Newspaper Page Text
Saturday, December 27, 1924
ft*********** «• v *44>++*+4»t>++***+*+*«**«+ **«*«*|
e* TO
m f % LET-AN
% * * APARTMENT
*>
t BemjtheSjmewhatCirnpHcated Love Story of a Man * i
and. a Maid, With .uove Running True to Type.
#
By ELEANOR PORTER * ❖
I Author of “ Pollyanna,” « Just David,” Etc. •>
V Cnpyrleht by iSleanor H. Porter * ❖
THIRTY-EIGHTH street east, m
the parlor of a stuffy, four-room
suite, „ Miss Josephine Barton
the looked
over newspaper attentively, her
■eyes coming to a pause halfway dawn
■the column. |
it < Apartments: New,
Modern conveniences, up-to-date, all
she moderate rent,'’’
murmured. “ ‘Er^raasly designed
or people of refined tastes and limited
means. References required.’ 1—I am
going to look at them,” she finished
with sudden decision. “It sounds as If
Ifc would b« just the place for auntie
aD m ?'
n w y 'T , gb . . “ street west ln
„ 7„ - - a
second-noor-front ’ of a shabby,
eminently respectable boarding-house,
Major Hilton smoothed across his
-nees a copy of the same paper, and
sam e advertisement.
, *’ f n< / / V* the y re 11! what ’ he they ex] aimed
; , pre
er *'' and—begin ? !!’ , * to eU il live!” ^° r , t * ie raot,1 ~
Ten days later, before the door of
small apartment house far uptown
stood two furniture vans—a red and a
yellow one.
Above the sidewalk, In the twin bay
windows of the second floor. Miss Jo
sephine Barton and Major Hilton
looked out upon a world in which
nothing was familiar save their re
speetive goods being unloaded below.
“Mm-m—someone has taken that
other suite so soon,” mused the lady ;
“now there are no more to let. Wasn’t
I fortunate!”
“By George I” grumbled the major in
the other window, eyeing his neigh
bor’s goods. “S’pose those belong to
the lucky dog who took that south
suite—and only two hours ahead of
me, according to the janitor. Well, if
I can’t have that I’m mighty glad to
get this,” he added, as he turned away
from “the window.
Down on the sidewalk an oak cos
tumer and a lady’s standing workbas
ket stood side by side. A minute after
they were flanked by two suitcases,
twins in color, shape and size. r Two
minutes later a man from the red van
swung the costumer across nis shoul
der and caught up one of the suit
cases. As had been his custom through
out the afternoon he directed his steps
toward number three, the south suite.
Thus It happened that at six o'clock
that night, after the men had gone.
Miss Barton confronted, in the middle
of her bedroom floor, an unfamiliar,
unlovely thing of oak and prongs.
“Oh 1” she exclaimed, dropping limply
back into the nearest chair. ‘“Why,
that Isn’t minel”
Across the hall, the major in his bay
window, was cutting the cords around
a paper-covered object that stood per
haps two feet tall before him.
“Why, what—I don’t remember—this
can’t—well, by Jove!” he finished, as
the wrapping fell away and disclosed
a Indy’s workbasket, dainty in white
enamel and gold. “Well, by Jove!”
In v the south suite Miss Barton
rose
to her feet.
t* It must belong in number four,”
she murmured, circling around the
costumer as If looking for an ad
vantageous point Ox view. “What an
ugly thing!—still, I fancy it is con
venient. I—I ought to take it home,
I suppose,” she added, looking furtive
ly at the door.
“Humph!” ejaculated the major
across the hall, his eyes on the basket.
“Rather neat—that! Mm-m; looks
homey, and as if button* were sewed
on. Belongs to that lucky beggar in
the south suite, I suppose. Seems to
me lie’s got—well, when little mother
comes, I’ll look homey, and my buttons
will be sewed.
And lie caught up the basket amd
started for the hall door. The next
moment he came face to face with bis
own imnge in the mirror of the hat
rack.
“Groat Scott!” he cried, dropping
.tlie basket. “Where’s that suitcase?
ii can’t go looking this way!”
“I’ll just change my stock,” decided
Miss Barton In suite three, as she
- picked up a tan leather suitcase arid
snapped the spring.
“OhJ” she gasped. “Oh—oh-h!”
“By Jove!” exploded the major
across the hall. “Well, by Jove!”
Before Miss Barton’s horrified eyes
lay a man's vest, two neckties, a nest
of collars, and an immaculate, glisten
ing shirt-front; before the major’s lay
a fluff of lace and linen, a glimpse of
pink nnd pale blue, and on top, as If
hastily thrust there, a pair of black
kid slippers.
“Obi” shuttered Miss Barton, and
closed the bag with a snap. Not so
the major. For a moment he gazed
in blank stupefaction; then he slowly
reached out his hand,, picked up one
of the slippers, laid It acixiss his palm,
and raised lue hand to the level of hts
eyas.
“Hm-m; and that’s neat, too,” he
said softly; then a whimsical twinkle
came Into his eyes, 4, Not even the
little mother will bring—like that,” he
whispered.
The distant click of a door brought
the major suddenly to himself, ana
sent n crimson flood to neck and brow.
In a marvelously short time he had
flung wide his door and was striding
into the hall, a lady’s workbasket and a
tan suitcase clutched In his’ hands.
The major and Miss Barton met exact-
ly In the middle of the narrow landing.
“I beg pardon—”
1 “Excuse me—’’
i “Er—one of the men—”
“Through a mistake—”
“Very careless-’’
“Thank you—”
“Thank you—’’
Then two doors shut crisply. Behind
one the major wiped his brow. “By
Jove!—by Jove I" he exclaimed faintly,
Behind the other, Miss Burton sank
palpitatingly into a chair.
“Oh, It was awful—awful 1” she
gasped. “Aunt Emma, lie—he had
mine! Then she fell on her knees be
fore the suitcase and fearfully pressed
,fhe spring. “OhT she cried, with pink
cheeks, and shut the bag with a -snap,
Getting settled was not a long mat
ter in the south side. Miss Barton and
'her aunt, Mrs. Todd, made quick work
of it. Across the hall it was different.
The “little mother” could not come for
a week yet, and the major spent much
of this time in shifting his new furni
ture about from corner to corner.
There was something else, too, which
interfered not a little wltn the writing
of his “Results of the Spanish War,”
upon which he was supposed to be
just now hard at work—the major
went shopping; he went shopping 'for
a white enamel workbasket ’barred
with gold.
As the major took all his meals out
during those seven days, he passed
very frequently up and down'the stair
way. Sometimes he met his neighbor
of number three.
It was on the sixth day that Miss
Barton, on going out for a loaf of
bread, found the major sitting on the
top step of the stairway. He arose at
once as she approached, but when she
came back ten minutes later he was
again sitting on the top step.
For ten minutes Miss Barton moved
restlessly about her rooms, then she
once mote put on her hat and coat and
went out into the hall.
As before, the major sprang to his
feet and retreated toward his own
door, but Miss Barton did not seem to
notice. In the little store around the
comer she bought a paper of pins
which she in no wise needed, and bent
lwried steps homewacd. At the top
of the stairs she turned squarely
around and faced the man skulking by
the door of number four.
“Is there anything wrong? Are you
In trouble? Can I do something for
you?” she asked with a precipitation
that hinted at a courage fast ooajag
out at her fingertips.
"Thank you, no—er—that Is, I have
been careless enough to leave my keys
Inside. I am waiting for the jantto
and a ladder.
Oh, but the janitor went to Brook
lyn this forenoon. He told me he
wouldn’t be back until five o’clock,”
said Miss Barton, pityingly.
For ten minutes more Miss Barton
moved restlessly about her pleasant
rooms; then she knocked at her aunt’s
bedroom door.
| “Aunt Emma, Aunt EmmaShe
celled. “Xotfil Ju*t have to come Into
the parlor. H», next door, ts locked
out, and I’ve just got to aak him in
until he can get a ladder.”
“What!” demanded Aunt Emma, sit
ting bolt upright on the bed. where
she was trying to get a nap. “What!”
Some minutes later, Mrs. Todd,
sleepy and unwilling, sat In the par
lor’s easiest chair trying to knit; the
major, flushed and 111 at ease, sat in
the bay window pretending to read;
and Miss Barton, pink-eheeked and
dignified, sat by her workbasket try
ing to look unconcerned.
For a time there was silence. The
major, having been distinctly Invited
in,to read, felt In duty bound to keep
the paper raised before his faee; but
his eyes, more mutinous than his
hands, left the paper and explored the
territory within their range.
“There’s something here—something
that I haven’t got,” he mused; then
his eyes fell on. tlie workbasket. Down
went the paper> and up went fits chin
determinedly.
“Miss Barton, could you—would you
tell roe where you got the basket?”
he asked abruptly.
The lady's neck, cheek, and brow
burned scarlet—It was the basket that
had been truant with the suitcase.
Suddenly the major, too, turned fierce
ly red. The next Instant something of
the courage that was his in battle
flashed from his eye.
“I asked,” he went «*n with a laugh
that surprised himself, so .easy was It,
"because I've hunted for a week for a
basket like that to give to another. I
want a white-enamel, standing work
basket, barred with gold,” he finished,
unconsciously failing into the rormula
which he had that week presented to
do less than ten New York clerks.
"But I didn't bay it," laughed Miss
Barton In her tum; “not that way.
It was an ugly little cane basket of
no particular shade when I bought it.
I enameled It myself And checked It
off with gold paint."
It was easier after that. The
major lost bis flush, and Miss Barton
looked unconcerned without trying.
Miss Barton forgot time, herself, ami
even the suitcase; but when five
o’clock had come and the major had
ctuio aha remembered nothin u but the
GRIFFIN DAILY NEWS
suitcase and the embarrassing mo
ment when she and the man had faced
each other in the hallway. She de
cided at once that she had been too
cordial, too kind, too free with this
unknown, vinpreseuted mun.
The next time Miss Barton mot the
major on the stairs she merely bowed
and dropped her eyes, whereat the
major so far forgot himself as to turn
and stare. The major had looked for
better treatment. The major’s remem
brance of that charming afternoon in
the restful room, where lived the
woman with sun-flecked hair and
peach-bloom cheeks, was very vivid;
while tlie major's rccollectiou of the
suitcase episode was growing fainter
every day.
Weeks passed. The little mother
came to number four bringing cheer
and comfort, and a sense of home;
km she had not been there two months
before she was summoned to a distant
state to see a sick daughter, where
upon the major resumed nis old habit
of going out for his meals. His neigh
bor lie seldom saw; when he did see
her there were only the grave bow
and the quickly averted eyes to greet
him. He began to wonder If that de
lightful afternoon In the homelike
room at number three were only a
dream after all.
Did the major forget on that day
just a week after his mother left?—
■or was he shamelessly making a
shrewd attempt to find out for a eer
Utinty whether that afternoon was a
dream or not? At all events, one
o'clock and Miss Barton found him
seated on the topmost step of the
stairway,
i. I’m locked out again,” he an
nounced cheerfully, as he rose to his
feet. “And, If you’ll believe it, that in
considerate janitor has gone to Brook
lyn, too.”
Miss Barton raised her heatl. For an
instant a repetition of the invitation
trembled on her lips; then a certain
exultation In the man’s voice, an eager
expectancy in his eyes, sent a swift
suspicion To -her mind.
Perhaps—what if he had done this
thing on purpose? What if—
“I am sorry,” she said gravely, and
passed to her own door.
“Well, by Jove—by Jove!" muttered
the major as the door shut her from
view. Then he sat down on the top
most step and thought.
It was on a pleasant morning not
long afterwards that Mrs. Todd left
the house to spend the day In shopping.
At ten, dressed in cool gray and white,
Miss Josephine Barton opened the door
and stepped into the hall. She had
scanely crossed the threshold when a
. gust of wind from the rear blew the
door to with a bang.
“My key!” gasped the lady, her,
small teeth seeking her under lip. Then
relieved . look , , come Into , her eyes,
I a
“ Newr ™md-Aunt Emma will be here
lon E before I get back from Tarrj
l0Wtt -
She took one step forward, then
stopped. She pulled gently, then with
1 fore®. *t her gray draperies. With a
.quick Indrawing of her breath she
I turned and looked behind her. Fully
j three inches of the hem of her skirt
under the close-shut door,
| ‘'OhT’ Bhe cried softly, and tugged
again. “Oh, oh, what shall I do?”
At- that moment came a click across
the hall. Miss Barton turned right
i about face on the instant. She opened
her purse and began carefully to scru
jtlnixe its contents.
| The door across the hall opened and
'the major stepped out. There was an
'almost Imperceptible pause while he
waited for her recognition. lit was
then that Miss, Barton made her first
mistake. In her anxiety to appenr nat
iural and unconcerned she gave, not
jthe her usual cold bow dazzling and mute dropping
«f eyes, hut: a smile.
j Urightly. ^od morning, “We must major,” all be Improving she said
I^ls beautiful day, you see. ’
! U wfls the man ’ s visiWe * tart of 8Ur -
jpHse that opened Miss Barton’s eyes.
|She froze instantly.
“Certainly, certainly,” beamed the
major; then he caught sight of her
stem, unsmiling face. “Er—certainly,”
he mumbled, as he turned and hurried
, downstairs, wondering the while, if It
were Ids ears or his eyes that were
playing htm false this time,
j When silence once more reigned in
the Itall Miss Barton dropped wearily
to her knee*, twisted her body about,
and brought both hands to bear on the
gray skirt. It was useless.
“Oh, dear! Oh, dearl” moaned Miss
Barton. "What can.I do? I can’t stay
here all day!" *
'"'A Ctarter of steps from the floor
above brought her painfully to her
feet; uud> again she scrutinized the
contents of her purse. This time a
tenant from number five passed down
the stairs. Four times was this repeated.
At the end of an hour she was lean
ing, white and exhausted, against the
. casing when the main door downstairs
banged shut. She had just time to
open her purse and begin the counting
■of coins that to her seemed already
wbrn thin by the proceaa, when the
major reached the top of dbe stairs.
»• Why-’’ be began.
Miss Barton looked full In his face
and bowed gravely. Then she dropped
her <eyes. The major stumbled to his
own .door and filled In the key; hut
the door had not been five minutes
closed before It opened again and ad
mitted the major to the hall.
“Mis* Barton, are ydu troubled la
any way?’’ he demanded recklessly.
11 Is anything wrong? Can I help yeu?”
“‘Troubled?’ ’Wrong?*" stammered
the lady. “Why what makes you have
such a funny Idea?”
• • Is everything all right T*
"Why. of course,” Insisted the lady,
valnty trying to quiet her conscience
at the same time by the assurance
that everything was all right, and that
It wasn't a fib.
,v’
‘•MLs Hurt on, I—I am going to dis
pute you,” began the major desper
ately, perspiration starting to his fore
bead. "When everything is all right,
people don't stand for an hour count
ing money lu their pocket books.”
“Wiiy, really; how—how do you
know I have been here an hour?” she
demanded, determined at all costa to
keep from this one man, at least, the
knowledge of her predicament.
, “Miss Barium is It—money?” he
burst out. ‘‘Won’t you let me—aid
you? You—I—doubtless you have
started out with not so much Us you
thought you hud,” he went on, trying
to make volubility covgr embarrass
ment. “I assure you, I-”
‘‘It is not money,” interrupted Miss
Barton, Icily; the next instant she bit
her lip with vexation.
“Then there is something!” cried
the major. ‘‘Miss Barton, you—you are
locked out!” he declared with sudden
Inspiration.
There was no answer.
“You ure!”
Still no reply.
“What a shame!” exclaimed the
major sympathetically. “But, never
mind—I'll have the janitor here In
short order. I saw him down to the
corner not five minutes ago. 11
And the major leaped down the
stairs two steps at a time. Ten min
utes later, flushed and disturbed, he
faced Miss Barton again,
“He’s gone—the rascal!” panted the
major. “Totally disappeared into thin
air! But, Miss Barton, couldn't you—
can’t I do something?”
,
Miss Barton shook her head; then
she laid hold of her courage with both
hands.
“I was going i.j Tarrytown,’' she ex
plained. “I would go now, only—my
dress Is caught—In the door. II
My dear lady!—you poor thing!—I
beg of you, allow meP’ And the
major was down on his knees at her
side tugging at the dress.
“I’m afraid I shall—tear It,” he fal
tered at last.
“Never mind If you do,” returned
Miss Barton miserably.
“Gh, but—It would be a shame!—
such a pretty dress! ■
spite of herself Miss Barton
smiled. The pink In her checks de
parted.
“If you'have a knife you might—cut
It,” she suggested faintly.
•“Never!” protested the -major,
sp ringing to - his f e et .---------------------------
Suddenly the man straightened him
self and squared his shoulders—not
for nothing hud the major been placed
of men.
My dear lady,” he began authori
tatively, “there is only one thing to
he done; but first I’m going to make
r*ii comfortable.” And he disappeared
into his own apartment.
When the major came back he had
an ottoman, three cushions, anu a
book. A minute later, in spite of pro
tests, Miss Barton found herself seated
on the ottoman, the cushions at her
back against the door, and the book
in her hand.
“Now where Is Mrs. Todd?" de
manded the major. “I’m going for her
keys."
“You can’t find her. She’s shopping,”
announced Miss Barton, tragically.
<>*”Then we’ll stay here till she
Comes,” retorted the major, dropping
himself upon the topmost stair with a
long sigh that certainly was not .one
of discontent
Fortunately the hall was light, the
building being only three stories high
an< j t, av i ng a pig skylight in the roof,
Also, fortunately but two families
lived on the floor above; and as mem
bers of both had already passed Miss
Barton ou their way out, there were
few curious eyes to be amazed at the
remarkable tete-a-tete on the middle
landing.
(t waa at Iloon , hftt mnjnr an(J
fpnat<M ehlcfepn
hot <. ofrw , nnd iw .
cream brought in by the major from a
. jipi^borlng restaurant nnd spread on
mother's sewing-table,
one, two, three hours passed. The
prisoner and her attendant talked,
«| 0 ud. and told stories. At four
o'clock Mrs. Todd, coming quietly up
* ta irs, found the two deep la a game of
chesa.
“For heaven’s sake!" ejaculated
Mrs. Todd, clutching at tlie balusters
with liotli hands—she I tut! nearly
fallen backwards.
Wheti explanations had been given,
the door opened, and the gray dress
released, and when Mrs. Todd had dis
appeared In her own room. Miss Bar
ton turned a flu shed face to the major.
’TIiaut -yTO.** she st?<?. ' “Toil—yoii
have been very kind.”
“Miss Barton, I’m a fighter; I’m not
a diplomat. I know no way except to
come straight ,to the point. Once be
fore I passed a pleasant afternoon
with you—a very pleasant afternoon;
but from then until today I have been
sternly held at the end of a grave
bow. Today f discovered that Lieuten
ant Meers is o«r common friend Miss
Boston, with your kind permission.
Lieutenant Moms will shortly bring
me to call. I would like to be Intro
duced to you.”
"I shall be delighted to see Lleu
tenaart Meers nnd—hi* friend,” site
said, 'tout—Is Lleutaaawt Meers quite
—necessary f’
It must have been a year later that
the New York papers again carried
the advertisement:
Apartment—new, up-to-date, ail
modern conveniences, moderate
rent. Expressly designed for peo
ple of refined tnstes and limited
means. References required.
“Hm-ra,” mused Major Hilton’s wife.
“It sounds Just as it did before—only
there Isn’t hot one this time.”
“There certainly Isn’t my dear,” re
torted the major; then, saucily,—
Me ’ ^ 0lw P h,np * 1' always did 1
want this . south suite!"
pTHE OF APPLE HER EYE m Pi Mtf
•>
c*
1
Helen Had a Hard Time, But There Came a Time ii
When— w.H
By ELEANOR PORTER
Author of “ Polly anna,” “ Just David,” Etc.
Copyright by Eleanor H. Porter.
I AM SO glad yon consented to stay
over until Monday, auntie, for now
you can hear our famous boy choir,
Ethel had said at the breakfast table
that Sunday morning.
“Humph I I’ve heard of ’em,” Ann
Wetherby had returned crisply, “but I
never took much stock in 'em. A
choir—made o' boys—Just a* If music
could come from yellin', hootin' boys! I!
An hour later at St. Mark’s, the
softly swelling music of the organ was
sending curious little thrills tingling
to Miss Wetherby’s finger tips. Theu
faintly In the distance sounded the
first sweet notes of the processional.
Ethel stirred slightly and threw a
meaning glance at her aunt. The
woman met the look unflinchingly.
“Them ain’t no boys!" she whis
pered tartly.
Nearer and nearer swelled the chor
us until the leaders- reached the open
doors. Miss Wetherby gave one look
at the white-robed singers, then she
reached over and clutched Ethel’*
fingers.
“They be!—and In their nighties,
too!” she added In a horrified whia
oer.
One of the boys had a solo in the
anthem that morning, and as the
clear, pure soprano rose higher and
higher, Miss Wetherby gazed In undis
guised awe at the young singer. She
noted the soulful eyes uplifted de
voutly, and the broad forehead
framed In clustering brown curls. To
Miss Wetherby it was tha face of an
angel.
At dinner that day Miss Wetherby
learned that the soloist was “Bobby
Sawyer." She also learned that he
■was one of Ethel’s "fresh-alr" mission
children, and that, as yet, there was
no place for him to go for a vacation.
“That angel child with the heavenly
voice—and no one to take him in?"
Miss Wetherby bethought herself of
her own airy rooms and flowering
meadows, and' snapped her Ups to
gether with sudden determination.
“I’ll take him!” she announced
tersely, and went home the next day
to prepare for her expected guest. •
Early In the morning of the first
Monday In July, Miss Wetherby added
the finishing touches to the dainty
white bedroom upstairs.
“Dear little soul—I hope he’ll like
it!” she murmured.
On the table in the comer were
hymn books, the great red-and-gold
family Bible, and a "Baxter’s Saints’
Rest”—the only reading matter suited
to Miss Wetherby’s conception of the
mind behind those soulful orbs up
raised In devout adoration.
Just before Ann started for the
station Tommy Green came over to
leave his pet dog, Rover, for Miss
Wetherby’s “fresh-alr” boy to play
with.
Now, Thomas Green,” remonstrated
Ann severely, “you can take that dir
ty dog right home. I won’t have him
around. Besides, Robert Sawyer ain’t
the kind of a boy you he. He don’t
care fur sech things—I know he
don’t.”
Half an hour later, Ann Wetherby,
her heart thumping loudly against
her ribs, anxiously scanned the pas
sengers as they alighted at Sloeurn
ville station. There were not many—
an old man, two girls, three or four
women, and a small, dirty boy with a
dirtier dog and a brown paper parcel
In his arms.
He had not come!
Miss Wetherby held her breath
and looked furtively at the small
boy. There was nothing familiar in
his appearance, she was thankful to
say! He must be another one for
somebody else. Still, perhaps he
might know something about her own
ange! boy—she would ask. »•
Ann advanced warily, with a disap
proving eye on the dog.
“Little boy, can yon tell me why
Robert Sawyer didn’t come?*’ she
asked severely.
The result of her cautions question
d iACOh certed her not a .little. The bey
dropped the dog and bundle to the
platform, threw his hat In the air,
and capered about in wild glee.
“HI, there. Bones 1 We’re all right!
Golly—but I thought we were side
tracked. fur sure!"
Miss Wetherby sank In limp dismay
to a box of freight near hy—the bared
head disclosed the clustering brown
curls and broad forehead, and the
eyes uplifted to the whirling hat com
pleted the tell-tale picture.
The urchin caught the hat deftly
on the back of his head, and pranced
up to Ann with his hand* In his
pockets.,
“Gee-whiz 1 marm—but I thought
you’d flunked fur sure. I reckoned me
««’ Bones was barkin’ up the wrong
tree this time. It looked as If we’d
come to a jumpin'-off place, an’ you’d
gtven us the slip. I’m Bob, myself,
re see, an’ fve come all right 1”
■ “Are you Robert Sawyer f she
1 s gasped.
“Jest ye hear that. Bones 1” laughed
the hoy shrilly, capering round and
round the small dog again. ’Ts ’Ro
bert’—now—do ye hear?” Then he
whirled back to his position In front
of Miss Wetherby, and made a low
bow. "Robert Sawyer, at yer service’*
he announced In mock pomposity.
"Ob, I *ay, B ha added with a quick
change of position, “yer’d better call'
me ’Bob'; I ain't uster nothin' else.
I'd fly off the handle qulcker'n no
time, puttin' on airs like that.”
Miss Wetherby’s back straightened.
She made a desperate attempt to re
gain her usual stern self-possession.
“I shall call ye ‘Robert,’ boy, I
don’t like—er—that other name.”
There was a prolonged stare and a
low whistle from the boy. Then he
turned to pick up his bundle.
“Come on. Rones, stir yer stumps:
lively, now! 'This ’ere Indy's n-gotn’
ter take us ter her shebang ter stay
nios’ two weeks. Gee-whir! Bones,
ain’t this great!” And with one bound
he was off the platform and turning a
series of somersaults on the soft
grass followed by the skinny, mangy
dog which was barking Itself nearly
wild with Joy.
“You c'n foller me,” she said stern
ly, without turning her head toward
the culprits on the grass. ,
Bobby trotted alongside of Miss
Wetherby, meekly followed by the
wz
fm *
*
1
A • t]
&
“Robert, You Ain't a’Going Home
Today."
dog. Soon the boy gave his trousers
an awkward hitch and glanced side
ways up at the woman.
“Oh, I say. marm, I think It’s bully
of yer ter let me an’ Bones come,” he
began sheepishly, «« It looked’s If our
case’d hang fire till the crack o’ doom;
there wa’n’t no one ter have us. When
Miss Ethel told me her aunt’d take
us. It jest struck me all of a heap.
I tell ye, me an’ Bones made tracks
fur Slocumvllle ’bout’s soon as they’d
let us."
"I hain’t no doubt of it!” retorted
Ann, looking back hopelessly at the
dog.
“Ye see,” continued the boy confi
dentially, “there ain’t ev’ry one what
likes boys, an’—hi, there!—go It,
Bones!” ho suddenly shrieked, and
scampered wildly after the dog which
had dashed into the bushes by the
side of the road.
Ann did not see her young charge
ngnin until she had been home half an
hour.
"Jlminy Christmas!” he exclaimed,
“I begun ter think I’d lost ye, but I
remembered yer lost name was the
same’s Miss Ethel,’, an’ a boy—Tom
my Green, around the corner—he told
me where ,e lived. And, oh, I say, me
an' Bones are a-goln’ off with him an’
Rover after I’ve had somi t’ ter
eat—’t Is mos’ grub tinuyg ur
he Ann added sighed anxiously. In discoiflf • ^
a way.
Yes, I s’pose ’t is. I left some
beans n-bakln’, and dinner'll be ready
pretty quick. You can come operam*
with roe, Robert, an’ Til show ye
where yer goin’ ter sleep,” she fin
lshed, with a sinking heart, as she
thought of those ruffled pillow shams.
Bobby followed Miss Wetherby Into
tint dainty chamber. He gave one
look, and puckered up his lips Into a
long, low whistle.
“Well, I’ll be flabbergasted I Oh. I
say, now, ye don’t expect me ter stay
in all this fuss an’ flxln’s!” he ex*
claimed ruefully.
“It—It Is the room I calculated fur
ye,” said Ann, with almost a choke
In her voice.
The boy looked up quickly and
something rose within him that he did
not quite understand.
“Ob, well, ye know, «** slick as a
whistle an’ all that, but I ain’t uater
havin’ it laid on so thick. I ain’t no
great shakes, ye know, but I’ll walk
the chalk all right this time.”
Miss Wetherby did not see much or
her guest that afternoon; he went
away Immediately after dinner and
,dld not return until supper time.
After supper he went at once to his
room; but It was not until Miss
IWetherby ceased to hear the patter of
Oila feet on the floor above that she
M penned relief. back In her chair with a slab