THE FOOL'S TAX.

New Zealand Herald, Volume XLIV, Issue 13626, 20 December 1907, Page 3

THE FOOL'S TAX.

fCBLISHED BY'SPECIAL ARRANGEMENT.

kt' BY LUCAS CLEEVE. £;£. .thor of " The Rose Geranium," " The Jh-' Fool-killer," Etc., Etc. ' SYKOSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS. Mrs. Morland, wife of a United States jjenWor, with considerable wealth, receives - » telffSram that her only son Hurry has married in Baltimore. The bride is one Grace Volner, whom Mrs. Morland had forbidden her noil to marry on account of her poverty and obscurity. Mrs Morland is shocked at the receipt of the news. She had other plans for Harr<-'s future She brings her husband on the scene, and Mr Morland. who is accustomed to do as his wit» tells him. is packed off to Baltimore with instructions to reason with Harry, and, if possible, get a divorce. Harry sent a lettc following his '• telegram, but Mr-?. Morland's reply is that she can never receive his wife, and by the time his father, chasing him round on his honeymoon, catches him up he has begun to realise that charming as Grace Volner is. and much as ho loved her. the marriage had . been a mistake. Harry meets his father. He is unfitted for work, and though somewhat ashamed of himself, he is persuaded to leave Grace and go on a trip to Europe, preferring this to poverty. Mr. Morland undertakes to break the news to Grace. How it all came about no one ever quite understood, but in a year's time Grace had consented to a divorce, and Harry was a free man. Two years later she married again. A# for Harry, he soon forgot her amidst, the distractions of foreign travel. But what neither his father nor his mother noticed was a very subtle change in his character. Mr aud Mrs. Morland have two daughters. Bertha and Mary. The Senator, who has found his wife pathetic, has lavished ail his love on them. Though rich and powerful— not as rich as he was reputed to be—he was a lonely man whose heart carried a secret that he shared with none. After a ball at the French Embassy, he returns home by himself, his wife and daughters having gone in the carriage. He finds Bertha sitting up for him. She tells him that the Marquis de Bois Fendu do la Ferroniere has proposed to her. and that she has accepted him. The news does not please rum, for he dislikes foreigners. Mrs. Borland, however, is delighted. Mary is the only one who shares her father's feelings. CHAPTER V.—(Continued). a nd now the Morlands were immersed in the occupation of preparing for the wedding, which was to be a magnificent, affair. The marquis had written to his mother and sister to come over for it, bat they had excused themselves the Morlands weren't quite' sure whether" it was intended as a slight or not. A charmins; cousin of the Frenchman's came over to be best man, aud the business of engraving and embroidering and stamping coronets went on. The marquis' cigarcase had been seized upon as a pattern, and everything that could possibly bear a coronet had one. The Morlands went to bed dreaming 'of coronets. They were on the lingerie, on the table linen, on the carriage rugs: and the bridegroom's gift to her. his bride— bill for which, it was cleverly arranged by his cousin, was to be sent 111 three months after the marriagewas a huge marquis' coronet in diamonds, to be pinned anywhere, so that it could be seen. It was mounted an fans, on scent bottles, on brushes, even on tooth-brushes, and it was with the greatest- difficulty that Mary restrained Bertha from having it embroidered on her shoes. It was 011 blotting-paper! 1 and on note-paper, and on the outside of prayerbooks. She was at least getting her money's worth in coronets, by marrying a Frenchman. An Englishman is so chary of his coronet and his crest, rather ashamed of it than otherwise; but the French are second to none in their love of display, and the fashioning of coronets became the fascination of the hour. Magnificent gifts poured in, and Bertha was, as her fiancee said, supremely, happy. "( It was the' night before the wedding, at which the President and his family had promised to be present, as a fitting tribute of respect to a senator who had never opposed his wishes in the senate, nor even kicked at Empire, and who had been 011 the lookout for years for any little corner of the earth which could be seised by the United States, just to keep the army in practice, and make the world talk of America, that Bertha seemed to loee ber nerve. ... The two sisters, were ping together' to-night, partly ■ because it was their last night together, and partly—a great deal—because Bertha's wed-ding-dress was stretched out on her bed. Bertha seemed to have grown suddenly frightened. i " Supposing he isn't nice to me, and I all alone over there," she said. "If I telegraph for you or mommer or popper, you'll come, one of you, won't you?" 41 If you feel like that I wouldn't ; marry him." Mary was quite upset. But Bertha felt that she could not at this itage relinquish the coronet, and now that the money was all right the marquis, whose name, bv-the bye, was Henri, had really been quite affectionate in a French •way. "Oh. of comae, I don't mean it, only I wonder how I shall get on with his mother and sister; you know they are all going to live with us in the country. She has the use of the chateau for life, but I'm thankful to say that she doesn't in Paris. I expect we'll be most of the time in Paris."

As a matter of fact, Bertha was beginning to ' grow homesick before she had started. She was beginning to realise that it was one thing to pay a short visit to Paris and meet American friends, and quite another to live in the smart world of the Faubourg St. Germain, which had even looked down upon Napoleon 111. To be sure, of late years some of the old names have been more sensible, and mingled with the crowd, as it were, but she had a shrewd suspicion that she was going to be bored to death by his people and/his friends, and that if she stepped but of her frame and had a good time, she would be despised by the people she was'going to marry into. He, had told her that his mother was very strict—tres correote she felt certain that all her money wouldn't prevent their criticising her. Luckily, she knew two or three Americans in" Paris td whom she could go. as she expressed it, when he looked like cutting her throat.

But Mary declared that it was positively wicked to talk like that if she didn't think it, and a crime to marry him if she did. She did not feel quite happy in her mind about the marriage. She even confided her doubts to her mother, who panted in short spurts which sounded very annoyed, that she did hope Bertha wasn't going to change her mind at the last minute. She wasn't at all sure that Mary"wasn't a little jealous of Bertha's marrying so well, but she had no one but herself to thank if she hadn't done as well for herself, for she always would sit about with that stupid Fred Whelan,' whom no one knew. The fact was that Mrs. Morland was counting on Bertha's marriage to give her an excuse to live in Paris. In Paris there were few senators' wives, and she was made much of by the American colony. She was perfectly certain that her husband wouldn't ever make a name for himself. He wasn't at all brilliant, and when Bertha, their chief attraction, had gone, she was sure that she could never endure the house with only Mary for long. So, as nobody interfered, and Bertha was set upon coronets, the marriage took place at Trinity Church, with a great deal of brilliancy, and the ceremony was repeated at the Catholic Church, and reported in all the papers. All the members of the diplomatic coins were there, and the Presidential party, and crowds of Vans from New York, and the bride left the same night for New York, en route for Switzerland.

I CHAPTER VI. ;,"?, It was barely an hour after the de- ; ~; (torture of the young couple that Sena- ... tor 1 Morland took his wav to the " New I'.1'. /VVillaid." His face was even sadder than Usual. He had hated the look of the ; house after his daughter had left. _ Mrs. Morland and Mary were entertaining a few lingering guests, and the sight of the breakfast-room, where but an hour ago /,- his favourite daughter had still been stand--1? ing, laughing, a,l d talking, sickened him. i'/"i , Her departure seemed to emphasise the 'discomfort of his life, the mental disjll. comfort, which is so much more unpleasIH/;»nt than the physical, and he was once "lore wondering why fate had played him *» many tricks. This he often wondered, *"d the answer which seemed close at KAhuiid was one which he would never adlife ■

*■- As he neared the hotel his thoughts reverted to the object which had taken him there, and for the first time he wondered if the letter he carried in his pocket had anything to do with the secret of his life, the secret which somehow tainted every moment of his existence. Ho had been too busy 'all day to read the letter again. Now he took it out and re-read it. When he had received it in the morning it had not occurred to him that there was anything unusual about it. Now it filled him with apprehension. It was a letter from a man asking him for an interview, either at his club, or his house, or the Senate, and adding that he would be at the " Willard" between four and five o'clock', if he preferred to call on him there. On any other day ho would have made an appointment, or written to him through his secretary, But his daughter's wedding had occupied every moment, and it was only after her departure that, referring to the engagements of the afternoon, lie remembered that this man wrote that he was leaving Washington that night, and that he awaited an answer at the " Willard." He received many such letters, and it was characteristic of the mental burden he carried about with him that he never neglected to answer such letters through his secretary, and, if possible, to grant the interview. He had done this for so many years now that he had censed to be aware that he lived in constant dread of a mine being sprung upon him. It would be simpler to call at hotel, and find out what the man wanted. Nine times out of ten it was a man from 1 his State wanting his assistance to some appointment. He never could have told why, after he had sent in his card, lie felt uneasy. In a few seconds a man of middle age came into the lobby, and introduced himself as the writer'of the letter. His manner, his expression, were non-committal; he was neither confiding nor mysterious.- As he glanced round the crowded hall he remarked: " I wish we could find a quieter corner, senator." In another second he had gone to the manager and asked for a private room. ' ■*

Senator Morland felt a renewal of apprehension as he followed the man into the room, and took the seat that was offered him. The window was open, and outside everything looked springlike and bright. The very brightness outside made the room look cheerless and dark.

"I am very glad you came to see me, senator ;it will save a lot of trouble. I must explain who I am. I've rather a delicate piece of business in hand, and I'm afraid you may think it disagreeable; the sooner we get it over the better I'll be pleased, , and I expect you feel the same about it."

He paused, as if awaiting encouragement from Senator Morland, but the senator remained silent. Then the stranger took a pocket-book from the inner pocket of his coat, and drew a card from it and handed it to the senator.

"That's my firm. I'm Mr. Graham George Graham, as you saw- by my letter." The senator read the name of a firm he had never heard of beforea firm of attorneys in Philadelphia. He didn't know why, but the fact that this matt was from Philadelphia- made him nervous. He didn't owe any money, and he had no business relations with Philadelphia ; but he knew that Grace Volner had married a man from Germantown. It was funny how after all these years he was constantly thinking of Grace, or if not thinking of her,, at least that the memory of her returned every time something unusual occurred. He turned his chair round a little, so that the, light no longer fell on His face. The senator laid the card down on the table, near him, and crossed his legs; then, as the other man still" hesitated, he asked as calmly as he could, adopting a little senatorial pomposity. • ■■"' "■'- . "Well, sir, and what can I do for you?" ■'. The man drew his chair a little nearer. "I've come on behalf of Mrs. Dewbridge." The senator's jaws relaxed a little. Dewbridge! He never could remember the name of the man she had married, but now he remembered it quite well. His face paled a little. "Mrs. Ddwbrtdgc? * * Mrs. ; Dewbridge?" He stared blankly at the man opposite him. "Yes. We've done all her business for some time." The senator flushed; he was beginning to get angry. He had nothing to do with Mrs. Dewbridge. He was inclined to send the man about his business. But there was something which always seemed to check his power of letting himself go. "Perhaps you don't know who I mean, and I hardly like to mention it," the man went on, "but I mean the lady who was —who—well, the; lady who was Mrs. Morland." The senator stiffened. "I .really don't see why she should come to me. That was settled years ago. The lady married again, and so did I. I really must decline to have any further discussion." Ha made a movement as if he were about to rise from his chair. " I won't detain you many minutes, sir, but there are one or two things I should like to have you know." The attorney spoke more hurriedly now. He had always realised that it was a delicate matter, and he had a wholesome fear of being classed in the category of blackmailers; but this was a genuine matter of business. "You didn't know, sir, that there was a son, did you? A fine The senator started; then he lost his temper. "That's a lie, sir." He felt perfectly positive that it was a lie; then he burst out laughing. " It's no gofod coming to me with tales like that now, sir. Why, the lady married again." • "Yes, she married again; but not tillafter the birth of the child.' " How am I to know if all this is true?" "I can prove it, fir." The lawyer took out a bundle of papers, and offered them to the senator. "I don't believe a word of it—it is .1 trumped up story. If there was, what have I got to do with it? The man married her." "Yes; but he didn't know. Her mother brought up the childsaid it was. the child of a relation. Then the mother died, and she told her husband, and he left her." "Well, but she's got plenty of money." The attorney smiled. " No, that's just the point. I always thought you didn't know. When your father died the money stopped. " Why, I thought" Senator Morland broke off. "Well, now we come to the point. It was an understood thing, so I understand it, that if your—if Mrs. Mor—if the lady agreed to the divorce, that there was to be five thousand settled upon her, but when your father died no provision had been made. It had been paid regularly as an allowance, but when he died, the lawyers made out that he had never intended it to go beyond his lifetime." The senator fixed his eyes on the opposite wall, and was silent for a few seconds. Was it possible that this was so? Then he turned on the man. " Why. my father died eleven years ago. Why do they come to me now?'' "Her mother, Mrs, Volner, died three years ago. Til) her death she kept the child, and {hey kept the secret from the man, Dewbridge. Then, when the mother died, Mrs. Dewbridge told her husband, and he deserted her. For the last three years she has supported herself by her own work. She paints very beautifully on satin."

The man's words, how they brought back those days when she and he had talked of her painting for a livelihood. Now, its then, ,he asked himself, unconscious of the mingled pathos and humour of the question, whether it was possible that anyone could desire to buy these monstrosities. " Now she is very ill. She has had to give up her work, and she wants to start the lad —to put him into business, or to send him to college. ' (To be continued daily. )