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r HE FLOWERS CO! IlCOnv
VOLUME XLW-NUMBER THIRTY.
Atlanta, Ga., Week Ending October 6, 1906.
50c PER YEAR—SINGLE COPY 5c.
(St
DOUBLE TROUBLE:
Tale of Dual Identity (EX
15he Wierd Occult
> • • ••• • ••• • *•• • • ••• • ••• # ••• • • ••• • ••• • ••• ••• • *•* • •<
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(’opvriplit., 1SM)6,
By KEBB2ET QUICK.
SYNOPSIS
u
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OK PR K VIOl
TERS.
Kloiian Amidon, a prosperous yours
bachelor living in a town in One middle
west, leaves a train at a small wayside
staid!! on the evening of June 27. (896.
to: a backwoods hunt: lie dozes on the
station platform. In his next consciousness
■ho tinds himself plunged from the upper
berth of a sleeping ear to the aisT. In-
i,uiry reveals the faet that he is on a
tl . ; ,in ett route to New York. It develops
he has become suddenly and mysteriously
endowed with the personality of Eugene
I; i.isstield, :t steel magnate, and that
time, during a period unaccounted for.
Dias advanced to January 8- 1901 Ar-
r'ving in New York, he visits a psychol
ogist and clairvoyant—the latter a beauti
ful woman -In search ot light on the mys
tery He is put into a hypnot.c sleep,
a thorough men.al examination made,
awakened, told to sleap late the next
and return fot a verdict.
mot mug
•if the char?
fielded pay.
VII.
ENTER THE LEGAL MJNIl.
'rite need of lucre never looms so large
\ s when tis gotten in some devious
way:
1 • mitigates the blackness
That every nether level
Tile man who dares e’en to the prison’s
Should bring hack what he went for—
or should stay!
yho nee<J of lucre never loom?
As when 'tis SToite
way.
i the
some
> large
devious
yjen can overlook the
targe.
If from its boss
stain u
the jewel shoots -ts
Or
blood upon the pirate’s sable barge
overed by silks’ and satins bright ar
ray—
The need of lucre nc
when ’tis gotten in some devious
As
way.
ver looms so large
a some deviot
—Rondels of the Curb.
ORNING passed to noon,
and the day aged into aft
ernoon. before Amidon rose
from the deep sleep which
(according to Le Claire's
prediction) followed his
evening with her and the
professor. With that odd
sense of bewilderment
which the early riser feels
at this violation of habit,
he went into the cafe for
his belated breakfast. Im
patient to finish the meal
so that he might haste to the ipromlsed
interview, he studied the menu, and witii
his eye scouted the room for a waiter-
failing to bestow even the slightest glance
on a man seated opposite. This faet.
'however, did not prevent the stranger
from scrutinizing Amidon’s face, his
dress, and even his hands, as if eac-u
minutest detail were vitally important.
He even dropped his napkin so as to
make an excuse for looking under the
table, and thus getting a good view of
b lorian s boots. "Finally he spoke, as
if continuing a broken-off conversation.
"As I said a While ago," he remarked.
"Browning fal] s short of being a poet,
just as a marble-cutter falls short of
be.ng a sculptor. You were quoting
‘Love Among the Ruins,’ as the train
Stopped at Elm Springs Junction; or was
it ‘Evelyn—’ ”
Amidon’s eyes, during this apparently
aimless disquisition, had been drawn from
h-s meal to the speaker. He saw an el
derly gentleman, clothed in the black
frock-coat and black tie of the rural
lawyer of the old school. His eyes shot
keen and kindly glances from the deep
ambush of great white brows, and his
mouth was hidden under a snowy
mousiaohe. His features made up
for a somewhat marked pov
erty of shape by a luxuriance of ruddy
color, the culminating point of which was
to be found in the broad and fleshy nose.
His voice, soft and gentle when he be
gan, swelled out. as he spoke, into some
thing of Ihe orator’s orotund. When
Amidon looked at him, the speaker re
turned the gnzo in full measure, and
leaning across the table, pointed his
finger at his auditor, and slowly uttered
the words, "—as—the train—stopped—at—
Elm Springs Junction!”
"Why. Judge Blodgett!” excla.imed Am
idon. “can this he you?’’
"Can it he 1?" exclaimed the judge.
"Can it he me! No difficulty about that.
Never mind the handshaking jurf yet—
after a while, maybe. When it comes to
the can-it-be part, how about you? How
about the past five years, and Jennie
Baggs keeping a iplace for you every
meal for all this time, up to the present
hour? I tell you, Fiorian, letting me
down in that case of Amidon versus Cat-
terrnole. without a scrap of evidence,
and getting me licked by a young prac
titioner who studied in my office, was
bad—was damnable; but an only sister,
Fiorian! and not one word in five years!”
"She’s well, then, Jennie is?"
"She’s as well, Fiorian, as a, woman
with the sorrow you’ve brought to her,
nn i the mother of two infants, can be.
But why do you ask?—why do you ask.’
—why is it necessary to go through the
work of surplusalge of asking?"
"Children, eh?” said Fiorian. "Good
for Jennie! And how's Baggs?"
"Oh, Baggs, yes—why, Baggs has come
through it all with his health about un-
imipaired, Baggs has! But no Bag'gs
court of inquiry is going to switch in.'
off the examination I’m now conducting:
and I tell you, Mr. Amidon, yon can't
dodge me. What double lite took you
away from home, and property, and ev
erything?"
"Judge Blodgett." said Mr. Amidon, in
that low voice which, with the English
language as the medium of communica
tion. is known as the danger-signal the
world over, “the term ’double life' has a
meaning which is insulting. Don’t use
it again.”
“Well. well. Fiorian." said the judge,
evidently pleased, "sustaining the mo
tion to strike that out, the question re
mains. You aren't obliged to answer.
y<5u know; but you know, too, what not
answering it means."
"Judge.” said Amidon, after a long
pause, “to say that l don't know where
I have been, or what 1 have been doing,
since June twenty-seventh, 1896, until
yesterday morning when 1 came to my
senses in a moving sleeping car, won’t
satisfy you; but it’s the truth.”
The judge looked off toward the cell
ing in the manner of a jurist considering
some complex argument, but was silent.
"Now I have found a way," said Ami
don, "of having all this explained. Come
with me, and let's find out. There may
Ihe complications; I may need your help.
You are the one man in all the world
that I was just wishing for.”
"Complications, eh?" said tne judge.
"Well, well! Let us see!"
And now he dropped into the old man
ner so wei! known to his companion as
his office style. Piece by piece he drew
from Amidon his story. He dropped back
to previous parts of the narrative, and
elicited repetitions. He slurred over
crucial points as if he did not see their
bearing, and then artfully assumed mi
nute variations of the tale, but was al
ways corrected.
"The prosecution is obliged to rest its
case.” said be, at last. “You're not
crazy, or all my studies in diseases of
the mind have done me no good. Your
story hangs together as no fiction could.
To believe you, brands t:s both as luna
tics. Come on and let's see what your
mesmerist frauds have to say. As a
specialist in facts. I'm a drowning man
catching at a straw. Come on; mes
merism. or astrology, or Moqui snake-
dance. it’s ail one to me!’’
I'p the stairs again, this time with
Judge Blodgett, warily snuffing the air,
and shy of botli Bohemia and Benares.
Into the presence of Madame lc Claire,
now gowned appropriate!y for the morn
ing. and looking—extraordinary, it is true,
with her party-colored hair and luminous
eyes—but not so jungly as when she
greeted the despairing sight of Amidon
the night before.
“Madame, and sir." said the judge, "as
Mr. Amidon’s friends and legal adviser,
1 am here to protect his interests.”
“So! Goct!" said the professor. “Bud
te matter under gonsideration is psychi
cal. nod beguniary. Howefer, if you are
interested in te realm of te suplirninal,
if you care for mental science—”
"Sir,” said the judge, "I may almost
claim to be a specialist (so far as a
country practitioner is permitted to
specialize) in senile and paretic demen
tia, since T had the honor to represent
the proponents in the will ease of Snoke
versus Snoke. But it's only fair to say
that I regard hypnotism as humbug—only
fair.’’
"Goot, goot!” said the professor de
lightedly. "To tomonstrate to an honest
ant indellichent skeptic, is te rarest of
brifileehes. Ve vill now broceed to temon-
strate. Here is our frindt Herr Amidon
avokened in a car after fife years of
lostness; he lias nnodder man's clotes,
anodder man's dleket. letters—unt all.
He gomes to Madame le Claire ant Bla-
therwick. He is hypnotized out of te Ami
don hlane of being, ant into anodder. He
is mate to gife himself avay. Now ve
vill broceed to dell aboudt his life since
he vas lost—is it a dest, no?"
"Huh!” snorted the judge.
Go on." cried Amidon; "tell me. the
story!"
"Veil," said the professor, "for four
veeks after you left Elm Springs Chunc-
tion. you vandered—not, Clara?"
"Wandered,” said Clara, “and to so
many places that I can't remember them.
Then you found oil. or traces of it—I
can’t get that very plainly—on a farm
at Bunn's Ferry, Pennsylvania; and
bought an option on the farm. Then
you opened an office in Bellevale, and
have been there in the oil business ever
"lie.
”How
terpecti
"H
•‘I bcliev
ha
hr been doin’ financially?” in-
the judge.
i made a fortune." said Clara,
him to be one of the principal
n of the town, socially and in a busi-
;s way. He didn't tell me this, but
think tlie circumstances sei m to indi-
■a te
“To saircumstances," said the profes
sor. filling a pause, “show it.”
"How is it.” said the judge, "that no
one lias ever heard of his Bellevale career
out in Hazelhurst, if lie’s so prominent?
We read, out there, and on-ce in a while
one of us goes outside the corporation.
"His name," said Madame lc Claire, "in
Bellevale is not Fiorian Amidon.”
"What is it?" cried Amidon. “Tell it
to me!”
Madame ie Claire restrained him with a
calm glance.
"It is Eugene Brassfield,” said she.
"It is your own clotes.” cried the pro
fessor gleefully, “your own dieket, -your
own gorrospondenoe!"
Amidon was feeling in his breast pocket
for something. He withdrew his hand,
holding in it a letter, and looked from it
to Madame le Claire questioningiy.
"Oh. yes!” said she. not quite in her
usual manner, "it's yours. Tt's from Miss
Elizabeth Waldron, of Bellevale, your
affianced wife."
“Aha!" said the judge. "Now will you
get mad when I speak of a double life?
Engaged, hey?”
"I never saw the—the lady in rny life,”
was the reply; "so how can I be—can I
be—engaged to her?”
"In te Amidon blane of gonsciousness,"
said the professor, “you are stranchers.
In te Brassfield pairsonality, you are—
Gott irn Himmel, you are stuck on her,
stuck on her—not, Clara? Vas he not
gracey? Only Clara cut it short in te
temonstration; but as a luffer, in te
Brassfield blane, you are vot you call
hot stuff.”
"You had better read the gentlemen
your notes,” said Madame le Claire cold
ly. ‘And please excuse me. I hope to seo
you both again.” And with a sinuous
bow she swept from the room.
Blodgett, keenly analytical, lost no word
of the professor’s notes. Fiorian sat with
the letter from Miss Waldron in his hand,
lost in thought. Sometimes his face burn
ed with blushes, sometimes it paled with
anxiety. His eyes ran over the Ietter^jfull
of sweet ardors; and when he thought of
replying to them—or leaving them un
answered—his brow went moist and his
heart sick. What should he do? What
could he do?
When they returned to the hotel, the
judge was in a fever of excitement.
"I tell you, Fiorian,” said he, "I be
lieve the professor is right about this.
It seems that there are precedents, you
know—cases on all-fours with yours.
U hen 1 went to the telephone, up there,
I called up Stavy & Stacy's and asked
em to get me Dun’s and Bradstreet s
report on your Beilevale business. It
ought to >be up here pretty soon. There
may be something down there worth
looking after, and needing attention."
“Perhaps,” groaned Amidon. "Do you
know that I'm engaged—”
"One of the things I referred to." said
the judge.
"— to a lady, down there, whom I
shouldn’t know If I were to meet her
out in the hall? If I go back to Hazel-
hurst, she is put under a cloud as a de
serted woman—to say nothing of her
feelings. And if I go back to Belle
vale—my God, judge, how can I go back,
and take my place in a society where
every one knows me, and I know no
body; and be a lover to a girl who may
be—anything, you know; but who lias
tile highest sort of claims on me, and
a nature, I’m sure, capable of the keen
est suffering or pleasure—how can I?”
"Message, sir, from Stacy and Stacy,”
said a messenger boy at the door.
Judge Blodgett tore open the envelope,
and read the telegraphic reports.
“M—m—m Y'—e—es," said he. “It’ll
take diplomacy, diplomacy. But, if
these Fiorian, reports are to be trusted,
and I guess they are, you've got about
ten times as much as Bellevale as you
have at Hazelhurst. And. as you say,
the lady lias claims. As an honorable
man—an engaged man, who has received
the plighted troth of a pure young
heart—and a good financier, this Belle
vale life demands resumption at your
hands. Prepare, fellow citizen, to meet
the difficulties of the situation.”
VIII.
POISING FOR THE PLUNGE.
Yea. ail her words are sweet and fair.
And so. mayhap, is she;
But words are naught but molded air,
And air and molds are free.
Belike, the youth in charmed hall
Some fardels sore might miss.
Scanning ids Beauty’s household all.
Or ere he gave the xtss:
—The Knyghte’s Discourse to his Page.
Now it happened that at Bellevale, the
young woman whom we—with the sweet
familiarity of art—have had the joy to
know as Elizabeth, moved about in un
consciousness. mostly blissful, of the an
nihilation of Eugene Brassfield. The
mails might take to Mrs. Baggs at Ha
zelhurst vague letters from Judge Blod
gett hinting at clues and traces of Fio
rian, preparatory to the restoration of
the lost brother; but Brassfield, never
anything but a wraitli from the mys
terious caves of the subconsciousness,
was nonexistent for evermore, except
through the magic of Le Claire. But
Elizabeth Waldron, just home from col
lege. full of the wise unwisdom of Smith
and twenty-three, and palpitating with
tiie shock which had broken the cables
by which sh% had so long, long ago
moorerl herself in the safe and deep wa
ters of the harbor of a literary and in
tellectual celibacy, still dreamed of the
bubble personality which had vanished,
although at times waves of anxious un
rest swept across her bosom.
For one thing, that epistle of hers,
made for his reading on the train—how
could she have written i<t! Elizabeth's
cheeks burned when she remembered it.
Then she thought of the. weeks of ehas-e
dalliance between her acceptance of him
and his departure, and of Che elan with
Which he had entered that safe harhor
of bers and swept her from? those moor
ings; and the letter seemed slight re
turn for the rites of adoration he had
performed ‘before her.
But (and now t‘he cheeks burned once
more) why, why had lie not written to
her as soon as he reached New York?
Was he one with whom It was out of
sight, out of mind? Or was he one of
(hose business men -who can not place
anything more delicate than price-quota
tions on paper? Or—and here the cheeks
pa'cd—was lie suddenly ill? She wished,
/-T all. that she had not. written i7'
And one day, when a special delivery
letter came and surprised her, she ran
out In the winger sun to the summer
house where she had sat so much with
him. and read it in quiet. Whereupon
the unrest increased, because the letter
seemed as unlike Eugene as if he had
copied it from some “Complete Letter
Writer."
Fiorian ha'i agonized over fhis letter-
had even tried the experiment of writing
one while In the “Chones hlane" under
the influence of Madame le Claire; but
It was too Incoherent for any use—and
be had done the best he could. Pro
fessor Blatherwick and Judge Blodgett
were working out a code of behavior for
Mr. Amidon when he should return to
Bellevale. They kept him in the Brass-
field personality' for hours every day;
but such a matter as this letter to Eliza
beth, he could not Intrust to them. Every
day, though, he .looked into the varicol
ored eyes of Clara and willed to sleep;
and everv day the operation grew less
and -less painful to him.
Vast and complex was the system of
notes built up by the professor and the
judge. They ‘told him all about his ■
various properties and holdings of stoclt;
they listed die clubs and social organiza
tions to wljich he belonged, and the
offices lie held in each. They made a
directory of names mentioned by him in
hU abnormal state, and compiled facts
about each person. It must have been
very much like Ithe copious information
-elaborate, and the best thing possible
in the absence of the real facts; but
only' tlie reflection of these people in
the mind of some one else, affer all.
Finally the judge brought the whole to
his friend, neatly typewritten, para-
giaphs numbered, facts tabulated, and
all provided with a splendid index and
system of elaborate cross-references.
^ “You see. my boy," said Judge Blodgett,
“ail any one really needs to know’ of bis
surrounding* is actually very little. Other-
wise, most .people never could get along
at all. Neander couldn’t find his wav
to market—the greatest philosopher of
his time. Now these notes tell you more
—actually more—of your Bellevale life,
than some folks ever find out about them
selves—with a little filling In, on the
s(*'t, you know, why, they’ll do first
rate. For instance, under 'S’ we have a
man named Stevens. ‘Old Stevens’ you
playfully call him. I figure him out to
be an elderly man In some position of
authority—he seems to sort of govern,
things, even you. The professor thinks
he's your banker, but Ills intellectual
domination leads me Do the conclusion
that he's your lawyer. There Is a Miss
Strong, evidently an important person. I
vcnture # the assertion that she's a liter
ary' woman, as you, spe3k about asking
her to ’look at her notes.’ I shouldn i
wonder if she’s a rival of Miss Wal
dron's. eh. professor?”
"Well." said Amidon impatiently, "who
else?”
“Oh. lots of 'em,” answered the judge.
“Here's ’A' for instance, and unde r it a
man named Alvord—a close friend of
yours ”
"Th“ one this telegram is from.” said
Amidon. “And I suppose this one in
cipher is from Stevens, tlie lawyer or
broker. It must be important.”
“I shouldn’t wonder," said Judge
Blodgett; “and tills Mr. Alvord I take
to be a minister, for you connect him
with some topic relating to ‘Christian
martyrs’ and ’rituals.’ He must ho a
close friend, for you sometimes call him
‘Jim.’ in strict privacy, I presume. Oh.
there's a regular directory of ’em here.
T'vo even discovered that you have a
little friend, a child of say seven or cigh'
years—tell by the tone, you know'— that
you cal] ’Daisy’ an ( ] ‘Daise’ and some
times ‘Strawberry.’ Tiiese fondnesses fo (
children and clergymen prove to me. Fio
rian. that an Amidon is good goods on
any confounded plane of consciousness
von can. throw' 'em into—conservative,
respeetahle. and all that, yon knoiyv. ’
Amidon looked suspiciously at the notes,
unappeased by this flattery. What justi
fication there was for suspicion we shall
be better able to sa.y when we meet these
Bellevale acquaintances of his
“Is this the guide by which T am to
regulate my 'conduct in Bellevale?" asked
lie after looking it over.
"Well.” said the, judge’ “it may' not be
quite like remembering all about things;
but anyhow’ It will help some, won’t it ?”
"I suppose T’m to carry it with me, and
when an acquaintance accosts me on the
street. I’m to look him up in the index
and find nut who he is, before T decide
whether to shake hands with him or out
him. am I?"
“No; exactly that way.” said th" judge;
“that wouldn’t be .practicable, you know;
but it’s ten to one you'll find his name
there. I DM! you, that compilation——’
"Te tifision into gategories.” broke in
the professor, “according to te brincinies
of lotchik was te ehutehe’s Itea. A von-
derfully inchenious blan. It vill enaple
you—"
■'Tins it any plan of reference?" inter
rupted Amidon. "by which T shall be
enabled to find out about a man when I
don't know who he Is?”
”N no."
“Or. in such a ease, to give me knowl
edge of my past relations with him. or
whether 1 like him or hate him?”
"Of course.” said the judge, “we only-
try to do the possible. The law requires
no man to do more.”
“Does this thing." said Amidon, shak
ing it in evident disgust, "tell where I
live in Bellevale, whether in lodgings or
at a hotel, or in my own house? Could
T take it and find my home?”
"Damn it, Fiorian!” said the judge.
"T'm not here to he jumped on. am I?
No one can remember everything all tlie
time. We'll get those things and put
them into a supplement, you know’.”
“Not for me." said Fiorian. “T've
made up my mind definitely about this.
T'il not depend on it. T f 1 go back to
Bellevale, I must have at hand at all
times the means of connecting things
as I find them with the life of this
Brassfield. T must take with me the
bridge which spans the chasm between
Brassfield and Amidon—I mean our
friend Clara. Without her. I shall never
go back T haven’t the nerve. I should
soon find myself in a tangle of mistakes
from which I could never extricate my
self—T've thought it all out. The Cretan
Labyrinth W’ould he like going home
from school, in comparison."
"Pshaw!" said the judge, looking lov
ingly at Blodgett’s Notes on the Com
piled Statements of Brassfield, “you
could feel your way along very well—
with these.”
"Would you go into the trial of a
case," said Fiorian. "no matter how sim
ple. in which not nnlv your own future,
hut the happiness of others, might he
Involved, without even a speaking ac
quaintance with any of the parties, or
one of the witnesses? T tell you, judge,
we must have Madame le Claire.”
The judge rolled up the notes and
snapped a rubber hand about the roll.
He said no more until evening.
"Then." said* he. ns if he had only
Just made up his mind to concede the
point, "let's <=»e if it can he arranged
at once. Come over to the Blather-
wicks’ with me.”
"T think.” said Amidon slowly, "that
I’ll see her alone.”
"Alone, yes yes!” said the judge,
changing an interjection into an assent.
“By all means; by all means. ernry
don’t you think there may be tliings--
down there needing attention. Fiorian—
Money matters—and and other thirgs,
you know, my boy—and that we ought'
to he moving in the matter? I would
respectfully urge," he concluded, using
his orator's chest-tones to drown Ami-
don's protest against Lis toking. "tint
no time lie lost in deciding on our
course.”
The judge had noted the increasing
dependence of his client on the fair hyp
notist, ami the growing interest that
she seemed to feel in him and therefore
showed some coolness toward the pro
posal to take her to Bellevale. The eyes
inured to the perusal of dusty commen
taries and reports were still sharp enough
to see tlie mutual tenderness exchanged
in the unwavering, eye-to-eye encounters
whereby Amidon was converted into
Brassfield, and to note the softness of
the feline strokings by which Fioriain's
catalepsy was induced or dispelled. He
rather favored dropping the Blather-
wick acquaintance; but he could not an
swer Amidon’s arguments as to thei'
need for its continuance.
So it was that, about the time when.
Elizabeth Waldron sat in the summer
house at Bellevale, with tears of disap
pointment in her pretty eyes, holding
poor Florian’s best-he-vould-do but in
effective letter all crumpled up in h -r
hand, the tigrine Le Claire rested her
elbows upon a window ledge in the at
titude of gazing into the street (it was
ail attitude, for she saw nothing), and
was disturbed by Aaron, who brought in
Mr. Fiorian Amidon’s penciled card. She
gave a few pokes to her hair, of course,
turned once or twice about before her
mirror, and went into the parlor.
"The judge and your father,” said Am
idon, "have got up a wonderful guide
from notes of this man Brassfield's talk."
"Yes,” said she with a smile; “they
are wonderful."
"And perfectly useless." he continued,
“so far as my steering by’ them in Belle
vale is concerned.”
"As useless,” she admitted, "as can
bo.
"You knew that?" he inquired. ‘Then
why did you let them go on with it?”
"That's good,” said she. "I like that!
I was nicely situated to mention it,
wasn't I?”
"The fact is, Clara." said he, "as you
can see. that I’ve got to have you at
Bellevale. I shall not go down there
without you. I can t do it. I've thought
it all out—”
"So have I," said she. "I knew that
you'd have to have me—for a little while;
knew it all the time. I was just think
ing about it as you came up.”
"Then can you—will you go?”
“Can I stay, Fiorian?" she inquired
steadily. “Can I leave you like a just-
cured blind and deaf man, and my work
for you only begun? I must go! We
were just talking about our going to
Bellevale. as you came in. papa. Mr.
Amidon will need us for a while when he
first gets there.”
“Surely, surely," said the professor.
"Te most inderestirag phaces of dis case
vill arise in Bellevale. I grave to bri-
fiietche of geepinig you unter my op-
sairfation until—until te last dog is hunk!
Let us despatch Chutche Blotchett to
spy out te landt. In a day or two he
van tiscofer vere dis man Brassfield lifes,
vere te fair Fraulein Elizabeth resides,
and chenerally get on to te logal skitiva-
tion. He vill meet up with us at te
train, and see that ve don’t put our
foots in it. Ve vill dus be safed te mor
tification of hating Alderman Brassfield.
chairman of te street committee, asking
te 'boliceman te vay to his lotching; or
te fiance of Miss Valderiing bassiwg her
on te street vit a coldt, coldt stare of
unrecognition or embracing her young
laty friendt py mistake. Goot! Let te
chutche dake his tebarture fortwith.
Clara and I vill be charmed and habby,
my friendt, to aggompany you. Suplim-
inaily gonsidered, it vill be great stuff.
IN DARKEST PENNSYLVANIA.
The good God gave hands, left and right,
To deal with divers foes in fight;
And eyes He gave all sights to hold;
And limbs for pacings manifold;
Gave tongue to taste both sour and sweet,
Gave gust for salad, fish and meat;
But, Christian sir, whoe'er thou art.
Trust not thy many-chambered heart!
Give not one how'r to Blonde, and yet
Retain a room for the Brunette:
Whoever gave each other part.
Tlie devil planned and built the heart!
—In a Double Locket.
Clara. Amidon and Blatherwick were on
their way to Bellevale. The professor
was in the smoking car, his daughter
and Fiorian in the parlor car. Amidon,
his nerves strained to the point of agony,
sat dreading the end of tlie journey, as
one falling from an airship might shrink
from the termination of his. Madame le
Claire brooded over him maternally.
“Of course.” said Amidon, "this Brass-
field must have adopted some course of
behavior toward Miss Waldron, when—”
“You must call her Elizabeth,” said
Madame le Claire, and—”
“And what?” he Inquired, as she failed
to break the pause. “Have you found
out—much—about it—from him?”
“Not so very much,” she replied, “only
she'll expect such things as ‘dearest’
and ‘darling’ at times. And occasionally
•pet' and ’sweetheart'—and 'dearie.' I
can't give them all; you must extempo
rize a little, can’t you?”
"Merciful heaven!” groaned Amidon; ”1
can't do it!”
Continued on Fourth Page.