Ludwig van Beethoven, edited by Friedrich Kerst - "Beethoven: the Man and the Artist, as Revealed in his own Words"

Floyd Dell - "King Arthur's Socks and Other Village Plays"

J. Cuthbert Hadden - "Haydn"

Rosanna Eleanor Leprohon - "The Poetical Works of Mrs. Leprohon (Mrs. R.E. Mullins)"

New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
Book and Publishing News from Publishers Newswire(tm)

Looking for Child to be on Cover of a New Book, 'The Model Child'
PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

FlatSigned Press Alleges Don Imus Remarks Damage Legacy of President Gerald R. Ford
NEW YORK, N.Y. -- Nathan Yungerberg, an accomplished model scout and professional child photographer is launching a nation-wide casting call to find the cover model for his highly anticipated book release, 'The Model Child: A Parents Guide to the Child Modeling Industry' (ISBN: 978-0-9817018-0-6).

Books: Quill\'s Window

G >> George Barr McCutcheon >> Quill\'s Window




"Gosh, what are you crying for, Alix?" he demanded. "It's the
greatest piece of good fortune that ever--"

"I am thinking of poor Mrs. Vick," she murmured chokingly.

"Oh! Yes, that's right. It's terrible for that poor woman. Terrible.
As I was saying, the last anybody saw of him was when he started
for the Tavern. Gilfillan follered him part ways and then went
back to the ferry, never dreaming he--But didn't I tell you that
before? I'm so upset I don't seem to remember what I--Oh, yes,
now I know where I was. The detectives insisted on searching every
room in the Tavern. Angie Miller got as sore as a boiled lobster
when they knocked on her door and asked if he was in her room. You
ought to have heard what she said to 'em from behind the door when
she finally opened it and let 'em in,--and she nearly had a fit
when she saw old Tintype was with 'em. She lit into him,--my gosh,
how she lit into him! Accused him of suspecting her of having an
erudite affair with Courtney,--erudite wasn't the word she used, but
it don't matter, it's as good as any for an old maid. We searched
everywhere, but no sign of him. You needn't be surprised to find
one of the detectives hanging around your place, Alix. They think
maybe he'll turn up there before long."

"He can't be very far away," said she suddenly aroused to anxiety.
She had ceased crying and was drying her eyes with her handkerchief.
The car was nearing the entrance to her grounds. "He wouldn't dare
come to my house after--after what I said to him tonight. He could
not expect me to help him in any--"

"Well, you see, it's barely possible he don't know they're after
him, Alix. I guess maybe I'd better stay here for a while. You
won't be so nervous with me in the house."

"I am not afraid, Charlie. Of course, I am terribly unstrung and
unhappy over poor little Rosabel,--but I am not afraid of HIM. He
will not come here. Tell me again just what he is accused of doing."

The car had drawn up under the porte-cochere. Webster repeated the
story he had had from Gilfillan. She sat perfectly still during
the lengthy recital.

"And to think--" she began, but checked the words in time. "Oh,
what fools we have been, Charlie!"

"Anyhow," said Charlie, divining her thoughts, "there's a good deal
to be said for that saying, 'All's well that ends well.' I've been
thinking what a difference there is in men. Now, take for instance
David Strong. Just stack him up alongside this slick, smooth-talking--"

"Oh, Charlie!" It was almost a wail.

He took her hand in one of his and gently patted it with the other.

"I guess you'd kind of like to see Davy for a change, wouldn't you,
Alix?"

She caught her breath sharply, as if in pain.

"Now, there's a feller," went on Charlie after a moment, "that's
all wool and a yard wide. He--"

"Good night, Charlie," she broke in abruptly. "Thank you for coming
to meet me. You--you are the best, the dearest man in the world.
I--"

"You needen't thank me for standin' up for Davy Strong. That's what
you're really thankin' me for, you know," said he. "I've always
loved that boy, Alix." She pressed his hand. "That's good!" he
cried fervently. "I love him so much I wish he was sitting right
here where I'm sitting now. I'll bet he'd be the happiest feller
in all--Well, so long, Alix. You've had a hard day. I won't make
it any worse for you by talking about David Strong. I know how
much you hate him. Just the same, I wish he was sitting here in my
place."

"So do I, Charlie," she confessed, with a deep sigh.

"So's you could hate him to your heart's content, eh?" he chaffed.

"Yes," she murmured,--"to my heart's content."

"Well, I've got to get busy," he exclaimed briskly. "Can't sit here
talkin' nonsense to you when there's so much to do. Link Pollock and
Doc and Tintype are waiting for me down at the Tavern. I promised
to hurry back with the car. That reminds me, Alix. We're going to
use your car to go hunting in. I guess you don't mind, do you?"

She spoke to the chauffeur as she got out. "Take Mr. Webster wherever
he wants to go, Ed. I shall not need the car until eleven o'clock
in the morning."

Mrs. Strong was waiting up for her. There was a big fire in the
living-room, and a tray with hot coffee and toast on a table beside
the comfortable chair that had been drawn up near the fender.

Alix dropped wearily into the chair and stretched her booted,
pantalooned legs out in complete relaxation.

"You poor child," cried Mrs. Strong. "You're all done up. My, but
you're white and tired-looking. It's been a terrible strain. Sit
still now and I'll take your hat off for you. Better have your coat
and boots off, too, dear. Hilda will have a hot bath ready for you
whenever you're ready to--"

"I suppose you know they've found her, Auntie? In the river."

"Yes. Ed told me. Now, don't talk about it. Here's some hot coffee."

"Never mind my coat. I'm too tired. You know about Courtney Thane?"

"I only know they're hunting for him. There's a man out in the
kitchen. Is--is it in connection with Rosabel's death?"

"No. Thank you, Auntie. That feels better. I haven't had it off since
morning. Charlie told me about Thane, but I am not sure whether I
can get it straight. He was so excited,--and I was so distressed."

Her voice was low and husky with fatigue and emotion; it was
apparent that she controlled it with difficulty. In her dark eyes
there was a brooding, haunted look. She repeated as best she could
Charlie's rambling, disjointed story.

"And just to think," cried Mrs. Strong at the end, "you let that
beast kiss you and--"

"Oh, don't! Don't!" cried the girl, covering her eyes with her
hands. "I can't bear the thought of it. I wasn't myself. I don't
know what came over--"

"There, there! Don't think about it any more. It's all right now.
And you're not the only woman that's lost her head since God made
Adam, my dear. It's pretty hard not to sometimes. You--"

"Oh, I couldn't,--I COULDN'T have done anything bad. I couldn't--"

"God bless you, of course you couldn't," cried the older woman,
stroking the girl's hair. "Do you think this coffee will keep you
awake?" She poured out a steaming cup and dropped two lumps of
sugar into it.

"I sha'n't go to sleep anyway, Auntie, so--"

The ringing of the door bell startled them. Alix sprang to her feet
in alarm.

"Don't go to the door!" she cried. "It's--it's Courtney Thane!"

"Nonsense! He'll not be coming here. Sit down. I'll inquire who it
is before I open the door."

"Under no circumstances are you to let him in, Mrs. Strong," ordered
Alix peremptorily.

"I should say not! It would look pretty, wouldn't it, if the papers
came out and said the notorious bandit was captured in the home of
Miss Alix Crown, the beautiful and wealthy heiress? They always--"
The bell rang again. "Put the cream in yourself, Alix. I'll see
who it is."

Alix followed her with anxious, apprehensive eyes as she passed
into the hall. She heard the following dialogue:

"Who is it?"

"Does Miss Crown live here?" came in a clear, boyish voice from
the outside.

"She does. Who are you and what do you want?"

"I'm a messenger boy. I got a letter for her."

"A letter? Who's it from?"

"Say, open up! I can't stand out here all night."

"Who is it from?" repeated Mrs. Strong firmly.

"How do I know? I ain't no mind-reader."

Mrs. Strong looked in at Alix. "I guess it's all right, isn't it?"

"Open the door," said Alix quietly.

A small, shivering messenger boy in uniform entered.

"Are you Miss Crown?"

"No, I'm not. Where's the letter?"

"I got to deliver it to her. If she ain't here I'm to wait. I got
to get an answer."

Alix came forward. "I am Miss Crown. Come in, my boy, and warm
yourself by the fire."

"Sign here," said the boy, indicating a line in his receipt book.

While Alix was signing her name, Mrs. Strong looked the boy over.
"Dear me, you must be nearly frozen, child. No overcoat on a night
like this. Did you come all the way out here from the city on a
bicycle?"

"Give him some coffee, Mrs. Strong," said Alix, handing back the
book and receiving the envelope in return.

"I got a taxi waiting for me out in front," said the boy. "Say,
what's goin' on in this burg? We been held up three times, and just
now a man stopped me out here in the yard and--"

"What's the matter, Alix?" cried Mrs. Strong.

The girl was staring at the address on the envelope. Doubt, wonder,
incredulity filled her eyes.

"Why,--why, Auntie,--it's David's writing! David's!" she cried.
"See! Isn't it? I would recognize it--"

"Bless my soul, so it is!" exclaimed David's mother.

"Oh,--what does it mean? Boy, where did you get this letter?" Her
voice trembled with excitement, her eyes were gleaming.

"Never mind," put in Mrs. Strong, turning her head to hide a smile.
"You run upstairs and read it, Alix, and I--"

"Auntie Strong, do you know anything about this?" demanded Alix
suspiciously. The colour was flowing back into her cheeks. "Have
you been keeping something--"

"--and I will entertain this young gentleman during your absence,"
went on the other serenely,--but there was a flush in her cheeks and
her eyes were very bright and happy. "You go and read your letter
and,--did you say there was to be an answer, boy?"

"Yes'm."

"And write your answer," concluded Mrs. Strong. "Come along, my
lad, and have a nice hot cup of coffee and some toast. I hope you
take sugar. There are two lumps in it already."

Alix fairly ran from the room. They heard her racing up the stairs.

"Will you have cream, my boy?" asked Mrs. Strong, steadying her voice
with an effort. He had shuffled along behind her to the fireplace.

"Yes'm," and then as an afterthought: "if you please, ma'am." He
looked up and saw that his hostess's eyes were swimming in tears.
"I--I hope it ain't bad news," he stammered uncomfortably.

"Don't you know there are such things as tears of joy?" inquired
the lady.

He looked very doubtful. "No ma'am," he solemnly confessed. The
tears he knew about were not joyous.

"Wasn't it just like David to hire an automobile to send you out
here to deliver the letter to her? I suppose it must have cost him
a pretty penny. Most men would have put a two cent stamp on it. But
my son is not like other men. He is always doing the most unexpected
things,--and the very nicest things. Now, who else in the world
would have thought of hiring an automobile to send a message by?"

"Is he your son, ma'am?"

"Yes. My son David. Did you see him?"

"Sure I did."

"How was he looking?"

"Fine," said the lad. "Gee, but he's tall."

"Six feet three, my boy," said David's mother. "That's very hot. Be
careful not to scald your mouth. Shall I put in another lump,--or
two?"

"Will it cool it off any?"

"I am sure it will."

Meanwhile, Alix was greedily devouring the contents of the letter.
She stood beside the light over her dressing-table; her heart was
pounding furiously, her eyes were radiantly bright.

DEAR ALIX:

I have just this instant arrived in town, and I am scribbling this
in the hotel writing-room, with my overcoat still on my back. I
shall not go to sleep tonight until I have had your reply. Somehow
I will find a way to get this letter to you tonight, I don't know
how at present, but where there's a will there's a way. If mother
and Charlie Webster are mistaken, or if they have assumed something
that is not true, I shall go away again without bothering you. But
if you want me, I will come straight out to you. You are in trouble.
I am not asking anything for myself, dear,--you know me well enough
to understand that,--I am only asking you to let me do anything
in the world I can for you. That is why I dropped everything to
come. I am happy, you don't know how happy, to be even this close
to you. I have always wanted to hang out my shingle in this dear
old town. I do not like the East. I am a Westerner and I can't seem
to make myself fit in with the East. I shall always be a Hoosier,
I fear,--and hope. Just the few minutes I have been here in this
familiar old hotel, and the ride through the quiet streets, and
getting off the train at the insignificant little depot, and having
the hackman,--they are taxi-drivers now,--yell out,--"Hello, Davy,"
and run up to shake hands with me,--well, I am so homesick I could
cry. But you know why I cannot come here to live and practise. If
I can't be very, very near to you, Alix darling, I must keep myself
as far away as possible. It is the only way. But if I keep on at
this rate, you will think I am writing a love letter to you, when,
as a matter of fact, I am only asking you if you care to see me
and tell me what I can do to help you now,--if you need the help
of your

Always devoted

DAVID.

P.S.--If you would rather not see me, don't hesitate to say so. I
will understand. And please do not blame mother and Charlie. They
would both die for you, dear.

P.S.S.--You will be pleased to know, I am sure, that I have the
five hundred I still owe you in my pocket, all in brand new bills,
and I think you might give me the happiness of quarrelling face to
face with you about the matter instead of under the protection of
a two-cent stamp.

D.

She read the letter aloud. When she came to the end she kissed the
sheet of paper rapturously and then pressed it to her breast. For
a few moments she stood there with her eyes closed, a little smile
on her lips, the blush of roses deepening in her cheeks.

Suddenly she roused herself. Hurrying to the desk across the room,
she snatched a sheet of note paper from the rack, seated herself,
and began to write.

DEAREST DAVID:

THIS is a love letter. I love you. I have always loved you, ever since
I can remember, only I did not realize how much until you wouldn't
let me have my own way about the money. Then I tried to hate you.
The best thing I can say for the experiment was that it kept me
thinking about you all the time. You were never out of my thoughts,
David dear. Oh, how many nights have I laid awake inventing reasons
for hating you, and how many, many times have I ended up by hating
myself. I am a very mean, despicable creature. I am a loathsome,
poisonous reptile, and you ought to put your foot on my neck and
keep it there forever and ever. Now I know why I have been so mean
to you. It is because I love you so much. You cannot grasp that,
can you? You could if you were a woman.

The boy is waiting for this. How wonderful of you to send him out
here in a taxi!!! I shall tell him to go back to town as fast as
the car can travel. I hope it is a fast one, because I want you to
get in it and come to me at once. I shall wait up for you, David.
Please come tonight. You don't know how badly I need you. You must
stay here with your mother and me, and I don't want you ever to go
away again,--unless you take me with you.

Your humble sweetheart,

ALIX.

P.S.--I wouldn't quarrel with you for five hundred million dollars.

P.S.S.--Oh, how I wish some kind genie could transport you to me
INSTANTLY! A.

Sealing the envelope, she sprang to her feet and started for
the door. She stopped halfway, dashed back and fished in a drawer
of her desk, found her purse and extracted a crumbling bank-note.
Without so much as a glance to ascertain its denomination, she
turned and sped downstairs.

Her eyes were aglow with excitement, her lips were parted in a
divine smile. She was a little out of breath. The boy gazed upon
her spellbound. In that brief, transcendent moment he fell deeply,
hopelessly in love,--and that is why, a moment later, he manfully
endeavoured to refuse the prodigious tip she was offering him. Only
when she stuffed it, with her own fingers, into the depths of his
breast pocket, directly over his heart, was he able to persuade
himself that he ought to accept it if for no other reason than it
would hurt her feelings if he didn't.

"You must go straight back just as fast as you can," she
was saying,--and what a sweet, wonderful voice she had, just like
some kind of a song he thought,--"and see that Mr. Strong has this
letter at once. He is waiting for it, you know. You WILL hurry,
won't you,--that's a good boy."

"Yes'm," gulped the lad, and then, realizing he had not quite come
up to expectations, amplified his promise with a stirring: "You
bet your life I will."

She went to the door with him, and said good night so sweetly, and
with such a thrill in her voice, that he experienced the amazing
sensation of having wings on his feet as he sped down to the gate.

Alix ran to Mrs. Strong and threw her arms around her neck.

"Oh, Auntie,--he's in town. He is coming out and--and I am going
to marry him. Yes, I am! Tomorrow, if he'll let me. I ought not to
be so happy, I know. It is terrible, with so much grief and sorrow
over at--But I can't help it! I never was so happy in my life--never!"

Rushing up to the waiting taxi, the boy thrust the letter in through
the open door. It was seized by a big, eager hand. An instant later
the owner of that hand was out on the ground, reading the missive
by the light of a forward lamp.

He was not long in getting to the end. Thrusting the precious letter
into his overcoat pocket, he sprang to the door of the cab, jerked
out a heavy suitcase and a small black satchel, which he deposited
unceremoniously on the sidewalk, and then dug down into his trousers'
pocket for a handful of bills, one of which he pressed into the
small boy's hand. Then, turning to the driver, the tall, impetuous
fare clapped another into his extended palm.

"There you are, genie!" he exclaimed exultantly, and, grabbing up
his bags, was off up the walk as fast as his long legs would carry
him.

"What was that he called me, kid?" demanded the driver uneasily.

"Janie."





CHAPTER XXIV

AT QUILL'S WINDOW




The scraping, laboured sound grew nearer and louder, and presently
there was added the thick, stertorous breathing of the climber as
he drew close to the mouth of the cave.

Courtney crept farther away from the opening and watched with narrow,
frowning eyes for the head to appear above the ledge. He held the
revolver in his shaking hand, but he knew he was not going to shoot.
He thrilled with a strange sort of glee, however, at the thought of
the ease with which he could send the fool crashing to the ground
far below, but what would be the use? He was trapped.

He had a queer and strangely ungrudging respect for the courage
of this man of Uncle Sam's, this man who was not to be turned back
or daunted by the prospect of sudden death when engaged in the
performance of his duty. What use to slay this single, indomitable
pursuer when nothing was to be gained by the act? There were others
down there to avenge him,--to starve him out, or to burn him out
if needs be. Murder, that's what it would be, and they would hang
him for murder. If he shot this fellow there would be but one course
left open to him. He would have to shoot himself. And he loved life
too well for that. Five, even ten years behind the bars,--and then
freedom once more. But the gallows,--God, no!

He stood up and leaned with his back against the wall, bracing
his legs which threatened to crumple up under him. With a sort of
craven bravado, he inhaled deeply. The end of the cigarette created
a passing but none the less comforting glow which died away almost
instantly. A jolly brave thing, a cigarette,--No wonder the soldiers
smoked them! Nerve steadying,--no question about it.

He waited. Once he thought he was going to scream. Why was the
fellow so slow? Surely it had not taken him so long to come up
that ladder of stone,--and he was the pioneer, he had cleared the
slots of dirt and sand, he had made the hand holds safe, he had torn
his finger-tips digging them out,--what made the fellow so slow?

At last he made out a vague, slender object moving like the
tentacle of an octopus above the ledge,--and then the bulky head
and shoulders of the climber.

"I surrender!" he called out. "I give up. If you had waited till
I pulled myself together, I would have come down. I'm all in. I
surrender."

The man scrambled over the ledge and drew himself erect. His figure
was dimly outlined against the moon-lit sky. He came a few steps
inside the cave and stopped, evidently striving to pierce the
darkness with his questing eyes.

Courtney pushed himself away from the supporting wall and advanced
slowly.

"Here's my gun," he faltered, and the weapon clattered on the
rocky floor at his feet. "Don't shoot! I am unarmed. My hands are
up,--comrade."

"Stand still," warned the other hoarsely. He was breathing heavily.
"Don't move!"

Courtney took another pull at the cigarette that hung limply between
his sagging lips. He could be as brave, as cool as the other fellow!
He would give them something to talk about when they related the
story of his capture. He would--

Suddenly the man lunged forward...A pair of iron arms wrapped
themselves about his waist. He went down with a crash. Even as the
cry of surprise and indignation rose to his lips, his head struck
and his mind became a blank.

Slowly, as out of a fog, his senses came back. He was hazily aware
of a light shining in his eyes, and of a dull pain somewhere. Things
began to take shape before his whirling eyes. He strove to steady
them, to concentrate on the bright thing that flitted back and
forth before them. At last the blaze became stationary.

Quite close at hand was a fire,--a bright, crackling fire whose
flames danced merrily. Where was he? It was not like any other
fire he had ever seen before....Then he saw a face. It gradually
fashioned itself out of the gloom high above the flames. He blinked
his eyes and stared. Somehow it was vaguely familiar, that face....
He lifted his head and peered intently. Then he raised himself on
his elbow, all the while trying to fix that floating face in his
mind.

Suddenly his brain cleared. The full picture was revealed: A man
standing over the blazing pile of box-wood, gazing down at him with
great, unblinking eyes. The sloping roof of the cave, half lost in
the thin cloud of smoke, almost touched the crown of the watcher's
head,--and this watcher was in the garb of a sailor.

Caleb Vick! Young Caleb Vick!

For a long time the two looked into each other's eyes. Courtney's
wavering and uncertain, Caleb's fixed and triumphant.

"Is--is that you, Cale?" mumbled the former wonderingly.

Young Vick nodded his head slowly.

"How did you get here?" asked Thane, sensing peril in those boring,
unfaltering eyes. His hand went out to feel for the revolver he
had dropped. "Where--What has become of the man that jumped on me?
The detective."

"I am the man," said Cale levelly.

"You? What's the matter with you, Cale? This is a hell of a way to
treat a friend. What do you mean by helping these--"

"Cut that out," snarled Cale. "It don't go with me. Get up! You
dirty cur,--get up!"

"My God, Cale,--have you gone crazy?" gasped Thane, going cold to
the marrow. He shot a swift, terrified look toward the mouth of
the cave.

"Get up! It won't do you any good to yell. No one will hear you."

Courtney drew himself to his knees.

"It won't, eh? There's a gang of Secret Service men down there.
They'll blow your brains out if you--"

"There is no one down there," said the boy, a crooked smile on his
lips.

"I tell you there is," cried the other, desperately. "I heard them.
They trailed me here. They--"

"I guess I put one over on you, Courtney," interrupted Cale, his
voice low and deadly. "I am the fellow that chased you here. There's
nobody else. Oh, I know they're looking for you,--but they don't
know where you are. Nobody knows but me. I saw you sneaking across
that lot back yonder. I was down at the ferry--I saw--Rosabel--there."
His voice faltered. He steadied it with an effort before going on.
"I was too late. She wrote me. Then father telegraphed me--They let
me off. I came as soon as I could. I ran all the way from Hawkins.
I knew what had happened. She wrote me. But I thought maybe she'd
lose her nerve,--or, maybe you would do the right thing by her and
save her. I saw her down there on the dock. You did it. You got
her into trouble. You--"

"I don't know what you are talking about," cried the other.
"What's this you are saying? Have you lost your mind, Cale? My God,
boy,--I,--why, what sort of a beast do you think I am? I--I adored
her. Come, come, Cale! Calm yourself! You know perfectly well how
fond I was of her. I couldn't have done anything so foul as--Why,
Cale, she was nothing but a kid, a little girl to me. I--"

"Yes,--that's what she was,--a kid, just a poor little kid. She
trusted you. I trusted you. We all trusted you. And now she's--she's
dead. My sister! My pretty little sister!" He straightened up and
threw his arm across his eyes, only to withdraw it instantly. "GOD
DAMN YOU! Get up! Come over here! Here's her letter. Read it! Read
it, you dirty swine!"

He reached inside his blouse and drew forth a folded bit of paper.

"I--I don't want to read it," faltered Thane, shrinking back. "I
know nothing about all this nonsense you are--"