"Why," he blurted, "you'd be as unhappy without paint as I'd be without work. Rather than have you give it up, I'd—I'd send you down to Maryland to my mother. Why not do that? You'd love her, because everyone does. And she'd love you because—well—just because she couldn't help it. Mary—if you'd only go down there you could have a home—no fussy hotel, and—and—I'd be so happy to——"
She suddenly turned toward him with a tiny gesture, then laughed. He was rather hurt, and felt that possibly she was ridiculing his honest and generous offer. As if she read his thought she came quickly toward him and held out her hand and caught his and said, using the old jocular name, "No, Bill Jones, Pirate, it isn't money! But don't think for an instant that I don't appreciate the offer that comes from your big, fine heart! I do! And—I wish I couldaccept it. I think I know what your home is like—and what your mother is like."
She dropped his hand and now turned toward the easel, smudged a blotch of paint with a slender finger tip in awkward pretense at being interested in her study, and without looking at him said, "It's not money. It's because the man to whom I am engaged to be married disapproves of my little hobby and has asserted so in most emphatic terms."
It seemed to Jim that the whole room was reeling, and that there was a great burst of sound, followed by a stillness so profound that the distressed beating of his heart had become loudly audible. His knees trembled. His hands clutched and quivered. He felt mentally and physically stricken, tried to speak, could utter no sound, and then, to conceal his hurt, turned almost mechanically to the chair she had proffered, groped blindly for its arm, and slowly subsided into it. He was pitifully thankful that she had not observed his distress; that she was still standing there in front of the easel. This betrothal was an intervention that had never entered into any of his thoughts or dreams of her. He had always pictured her as free, quitefree, following her whims and ambitions within the limitations of a meager purse. He sat there, stunned, for a moment, and then remembered, dully, that he did not even know her name. The absurdities of his position, and the futilities of all his long aspirations and love dreams seemed magnified through the shock of sudden and bitter knowledge. In a moment of bitter disappointment, he wondered how he had ever dared to advance from the accident of a chance meeting to friendship, and from friendship to love.
"I—I congratulate you," he said, lamely, for want of something better to say.
"On what?" she asked. "Because the man to whom I am engaged doesn't understand what this daubing of mine means to me?"
"No, not on that; but on being betrothed," he replied, and then added, bluntly, "You see,—I—I didn't know it. You never told me. No, you never told me anything about it in all these months in which—in which you've been just Mary Allen, and I, Bill Jones!"
He was not aware of the sorry tragedy in his voice that contrasted so sharply with the banality of his words. He felt that he was but a pitifuljester who was like a clown, compelled to play a merry part when there was anguish in his mind. But—he must play.
"I don't know why I was such a fool!" he declared. "Why I thought it could go on in this way—with you as Mary Allen, and I as Bill Jones. You see—I may as well tell the truth—now that it's come to this—You see, I didn't know your name, or who you were! I thought on the day that we met in Fifth Avenue you were someone in the trade, and I was ashamed to admit that I'd forgotten where you came from. You knew who I was, but I couldn't remember you. And so, after that first meeting, I was a coward. I'm a coward now, Mary! Now that it doesn't matter!"
He sat staring at the rug and striving to his utmost to think of something to say in his own defense.
"Well," she said, "since you have been so frank, I suppose that I may as well add my confession. I never knew, until within the last five minutes, who you were. Therefore I had nothing the best of you."
"What? What's that?" he asked as if incredulous, or in fear that he had not heard her words aright.
He lifted his eyes and saw that she was now facing him.
"It's the truth," she bravely admitted. "I never knew that your name was James Gollop, and that you were a commercial man, until within the last five minutes! If there were need I could swear it."
"Then," he demanded, blankly, "who in the deuce did you think I was, anyhow?"
"I thought," she said with a slight shrug, "that you were Judge James Woodworth-Granger, of whom I suppose you have never heard. He is the Judge of the Fourth District Court, seated in a small city called Princetown."
He was so astounded that for the moment he was speechless. It seemed to him that all his chickens had come home to roost.
"Granger? Judge Granger—that inflated, stiff-necked, egotistical bag of conceit! And—and—you thought I was Granger!"
There was reproach in his voice as well as words.
"Yes," she admitted, "I thought you were Judge Granger. But—please wait a moment—I thought that you were different when away from your judicial position, admired your reticence concerning your profession, and—and I thought that I knew the real man better than anyone else. And I liked the change."
She uttered the last almost defiantly.
"I can at least thank you for that preference," his said, lowering his eyes. "I've come to dislike myself since I met him. He's bothered me a lot. Maybe I've bothered him. I played a joke on him one time and—he hasn't ever forgiven me, although I've tried to patch it up. I think he's about the most stupid, unforgiving, inhuman bounder that—"
"Please!" she objected, and Jimmy saw that she had turned toward the window, and so paused whilst she walked toward it, and stared out before again facing him. He wished that the light from without were less glaring, for it rendered her face and expression indistinct.
"It's not quite fair for me to listen to anything disparaging Judge Granger," she said. "That wouldn't be playing the game. Judge Granger is the man to whom I am betrothed."
He was incredibly shocked. Mary Allen betrothed to Granger! It was like the last blow—his ultimate humiliation. Had it been anyone but Granger it might have been less unendurable.
"I apologize," he said, mechanically. "I didn't understand the situation. Judge Granger is—is a very prominent man."
"Quite so," she assented. "A man who is distinguished, and I think will be more so."
"I expect he'll be a governor, and then a senator, and—maybe a president," said Jimmy, helplessly, and feeling his own insignificance. "But—but does Judge Granger know that you knew me? I ask this because I'm afraid that if he does, he might object to our—our acquaintanceship. He doesn't exactly approve of me."
Somewhat to Jimmy's surprise she laughed as if amused.
"No," she said, "I don't think he does know that we are friends. Indeed, I'm rather certain of it. But—just the same, if you are such enemies—it's not fair for me to show friendship under existing circumstances, is it? See here, Mr. Gollop—that's a terrible name!—You could scarcely respect me if I who am engaged to marry Judge Granger were to stand here andlet you criticise him. There is a limit to most things, isn't there?"
"There is," agreed Jimmy, soberly. "You are quite right in your attitude. I'm helpless." He paused, got to his feet, buttoned his coat, looked absently for his hat, found it on the window ledge, and seemed undecided. It was the old, boyish impulsiveness that made him turn to her in what he believed to be a parting and say, "But—Mary! Mary Allen! It doesn't matter what I am, or anything about the accidents and the misunderstandings—nothing matters now—to me—only this, that—that you believe that I was honest to you and to myself when you were but Mary Allen, and I but Bill Jones!"
"No," she said, "nothing else matters. That is something quite yours and mine—our own. Conditions are about as we all make them for ourselves. Sometimes they run away from us. But we can't alter things that have been. This has been a mixup. Neither of us could help it."
He could find nothing to say, for he seemed involved in a cataclysm that had crushed him, and so moved toward the door. She walked by his side and stepped back when he opened it. He held out his hand as if to bid her good-by,for the last time, but she appeared to disregard it and stood quietly by his side.
"It—it seems a travesty—a blunder," she said, at last. "I—I don't know quite what to do about it all! I feel as if this were a farewell. I—I don't like to think of it as such. You have been so kind, and so encouraging, and you are so frank and—Can't we have one day more? Can't you come back to-morrow afternoon,—here—and be just Bill Jones, the Pirate, for another day? I think we'd be happier—afterward—if you could, and if we could forget certain things. Say you will come."
And as he walked dejectedly up the narrow confines of the blind little alley after leaving her he loathed himself for his weakness in promising that he would.
It's a long way from MacDougall Alley to Fort George at any time. It is rendered longer when the wind is chill; but Jimmy, no longer the jester, could never remember how he reached there on that wintry afternoon, and its hills, bleak with snow, were no more drab and cold than the dead fires of his dreams. The skies above were leaden, with no ray of sunlight. Away behind him the smoke of the city seemed leveled like a shroud. Its distant monotone of sound became a dirge. Unmindful of the chill, he found a bench, brushed the snow from a corner and sat there for a long time, seeing nothing, unobservant of his surroundings, and thinking of all that somehow seemed left irrevocably behind. It was as if it had been ages ago! It had been ages ago since happiness had fled. There was not a laugh left in all the sad world that had abruptly grown old, and savorless. A vagrant, aged, dirty, ragged, accostedhim, begging alms, and without looking up, Jimmy thrust a hand into his pocket and took therefrom a dollar note. The beggar mumbled thanks, stamped his feet, turned away, and then came back and said, "Hope you're not down on your luck. I wish you luck, sir!"
"Luck? Oh, no. It's all right. I'm not down on my luck. Only—'They're hanging Danny Deever in the morning!'"
The vagrant shuffled away, shaking his head. He did not in the least appreciate the sorry quip. All that he knew was that sometimes well-dressed men who came and thus sat in the parks, were sometimes found in the same place by a policeman—and usually such men had holes, self-inflicted, in their heads. But long before he had passed from sight Jimmy had reverted to the thought that to-morrow was the end. To see her just once more, and after that—nothing to look forward to, nothing to hope for, nothing to dream about. Strangely enough it is the men whose laugh is readiest, whose mental sufferings and depressions are greatest. Often the laugh is but a forced cloak for grief. Well, to-morrow he would laugh! Be Bill Jones for the last time! Make a decent finish of the dream! Leave withthis girl he had so loved a kindly recollection of a strange adventure as he made his exit from her life! There should be neither sighs, sentiment, nor repining.
Despite the fact that he had slept so little on the previous night, he moved restlessly about his room all that evening, standing before his window now and then to look out over the lights that flared and glittered from electric signs, hearing absently the hoarse whistles of ships out in the harbors, and the clamor of street cars that surged up and down the arteries of the city and went heedlessly on with its existence. Jimmy wondered, as the street life of the night waned and the lights went out, if there were others out there in the darkness as unhappy as was he. His new employment that had so elated him with its promise of golden opportunity sometimes came to his mind, but now he felt that success was empty without Mary Allen to share it with him. It was not until dawn that he fell asleep, exhausted, and even then trouble pursued him in his dreams.
When he awoke, at noon, he tried for a few minutes to imagine that it was still a very happy, prosperous and promising world; but it was allin vain. He sat on the edge of his bed, and again thought that if he had lost to any other than the Judge, it might not have been so distressing. He got up and looked at his own face in the glass, and hated it for that peculiar resemblance. It was certain now, after her confession, that all the time she had believed him to be the Judge and yet, because when with Mary Allen the Judge's very existence had been forgotten, Jim could not accuse himself of having fostered her illusion. Honesty would compel her to admit that. And, on the other hand, thinking it over, he could not remember that he had ever talked of the road, his business, or commercial adventure, because it was a rule of his never to "talk shop" out of hours. He thought she had already experienced too much of that and she had told him once that she detested chocolates. The only feature for which he could at all censure himself was for lack of frankness.
"If I hadn't been such a rotten coward, and had told her plainly after the first afternoon I ever had with her who I was, that I'd forgotten her name and all, it would never have come to this!" he soliloquized, and then, an instant later, reversed himself, considered that if he had beenfrank he might never have got to love her at all, and—to have loved her for so long and to have been with her so many times, was worth more than all else. Could he but have that measure of delight again, and then die, Death wouldn't be so grim and hopeless as this present pass. He flattered himself that she could never imagine all his folly of love. He was grateful to Fate that he had never uttered such avowal and suffered its inevitable rejection; for now she could always remember him as a friend. Rejections, he decided, must inevitably leave unpleasant or harrowing memories. He throttled all his sad eagerness for the farewell visit and resolutely delayed it until late in the afternoon. He schooled himself to the determination that there should be no sentimental speech or action lest she suspect his wounds and perhaps be thereby saddened. He had come to her with a laugh, he would leave her with a laugh. That was the brave way.
When he entered the studio for the last time, it seemed in twilight, for the shadows of a midwinter afternoon were already long. He saw that she had set out a dainty little tea table and his heart gave a throb when he discerned in itscenter, in a cut glass bowl, the violets that he had brought her on the preceding day. They seemed to scent the room with a definite and yet elusive fragrance, quite like her personality that was so soon to be but a memory.
"Well, Bill Jones, Pirate, you are late," she said, as she took his hat from his hand, while he removed his overcoat and hung it on the tiny little cloak stand in the corner, thinking as he did so, that there it brushed, honored, against her hanging garments.
"The obsequies of a pirate are best held in late afternoon," he replied. "It's a time-honored form. I'm very formal, as you know."
"I suppose Mary Allen has to die, too, doesn't she? That's the way pirate romances should end," she retorted. "I don't see why we never hear what becomes of the pirate's lady friends. Surely any decent, self-respecting pirate who is an honor to his profession, should have a woman somewhere to either mourn his loss or—as I suggested—go to the gallows and hang with him."
She turned to shift the tiny brass tea kettle that was beginning to steam in the little grate, and, fascinated by her grace, he forgot to speak.He thought he should always remember the firelight on her profile—there in the shadows of the room.
"Remember the time we had tea together in that funny little inn out on Long Island?" she asked, and then, before he could answer, laughed, gently, and added, as if pleased by the reminiscence—"and the car broke down on the way home, and we had to walk three miles to get another? And then we were so hot and thirsty that we stopped in the inn and had beer—plain, frothy beer—while the chauffeur was trying to start his old contraption into life. Um-mh! That seems a dreadfully long time ago."
"It does! It does!" he assented glumly, and fell to staring into the fire as if therein he could bring it all back to vision. "We agreed, then, that some day when summer came again, we'd do it all over. And now—there will be no more summers!"
Unconsciously he had betrayed himself in a despair of voice and twitch of movement.
"Are—are you sorry?" she asked, softly. "Are you sorry that Bill Jones and Mary Allen are finished?"
All his previous resolutions were forgotten,swept away as it by the hand of grief. All his pre-imagined repression vanished. He was but the heart-broken jester now, impulsive, outspoken.
"Oh, if I could live these few times over again, I think I could die happy! Mary! Mary! I never knew until yesterday how precious they were. Never knew that when Bill Jones died, the heart of me died with him! I'm—I'm——" He checked himself, shut his hands tightly over the arms of his chair, and exclaimed, "I'm sorry I said that. I didn't mean to tell you anything; because I've no right to say anything of the sort to you—now that Bill Jones is dead! I can't seem to remember that he was executed in that moment when you told me of your betrothal."
She abruptly dropped the steaming kettle back into the fender and he feared that she thus indicated resentment of his outburst. She got to her feet and walked across to the window where the rapidly waning light seemed hastily pulling drop curtains over their brief romance and he, fearful that he had offended her, sat dejectedly in his chair.
"One imagines many things! One is curious about them, sometimes," she said, softly. "Andso—and so I wonder what you would have said, if Bill Jones had not passed out."
She stood as if considering something of grave importance and then, as if resolved, turned and came back until she stood near the chair in which he sat with bent head and shoulders, so unlike the buoyant, erect man she had known.
"It is but a week ago when being—being somewhat tired of neglect, I wrote a letter. Oh, I could kick myself for that! I suppose it must have been rather—let's say—familiar. It was addressed to Judge Granger. By return mail came a proposal of marriage and—well—I accepted it. Then he came on and—oh, it was a dreadful mixup! After just one evening together I knew that he wasn't, and never could have been, Bill Jones, the Pirate. And I didn't know what to do, or who, or what Bill Jones really was, and—and I was furious, disappointed and humiliated, and then you returned and—and——"
She paused and he looked up to find that her eyes were not on him, and that she was twisting her wisp of a handkerchief between her fingers quite as if considering whether such fury, disappointment and humiliation could ever be forgiven. He felt that he was on trial and that his future hung upon her judgment.
"But—but—it wasn't altogether my fault—Mary," he pleaded in a voice in which contrition, distress and desire were eloquently blended. "I didn't mean to be dishonest. Coward I may have been but—but—oh, Mary! What can I say or do to be forgiven? To be at least kindly remembered?"
He bent forward again, resting his elbows on his knees and clutching his temples in his palms as if utterly given over to despair. It seemed to him that there was a prolonged wait in which she was coming to her decision, an interval filled with portent and so lifeless and still that tiny sounds from without became magnified.
Her voice, hesitant, and low, but, to his relief, gentle, broke the interminable spell.
"Suppose—suppose I were to tell you that—that I'm not going to marry Judge Granger, because after you came here yesterday I knew how impossible it was and wrote and told him so. And——"
"Mary! Mary, don't make it supposititious," he appealed, leaping to his feet. "That would be cruelty! Tell me that it's true, and that Iam free to tell you that I love you—love you! You know that I do, and that there's no use in my trying to hide it."
She retreated from him a trifle, as if to escape his impetuosity, then, when he paused as if fearing to frighten her with his ardor, smiled at him and said, "Yes, Bill Jones. It's true!"
He caught her in his arms. For a moment he held her close while she made her last resistance, and then slowly lifted her hands upward until they came to rest about his shoulders.
"That's why I made you promise to come back," she said. "I—I couldn't let you go! I couldn't! I don't care what anyone thinks of it, I am what I am, and—I love you!"
They were suddenly aware of heavy steps climbing the studio stairs and she pushed him away hurriedly, bashfully.
"My Father!" she whispered. "I—I forgot that he was coming to get me. But—you'll love Dad," and then, as if suddenly remembering something, she laughed softly and added hastily, "I don't believe you even know my name. Don't forget it, now that Mary Allen is dead. My name is Sayers—Margaret Sayers, and my father's name is Sayers, Thomas Sayers, and he'sin the motor business and—for heaven's sake!—pretend we've known each other for years and years!"
"Good Lord!" exclaimed Jimmy, panic-stricken, as she hastened toward the door. "Tom Sayers! My job's gone bust! I'm done!"
The door opened and her hand swept up to a light switch in the lintel, there was a click, and the room was brilliant.
"Dad," she said, trying to suppress some trepidation of voice, "I want you to know Mr. Gollop. And I'd like to have you like him, because you see, I'm going to marry him, if you do."
Jimmy had been tempted to run; but now stood bending his head forward, blinking, and holding his breath in astonishment
"Martin—Martin—Mr. Martin—and you are not Martin, but are Mr. Sayers, and——"
But the man he had known as Martin smiled, for the moment ignored him, permitted his daughter to cling to him, and as he caressed her hair with tender fingers, said soothingly, "There! There! Don't be afraid of me, my girl. I've known this boy Jim for some time. I knew that he knew you, and I satisfied myself what sort he was, too, before things went too far.I never did like Granger. When you first told me that you had met Granger here in New York, I knew it couldn't be so, because I had seen him going through Media City on the previous day to keep some political appointment. And then I met Jim, and—I fooled him a little bit because I wanted to know just what sort of a man it was who had dared to look at you, and to take you to a horse show. Let go now! Let go, while Jim and I shake hands. But—inasmuch as your mother has always belonged to the Granger party, I suppose—I suppose she'll just raise hell! That's a part of the affair that I reckon you two had best leave to me. There's time enough, because, mark you both, there'll be no wedding bells in this firm until Jim satisfies me that he can make good."
And then he turned discreetly to hang up his overcoat and hat as if unaware that Mary Allen, struggling artist, and Bill Jones, Pirate, jubilant and unabashed, were again in each others' arms.
FLORENCE L. BARCLAY'S NOVELSMay be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.THE WHITE LADIES OF WORCESTERA novel of the 12th Century. The heroine, believing she had lost her lover, enters a convent. He returns, and interesting developments follow.THE UPAS TREEA love story of rare charm. It deals with a successful author and his wife.THROUGH THE POSTERN GATEThe story of a seven day courtship, in which the discrepancy in ages vanished into insignificance before the convincing demonstration of abiding love.THE ROSARYThe story of a young artist who is reputed to love beauty above all else in the world, but who, when blinded through an accident, gains life's greatest happiness. A rare story of the great passion of two real people superbly capable of love, its sacrifices and its exceeding reward.THE MISTRESS OF SHENSTONEThe lovely young Lady Ingleby, recently widowed by the death of a husband who never understood her, meets a fine, clean young chap who is ignorant of her title and they fall deeply in love with each other. When he learns her real identity a situation of singular power is developed.THE BROKEN HALOThe story of a young man whose religious belief was shattered in childhood and restored to him by the little white lady, many years older than himself, to whom he is passionately devoted.THE FOLLOWING OF THE STARThe story of a young missionary, who, about to start for Africa, marries wealthy Diana Rivers, in order to help her fulfill the conditions of her uncle's will, and how they finally come to love each other and are reunited after experiences that soften and purify.ETHEL M. DELL'S NOVELSMay be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.THE LAMP IN THE DESERTThe scene of this splendid story is laid in India and tells of the lamp of love that continues to shine through all sorts of tribulations to final happiness.GREATHEARTThe story of a cripple whose deformed body conceals a noble soul.THE HUNDREDTH CHANCEA hero who worked to win even when there was only "a hundredth chance."THE SWINDLERThe story of a "bad man's" soul revealed by a woman's faith.THE TIDAL WAVETales of love and of women who learned to know the true from the false.THE SAFETY CURTAINA very vivid love story of India. The volume also contains four other long stories of equal interest.EDGAR RICE BURROUGH'S NOVELSMay be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.TARZAN THE UNTAMEDTells of Tarzan's return to the life of the ape-man in his search for vengeance on those who took from him his wife and home.JUNGLE TALES OF TARZANRecords the many wonderful exploits by which Tarzan proves his right to ape kingship.A PRINCESS OF MARSForty-three million miles from the earth—a succession of the weirdest and most astounding adventures in fiction. John Carter, American, finds himself on the planet Mars, battling for a beautiful woman, with the Green Men of Mars, terrible creatures fifteen feet high, mounted on horses like dragons.THE GODS OF MARSContinuing John Carter's adventures on the Planet Mars, in which he does battle against the ferocious "plant men," creatures whose mighty tails swished their victims to instant death, and defies Issus, the terrible Goddess of Death, whom all Mars worships and reveres.THE WARLORD OF MARSOld acquaintances, made in the two other stories, reappear, Tars Tarkas, Tardos Mors and others. There is a happy ending to the story in the union of the Warlord, the tide conferred upon John Carter, with Dejah Thoris.THUVIA, MAID OF MARSThe fourth volume of the series. The story centers around the adventures of Carthoris, the son of John Carter and Thuvia, daughter of a Martian Emperor.JAMES OLIVER CURWOOD'S STORIES OF ADVENTUREMay be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.THE RIVER'S ENDA story of the Royal Mounted Police.THE GOLDEN SNAREThrilling adventures in the Far Northland.NOMADS OF THE NORTHThe story of a bear-cub and a dog.KAZANThe tale of a "quarter-strain wolf and three-quarters husky" torn between the call of the human and his wild mate.BAREE, SON OF KAZANThe story of the son of the blind Grey Wolf and the gallant part he played in the lives of a man and a woman.THE COURAGE OF CAPTAIN PLUMThe story of the King of Beaver Island, a Mormon colony, and his battle with Captain Plum.THE DANGER TRAILA tale of love, Indian vengeance, and a mystery of the North.THE HUNTED WOMANA tale of a great fight in the "valley of gold" for a woman.THE FLOWER OF THE NORTHThe story of Fort o' God, where the wild flavor of the wilderness is blended with the courtly atmosphere of France.THE GRIZZLY KINGThe story of Thor, the big grizzly.ISOBELA love story of the Far North.THE WOLF HUNTERSA thrilling tale of adventure in the Canadian wilderness.THE GOLD HUNTERSThe story of adventure in the Hudson Bay wilds.THE COURAGE OF MARGE O'DOONEFilled with exciting incidents in the land of strong men and women.BACK TO GOD'S COUNTRYA thrilling story of the Far North. The great Photoplay was made from this book.ZANE GREY'S NOVELSMay be had wherever books an sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.THE MAN OF THE FORESTTHE DESERT OF WHEATTHE U.P. TRAILWILDFIRETHE BORDER LEGIONTHE RAINBOW TRAILTHE HERITAGE OF THE DESERTRIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGETHE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARSTHE LAST OF THE PLAINSMENTHE LONE STAR RANGERDESERT GOLDBETTY ZANELAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTSThe life story of "Buffalo Bill" by his sister Helen Cody Wetmore, with Foreword and conclusion by Zane Grey.ZANE GREY'S BOOKS FOR BOYSKEN WARD IN THE JUNGLETHE YOUNG LION HUNTERTHE YOUNG FORESTERTHE YOUNG PITCHERTHE SHORT STOPTHE RED-HEADED OUTFIELD AND OTHER BASEBALL STORIESKATHLEEN NORRIS' STORIESMay be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's listSISTERS. Frontispiece by Frank StreetThe California Redwoods furnish the background for this beautiful story of sisterly devotion and sacrifice.POOR, DEAR, MARGARET KIRBY. Frontispiece by George Gibbs.A collection of delightful stories, including "Bridging the Years" and "The Tide-Marsh." This story is now shown in moving pictures.JOSSELYN'S WIFE. Frontispiece by C. Allan Gilbert.The story of a beautiful woman who fought a bitter fight for happiness and love.MARTIE, THE UNCONQUERED. Illustrated by Charles E. Chambers.The triumph of a dauntless spirit over adverse conditions.THE HEART OF RACHAEL. Frontispiece by Charles E. Chambers.An interesting story of divorce and the problems that come with a second marriage.THE STORY OF JULIA PAGE. Frontispiece by C. Allan Gilbert.A sympathetic portrayal of the guest of a normal girl, obscure and lonely, for the happiness of life.SATURDAY'S CHILD. Frontispiece by F. Graham Cootes.Can a girl, born in rather sordid conditions, lift herself through sheer determination to the better things for which her soul hungered?MOTHER. Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.A story of the big mother heart that beats in the background of every girl's life, and some dreams which came true.Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted FictionGrosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.
THE WHITE LADIES OF WORCESTER
A novel of the 12th Century. The heroine, believing she had lost her lover, enters a convent. He returns, and interesting developments follow.
THE UPAS TREE
A love story of rare charm. It deals with a successful author and his wife.
THROUGH THE POSTERN GATE
The story of a seven day courtship, in which the discrepancy in ages vanished into insignificance before the convincing demonstration of abiding love.
THE ROSARY
The story of a young artist who is reputed to love beauty above all else in the world, but who, when blinded through an accident, gains life's greatest happiness. A rare story of the great passion of two real people superbly capable of love, its sacrifices and its exceeding reward.
THE MISTRESS OF SHENSTONE
The lovely young Lady Ingleby, recently widowed by the death of a husband who never understood her, meets a fine, clean young chap who is ignorant of her title and they fall deeply in love with each other. When he learns her real identity a situation of singular power is developed.
THE BROKEN HALO
The story of a young man whose religious belief was shattered in childhood and restored to him by the little white lady, many years older than himself, to whom he is passionately devoted.
THE FOLLOWING OF THE STAR
The story of a young missionary, who, about to start for Africa, marries wealthy Diana Rivers, in order to help her fulfill the conditions of her uncle's will, and how they finally come to love each other and are reunited after experiences that soften and purify.
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.
THE LAMP IN THE DESERT
The scene of this splendid story is laid in India and tells of the lamp of love that continues to shine through all sorts of tribulations to final happiness.
GREATHEART
The story of a cripple whose deformed body conceals a noble soul.
THE HUNDREDTH CHANCE
A hero who worked to win even when there was only "a hundredth chance."
THE SWINDLER
The story of a "bad man's" soul revealed by a woman's faith.
THE TIDAL WAVE
Tales of love and of women who learned to know the true from the false.
THE SAFETY CURTAIN
A very vivid love story of India. The volume also contains four other long stories of equal interest.
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.
TARZAN THE UNTAMED
Tells of Tarzan's return to the life of the ape-man in his search for vengeance on those who took from him his wife and home.
JUNGLE TALES OF TARZAN
Records the many wonderful exploits by which Tarzan proves his right to ape kingship.
A PRINCESS OF MARS
Forty-three million miles from the earth—a succession of the weirdest and most astounding adventures in fiction. John Carter, American, finds himself on the planet Mars, battling for a beautiful woman, with the Green Men of Mars, terrible creatures fifteen feet high, mounted on horses like dragons.
THE GODS OF MARS
Continuing John Carter's adventures on the Planet Mars, in which he does battle against the ferocious "plant men," creatures whose mighty tails swished their victims to instant death, and defies Issus, the terrible Goddess of Death, whom all Mars worships and reveres.
THE WARLORD OF MARS
Old acquaintances, made in the two other stories, reappear, Tars Tarkas, Tardos Mors and others. There is a happy ending to the story in the union of the Warlord, the tide conferred upon John Carter, with Dejah Thoris.
THUVIA, MAID OF MARS
The fourth volume of the series. The story centers around the adventures of Carthoris, the son of John Carter and Thuvia, daughter of a Martian Emperor.
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.
THE RIVER'S END
A story of the Royal Mounted Police.
THE GOLDEN SNARE
Thrilling adventures in the Far Northland.
NOMADS OF THE NORTH
The story of a bear-cub and a dog.
KAZAN
The tale of a "quarter-strain wolf and three-quarters husky" torn between the call of the human and his wild mate.
BAREE, SON OF KAZAN
The story of the son of the blind Grey Wolf and the gallant part he played in the lives of a man and a woman.
THE COURAGE OF CAPTAIN PLUM
The story of the King of Beaver Island, a Mormon colony, and his battle with Captain Plum.
THE DANGER TRAIL
A tale of love, Indian vengeance, and a mystery of the North.
THE HUNTED WOMAN
A tale of a great fight in the "valley of gold" for a woman.
THE FLOWER OF THE NORTH
The story of Fort o' God, where the wild flavor of the wilderness is blended with the courtly atmosphere of France.
THE GRIZZLY KING
The story of Thor, the big grizzly.
ISOBEL
A love story of the Far North.
THE WOLF HUNTERS
A thrilling tale of adventure in the Canadian wilderness.
THE GOLD HUNTERS
The story of adventure in the Hudson Bay wilds.
THE COURAGE OF MARGE O'DOONE
Filled with exciting incidents in the land of strong men and women.
BACK TO GOD'S COUNTRY
A thrilling story of the Far North. The great Photoplay was made from this book.
May be had wherever books an sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list.
THE MAN OF THE FORESTTHE DESERT OF WHEATTHE U.P. TRAILWILDFIRETHE BORDER LEGIONTHE RAINBOW TRAILTHE HERITAGE OF THE DESERTRIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGETHE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARSTHE LAST OF THE PLAINSMENTHE LONE STAR RANGERDESERT GOLDBETTY ZANE
LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS
The life story of "Buffalo Bill" by his sister Helen Cody Wetmore, with Foreword and conclusion by Zane Grey.
KEN WARD IN THE JUNGLETHE YOUNG LION HUNTERTHE YOUNG FORESTERTHE YOUNG PITCHERTHE SHORT STOPTHE RED-HEADED OUTFIELD AND OTHER BASEBALL STORIES
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list
SISTERS. Frontispiece by Frank Street
The California Redwoods furnish the background for this beautiful story of sisterly devotion and sacrifice.
POOR, DEAR, MARGARET KIRBY. Frontispiece by George Gibbs.
A collection of delightful stories, including "Bridging the Years" and "The Tide-Marsh." This story is now shown in moving pictures.
JOSSELYN'S WIFE. Frontispiece by C. Allan Gilbert.
The story of a beautiful woman who fought a bitter fight for happiness and love.
MARTIE, THE UNCONQUERED. Illustrated by Charles E. Chambers.
The triumph of a dauntless spirit over adverse conditions.
THE HEART OF RACHAEL. Frontispiece by Charles E. Chambers.
An interesting story of divorce and the problems that come with a second marriage.
THE STORY OF JULIA PAGE. Frontispiece by C. Allan Gilbert.
A sympathetic portrayal of the guest of a normal girl, obscure and lonely, for the happiness of life.
SATURDAY'S CHILD. Frontispiece by F. Graham Cootes.
Can a girl, born in rather sordid conditions, lift herself through sheer determination to the better things for which her soul hungered?
MOTHER. Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.
A story of the big mother heart that beats in the background of every girl's life, and some dreams which came true.
Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction
Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York