If you want to know what became of Ruth I'll tell you--I'll tell you
right off. She fell in love with Bob Jennings. She fell awfully in love
with him--absorbingly, overwhelmingly in love. Ruth, the lofty, the
high, the pedestalled! Ruth who prided herself on her coolness and her
circumspection, Ruth who boasted that fate had foreordained a brilliant
marriage, lost her head over a young college instructor who taught
English composition to freshmen and sophomores, at a salary something
less than three thousand a year. It simply proves that the eternal
feminine will crop out, however much it has been choked and blighted,
just like a dry bulb that's been kept in a damp dark cellar all winter.
Once you put it in the sun and warmth, and give it a little water, it
just can't help but grow up bright and green--brilliant rank green,
full of juicy stalks and buds. Why, Ruth got to be such a normal sort
of girl that she blushed every time Bob's name was mentioned. Ruth the
invulnerable! She even lost her appetite--of all ordinary things--and
great circles appeared under her eyes. The most astounding feature to
me was that Ruth fell in love before she was asked to. Imagine that if
you can. Ruth the haughty! The bulb began to send out shoots like a
common onion or potato, before invited by the sun. Things came to such
a pass that Will finally touched on the delicate subject with Bob. We
thought the man must be blind, crazy or heartless, not to have seen
the tell-tale symptoms in Ruth's manner long before circles began to
appear. But Will found that Bob was simply penniless. This university
pays salaries about large enough to keep two canaries alive, and Bob
told Will that though he had loved Ruth ever since the day he first saw
her, he couldn't say a word to her about it, because he already had a
mother quite alone and dependent living with him, besides a sister he
was trying to put through college, and he knew Ruth was a girl who had
been used to luxuries.
Bob is a kind of dreamy sort of man. He says the simplest things in
a way that thrills you. His letters, even his notes accepting dinner
invitations (and such are the only kind I have ever received) have a
kind of "way" with them--exclamation points here and there, single
words, capitalised and perioded, to express a whole sentence. Oh, Bob
is awfully individual; but he'll never be rich. He's a teacher, in the
first place; and in the second, he hasn't a father with a fortune. When
I realised that Ruth loved Bob Jennings, I was worried about those
demands of that temperament of hers--the soft-footed, unobtrusive
servants, the exquisite china, the fine lace, the dinners perfectly
served, all those expensive things that Bob couldn't supply in a
lifetime. If only Bob had had Breck's fortune, or Breck had had Bob's
poetic soul, everything would have been all right; for I am sure Ruth
would have eloped with Bob Jennings the first time he asked her.
I realised that Ruth was thinking seriously about Bob Jennings when
she began inquiring of Will about the salaries of instructors at the
university. Later she asked me how much rents were, in this section
of the country. She was perfectly aware from the very beginning that
Bob earned just about enough to afford an apartment the size of
Oliver's and Madge's, which she had formerly pronounced "cunning" but
"impossible." If Ruth, as she boasted, confined matrimonial questions
to the region of her head she ought to have sent Bob on his way the
very instant that she learned these salient facts about him. But she
didn't. She kept right on seeing him, night after night, as if he were
a millionaire who could supply her every desire by merely dashing off
his signature. She kept on reading her poetry with him, discussing art
and literature by the hour, and quoting him to me all the next day as
if he were an authority. Ruth simply lost her equilibrium over Bob. I
don't believe she had ever seen a man like him before. He certainly is
different from Breck Sewall, packed with sentiment, full impressions
and delicate sensibilities. I overheard him talking with Ruth about
women smoking once. He said you might as well deface a beautiful
picture by painting cigarettes in the angels' mouths. I suppose it
might have been the fact of being classed with the angels that "took"
Ruth so. Anyhow she wanted Bob for her own, salary or no salary; she
wanted him so badly that we couldn't even joke on the subject in her
presence. By Christmas-time the situation was tragic.
The quarrel with Edith, as all quarrels with Edith are sure to be, had
been of short duration. The fact that Mrs. Sewall had invited her to
assist at a tea before her final departure from Hilton had assuaged
her grievances somewhat in that quarter. Moreover a startling piece
of news in the New York papers in early December, ten days before the
Oliphant-Sewall wedding was to take place, had vindicated Ruth's course
of action even in Edith's eyes, beyond a shadow of doubt. It seems that
there was already a Mrs. Breckenridge Sewall. Breck had, after all,
been more decent than Will thought. He had married the girl whom he had
known in college, and it was she who was now bringing suit against the
groom-to-be. So as there existed nothing but kindly feelings between
Edith and Ruth now, there was no reason why Ruth should not have spent
the holidays in Hilton, but she simply wouldn't give up a single hour
with Bob Jennings. He always came Tuesdays, Thursdays, Saturdays and
Sundays. Our electric-light bill, dim as Ruth prefers the room to be,
was a dollar extra a month, after Bob began to call.
I was glad to have Ruth with me during the Christmas vacation.
Otherwise I should have been all alone. Early in December Will had gone
to a medical conference of some kind in Chicago, and just as he was
about to start for home, some big physician out there called him in, in
consultation, on the case of a little boy, who had some awful thing the
matter with his spine. He was the son of a millionaire, and experts and
specialists from all over the country had given up hope of recovery.
The father was just about crazy and when Will suggested some radical
treatment of his own which he had tried out successfully on one of
our little guinea-pigs, he wrote that that father simply clung to him
bodily, got hold of him with his hands and told him he could have every
cent of money that he possessed in the world if he'd only give him
back his son. So Will stayed. He would have stayed if the man had been
a pauper, if he'd loved his little boy like that. You see it is just
the way Will would feel about _his_ son. He understood. I wanted him
to stay too. I was only sorry that, after all the long nights he had
to sit up by the little chap's bed (for first there was an operation
before Will began his treatment; and Will wouldn't leave much to the
nurses), after the weary nights, the doubtful dawns, the long uncertain
journey to the day of the crisis, I was only sorry that Will couldn't
bring the little boy he saved home with him (if he saved him) for ours
to keep and love. He fought for the life of that child. He wanted it to
live awfully; and I, hundreds of miles away, would wake often in the
night during the long struggle--at three, at four, at seven when it
grows light--and wonder, and hope, and, I suppose you'd call it, pray.
It was just before Christmas that my dread and fear about that little
boy's life in Chicago became intermingled with a thrilling hope
that was very much nearer home. My startling realisation came so
unexpectedly to me after all the waiting, so undreamed, so miraculously
a gift of heaven, that I couldn't believe at first that there was any
real substantial fact about it. I couldn't, or I wouldn't, I don't know
which. I dreaded disappointment. But oh, the mere possibility of such
a joy being mine at last, made me so happy that I couldn't help but
show a jubilant spirit in my letters. I wrote to Will that somehow,
suddenly, I felt that that little boy out there was going to get well;
I'd been as doubtful as he last week, but now, unaccountably, I was
sure that the dear little fellow was going to live to grow up. I
didn't tell Will _why_ I felt so (it was such a silly woman's reason)
but I kept on writing it over and over again, every day, as I woke each
morning with the reassurance that the thing I wanted more than anything
in the world was coming true.
I never thought I was superstitious, but you know how over-particular
and over-careful you are about anything that's awfully important. Your
anxiety borders on superstition before you know it, and when somebody
accuses you, you simply don't care, you're so eager to have everything
propitious. Well, I somehow got to believing that that child's life
in Chicago that Will was striving so hard to save and the life of my
hidden joy had something to do with each other. The idea obsessed me;
I couldn't get it out of my head, fanatical and ridiculous as I knew a
sensible person would call it, and I kept writing to Will as if that
millionaire's son were mine. Will said it was a good thing that he
wasn't a practising physician if I took his cases so much to heart as
all that; but, just the same, he told me that my letters did fill him
with hope and courage.
All during this period, while Ruth was eating out her soul for Bob, and
Will was eating out his soul for the little sick boy, and I was eating
out my soul for a gift I'd have died to possess for a day, no one would
have guessed from Ruth's and my pleasant good-mornings, our casual
calm and undisturbed conversations at meal-time, and Will's cheerful
paragraphs, that we were all living through crises. Ruth and I with our
anxieties grew very near to each other at this time. She was a lot of
comfort to me and I tried to appreciate the feelings of a proud girl
in love with a man who has not spoken. During the evenings that Bob
called I sat up alone in Will's study, embroidering a centrepiece for
the dining-room table. Evening after evening my fingers fairly ached to
get out the rustling tissue paper patterns that Madge had left. But I
wouldn't let myself--I wasn't going to be heart-broken--I wouldn't let
myself put a needle to a single bit of nainsook.
It was on Saturday, January fifteenth, at ten o'clock at night, that
Will's special delivery letter came. My fingers trembled as they tore
at the envelope. I closed the study door to be alone. "If the little
boy has died," I said out loud, "I mustn't be superstitious. I simply
mustn't." But oh, he hadn't died! He hadn't died! Will's letter was one
triumphant song from beginning to end. The little boy had passed the
crisis; he was going to live; and live strong and well and normal. The
miracle had been performed; the serum had done its magic part; there
had been just the response that Will had dared to rely on; everything
had been gloriously successful; and he was coming home in five days!
I let myself be just as superstitious then as I wanted. I had said if
that little sick boy lived, so would my hopes, and I believed it. I
lit a candle and went up into the unfinished part of our attic where
there is a lot of old furniture packed away. It's rather a spooky
place in the dark, and cold too, but I didn't notice it to-night. 'Way
over in the corner stood the little old-fashioned cradle that belonged
to Will's mother--one of those low, wooden-hooded ones with rockers,
that you can rock with one foot. I had always planned to use that.
It's so quaint and dear and old-fashioned. In the cradle in a green
pasteboard box was a whole bundle of Will's baby-clothes--the queerest,
finest little hand-made muslin shirts, and dresses with a lot of stiff
embroidery and ruffles.
I had no idea what time it was when later I heard Ruth calling me from
below.
"Lucy, Lucy! Are you up there?"
"Yes," I answered. "What time is it?"
"Why, it's after midnight! _What_ are you doing?"
"Oh, looking up some old stuff. I'll be right down."
I met her on the stairs. I felt guilty. I was afraid that joy was
written all over my face. I might as well have just left the arms of a
lover.
"Oh, Ruth," I exclaimed, "isn't it _fine_? That little boy in Chicago
is going to live! I've had a special delivery from Will. Isn't it
_great_? He's going to get well!"
"That's splendid," said Ruth, and then, eyes sparkling, voice
trembling, she exploded, "Oh, Lucy, Bob has just gone! We're engaged!"
I blew out the candle for safety's sake, and put my arms about my
sister.
"Really, Ruth?" I exclaimed, and we sat down side by side on the dark
stairs.
"He's cared for me all along, _all_ the fall--_all this time_! Of
course we both couldn't help but know it! But Bob--he's just that
honourable he wouldn't say a word till he told me all about his
circumstances and--everything. Circumstances! Oh, dear, I--What do you
think of Bob, Lucy?" she broke off.
"I've always said that, next to Will, I'd rather marry Bob than any man
I've known," I replied heartily.
"And does Will like him?" quivered Ruth.
"Will calls Bob the salt of the earth. _Everybody_ likes Bob Jennings,
Ruth!"
"I know they do. I know it. I don't see how I ever got him. You know
all the men in his classes simply adore him! His courses are awfully
popular. He's going to have juniors and seniors next year. The
President stopped Bob the other day in the street and complimented him
on his work. Oh, Bob is going to go right to the top! And he isn't a
bit spoiled. His dear old silver-haired mother worships him just like
everybody else. Do you know, Bob was afraid I wouldn't want her to live
with us--she's the loveliest old lady--of course I do! And he thought,
besides, I'd hate an apartment and one maid. But he didn't know me.
My nature isn't the kind that requires 'Things.' If it didn't have
sympathy and understanding and inspiration, it's the kind that would
simply shrivel up and die. But Bob, he responds in just the right way,
to every side of my temperament. It's wonderful!"
"Isn't it?" I agreed. "Why, we're all happy to-night! Will because of
the little boy, and you because of Bob, and I because--" I hesitated
just a moment, and then in the pitch-dark of the back stairs I confided
to Ruth, "because the southeast chamber has a waiting-list."
"A waiting-list?" queried Ruth.
"Yes, I was upstairs when you called, seeing if Will's little
old-fashioned mahogany cradle would do."
"Oh, really!" said Ruth not very much impressed after all. "Of course.
My room _was_ meant to be the nursery. I remember now. Well, I suppose
you're glad, and there'll be a vacancy all right for some one to fill
in June. We're going to be married right after Commencement. We've got
it all planned. Isn't it exciting?" she exclaimed, eager on the trail
of her own happiness. "We're not going to Europe, or anything grand
like that. We're going to begin by saving. With my eight hundred a year
and Bob's salary, and a little he has besides, our income will be about
four thousand. We're going to have a lovely honeymoon! Bob likes the
word 'honeymoon' though no one uses it now. Bob's so funny! We're going
to camp out all alone for a whole month on a little lake we know about
in the Adirondacks and I'm going to cook while he cuts wood. Bob didn't
know I could cook. Why, he was awfully surprised when he discovered how
practical I am, and that I trim all my own hats even now. Lucy, don't
you think that Bob's _awfully_ nice-looking?" she asked and pressed my
hand.
"Yes I do. I've always told Will that Bob was the best-looking man on
the faculty," I replied and pressed back.
An hour later we groped down the stairs together. It was two o'clock in
the morning. The light in the study was still going and I went in and
turned it off.
At my door Ruth begged, "Come on into my bed, Lucy. I shall never be
able to get to sleep to-night."
"All right. In five minutes," I agreed.
When I went into Ruth's room she was sitting by the window ready for
bed, her long hair braided, and a knitted worsted shawl wrapped around
her white shoulders.
"Well, Ruth, it's half-past two," I said.
"Bob's coming at nine o'clock, before his first recitation," remarked
Ruth dreamily. "That's six hours, isn't it?"
"And a half," I smiled.
"Oh, Lucy," suddenly exclaimed Ruth, standing up before me, "I'm
terribly happy!"
"Are you? Well, so am I!" I replied.
"It just seems as if I'd have to open a window and let off steam
somehow!" said Ruth.
"Well, let's!" said I.
THE END
* * * * *
JOHN FOX, JR'S.
STORIES OF THE KENTUCKY MOUNTAINS
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list.
THE TRAIL OF THE LONESOME PINE.
Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.
[Illustration]
The "lonesome pine" from which the story takes its name was a tall tree
that stood in solitary splendor on a mountain top. The fame of the pine
lured a young engineer through Kentucky to catch the trail, and when
he finally climbed to its shelter he found not only the pine but the
_foot-prints of a girl_. And the girl proved to be lovely, piquant, and
the trail of these girlish foot-prints led the young engineer a madder
chase than "the trail of the lonesome pine."
THE LITTLE SHEPHERD OF KINGDOM COME.
Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.
This is a story of Kentucky, in a settlement known as "Kingdom Come."
It is a life rude, semi-barbarous; but natural and honest, from which
often springs the flower of civilization.
"Chad," the "little shepherd" did not know who he was nor whence he
came--he had just wandered from door to door since early childhood,
seeking shelter with kindly mountaineers who gladly fathered and
mothered this waif about whom there was such a mystery--a charming
waif, by the way, who could, play the banjo better that anyone else in
the mountains.
A KNIGHT OF THE CUMBERLAND.
Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.
The scenes are laid along the waters of the Cumberland the lair of
moonshiner and feudsman. The knight is a moonshiner's son, and the
heroine a beautiful girl perversely christened "The Blight." Two
impetuous young Southerners' fall under the spell of "The Blight's"
charms and she learns what a large part jealousy and pistols have in
the love making of the mountaineers.
Included in this volume is "Hell fer-Sartain" and other stories, some
of Mr. Fox's most entertaining Cumberland valley narratives.
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STORIES OF RARE CHARM BY
GENE STRATTON-PORTER
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset and Dunlap's list.
THE HARVESTER.
Illustrated by W. L. Jacobs
[Illustration]
"The Harvester," David Langston, is a man of the woods and fields, who
draws his living from the prodigal hand of Mother Nature herself. If
the book had nothing in it but the splendid figure of this man, with
his sure grip on life, his superb optimism, and his almost miraculous
knowledge of nature secrets, it would be notable. But when the Girl
comes to his "Medicine Woods," and the Harvester's whole sound,
healthy, large outdoor being realizes that this is the highest point
of life which has come to him--there begins a romance, troubled and
interrupted, yet of the rarest idyllic quality.
FRECKLES. Decorations by E. Stetson Crawford
Freckles is a nameless waif when the tale opens, but the way in which
he takes hold of life; the nature friendships he forms in the great
Limberlost Swamp; the manner in which everyone who meets him succumbs
to the charm of his engaging personality; and his love-story with "The
Angel" are full of real sentiment.
A GIRL OF THE LIMBERLOST.
Illustrated by Wladyslaw T. Brenda.
The story of a girl of the Michigan woods; a buoyant, lovable type of
the self-reliant American. Her philosophy is one of love and kindness
towards all things; her hope is never dimmed. And by the sheer beauty
of her soul, and the purity of her vision, she wins from barren and
unpromising surroundings those rewards of high courage.
It is an inspiring story of a life worth while and the rich beauties of
the out-of-doors are strewn through all its pages.
AT THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW.
Illustrations in colors by Oliver Kemp. Design and decorations by
Ralph Fletcher Seymour.
The scene of this charming, idyllic love story is laid in Central
Indiana. The story is one of devoted friendship, and tender
self-sacrificing love; the friendship that gives freely without return,
and the love that seeks first the happiness of the object. The novel is
brimful of the most beautiful word painting of nature, and its pathos
and tender sentiment will endear it to all.
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MYRTLE REED'S NOVELS
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.
LAVENDER AND OLD LACE.
[Illustration]
A charming story of a quaint corner of New England where bygone romance
finds a modern parallel. The story centers round the coming of love
to the young people on the staff of a newspaper--and it is one of the
prettiest, sweetest and quaintest of old fashioned love stories, * * *
a rare book, exquisite in spirit and conception, full of delicate
fancy, of tenderness, of delightful humor and spontaneity.
A SPINNER IN THE SUN.
Miss Myrtle Reed may always be depended upon to write a story in
which poetry, charm, tenderness and humor are combined into a clever
and entertaining book. Her characters are delightful and she always
displays a quaint humor of expression and a quiet feeling of pathos
which give a touch of active realism to all her writings. In "A Spinner
in the Sun" she tells an old-fashioned love story, of a veiled lady who
lives in solitude and whose features her neighbors have never seen.
There is a mystery at the heart of the book that throws over it the
glamour of romance.
THE MASTER'S VIOLIN.
A love story in a musical atmosphere. A picturesque, old German
virtuoso is the reverent possessor of a genuine "Cremona." He consents
to take for his pupil a handsome youth who proves to have an aptitude
for technique, but not the soul of an artist. The youth has led the
happy, careless life of a modern, well-to-do young American and he
cannot, with his meagre past, express the love, the passion and the
tragedies of life and all its happy phases as can the master who has
lived life in all its fulness. But a girl comes into his life--a
beautiful bit of human driftwood that his aunt had taken into her
heart and home, and through his passionate love for her, he learns the
lessons that life has to give--and his soul awakes.
Founded on a fact that all artists realize.
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GROSSET & DUNLAP'S
DRAMATIZED NOVELS
THE KIND THAT ARE MAKING THEATRICAL HISTORY
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.
WITHIN THE LAW. By Bayard Veiller & Marvin Dana.
Illustrated by Wm. Charles Cooke.
This is a novelization of the immensely successful play which ran for
two years in New York and Chicago.
The plot of this powerful novel is of a young woman's revenge directed
against her employer who allowed her to be sent to prison for three
years on a charge of theft, of which she was innocent.
WHAT HAPPENED TO MARY. By Robert Carlton Brown.
Illustrated with scenes from the play.
This is a narrative of a young and innocent country girl who is
suddenly thrown into the very heart of New York, "the land of her
dreams," where she is exposed to all sorts of temptations and dangers.
The story of Mary is being told in moving pictures and played in
theatres all over the world.
THE RETURN OF PETER GRIMM. By David Belasco.
Illustrated by John Rae.
This is a novelization of the popular play in which David Warfield, as
Old Peter Grimm, scored such a remarkable success.
The story is spectacular and extremely pathetic but withal, powerful,
both as a book and as a play.
THE GARDEN OF ALLAH. By Robert Hichens.
This novel is an intense, glowing epic of the great desert, sunlit
barbaric, with its marvelous atmosphere of vastness and loneliness.
It is a book of rapturous beauty, vivid in word painting. The play has
been staged with magnificent cast and gorgeous properties.
BEN HUR. A Tale of the Christ. By General Lew Wallace.
The whole world has placed this famous Religious-Historical Romance on
a height of pre-eminence which no other novel of its time has reached.
The clashing of rivalry and the deepest human passions, the perfect
reproduction of brilliant Roman life, and the tense, fierce atmosphere
of the arena have kept their deep fascination. A tremendous dramatic
success.
BOUGHT AND PAID FOR. By George Broadhurst and Arthur Hornblow.
Illustrated with scenes from the play.
A stupendous arraignment of modern marriage which has created an
interest on the stage that is almost unparalleled. The scenes are laid
in New York, and deal with conditions among both the rich and poor.
The interest of the story turns on the day-by-day developments which
show the young wife the price she has paid.
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GROSSET & DUNLAP'S
DRAMATIZED NOVELS
Original, sincere and courageous--often amusing--the kind that are
making theatrical history.
MADAME X. By Alexandre Bisson and J. W. McConaughy. Illustrated with
scenes from the play.
A beautiful Parisienne became an outcast because her husband would not
forgive an error of her youth. Her love for her son is the great final
influence in her career. A tremendous dramatic success.
THE GARDEN OF ALLAH. By Robert Hichens.
An unconventional English woman and an inscrutable stranger meet and
love in an oasis of the Sahara. Staged this season with magnificent
cast and gorgeous properties.
THE PRINCE OF INDIA. By Lew. Wallace.
A glowing romance of the Byzantine Empire, presenting with
extraordinary power the siege of Constantinople, and lighting its
tragedy with the warm underglow of an Oriental romance. As a play it is
a great dramatic spectacle.
TESS OF THE STORM COUNTRY. By Grace Miller White. Illust. by Howard
Chandler Christy.
A girl from the dregs of society, loves a young Cornell University
student, and it works startling changes in her life and the lives of
those about her. The dramatic version is one of the sensations of the
season.
YOUNG WALLINGFORD. By George Randolph Chester. Illust. by F. R. Gruger
and Henry Raleigh.
A series of clever swindles conducted by a cheerful young man, each
of which is just on the safe side of a State's prison offence. As
"Get-Rich-Quick Wallingford," it is probably the most amusing expose of
money manipulation ever seen on the stage.
THE INTRUSION OF JIMMY. By P. G. Wodehouse. Illustrations by Will
Grefe.
Social and club life in London and New York, an amateur burglary
adventure and a love story. Dramatized under the title of "A Gentleman
of Leisure," it furnishes hours of laughter to the play-goers.
GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK
B. M. Bower's Novels
Thrilling Western Romances
Large 12 mos. Handsomely bound in cloth. Illustrated
CHIP, OF THE FLYING U
A breezy wholesome tale, wherein the love affairs of Chip and Delia
Whitman are charmingly and humorously told. Chip's jealousy of Dr.
Cecil Grantham, who turns out to be a big, blue eyed young woman is
very amusing. A clever, realistic story of the American Cow-puncher.
THE HAPPY FAMILY
A lively and amusing story, dealing with the adventures of eighteen
jovial, big hearted Montana cowboys. Foremost amongst them, we find
Ananias Green, known as Andy, whose imaginative powers cause many
lively end exciting adventures.
HER PRAIRIE KNIGHT
A realistic story of the plains, describing a gay party of Easterners
who exchange a cottage at Newport for the rough homeliness of a Montana
ranch-house. The merry-hearted cowboys, the fascinating Beatrice, and
the effusive Sir Redmond, become living, breathing personalities.
THE RANGE DWELLERS
Here are everyday, genuine cowboys, just as they really exist. Spirited
action, a range feud between two families, and a Romeo and Juliet
courtship make this a bright, jolly, entertaining story, without a dull
page.
THE LURE OF DIM TRAILS
A vivid portrayal of the experience of an Eastern author, among the
cowboys of the West, in search of "local color" for a new novel. "Bud"
Thurston learns many a lesson while following "the lure of the dim
trails" but the hardest, and probably the most welcome, is that of love.
THE LONESOME TRAIL
"Weary" Davidson leaves the ranch for Portland, where conventional
city life palls on him. A little branch of sage brush, pungent with
the atmosphere of the prairie, and the recollection of a pair of large
brown eyes soon compel his return. A wholesome love story.
THE LONG SHADOW
A vigorous Western story, sparkling with the free, outdoor, life of a
mountain ranch. Its scenes shift rapidly and its actors play the game
of life fearlessly and like men. It is a fine love story from start to
finish.
Ask for a complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction.
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THE NOVELS OF
STEWART EDWARD WHITE
THE RULES OF THE GAME. Illustrated by Lajaren A. Hiller
The romance of the son of "The Riverman." The young college hero goes
into the lumber camp, is antagonized by "graft" and comes into the
romance of his life.
ARIZONA NIGHTS. Illus. and cover inlay by N. C. Wyeth.
A series of spirited tales emphasizing some phases of the life of the
ranch, plains and desert. A masterpiece.
THE BLAZED TRAIL. With illustrations by Thomas Fogarty.
A wholesome story with gleams of humor, telling of a young man who
blazed his way to fortune through the heart of the Michigan pines.
THE CLAIM JUMPERS. A Romance.
The tenderfoot manager of a mine in a lonesome gulch of the Black Hills
has a hard time of it but "wins out" in more ways than one.
CONJUROR'S HOUSE. Illustrated Theatrical Edition.
Dramatized under the title of "The Call of the North."
Conjuror's House is a Hudson Bay trading post where the head factor is
the absolute lord. A young fellow risked his life and won a bride on
this forbidden land.
THE MAGIC FOREST. A Modern Fairy Tale. Illustrated.
The sympathetic way in which the children of the wild and their life
is treated could only belong to one who is in love with the forest and
open air. Based on fact.
THE RIVERMAN. Illus. by N. C. Wyeth and C. Underwood.
The story of a man's fight against a river and of a struggle between
honesty and grit on the one side, and dishonesty and shrewdness on the
other.
THE SILENT PLACES. Illustrations by Philip R. Goodwin.
The wonders of the northern forests, the heights of feminine devotion,
and masculine power, the intelligence of the Caucasian and the instinct
of the Indian, are all finely drawn in this story.
THE WESTERNERS.
A story of the Black Hills that is justly placed among the best
American novels. It portrays the life of the new West as no other book
has done in recent years.
THE MYSTERY. In collaboration with Samuel Hopkins Adams
With illustrations by Will Crawford.
The disappearance of three successive crews from the stout ship
"Laughing Lass" in mid-Pacific, is a mystery weird and inscrutable. In
the solution, there is a story of the most exciting voyage that man
ever undertook.
GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK
STORIES OF WESTERN LIFE
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list
RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE, By Zane Grey.
Illustrated by Douglas Duer.
In this picturesque romance of Utah of some forty years ago, we are
permitted to see the unscrupulous methods employed by the invisible
hand of the Mormon Church to break the will of those refusing to
conform to its rule.
FRIAR TUCK, By Robert Alexander Wason.
Illustrated by Stanley L. Wood.
Happy Hawkins tells us, in his humorous way, how Friar Tuck lived among
the Cowboys, how he adjusted their quarrels and love affairs and how he
fought with them and for them when occasion required.
THE SKY PILOT, By Ralph Connor.
Illustrated by Louis Rhead.
There is no novel, dealing with the rough existence of cowboys, so
charming in the telling, abounding as it does with the freshest and the
truest pathos.
THE EMIGRANT TRAIL, By Geraldine Bonner.
Colored frontispiece by John Rae.
The book relates the adventures of a party on its overland pilgrimage,
and the birth and growth of the absorbing love of two strong men for a
charming heroine.
THE BOSS OF WIND RIVER, By A. M. Chisholm.
Illustrated by Frank Tenney Johnson.
This is a strong, virile novel with the lumber industry for its central
theme and a love story full of interest as a sort of subplot.
A PRAIRIE COURTSHIP, By Harold Bindloss.
A story of Canadian prairies in which the hero is stirred, through
the influence of his love for a woman, to settle down to the heroic
business of pioneer farming.
JOYCE OF THE NORTH WOODS, By Harriet T. Comstock.
Illustrated by John Cassel.
A story of the deep woods that shows the power of love at work among
its primitive dwellers. It is a tensely moving study of the human heart
and its aspirations that unfolds itself through thrilling situations
and dramatic developments.
_Ask for a complete free list of C. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction_
GROSSET & DUNLAP, 526 WEST 26TH ST., NEW YORK
* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes
--Quotation marks in the letters have been retained as published.
--Variations in hyphenation have been maintained.
--Assumed printer's errors have been changed.
--Italicized words and phrases are presented by surrounding
the text with _underscores_.
* * * * *
End of Project Gutenberg's Bobbie, General Manager, by Olive Higgins Prouty