The Photo-Play Journal (Jul 1919-Feb 1921)

26 Photo-Play Journal years. She wondered where he was now; she imagined him a social outcast, ragged and bearded, just as he had firsl come to her. And that same feeling of pity she had felt the first time, mixed with the deeper feeling of love, would overwhelm her. She wished desperately to meet him again, to put him back on his feet with her love, as she had once put him back with her kindness. And then, at the Country Club Ball, she saw him. She saw him tall and proud and erect and immaculate. She saw the affection in which he was held by all. And there came over her a sense of having been fooled, of having been tricked. Three years she had brooded over him ; pitied him ; longed to help him. Here he was, nonchalant and unperturbed, unneedful of her pity. Rage mastered her. "Joan, let me introduce Mr. Clark," said Fannie Dering. "Mr. Clark?" sneered Joan. "That's Myles Calthorpe, I.D.B." Her voice was loud enough for all to hear. Those whose hands had been extended in fellowship a moment before fell away and left the room. There was a brief moment when the two were left alone. When Calthorpe spoke, it was the voice of a man who has beheld a mirage "I've loved you Joan," he said, "Even prison make me forget after tonight I Look, I vanish, always, heavily, couldn't you, but shall forget. Look, I have already forgotten." He opened a locket to show her a rosebud she had given him four years ago, threw it toward the fireplace and left the room. The men, who had left the room in order not to create a scene, found themselves awed into silence as Calthorpe strode past them. Tom Dering called out to him, but Calthorpe, head held high, ignored him, too, and went out into the night, alone. Fannie found Joan crying bitterly, a locket in her hand. The following morning Tom Dering rode over to the Prescott's plantation. Calthorpe had already told of the discovery of his past and had asked to be allowed to go. But Prescott had grown attached to this man who had made good with a vengeance, and argued him out of it. So Jim Clark, foreman, became Myles Calthorpe, manager. Calthorpe watched Dering ride up with a wondering look. Would they try to hound him here, too? But Dering dismounted, and gave him a firm handclasp. "I'm your friend, Calthorpe," he said. "I was in jail three years," said Myles. "I know enough about the law to know that you're not the first innocent man who's been in jail," said Dering. "I wish you'd use me as your lawyer, and tell me the inside of the whole affair. I owe you something, old man, and this would be a partial payment." "You're a brick, Dering," said Myles. "But if I told you the whole story, it would involve a girl who I know is innocent." Dering had a shrewd suspicion about the girl's identitv, but he was wise enough not to mention it. "Suppose I promise that the girl will not be involved?" "Thou art tin man," she smiled at him through her tears Calthorpe straightened. "And will you help me get the real criminals?" Dering promised. And so he learned Calthorpe's story. Joan, returned home, found her brother in trouble. Solomon, angered by Joan's indifference, and Henry Farrant's refusal to put pressure to bear on his sister to favor his marriage proposal, had inveigled Farrant into buying shares in a worthless gold mine. Farrant faced poverty, he told Joan. "As long as I'm rid of Solomon," she said, "I can face poverty with you, Henry. We'll start all over again." Dering brought Calthorpe to town to find the weakest link in the chain of Solomon's employees. One of Calthorpe's o 1 d co-workers greeted him on the street. "Still working for Solomon and Brummage?" asked Calthorpe. "Yes," laughed the other. "I'm just here on a vacation." "Come on up to the hotel and have a drink," said Calthorpe. "Fine", laughed the other. But Calthorpe led him not to the bar, but to a room where there were a detective and a stenographer. They searched the clerk and found a package of diamonds on him, and forced a confession from him. Then Calthorpe led the police to Solomon and Brummage's, and had the satisfaction of himself clasping on their wrists the handcuffs. Henry Farrant, on his way to his office that same afternoon, was run over by a motor, thus cheating justice. But before he died, he confessed everything to his sister. The papers had a nine days' wonder. Calthorpe's innocence was proclaimed in vivid headlines ; Solomon and Brummage's crooked deals were pitilessly exposed. Calthorpe went back to the plantation, where the Prescotts hailed him with delight, glad that their trust in him had been so gloriously vindicated. He could stand up again to his fellow men without the finger of scorn pointing at him. He would have been completely happy, but for memories of Joan. He tackled his work with a new zest, hoping to forget her. But love, he found, is not to be banished by a wave of the hand. He plunged again into social life : the club, eager to make amends for its previous attitude, dined him ; the women found him less solitary. But though he searched among them, he knew that what he wanted was not there. It was in the puffs of smoke that he blew from his pipe : it was in his dreams : it was Joan. And then one day, Joan came. Came to beg his forgiveness, to tell him of her brother's confession; came because she knew she should come. She wept bitterly as she talked. And Calthorpe, gathering her in his arms, kissed the tears away, and asked her to start all over with him. "We'll forget the past," he said. ''All I want is a woman : and thou art the woman." "Thou art the man", she smiled at him through her tears. "And everything else is forgotten." he laughed. "Everything," she said, "but this." It was the locket he had thrown awav.