Los Angeles Daily Herald

DOES IT PAY?
BY BELLE MEADE SMITH
Author of "A Human Kaleidoscope," "The
Sensation of the Summer," etc.

PART II.
XVIII.

From Frank Ford in Los Angeles to Mrs.
Archer in Paris.

My Dear Friend:—To my surprise
this morning, a coupé carriage,
drawn by a pair of quiet horses, and
driven by Mademoiselle D'Argantal,
drove up to my door. "This is unex-
pected," I exclaimed, as I hurried out
to receive my distinguished guest.

"But I hope," said Mademoiselle, as
she offered me her hand, "it is none
the less welcome."

"Mr. Ford, if you
can accommodate us, Ma Mue and
I have come to stay." "Impossible,"
I gasped, "there is not a carpet on the
floors and the house is white-washed
inside and out." "So much the bet-
ter," said Mademoiselle, "I want to
rough it. Now do be obliging enough
to rent us one or two of your rooms,
and to allow us the use of your kitch-
en," and she laughed just as Nellie
would have laughed under sim-
ilar
circumstances.
Whereupon,
The Philosopher, who, in com-
pany with an incubator and about
two thousand motherless chicks now
resides with me, stepped up and set-
tled the matter by saying that as our
place and life were exactly what
Mademoiselle needed, he would an-
swer for me; that the entire ranch
was at her disposal. Then Mademoi-
selle and Madame D'Argantal, or Ma-
Mue, as her daughter so prettily calls
her, alighted, and without the least
ceremony took possession of the house
Your humble servant.
F.F.

XIX.

From Sidonie D'Argantal in Los Angeles to
Mrs. Archer in Paris.

My Dear Friend:—When I tell you
that I have bought a lot and that I in-
tend to build a cottage for Ma Mue
and myself in Los Angeles, you will
be convinced that it is the garden
spot of earth. I wish I could describe
it to you, but I cannot, it must be seen
to be appreciated. Still, I want you
to have some idea of what it is like, and
so I shall to the best of my abilit
photograph it with my pen. Picture
to yourself a vast stretch of fadelessly
green country, made up of hills and
valleys, canopied by a cloudless sky
of vivid blue, and walled in by an un-
broken hue of mystic mountains, and
you will with your mind's eyes behold
the City of the Angels. In all direc-
tions beautiful lemons, adorned by
oranges, banana and palm trees, and
completely embedded in the gayest
flowers are to be seen; while
miles and miles of unoccupied
land awaits the pleasure
of
those happy people who are constant-
ly learning that it is better to live on
the Pacific Slope than to die in the
cold, cold East. The original town,
with its sleepy Mexicans and adobe
huts, has existed for a century, but
the enterprising metropolis which to-
day bids fair to become the Paris of
America only saw the light seven
years ago. As I look about me and
see the flourishing stores, the innu-
merable churches and the many
street car and motor lines that
appear, at every turn, I am inclined to believe that some
unseen and mythological God, has
with his magic power created this
wonderful city, where everybody is
prosperous and happy and where a
wise prudence, which if it did not
really exist, would be utopian, per-
vades every class and location. But
the climate. therein lies the secret of
California's charm. I wish I could for-
ever bask in its sunshine (and as soon
as I retire from the stage I shall)
and never again be subjected to
the changes and extremes of
less temperate climes. In the
words of the philosopher, of whom
you have so often heard from Mr.
Ford, and who really is a remarkable
man. I prefer to end my days in a
spot where sunstrokes, mad dogs and
snow storms are unknown." But to
tell you about Mr. Ford. he is in love
with me. but he will not admit it,
even to himself. he is too loyal to his
dead Nellie. whom he says I resem-
ble. I like him for his devotion
to her memory, better than for
anything else; although, I must
confess, I find him in every
respect agreeable and companionable.
We are the best of friends." We are to
each other Frank and Sidonie. Ma Mue
thinks a great deal of him, too, for
which I am glad. I now feel at home
with people of whom she can ap-
prove. I have persuaded him to
write—rather to dictate—a play, and
to allow me to act as his amanuensis.
We commence work to-morrow. I
shall tell you as soon as possible how
we get along. I know how anxious
you are to have him succeed in his
profession.

XX.

From Carl Beck in Boston to Frank Ford in
Los Angeles.

Dear Ford:—I shall start for Califor-
nia next week. If it will be conveni-
ent for you to entertain me I shall
arrange to spend a week or two with
you. "Telegraph me a reply.

XXI.

A telegram sent by Frank Ford in Los Ang-
e-
les to Carl Beck in Boston.

Come, if you are not afraid of the
infection.

XXII.

A telegram sent by Carl Beck, in Boston, to
Frank Ford, in Los Angeles.

What is it?—the smallpox?

XXIII.

A telegram sent by Frank Ford, in Los An-
geles, to Carl Beck, in Boston.

No: the land fever, which is raging
with consuming violence all over
Southern California.

XXIV.

From Sidonie D'Argantal in Los Angeles to
Mrs. Archer in Paris.

My Dear Emily: Frank's tragedy,
which he has decided to call "Desti-
ny," is going to be a great success.
The leading rôle. which I have prom-
ised to play, suits me perfectly. We
are engaged upon the third act. the
first two are finished, and The Philos-
opher, who is an incomparable critic.
pronounces them faultless. The cele-
brated but disagreeable painter. Carl
Beck, arrived at the ranch yesterday.
We are all trying to make the best of the
situation, but just now, when we want
to get the play ready to present during
the coming season, his presence is de-
trop.

XXV.

From Frank Ford in Los Angeles to Mrs.
Archer in Paris.

My Dear Friend—I cannot tell you
how anxious I feel about the appear-
ance of my play, which is now almost
completed. I have met with so many
disappointments that I can scarcely
believe now in the possibility of suc-
cess, yet Sidonie and Mr. Philosopher
both assure me that I am destined to
become a great dramatist. My old
friend. Carl Beck, is at present
making me a visit. I am afraid I am
not as glad to see him as I ought to
be. He is monopolizing so much of
Sidonie's attention. I do not believe
she cares for him : for when I question
her about her sentiments. she laugh-
ingly insists that she never expects to
marry him, but that she dislikes him
so much that she cannot help flirting
with him. But he is madly in love
with her; and for the first time in his
life.

XXVI.

From Frank Ford in Los Angeles to Mrs
Archer in Paris:

My Dear Friend—Sidonie's affair
with Beck is over, and bitterly chag-
rined he has gone away. She
was engaged to him for four weeks,
and a worse love-lorn man than he
was I never saw. When the time
came for him to leave she told him
she feared marriage and art were in-
compatible, and that as she was al-
ready wedded to her profession. she
had decided to nullify her vows of
constancy to him. As she is nothing
of a coquette, he cannot understand
her course. Neither can I. Can you?

XXVII.

From Mrs. Archer. in Paris, to Frank Ford,
in Los Angeles.

My Dear Friend—I do not know
what prompted Sidonie to act as she
has done; but I am convinced she
had some good reason, of which
neither you nor I know, for punish-
ing Carl Beck.

XXVIII.

From Sidonie D'Argantal in Los Angeles to
Mrs. Archer in Paris.

My Dear Emily—That odious artist
has gone away, and in consequence I
can breathe freely. We are now
working upon the fifth act of "Des-
tiny," with which I am delighted. It
is a noble play, and I can enter into it
with my whole soul. But we have
within the past few days met with a
second interruption in the person of
another old friend of Frank's, Effie
Morgan.' Poor child, she has lost her
beauty
and
her voice,
she
has
been
deserted
by
her
husband, and utterly impoverished
and alone, she has come to California
in the forlorn hope of recovering her
health. Mamma and I have adopted
her. We have removed her from the
wretched room in which we found her
to the Belmont hotel. It stands upon
the summit of a lofty hill and com-
mands a magnificent view of the en-
tire city. It is reached by a line of
cable cars. which during the ascent
and descent are almost perpendicular.
I enjoy the sensation," but the first
time Effie rode in them she was very
much frightened. She is getting
used
to
them now, however,
and every
day she takes a trip
into the city, which is bright
enough to cheer even the dying. She
expects to get well, and I suppose it is
best that she is not devoid of hope, but
in her case, life is merely a question of
time. She did not come to Los An-
geles soon enough,

XXIX.

From Sidonie D'Argantal, in Los Angeles, to
Mrs. Archer, in Paris.

My Dear Emily: I have removed
my protégée from the Belmont hotel to
a private boarding house at Santa
Monica, the seaside resort, which
is to Los
Angeles, what Co-
ney Island is to
New York.
I did not approve of her going,
but she wanted to, and so I offered
little or no remonstrance. She is sink-
ing so rapidly that nothing can either
save or injure her, and so, in order to
make her happy, we humor her every
whim. It is so sad to see one so gay and
lighthearted, so promising. in such a
condition. Still, she is cheerful. I
am charmed with Santa Monica; with
its long stretch of beach; its peaceful
ocean, and its sunny sky. The town
is a collection of pretty cottages and
lovely gardens, and is located upon
the bluff which is at least an hundred
feet above the level of the sea. Sit-
ting at the windows or upon the
porches of the cottages ranged along
the cliff, it is impossible to see the
beach. with its row of tents and its
fine hotel. but the view which is thus
obtained of the calm Pacific is exceed-
ingly beautiful. I am going to buy for
a summer residence the house at
which Effie is staying. It is a charm-
ing little snuggery, and occupies a
most picturesque site. " Destiny" is
finished, and is excellent beyond
my
highest
expectations.
I
am perfecting myself in my part, which
is very. very difficult. I have per-
suaded Frank to travel with us during
the approaching season and to gener-
ally look after his interests and mine.
I think he will make an efficient stage
manager, and that he will be able to
relieve Ma-Mue of much care and
anxiety.

XXX.

From Sidonie D'Argantal in Los Angeles, to
Mrs. Archer, in Paris.

My Dear Emily—Effie has returned
to the Belmont Hotel, where she
is
slowly but surely dying. We
have employed a nurse for her, and
the philosopher promises to see that
she wants for nothing after I have
gone. To-morrow Ma Mue, Frank
and I start for New York, where in
two weeks we are engaged to present
"Destiny." I have no fears for the
play, but Frank is so dreadfully anx-
ious' that he has made me feel a
little nervous too.

XXXI.

From Frank Ford, in New York, to Mrs
Archer. in Paris.

My Dear Friend: At last I have
realized my fondest dreams. I am
too hurried and excited to write at
length, but I inclose a notice which,
in a unique way of its own, will ex-
press to you the sentiments of the en-
tire press.

It gratifies us to observe that Frank
Ford has caught on at last. For years
he has been acting in the capacity of
foot ball for all the editors and pub-
lishers of America; and for his perse-
verance. if for no other reason. he
merits his present success. However
his play, entitled "Destiny." and
which is so powerfully presented by
Mademoiselle D'Argantal and her excel-
lent company, is a dramatic master
piece which bids fair to live as long as
the stage itself.

XXXII.

From the Countess de Varicourt in Rome to
Frank Ford in New York.

My Dear Friend—I am now the
Countess de Varicourt, and my be-
loved and I are spending our honey-
moon in Rome. If I had not been
supremely happy before the news of
your success would have made me so.
With all my heart I congratulate you.

XXXIII.

From Sidonie D'Argantal in Boston to the
Countess de Varicourt in Paris.

My Dear Emily:—"Destiny" is
everywhere received with crowded
houses and terrific applause. I do not
know who is being most lionized, the
author or the actress. Wherever we
go we are brought out together, and
Frank is compelled to make a speech.
He is quite an orator. There is a
rumor afloat that we are soon to be
married, but it is untrue. We have
never exchanged a sentimental word.
I am tired of so much notoriety and
excitement. I am longing for the
quiet summer I have promised myself
in California, but it is yet two months
before I can enjoy it.

P. S.—I have just received a tele-
graph from the philosopher notifying
me of Effie's death. How I wish I
could have been with her to have
soothed her last hours. I do not see
how I am to go upon the stage to-
night. I feel so sad, and my eyes are
so inflamed by excessive weeping.

XXXIV.

From Frank Ford, at Santa Monica, to the
Countess de Varicourt, at Paris.

My Dear Friend—Our season is over
and Madame D'Argantal. her daughter
and I are at Sidonie's house at Santa
Monica. I shall not stay. I shall go
back to the ranch and the Philosopher
and write another play. My eyes
are so much improved that
with the use of the proper
glasses, I can get along without the
assistance of an amanuensis. I am glad
of it. I want to be alone.

XXXV.

From Frank Ford at Santa Monica to the
Countess de Varicourt in Paris.

My Dear Friend:—As the most
gorgeous sunset I have ever be-
held illuminated the
western
horizon and the calm Pacific, yester-
day afternoon. Sidonie and I started
out for a stroll along the bluff. We
were neither of us disposed to conver-
sation, and for quite a distance we
walked along in silence. At last I
said, as I paused where the view was
the finest. "I am going away." "In-
deede. said Sidonie, with a compos-
ure that angered me. "Yes," I ans-
swered, "I have sworn to myself never
to utter a word of love to any living
woman, and if I remain near you any
longer, I shall perjure myself and
wrong my dead." "Frank," she said
gravely, let us sit down here,
I have something to tell you."
She seated herself upon the cliff and
motioned me to a place beside her
Then she said, in a voice that trembled.
"I am not Sidonie D'Argantal. I am
Nellie Porter." "Impossible" I cried
"you were born in France and Madame
D'Argantal is your mother." "I was
born in Boston" she continued, "and
Madame D'Argantal is only my
mother by adoption. But if you will
listen to me, without interrupting me
I shall tell you the story from
beginning to end. Many years
ago, when you and I had
suffered less than we have since, we
were as Frank and Nellie—all in all to
each other. We would have re-
mained so had not an evil spirit in the
form of that heartless man, Carl Beck,
torn us asunder. When the blow fell
upon me it almost killed me, and to
escape the pity and inspection of
friends. who knew me, I became the
companion of an invalid, Alice Ev-
ans, who was about to start for Cali-
fornia. We came to Los Angeles and
took up our abode with a Spanish
family. who for some reason
mistook us
for
each
other.
The confusion of the names amused
us, and we did not try to correct the
mistake. Later on, and when I saw
that my friend must die, I conceived
the idea of continuing to bear her
name, and of allowing the world to
believe that I was dead. I made the
proposition to her, and so dearly did
she love me that she not only acceded
to it, but arranged to leave me all of
her property. One week later she
passed away, and as Nellie Porter was
laid to rest in the San Gabriel
church yard, while I as Alice Evans,
announced my death to Prof. Mue,
and set sail for Europe. For a short
time I remained in England, but I was
so much afraid of being seen and dis-
covered. that I soon made my way to
France, where I felt more at ease.
While staying for a few weeks at
Lyons, I became acquainted with
Mademoiselle D'Argantal and her
daughter, who was slowly dying of
consumption. Her name was Sidonie
and she was as beautiful and
pure as an angel. Her mother
was extremely poor and was
unable to provide her with the com-
forts she required. So I, who had an
abundance of this world's goods. made
her cause my own. Meanwhile, I
had decided to become an actress,
and when Sidonie died I told Madame
D'Argantal my story, and begged per-
mission to assume the dead girl's
name. She was pleased to have me
do so, and from that hour she and I
purported to be mother and daughter.
The rest you already know, but you
do not know how glad I was when
I learned that Emily Archer was your
friend and correspondent, and that
through her and without danger of
discovery. I should be able to resume
my acquaintance with you." "And,"
I asked, as in the gathering darkness
I clasped her hands in mine, "you
have loved me through all these years
that have intervened?" "I have."
she answered. "and you have loved
me; your devotion to my supposed
memory has assured me of that." I
should like to proclaim to all who
know me. that I had found my lost
love; but of this Sidonie will not
hear. She visits no one but yourself
and Prof. Mercer, to whom she is now
writing to learn her name and history.
I have urged her to reveal herself to
my aunt, Miss Hays, who in years
gone by so warmly espoused her
cause, but she objects. She says
aunt Martha would neither be able to
reconcile the unsophisticated New
England girl with the famous French
actress, or to avoid saying disagreeable
things of me, and that in consequence
she had better be kept in ignorance.
I dare say she is right. Neither will
she permit me to relate one word of
the truth to Beck. She says that if
he discovered who she was, he would
learn why she had flirted with him.
and that her revenge would thus be
incomplete. I can now count myself
a fortunate man. I have won the
woman who is dearer to me than my
life, and I have attained the object of
my
wishes, literary celebrity.
But as I look back over the
years of loneliness, of toil and of dis-
appointment through which I have
passed, the question arises in my
mind, "Does it Pay." to be famous?
I think not. I believe the happiest
men and women are those whose
lives are devoted to love, not to am-
bition, and Sidonie, as she glances
over my shoulder, says, "So do I."

THE END.