay a cup of water to the thirsty or her arms to a sick child. On the whole, the world was good, she found, and of all the good things in it, the best was service. True, there were hot days and restless nights, weary feet, and now and then a heartache, there was Miss Harrison too. But to offset these, there was the sound of Dr. Max's step in the corridor and a smiling nod from the door. There was a God bless you now and then for the comfort she gave. There were wonderful nights on the roof under the stars until Kay's little watch warned her to bed, while Sidney watched the stars from her hospital roof while all around her the slum children on other roofs fought for the very breath of life. Others who knew and loved her watched the stars too. Kay was having his own troubles in those days. Late at night, when Anna and Harriet had retired, he said on the balcony in thought of many things, Anna Page was not well. He had noticed that her lips were rather blue and had called in Dr. Ed. It was volvular heart disease. Anna was not to be told or Sidney, it was Harriet's ruling. Sidney can't help any, said Harriet. And for heaven's sake, let her have her chance. Anna may live for years. You know her as well as I do. If you tell her anything at all, she'll have Sidney here waiting on her hand and foot. And Urumwaini, fearful of urging too much because his own heart was crying out to have the girl back, assented. Then Kay was anxious about Joe. The boy did not seem to get over the thing the way he should. Now and then Urumwaini, resuming his old habit of wearing himself into sleep, would walk out into the country. On one such night, he had overtaken Joe, tramping along with his head down. Joe had not wanted his company, had blamely sulked, but Urumwaini had persisted. I'll not talk, he said, but since we're going the same way, we might as well walk together. But after a time, Joe had talked after all. It was not much at first, a feverish complaint about the heat, and that if there was trouble in Mexico, he thought he'd go, wait until fall, if you're thinking of it. Kay advised, this is tepid compared with what you'll get down there. I've got to get away from here. Kay nodded, understandingly, since the scene at the Whitesprings Hotel both knew that no explanation was necessary. It isn't so much that I mind her turning me down. Joe said, after a silence, a girl can't marry all the men who want her, but I don't like this hospital idea, I don't understand it. She didn't have to go, sometimes. He turned bloodshot eyes on Urumwaini. I think she went because she was crazy about somebody there. She went because she wanted to be useful. She could be useful at home. For almost 20 minutes, they tramped on without speech. They had made a circle, and the lights of the city were close again. Kay stopped and put a kindly hand on Joe's shoulder. A man's got to stand up under a thing like this, you know.  Keeping busy is a darned good method. Joe should come sell free, but without resentment. I'll tell you what's eating me up, he exploded. It's Max Wilson. Don't talk to me about her going to the hospital to be useful. She's crazy about him, and he's as crooked as a dog's hind leg, perhaps. But it's always up to the girl, you know that. He felt immeasurably old beside Joe's boyish blustering, old and rather helpless. I'm watching him. Some of these days I'll get something on him. Then she'll know what to think of her hero. That's not quite square, is it? He's not square. Joe had left him then, wheeling abruptly off into the shadows. Kay had gone home alone. Rather uneasy. There seemed to be mischief in the very air. End of Chapter 11. Chapter 12 of Kay. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Mary in Arkansas. Kay, by Mary Roberts Reinhardt. Chapter 12. Tillie was gone. Oddly enough, the last person to see her before she left was Harriet Kennedy. On the third day after Mr. Schwitter's visit, Harriet's Colored Maid had announced to visit her. Harriet's business instinct had been good. She had taken expensive rooms in a good location and furnished them with the assistance of a decor store. Then she arranged with a New York house to sell her models on commission. Her short excursion to New York had marked for Harriet the beginning of a new heaven and a new earth. Here at last she found people speaking her own language. She ventured a suggestion to a manufacturer and found it greeted, not after the manner of the street with scorn, but with approval and some surprise. About once in 10 years, said Mr. Arthur's, we have a woman from out of town bring us a suggestion that is both novel and practical. When we find people like that, we watch them. They climb, madam, climb. Harriet's climb was not so rapid as to make her dizzy, but business was coming. The first time she made a price of $75 for an evening gown, she went out immediately after and took a drink of water. Her throat was parched. She began to learn little quips of the feminine mind that a woman who can pay $75 will pay double that sum, that it is not considered good form to show surprise at a dressmaker's prices, no matter how high they may be, that long mirrors and artificial lights help sales. No woman over 30 but was grateful for her pink and gray room with its soft lights. And Harriet herself conformed to the picture. She took a lesson from the New York Modest and wore trailing black gowns. She strapped her thin figure into the best corset she could get and had her black hair marcelled and dressed high. And because she was a lady by birth and instinct, the result was not incongruous but refined and rather impressive. She took her business home with her at night, lay awake scheming and wakened at dawn to find fresh color combinations in the early sky. She wakened early because she kept her head tied up in a towel so that her hair need be done only three times a week. That and the corset were the penalties she paid. Her high-heeled shoes were a torment too but in the workroom she kicked them off. To this new Harriet then came Tilly and her distress. Tilly was rather overwhelmed at first. The street had always considered Harriet proud but Tilly's urgency was great. Her methods direct. Why Tilly, said Harriet, yes, sir. Will you sit down? Tilly said, she was not daunted now. While she worked to the fingers of her silk gloves, what Harriet took for nervousness was pure abstraction. It's very nice of you to come to see me. Do you like my rooms? Tilly surveyed the rooms and Harriet caught her first full view of her face. Is there anything wrong? Have you left Mrs. McKee? I think so. I came to talk to you about it. It was Harriet's turn to be overwhelmed. She's very fond of you if you have had any words. It's not that, I'm just leaving. I'd like to talk to you if you don't mind, certainly. Tilly hitched her chair closer. I'm up against something and I can't seem to make up my mind. Last night I said to myself, I've got to talk to someone who's not married, like me, and not as young as she used to be. There's no use going to Mrs. McKee. She's a widow and wouldn't understand. Harriet's voice was a trifle sharp as she replied. She never lied about her age, but she preferred to forget it. I wish you'd tell me what you're getting at. It ain't the sort of thing to come to too sudden, but it's like this. You and I can pretend all we like, Miss Harriet, but we're not getting all out of life that the Lord meant us to have. You've got them waxed figures instead of children, and I have mealers. A little spot of color came into Harriet's cheek, but she was interested. Regardless of the corset, she bent forward. Maybe that's true. Go on. I'm almost forty, ten years more at the most, and I'm through. I'm slowing up. Can't get around the tables as I used to. Why, yesterday I put sugar into Mr. Lemoine's coffee. Well, never mind about that. Now I've got a chance to get a home with a good man to look after me. I like him pretty well, and he thinks a lot of me. Mercy, thank Tilly. You are going to get married? Know'em, said Tilly. That's it. It's that silent for a moment. The gray curtains with their pink cordings swung gently in the open windows. From the workroom came the distant hum of a sewing machine and the sound of voices. Harriet set with her hands in her lap and listened while Tilly poured out her story. The gates were down now. She told it all, consistently and with unconscious pathos. Her little room under the roof at Mrs. McKee's and the house in the country, her loneliness and the loneliness of the man. Even the faint stirrings of potential motherhood, her empty arms, her advancing age, all this she knitted into the fabric of her story and laid at Harriet's feet as the ancients put their questions to their gods. Harriet was deeply moved. Too much that Tilly poured out to her found an echo in her own breast. What was this thing she was striving for but a substitute for the real things of life? Love and tenderness, children, a home of her own. Quite suddenly she loathed the gray carpet on the floor, the pink chairs, the shaded lamps. Tilly was no longer the waitress at a cheap boarding house.  Why don't you go to Mrs. Rosenfeld? She's your aunt, isn't she? She thinks any woman's a fool to take up with a man. You're giving me a terrible responsibility, Tilly, if you're asking my advice. Noam, I'm asking what you do if it happened to you.  What would you do? I don't know, said poor Harriet. It seems to me I'm afraid I'd be tempted. It does seem as if a woman had the right to be happy, even if her own words frightened her. It was as if some hidden self and not she had spoken. She hastened to point out the other side of the matter, the insecurity of it, the disgrace. Like Kay, she insisted that no right can be built out of a wrong. Tilly said and smoothed her gloves. At last, when Harriet paused in sheer panic, the girl rose. I know how you feel, and I don't want you to take the responsibility of advising me, she said quietly. I guess my mind was made up anyhow, but before I did it, I just wanted to make sure that a decent woman would think the way I do about it. And so, for a time, Tilly went out of the life of the street, as she went out of Harriet's handsome rooms, quietly, unobtrusively, with calm purpose in her eyes. There were other changes in the street. The Lorenz House was being painted for Christine's wedding. Johnny Rosenfeld, not perhaps of the street itself, but certainly pertaining to it, was learning to drive Palmer House's new car in mingled agony and bliss. He walked along the street, not right foot, left foot, but brake foot, clutch foot, and took to calling off the vintage of passing cars. So-and-so, 1910, he would say, with contempt in his voice. He spent more than he could afford on a large steamer, meant to be fastened across the rear of the automobile, which said, excuse our dust, and was inconsolable when Palmer refused to let him use it. Kay had yielded to Anna's insistence, and was boarding as well as rooming at the Page House. The street, rather snobbish to its occasional floating population, was accepting and liking him. It found him tender, infinitely human, and in return he found that this seemingly empty eddy into which he had drifted was teeming with life. He busied himself with small things and found his outlook gradually less tinged with despair. When he found himself inclined to rail, he organized a baseball club and sent down to everlasting defeat the Lindbergs, consisting of cash boys from Linden and Hofberg's department store. The Rosenfelds adored him, with a single exception of the head of the family. The elder Rosenfeld, having been sent up, it was Kay who discovered that by having him consigned to the workhouse, his family would receive from the county some 65 cents a day for his labor. As this was exactly 65 cents a day more than he was worth to them free, Mrs. Rosenfeld voiced the pious hope that he be kept there forever. Kay made no further attempt to avoid Max Wilson. Some day they would meet face to face. He hoped when it happened, they too might be alone. That was all. Even had he not been bound by his promise to Sydney, flight would have been foolish. The world was a small place and one way or another, he had known many people. Wherever he went, there would be the same chance. And he did not deceive himself. Other things being equal, the eddy and all that it meant, he would not willingly take himself out of his small share of Sydney's life. She was never to know what she meant to him, of course. He had scorched his heart until it no longer shone in his eyes when he looked at her. But he was very human, not at all meek. There were plenty of days when his philosophy lay in the dust and savage dogs of jealousy tore at it. More than one evening when he threw himself face downward on the bed and lay without moving for hours. And of these periods of despair, he was always heartily ashamed the next day. The meeting with Max Wilson took place early in September and under better circumstances than he could have hoped for. Sydney had come home for her weekly visit and her mother's condition had alarmed her for the first time. When Lemoine came home at six o'clock, he found her waiting for him in the hall. I am a little frightened, Kay, she said. Do you think mother is looking quite well? She has felt the heat, of course. The summer, I often think. Her lips are blue. It's probably nothing serious. She says you've had Dr. Ed over to see her. She put her hands on his arm and looked up at him with appeal and something of terror in her face. Thus cornered, he had to acknowledge that Anna had been out of sorts. I shall come home, of course. It's tragic and absurd that I should be caring for others when my own mother... She dropped her head on his arm and he saw that she was crying. If he made a gesture to draw her to him, she never knew it. After a moment she looked up. I'm much braver than this in the hospital, but when it's one's own. Kay was sorely tempted to tell the truth and bring her back to the little house to their old evenings together, to seeing the younger Wilson, not as the white god of the operating room and the hospital, but as the dandy of the street and the neighbor of her childhood. Back even to Joe. But with Anna's precarious health and Harriet's increasing engrossment in her business, he felt it more and more necessary that Sydney go on with her training. A profession was a safeguard and there was another point. It had been decided that Anna was not to know her condition. If she was not worried, she might live for years. There was no sure way to make her suspected then by bringing Sydney home. Sydney sent Katie to ask Dr. Ed to come over after dinner. With the sunset, Anna seemed better. She insisted on coming downstairs and even sat with him on the balcony until the stars came out, talking if Christine's true so and rather, fretfully, of what she would do without the parlors. You shall have your own boo-draw upstairs, said Sydney valiantly. Katie can carry your tray up there. We are going to make the sewing room into your private sitting room and I shall nail the machine top down. This pleased her. When Kay insisted on carrying her upstairs, she went in a flutter. He is so strong, Sydney, she said, when he had placed her on her bed. How can a clerk bending over a ledger be so muscular? When I have callers, will it be all right for Katie to show them upstairs? She dropped asleep before the doctor came and when at something after eight the door of the Wilson House slammed and a figure crossed the street, it was not Ed at all but the surgeon. Sydney had been talking rather more frankly than usual. Lately there had been a reserve about her. Kay, listening intently that night, read between words a story of small persecutions and jealousies, but the girl minimized them after her way. It's always hard for probationers, she said. I often think Miss Harrison is trying my metal. Harrison? Carlotta Harrison. And now that Miss Greg has said she will accept me, it's really all over. The other nurses are wonderful, so kind and helpful. I hope I shall look well in my cap. Carlotta Harrison was in Sydney's hospital. A thousand contingencies flashed through his mind. Sydney might grow to like her and bring her to the house. Sydney might insist on the thing she always spoke of, that he visit the hospital and he would meet her face to face. He could have depended on a man to keep his secret. This girl with her somber eyes and her threat to pay him out for what had happened to her, she meant danger of a sort that no man could fight. Soon, said Sydney through the warm darkness, I shall have a cap and be always forgetting it and putting my hat on over it. The new ones always do. One of the girls slept in hers the other night. They are tool, you know, and quite stiff, and it was the most erratic looking thing the next day. It was then that the door across the street closed. Sydney did not hear it, but Kay bent forward. There was a part of his brain always automatically on watch. I shall get my operating room training too, she went on. That is the real romance of the hospital. A surgeon is a sort of a hero in a hospital. You wouldn't think that, would you? There was a lot of excitement today. Even the probationer's table was talking about it. Dr. Max Wilson did the Edwards operation. The figure across the street was lighting a cigarette, perhaps after all. Something tremendously difficult. I don't know what. It's going into the medical journals. A Dr. Edwards invented it, or whatever they call it. They took a picture of the operating room for the article. The cameraman had to put on operating clothes and wrap the camera in sterilized towels. It was the most thrilling thing, they say. Her voice died away as her eyes followed Kay's. Max, cigarette in hand, was coming across under the elanthus tree. He hesitated on the pavement, his eyes searching the shadowy balcony. Sydney? Here, right back here. There was a vibrant gladness in her tone. He came slowly toward them. My brother is not at home, so I came over. How's the lecture you are with your balcony? Can you see the step? Coming with bells on. Kay had risen and pushed back his chair. His mind was working quickly. Here in the darkness he could hold the situation for a moment. If he could get Sydney into the house, the rest would not matter. Luckily the balcony was very dark. Is anyone ill? Mother is not well. This is Mr. Lamoine, and he knows who you are very well indeed. The two men shook hands. I've heard a lot of Mr. Lamoine. Didn't the street beat the Lindbergs the other day? And I believe the Rosenfelds are in receipt of sixty-five cents a day, and considerable peace and quiet through you, Mr. Lamoine. You're the most popular man on the street. I've always heard that about you. Sydney, if Dr. Wilson is here to see your mother. Going, said Sydney, and Dr. Wilson is a very great person, Kay, so be polite to him. Max had roused at the sound of Lamoine's voice, not to suspicion of course, but to memory. Without any apparent reason he was back in Berlin, trampling the country roads and beside him. Wonderful night. Great, he replied. The mind's a curious thing, isn't it? In the instant since Miss Page went through that window, I've been to Berlin and back. Will you have a cigarette? Thanks, I have my pipe here. Kay struck a match with his steady hands. Now that the thing had come, he was glad to face it. In the flare his quiet profile glowed against the night. Then he flung the match over the rail. Perhaps my voice took you back to Berlin. Max stared, then he rose. Blackness had descended on them again, except for the dull glow of Kay's old pipe. For God's sake, shh, the neighbors next door have a bad habit of sitting just inside the curtains, but you sit down. Sydney will be back in a moment. I'll talk to you if you'll sit still. Can you hear me plainly? After a moment. Yes. I've been here in the city, I mean, for a year. Name's Lemoine, don't forget it, Lemoine. I've got a position in the gas office, clerical. I get $15 a week. I have reason to think I'm going to be moved up. That will be 20, maybe 22. Wilson stirred, but he found no adequate words. Only a part of what Kay said got to him. For a moment he was back in a famous clinic, and this man across from him, it was not believable. It's not hard work and it's safe. If I make a mistake, there's no life hanging on it. Once I made a blunder a month or two ago, it was a big one. It cost me $3 out of my own pocket, but that's all it cost. Wilson's voice showed that he was more than incredulous. He was profoundly moved. We thought you were dead. There were all sorts of stories. When a year went by, the Titanic had gone down, and nobody knew but what you were on it. We gave up. I, in June, we put up a tablet for you in the college. I went down there for the services. Let it stay, said Kay quietly. I'm dead as far as the college goes anyhow. I'll never go back. I'm limoing now, and for heaven's sake, don't be sorry for me. I'm more contented than I've been for a long time. The wonder in Wilson's voice gave way to irritation. But when you had everything, why good heavens, man, I did your operation today, and I've been blowing about it ever since. I had everything for a while, then I lost the essential. When that happened, I gave up. All a man in our profession has is a certain method, knowledge, call it what you like, and faith in himself. I lost my self-confidence, that's all. Certain things happened, kept on happening, so I gave it up, that's all. It's not dramatic. For about a year, I was damn sorry for myself. I've stopped whining now. If every surgeon gave up because he lost cases, I've just told you I did your operation today. There was just a chance for the man, and I took my courage in my hands and tried it. The poor devil's dead. K. Rose rather wearily, and emptied his pipe over the balcony rail. That's not the same, that's the chance he and you took. What happened to me was different. Pipe in hand, he stood staring out at the Atlantis tree with its crown of stars. Instead of the street with its quiet houses, he saw the men he had known and worked with and taught. His friends who spoke his language, who had loved him, many of them gathered about a bronze tablet set in a wall of the old college. He saw their earnest faces and gray vies. He heard, he heard the soft rustle of Sydney's dress as she came into the little room behind them. End of chapter 12.


horse with a speed of light, a cloud of dust, and a hearty high old silver, the lone ranger. Faithful Indian companion, Tonto, the masked rat of the plains led the fight for law and order in the early days of the western United States. The most notorious outlaws on the frontier learned to fear his strength and courage, his daring and his resourcefulness. It was he more than any other man who blazed the trail for civilization and made possible the winning of the West. Return with us now to those thrilling days of yesteryear. Come out of the past on the thundering hoof beach of the great horse silver, the lone ranger rides again. The clinking of glasses and noisy conversation in the cafe of Mason's corners suddenly stopped. The roughly clad men who had crowded the bar drew back and in the space it was cleared, two men confronted each other. One was middle-aged, heavy jawed and muscular. The other was in his early twenties, pale and thin. When he spoke it was with difficulty that he kept his voice from trembling. You ain't got no right to say that to me, Mr. Thompson. You ain't got the right. Well, I said it. Well, you take it back. When I say a thing young fellow, I usually mean it. That being the case, it stands as is. Now, you figure I'm doing anything about it? Well, on me ain't crooks. No, not regular ones, I guess. I'm telling you.  If you figure giving a hideout to the worst killer this state ever seen don't amount to anything. That ain't so. We never did. You're doing it right now. You just prove it. Boy, you... Look here.  Well, I... You can't deny it. Mr. Thompson, I ain't saying it's so, and I'm not saying it ain't.  That's in the district, ain't he? I don't know. And who else but better have to hide out?   It's the pay you've been getting from bad for hiding them from the law. You don't know what...  Listen!  Don't you know I'm just waiting for you to fill your hands since I can shoot you down without it being said I draw it on a man that wouldn't fight?  You miserable old cat! Now will you fight? Now will you go for that gun? Go away, please. I haven't hit you again? I won't take that from you anybody. I don't have... And what are you waiting for? I'll show you. It's a mask man. Shot the gun for Milts man. Where'd he come from? That ain't bad. Is it... Oh, don't move.  Who? What is... Now this way, outside, quick. I can't... Hurry. What do you want with me? Who are you? You'll find that out later. Now out this door. No, you don't, Milts. Keep away from that gun the next time I lay where it'll do the most good. Bad Tanner, you rotten dry culture. You'll stay where you are till you hear it right away. And after that, you'll go outside only at your own risk. Come on, folks. There they go. Get that man. It's Bad Tanner I'll tell you after. Mr. Inside before you talk. Go on inside. This fella showed up at the cafe and brought me here. And if you think I know the reason why, you're local.  No, Carrie, I'm not. You must be. But what you think right now doesn't matter.  Paul, what's he talking about? You know as much about it as I do. I'll explain. Tonight, Paul almost got himself killed. Huh? Is that so, son? Is he telling the truth? Oh, you know it, Paul. You know you're no match for Thompson.  He's just asking for trouble. Just a second. What's this about Thompson, huh? Paul, what's he mean? It wasn't nothing. I could help. Thompson accused the two of you of hiding the man who murdered his son. What's that? He knows just as everyone else knows. Had you been hiding someone, you wished to keep undercover. Both of you have spent more money lately than either of you could hope to earn in a year. And Thompson knows that when bad escaped from the penitentiary, he made the boast he'd returned to this district. He believes you've given bad refuge. What else could you expect? That's crazy. Is it? And why did Thompson attempt to drive your son into a gunfight? But, but I don't... So, Paul, that's what everybody's figuring, I guess. You can see it on their faces. I don't see what to... Carrie, huh? Who are you hiding? Who is it you've been buying extra supplies for? We... Well, we ain't hiding nobody, but that's just a pack and on since. I don't know where such crazy notions get started. Don't lie to me, Carrie. But I'll tell you... I have reason of my own for being quite sure it isn't bad. But as certainly as I'm standing here, it's someone. Well, if you think that, just sex the place. You wouldn't have him here, of course. He's probably hidden somewhere back in the swamp. No. No such thing. I'll tell you now. Very well. Forget it. If you won't talk, there's no use wasting time and argument. You claim the same thing, Paul? We ain't lying to the stranger. And anyhow, what's it to you? I'm after Bette.  We don't know anything about him. That's the gospel truth. Perhaps not. Then why do you keep on... There's some kind of a mystery concerning this other fellow who's hiding near here, Carrie. I will, I... I suspect that somehow it's connected with Bette. Oh, wait! And before I leave the district, I'm going to learn what that connection is. Hold on! Hi! Come back here, mister! Come on, Paul! Come on, do it! See? He's gone. Paul, what does he know? You think he knows the truth? You think he does? I don't guess so. But the way he talked... Paul was mostly bluff. Paul. Yeah, Paul? Did Milt Thompson really try to start a fight with you? Did he? He did, Paul. If the masked man hadn't showed up just when he did, maybe I'd have been a goner. Son, you've got to stay away from Milt. Oh, I ain't afraid. Take that I'm thinking of. Yeah. Yeah, I know. If Milt grilled you or you grilled Milt, it'd be just the most awful thing that could happen. And you know why. Thompson. I did, Travis. Come in, close the door. Something you wanted?  Oh, yeah, Mr. Thompson. I'm right handy. I can rope or toss the horse. Were you telling me the truth when you said you'd been a civilian scout for a while with Colonel Thorpe's regimen along the border? Why, sure was. You should be a good man on trail. Oh, sure, you bet. Why, lose some cattle? No, but something happened last night. Huh? Well, Reagan, I'd better explain, Travis, and then you'll say me what I want. I don't know whether you've heard about it or not, being new to these parts, but just a little over a month ago, my boy Jim was killed. Oh, no, that's too bad. He was murdered. He was? Murdered, Travis, by one of the yellowest dogs that ever hit this county, Bat Tanner. I've heard teller this kind. I'd sent Jim over to the county's seat to collect some cattle, money from a buyer. When he left town, he was carrying over $20,000 in his saddlebags. Well, he never showed up. Oh. He's never been found to this day. Huh? Then how did he... Do I know Bat killed him? Because a man from Yellow Medicine happened to see it from a distance when Bat held Jim up on the trail. Oh. This fellow seen Jim and Bat fighting. He rode to help, but there was a stream between him. By the time he found a place to cross it, they disappeared. Wow, dog gone. Bat must have had time to get rid of Jim somehow. That part of the country's pretty broken up. It would have been hard, I reckon. And he hid the gold and lit out. Hid the gold? Well, it worn on him when he was caught. Oh, he was caught, wasn't he? You're not here across the state line on another charge. The one he was tried and sent to jail on. I guess he was wanted by the law from one end of the west to the other. Yeah, I heard that, too. Anyhow, long as we couldn't find where Jim was, it wouldn't have done any good to bring Bat back and try him here. To prove a murder, you'd better show the fellow was killed. Uh-huh. He was slated to hang, anyhow. There's another killing he was arrested for. He was just waiting in jail till the day said by the judge for him to swing. Only he didn't wait. He busted out. That was about two weeks ago. You mean he got clean away? Yeah. And nobody at all has got any notion where he is? I have. You have? I said something happened last night. Well, last night a mask man showed up at the cafe. That's all. And that mask man was Bat Tanner. Well, I'll be. Then you know the polecat by sight, huh? Well, I don't know. Nobody around here did for that matter. Then just so happened that fellow from Yellow Medicine was riding through. Bat could have killed my boy. Never been suspicious. Oh, oh, I see. But that mask, comrade, was bad, all right, Travis? I ain't got a doubt of it. That's where you come in. How? I got reason to believe he's being hit by the carries of ourselves. There's two of them. The old Zeke and Paul, his boy. If he is being hit by him, it's in that swamp. Starts and beg of their place. It's a big one. Runs clear back for miles. Good hideout, huh? None better. But what did he be doing there? What would he come back to these parts for? The gold. But why don't he just get it in bamboos? He can't. When he was sitting in jail, he boasted to one of the other prisoners that he was going to bust out. Come back here and dig that gold up. The fellow he told had too passed it on to the warden. The law is looking for bad all through these parts, and he likely knows it. He's got to lay low. Yeah, I savvy. And so? That's the man I want you to find. If I trade in this fellow carry or his boy? That'd be the best way. There will be a chore. I'll make it with you a while. Or are you afraid you can't do it? Mr. Thompson? Well? If you're paying me extra for this job, you'd better draw out the cash as quick as you can. Yeah? Because it's just about mine right now. Rush. One door going, if they get done it. That's Paul.  Paul, let you. It's me, Paul. Where are you going? Would you settle for it? Paul, I reckon you know. You're going into swamp, Paul. I've got to. It ain't safe. But he's waiting there for me, Paul. He's waiting. I ain't been able to get grew up to him for almost three days. I've just got to go there. Son, you'll get caught. No, I won't, Paul. I'll be careful. Then wait till it's darker. Wait till the moon goes down. It ain't going to get no darker. But, son, I know that you're just acting foolish. You're all the time scared to death and somebody's going to follow me. Shucks. Who's got the time to wait around just to see where I go? I don't know.  I'll be long for daylight. Son, I wish to thunder you wouldn't do this. You know good reason? Well, somehow I just got a feeling you shouldn't. Oh, it's the night time, Paul. When morning comes, you'll feel different. Paul, see you later. Wait. Get up, fella. Get up there.  The curtain falls on the first act of our Lone Ranger story. Before the next exciting scenes, please permit us to pause for just a few moments. Now to continue our story. Young Paul Kerry rode along the treacherous trail that led to the interior of the swamp. Finally, just at midnight, he drew his mud-splashed mount to a halt. He waited for a moment listening and slipped from the saddle. Then gave a low call. Hi. It's me, Paul. Don't shoot. It's Paul. He was answered from the open door of a ruined shack almost hidden to the surrounding vegetation. Paul? Come ahead. Stay there, house. I'm scared something will happen. Where have you been? Couldn't you get here before? Better get back inside. Yeah. I'm sorry you had to wait. Just ain't been safe, though. Paul didn't think I should have come tonight, even. Knew you had to have grub, though. Yeah, yeah. It's cold stuff. You won't need a fire. You won't need to make smoke. Oh, I've been near to starve. That'll hold you for a while. Thanks. But Paul, you say there's been danger? You don't mean anybody knows I'm hiding here, do they? Not you. Well, I do. But they got a good notion somebody is. They figure it's Batman. They won't find me, will they? Oh, shucks now, fella. Don't worry. Who'd locate you in here? Yeah. Yeah. Paul and me will be in careful. And nobody will make a stalk. You'll be all right. Just don't take chances. Stay right here till it's all right for you to go out. We'll let you know when. Well, but ain't they ever going to catch bat again? Sure, they will. Sure they will. Everything's going to be just fine. You can't stay away from the law forever. Paul, you don't know how awful it is. Hiding away in this dreaded swamp day after day and night after night. Sure, fella, sure. Knowing all the time I can't show up again till bat's been hanged. Well, don't think about it. Now, how's that bullet hole? Healing all right? Well, it ain't bad. Then I'd better be getting back. Paul's worried, almost local. Anything special you want for next time? You've been bringing me enough. You sure? Yeah. Oh, you've been swell, Paul. You and your pa both. I won't forget this. You'd have done the same for us. Well, good luck, fella. Thanks. How do you do? Bye. Up in this blasted swamp. Hardly see the sun and damp, cold lake all over. I wish the thunder had gone this mud. What? What, you, Paul? Paul, are you coming back? Who's out there? Who is it? I've got your hands moving out last year. Who are you? That's what I aim to find out about you, Mr. Stand over this way, where I can get a look at your face. How'd you get here? That was easy. Just trailed the kid that was just here. That's my horse back whip. Well, I'll be switched. You thought I'd done you in, then? Your bat-tanner. Didn't you recognize me? It was a dark agnab. This ain't a good one. Well, what do you want? What are you going to do? Gosh, I never figured on anything like this when I hired out to find you. Hired out? Sure. Well, I, more than first, seemed to want to know who it was them caries was fetching grub to in here. And the best thing of all, he figured you was me. I will. Now stand right where you are. Don't move one dog on in. I'm going to tie and gag you. You're taking me out? You're going to make me leave here? Oh, no. Well, then what are you? When you're tied up and fixed so you can't yell out, I'm leaving you here and riding back. What for? Then I'll tell this fella I'm working for where he are. And he can finish you off his self. Who? Who is he? Can't you guess, kid? He's a gent that goes by the name of Milt Thompson. Oh, no. Mr. Thompson, I located him for you all right. Where is he? In the swamp, like you figured. And he's? That tenor.  Travis, how can I find him? Does he know you're located him? Is he around? Of course, he don't know. I was in a million miles of there. Good. I scattered paper on the trail coming back, so you can get there again. Call my man. Tell every man the place to drop what he's doing and report to me. Sure, Mr. Thompson, but. But what? Well, if I was you, boss, I wouldn't fool with the fella. I heard him talking to young Kerry in the shack where he's hiding. He said if he was ever found, he'd never give up. I just as soon he didn't. Yeah. I said I wanted the pool cat dead or alive. But if I had my choice, I'd rather it was dead. Into the saddle. Travis here, located bad tenor. We're going after the skunk. Ready? Then follow me. Get up there. Those fellas topping outside. Where they look like? Milt Thompson. But what is he? Be careful, young boys. Pete, you and shorty stay here to guard him. All right. Well, Mr. Thompson, what do you think you're doing? He found bad tenor's hideout. No. And the day's just finished. Oh, no, wait. You don't serve me that silly in there.  But you don't serve me weight. Just listen. Come on, fellas. Come back. Come back here, Mr. Thompson. Wait. You don't know what... The man Milt Thompson knew as Travis did not return with the rancher to the swamp. As soon as Thompson and his men had left, he went to the corrals.  He didn't know that the lone ranger had been watching the ranch house and had been waiting for just such a move. Come on, Silver. Come on, old fellow. That's a bad tenor all right, old boy. He trapped himself the minute he saddled that gray. Oh, fellow, we'll see what he's up to. Hurry, Silver, hurry. But in the meantime, following the scattered scraps of paper that marked the trail, Thompson and his men drew closer to the shack. It was late in the morning and a bright sun shone overhead, but little of its light penetrated the swamp. The men rode to a breast and at the head of the column, milk Thompson spoke quietly to the manager's side. According to what Travis said, we ought to be almost there. Why didn't he come along? Too tired. He was up the last 30 hours. What's that there? Huh? See? It's like a kind of little clearing. You make it out? It does look like one. If it is, it's shack supposed to be in it. Just the other side. Travis said it weren't easy to see. Too well hid. Then we better pull up. You think so? Hold it, fellas. Oh, boy. Oh, boy. Oh, boy. Oh, boy. Now what? We'll get closer on foot. Come on. What's the place around it before we let him know we're here? No need. Just get the clearing covered and we've got him. What if he ducks out back? Can't. All that back through there ain't nothing but quicksand. He wouldn't get five rods. Yeah, this is close enough. Scatter a bit, men. All right. You date. When you're all set, let me know. And I'll call out. Right. All set, boss. Bet. Bet, Tanner. We know you're in there, Pat. Enter up. Don't talk, eh? Hey, listen to this. I got a dozen men here. You ain't got a chance. Walk out of there with your hands over your head in just one minute. Or we'll blast you in that shack right out of the swamp. Inside the shack, Jim lay on the floor. His feet and hands were securely bound.  He heard the threats of those who waited but could make no reply. Outside, no toms and hell, two loaded guns ready for action. This is your last chance. I've given you more time. I said I would already. Come out of there. Come out or we'll pour so much lead in there we'll rip it apart. Coming, Bert. Well then, take it. Let us let the skunk have it. Wait, boy. Wait. I thought it hurts on the just end. Listen. I think somebody's riding this way. Boss, you better wait to see who it is. I'll wait. If it's the sheriff who heard what we're doing and wants to take Bat himself, he can go to Thunder. Bat killed Jim and I'm paying him back myself. He's closer. That don't sound like a sheriff's voice to me. And who is it? There he is. You can see him. He's riding double. He's got somebody in the saddle with him. Out of the way. It's a mask man. Hey, maybe that's Bat himself. Maybe he's got... And that's Travis with him. Don't shoot. Don't shoot. You'll get Travis. Put down your guns. Hold it, hold it. Hold it, hold it. Travis, this man is Bat tenor. Get down. Don't believe him, Mr. Thompson. Don't believe him. He's lying. Hey, come back. There's somebody in there. Stop that man. Don't you fire, Thompson.  Come in here and look. Boss, what's he talking about? They're keeping covered out. Soon find out. Come on, man. Paul. Jim. Jim, my son. See this man, Donner? I just took it off. Jim was gagged with it. That's why I couldn't let you know who he was. My son, we thought you was dead, we. Paul, I had to let you think that. Better let me explain, Jim. Thompson, I made Bat confess everything. When he escaped from jail, he headed it once for this section. He hired out to you under the name of Travis. He knew that you didn't know him by sight, that the law would never look for him and the employee of the very man whose son he was supposed to have killed. You knew Travis was Bat tenor all the time? I had suspected him, but I wasn't sure until I saw him riding his gray. He raised his own personal horse. I'd seen it before. But while he worked for you, we rode the horses you furnished. But I can't. No, wait. He was heading for the place. He'd hid the gold.  He had to risk leaving the district. But Jim, why didn't my son let me know he was living, but Bat hadn't killed him. And Bat explained that also. Jim got in a gambling script. It seemed to him worse than it was. And Bat, learning about it, tried to blackmail him on the day you met your son with the cattle money. Jim refused to be blackmailed, and they fought. Bat thought he'd finished Jim. Instead, Jim made his way to the carries and with their help hid out here in the swamp. But why? Because Jim hoped that as long as Bat thought him dead, he'd keep silent about that scrape, having nothing to gain by talking. Then when Bat had been hanged, Jim could show up and the story would never come out. But Bat's escape complicated things. Well, I... I paid for that trouble I got a thousand times over. The dickens with it. Son, I'm so all fired, glad to see you alive again. I don't care what you done. Thompson, you'll find your cattle money at your home. I'll let Bat dig it up, then capture them and took the money back. Missed, man. I don't know who you are, but... but it hadn't been for you with. With us all set to blast the shack. Forget it, Thompson. But there's simply else you'd better remember. Paul Kerry and his father. What? Jim and G. Hoss have had them carries. They're all in a gunfight. And all that time, he was helping my son. Paul, you ain't done nothing to them, have you? No, they're all right. With son, we better get back and thank them for all we owe them. Come on. I don't feel... So you have just heard as a copyrighted feature of the Lone Ranger Incorporated.


Welcome to All Hands Update, I'm Petty Officer Jonathan Pancall. From all of us here at All Hands Update, we would like to wish you happy holidays. Enjoy these shoutouts from our friends in New York City. There is no way that we can fully repay all of you for what you do for us. We are here in the United States of America safe and sound because of what you are doing each and every hour of each and every day around the globe. So thank you from the bottom of our hearts, Merry Christmas, Happy New Year, Happy Holidays. Thank you, thank you for all you do. I have never been more impressed or more honored than to work with some of you all in Afghanistan and other places that I've been and to be able to highlight some of what you guys are doing on the program.