Newspaper Page Text
It Wasn't a Burglar That the
Pretty Intruder Encountered.
By CLARISSA MACK IE.
(Copyright, 1909, by AssocInlMl Literary
Press.J
Rosamond Loo walked slowly down
I ho row bprdcrcd path to Uio lull stono
wall (lull inclosed (ho deserted hotisn
lioxl door. The owners worn abroad,
and thorn was no prosper! of (heir inn
media to return to inhabit the Octagon
House, as if was railed.
Rosamond had made many oxrur
sions about I lie neglnet.ed grounds and
dreamed many dreams beneath the no
ble trees that rose from the unkept
turf. Sbc bad taken toll of the bloom
ing (lowers and shrubs in their sea
sous, and now she fed the gray squir
nils (.Juit raced up and down I lie green
branches.
Her family laughed nl her fondue a
for (lie Octagon House and predicted a
speedy abandonment when Mrs, Phil
lips came home again, for Mrs. Phil
lips was old and Irascible and much
feared by Rosamond since she was a
little child.
Hut on this glorious September day.
when the late mold lily roses were bor
dering (be pnlli with delicate sweel
ness, Rosamond, a fair, sweel rose her
self, lliougbl Illfcjfe of Mrs. Phillips In
distant liorlln. The day was made for
her for her alone and I be Octagon
House!
She followed the stone wall lo an In
torseeting fence which served as a
stopping stone. In a trice she bad
jumped lightly In the soft turf of the
other side and sped swiftly across the
dappled green toward the house.
Tile crooked piazza, which followed
the outline of the old house, was env
ered with Virginia creeper. on:n nog
turning to brilliant scarlet and gold.
In one corner where the lines bung
low and formed a curtain were a long
wicker chair and a pile of Rosamond's
favorite books.
She bad tired of reading n>• 11 was
silting half dl'owsy with sleep when a
stop on the piazza roused her. Never
before bad any one trespassed on her
chosen relreut.
She parted the vines and peeped
through to discover a man's tail form
bent to peer into I be half dm w:i shades
of the long windows. He straightened
up again, and she saw Unit bis clothes
were gray and dusty and that while
dust powdered bis dark hair. He was
mopping bis forehead vigorously with
a handkerchief, mid she noticed that
Ills hands were bronzed by exposure to
the sun.
That the man was a burglar Rosa
mond had not a doubt. Her heart al
most stopped heating when lie glanced
carelessly toward her vine covered re
treat before he silt down on the top
step to light a pipe.
.“lie's wondering how to get in."
murmured Rosamond to herself. “If
only I were brave enough I would go
out and frighten him away, hut 1 am
fearfully afraid of burglars, and yet If
he should break in and steal some of
Mrs. Phillips' pictures 1 would feel
dreadful, because 1 have enjoyed her
hospitality miunkcd." She smiled
thought fully and Mien sai very quietly.
Presently she dropped a hook on the
floor and rustled out of her retreat
with a haughty expression on her
sweet face. The stranger jumped to
his fleet and pulled ofl' his gray cap.
“I beg your pardon," ho stammered.
“1 didn't know any one was around.”
Rosamond flxed him with n cold
stare while she mentally decided that
he was too good looking to he engaged
in such a nefarious pastime as burglar
izing unoccupied country houses.
She lifted her pretty brows inquir
ingly. "You wished to see some one?"
Why or no. 1 didn’t expect to see
any one here. ! thought the place was
vacant.” he stammered, knocking his
pipe against (he railing and stuffing It
Into his pocket.
H is not vacant, l am here,” said
Rosamond bravely.
'So 1 er see," with an air of cha
grin.
The house is well protected."
1 am glad of that," he said heartily.
Rosamond imagined his tone was
sarcastic. "Perhaps you wished to see
my husband," she said iu a wavering
voice.
The man started violently, and his
eyes forsook her face and dropped to
the ground. "Of course it would lie a
pleasure," he said. “Is he around?"
Rosamond edged closer to the steps
and ran lightly down to the path be
low. l will call him. He is not far
away," she cried breathlessly. Then
she turned and sped swiftly toward
the wall thill divided the place from
her home. Once there, her father
would telephone to the village for as
sistance, and thus the burglary would
be prevented.
She thought she heard swift steps
behind her, and she renewed her speed
toward the wall Her heart was beat
ing almost to suffocation as she step
ped on a loose stone. She uttered a
terrified cry as the stone slipped and
she fell to the ground.
Now she heard swift steps in reali
ty as the stranger crossed the turf and
hont anxiously above her.
I hope you have uoi hurt yourself,”
he said gravely.
I have sprained my ankle.” admit
ted the girl with white lips.
"What were you tryiug to do—not to
scale the wall?"
“Yes."
Why? Was your husband over
there?"
\ red flush crept to her brows.
“Yes," she said.
t-Riall l call him," asked the sus
pected burglar frankly, “or shall 1
carry you hack to the piazza and get
you some cold water? Where are the
seri n ids? Have you occupied the
house long? My aunt wrote me that
the place u n • vacant." He hammered
out the pm lion with reninivoless
luistc.
Rosamond stand with growing hor
mr. “Who are you? Who is your
aunt?” she gasper) in return.
“I am Mrs. I’hillips' nephew, My
name’s David i’hillips. I have bought
flu* place, and I came down to look it
over. I mis to have met. tin* real es-
tnti- man at tin- station, lb.- came, Inn
he forgot the keys, so I walked on.
As lie said nothing about the place be
ing occupied, I was surprised to find a
tenant."
Rosamond closed her eyes wearily,
while her brain sought some escape
from her appalling position. She was
angry nl having placed herself in such
a situation. She might; have known
this good looking young man was not
a burglar. She opened her eyes with
suddenness and looked straight, at him
“I wish you would go away." she
said petulantly.
“Of course, if you wish It. Hut you
are suffering. May I not; call .some one
to help you? T will look for your hus
band, if you will tell me his name.”
He stopped awkwardly.
“I haven’t, any husband, she said
recklessly. “You sec, I've boon in the
lialdt of running over here and sitting
on the porch and reading, and today I
saw you looking in the window, and 1
thought you were a burglar, and so I
tried to frighten you away by pretend
ing I had a husband. I live next door,
and my name is Rosamond Lee—so
there! You may laugh if you want to.'
“But I don't, want to laugh,” lie said
softly, “i think it. was awfully brave
of you, you know, when you believed
me to ho a desperado Now, Miss Lee,
you must let; me help you home again,
for that, ankle needs attention at once.
Permit: me as a neighbor and perhaps
later on a friend!” Tie stooped and
lifted her in his strong arms and car-
rifil her through quiet bypaths to a
small gate in the wall and thus up the
rose bordered path into her father’s
care.
Many times after that. David Phillips
strode up the rose bordered path to see
Rosamond Lon, and the following .Tune,
when the roses were rioting I he gar
den, ho claimed her as ills own, and to
gether they passed under the portal of
the rejuvenated Octagon House, of
which Rosamond became in fact the
mistress.
He Could Say "No."
“A very dignified young man took a
seat in a smoking car," said the host
ess, who joined in the after dinner
story tolling. “Near him were three
traveling salesmen, well dressed, jolly
fellows, one of whom suggested a
game of cards, and the others agreed.
They appealed to the young man to
take part and make up a four handed
ga me.
“‘Thank you; I never play cards,’
came tho response to the invitation.
“ ‘I am sorry for that. Will you
have a cigar with us?’ added the
spokesman, producing his case.
“‘I am obliged to you, but T never
smoke,' replied the digullled young
man.
“They thought they would jolly the
young follow out of dignity, so the
leader produced a ‘traveling compan
ion’ and asked:
“ ‘As you do not play cards nor
smoke you will not refuse to join us
in a drink?’
“ ‘1 thank you, gentlemen, but I nev
er drink.’
“With this a venerable man with
ministerial aspect sitting in the seat
behind the young man reached forward
and tapped him on the shoulder.
“ ‘I have beard what you have said
to these men,’ said the sedate old fel
low, ‘and 1 admire you for the stability
of character which has enabled you to
shun had habits. I have a daughter in
the parlor car, whom I should like to
have you meet.’
“‘1 thank you, sir,’ replied the young
man, turning about and facing the
gentleman, ‘but, the fact Is, 1 never
intend to marry.’ ”
The Incorrigible Kid.
“Israel W. Durham, the Philadelphia
politician," said a Pennsylvania logis
later, “owed part of his success to the
flue way he kept his followers submis
sive and obedient without hurting their
pride.”
“Mr. Durham could call you to order
without offending you. Ouce, for ex
ample, lie called me to order. He said
I was incorrigible. He said, with a
laugh, that 1 was as hard to manage
as n little boy in a downtown school.
“This youth's teacher told him he
must add without counting on his lin
gers. Then she gave Him several men
tal sums, lie solved them, but from
the way he kept looking down at his
hands she knew ho wasn’t minding her.
So she made Him put his hands behind
his hack, and then she gave him an
other sum. He answered it. too, cor
rect ly.
" ‘Good!’ she said. ‘You didn't count
on your fingers that time, did you?’
“ ‘No’m. On my toes,’ said ho.”
Quite a Mistake.
A lady visitor at Blackpool was
bathiug and was on the point of
drowning when a boatman, who is a
local wag, went to her assistance.
Later in the day ho called where she
was stayiug and saw a gentleman who,
seeing the lady iu difficulties, bad of
fered £20 to any one who would rescue
the lady. This conversation, took
place:
Boatman—I am the man who saved
the lady, sir, and 1 thought I'd call
and see about the £20.
The Gentleman—Y-e-s, I know, but
when 1 made the offer I thought it
was my wife who was in danger, and
it turned out it was my wife’s
mother.
Boatman—Just my luck! Well, sir,
how much do 1 owe you?—London Tit-
Bits.
Ofl THE HOOF,
He Didn’t Want to Seize the Op
portunity, hut She Did.
By HARRIET LUMMIS SMITH.
[Copyright, 1909, by Associated Literary
Press.)
“We'vo time enough yet to take a
look at the city from the top of the Se
curities building. It's worth seeing,
you know.”
Prudence should have vetoed the sug
gestion. For the longer half of tho
blissful afternoon Viol a had been aware
that Raymond’s eyes were saying more
than they should and that their mute
eloquence was singularly sweet and
satisfying. Considering the fact that
she was as good as engaged to another
man, discretion counseled flight. A
voice within, an authoritative voice,
cried out that at the best the day
would soon be over and urged her to
make the most of it.
Viola compromised. “Mr. Raymond
suggests our getting a view of the city
from the top of one of the skyscrap
ers,” she said, turning to her out of
town guests, “if you are not. too
tired”— And her heart leaped at the
promptness of their protests.
She walked beside Raymond silently,
glad that he, too, seemed to have noth
ing to say. Stic was frightened to find
herself clinging so fiercely to the joy
of that afternoon together. He had
come upon them quite by accident, but
Viola knew that Dut; for her he would
have lifted his hat and gone his way.
The gladness that leaped to her eyes
nl the sight of him, the tremor in her
voice as she spoke His name, had
been his undoing—and hers. They had
lunched and taken a drive along the
boulevards. Viola’s country cousins
had had < lie time of their lives. And
now the western sky was red, and the
time for saying good by was near.
They stood looking down upon the
city. Raymond, ns in duty bound,
pointed out the objects of interest.
The country cousins hung upon his
words and declared that they would
not have missed the sight for any
thing. As for Viola, she had no eyes
for the crawling streets between the
stoop cliffs of brick and stone nor for
the crawling creatures far below. Bra
zenly she feasted her eyes upon him.
lie turned suddenly and looked into
her eyes, and his own caught fire. A
moment later they were standing to
gether in an angle of the roof, shel
tered from the view of their compan
ions. The noise of the city below them
seemed far away.
Baymond broke the spell by a down
ward gesture. “I wish it were all
miue.”
“You mean the whole town? What
greediness!” she laughed.
“So that I could give it all to you.”
“Thank you, but I’m not ambitious
to be a plutocrat. Of course one must
have the things one is used to. Pov
erty is the worst of all.”
“Is it?” His eyes challenged hers.
“Oh, don’t! You make it so hard for
mo!”
“You make it hard for yourself when
you fight against your heart.”
“Oh, you don’t understand, rhil. It
isn’t as if I had only myself to think
of.”
“Do you ever give a thought to me?”
She put her bauds over her ears in
sudden tremor. If she listened longer
she was lost. “I must go,” she said
hurriedly. “I’ve stayed longer than I
should, but it was so pleasant.” She
turned in a panic and fled across the
roof, and lie followed slowly. When he
overtook her her eyes were dilated.
“They’re gone!” she gasped.
“Who?”
“Why, Leonard and Bessie. What
could have induced them to go without
us?” ■
“I don’t know, I'm sure. But they
will bo waiting for us below without
doubt.”
lie tried the door, rattled the knob
sharply and met questioning her gaze
with a blank stare. “We’re locked up
here," ho exclaimed. Then ns Viola
laughed hysterically he added in haste:
“Don’t be frightened. It will be very
easy to attract some one’s attention.”
Half an hour later, flushed and drip
ping with perspiration as a result of
his fruitless exertion, he acknowledg
ed his mistake. “Your cousins must
have thought we had gone down be
fore them. But after they get: home
and we fail to make our appearance it
will of course occur to somebody that
we're still up here. And the only
thing to do is to resign ourselves to
wait with what patience we can mus
ter.”
She looked at him reproachfully, but
tie did not meet her eyes. He sat
some distance from her. staring moodi
ly at the roof. Furtively Viola put
back her veil and smoothed her hair.
Apparently her appearance was to him
a matter of complete indifference. He
never turned his eyes.
Her sense of resentment found voice
at last. “Are you going to sit here in
absolute silence? Haven’t you any
thing to say?”
“I have plenty to say, but I can’t
say it without taking advantage of the
situation.”
A long silence; then Raymond fell
the slipping of a small hand down his
sleeve. “I rather think. Phil,” said a
tremulous voice, “that I want you to
take advantage of the situation. ’
Help was long iu coming. As the
darkness fell Viola drew closer, and
her hand stole into his of its own ac
cord.
It was a night without a star, and
for that reason it was the more star
tling when suddenly a blinding illumi
nation lit up tho space where they sat.
Viola shrieked and hid her face on her
lover's shoulder.
“Only n searchlight, dearest. Rather
startling on Ibis pit**]) black night,
wasn't it?”
Viola blushed iu liis arms. “Phil,
do you suppose anybody saw?”
The young man smiled. “Perhaps,”
ho acknowledged. "In fact, little girl,
I rather hope somebody did.”
Fifteen or twenty minutes later the
sound of approaching footsteps told
them that release was at hand. Ray
mond shouted. There was a sound of
a key turning in the lock. A grinning
policeman and the watchman of the
building confronted them. Explana
tions were exchanged. The elevator
had stopped running at 0 o’clock, and
the two young people descended the
endless flights of stairs as blithely as
if they were walking on air.
Viola’s home was iu an uproar. The
story brought by the country cousins
had aroused grave suspicions, which
Viola’s mother explained as she clung
to her daughter.
“It, couldn’t have happened at a more
unfortunate time. To begin with, Mr.
I’ickering was annoyed. Tie makes
such a hobby of punctuality, you
know. And then when Leonard and
Bessie came in”—
She raised her head from Viola’s
shoulder and looked sharply at the
young man who had escorted hor
daughter home. Raymond bore her
scrutiny in silence. It was Viola who
prompted her impatiently.
“Go on, mamma. When Leonard and
Bessie came iu”—
“It was. of course, entirely absurd,”
declared Viola’s mother persistently,
addressing herself to Raymond, “but
one must make allowances for a. lov
er’s natural jealousy. "When Leonard
and Bessie said that, you had been
with them all afternoon and that you
and Viola had suddenly disappeared
the poor man jumped to the conclusion
that you had—eloped.”
There was an impressive silence,
which Viola improved by removing
her hat.
“Of course we must explain at once,”
Viola’s mother continued. “Would it
be better for you to phone him, Viola,
or will you send him a note? Perhaps
you had better phone him and say you
are sending the note. You see, it is im
portant that the matter should be
cleared up without delay.”
“I don’t know that it’s worth while
to make explanations, mamma,” she
said. “It, is true I didn’t have any in
tention of eloping; but, just the same,
I'm going to marry Phil.”
What Wearied Him.
A friend once asked an aged man
what, caused him to complain so often
at eventide of pain and weariness.
“Alas,” replied he, “I have every day
so much to do. I have two falcons to
tame, two hares to keep from running
away, two hawks to manage, a ser
pent to confine, a lion to chain nnd a
sick man to tend and wait upon.”
“AVell, well,” commented his friend,
“you are busy indeed! But I didn’t
know that you bad anything to do with
a menagerie. How, then, do you make
that out?”
“Why,” continued the old man, “lis
ten. Two falcons are my eyes, which
I must guard diligently; the two hares
are my feet, which I must keep from
walking in the ways of sin; the two
hawks are my hands, which I must
train to work, that I may provide for
myself and those dependent on me as
well as for a needy friend occasionally;
the serpent is my tongue, which I must
keep ever bridled lest it spealc un
seemly; the lion is my heart, with
which I have a continual fight lest
evil things come out of it, and the sick
man is my whole body, which is al
ways needing ray watchfulness and
care. All this daily wears out ray
strength.”
Had the Effect.
“Y’os,” she said in answer to some
thing he had said, “the old songs are
very beautiful.”
“Beautiful!” he exclaimed enthusi
astically. “Beautiful hardly describes
them. They are—they are—well, com
pared with them the songs of today
are trash, the veriest trash.”
“I agree with you. yet the old songs
sometimes contain sentiments that one
cannot wholly approve.”
“I think you are mistaken.”
“I will give you an illustration. There
is John Howard Payne’s ‘Home, Sweet
Home,’ for instance. You surely do not
agree with till the sentiments it con
tains?"
“Why not?” he asked warmly. “Why
not?” .
“Because,” she said, glancing at the
clock, which was marking tho hour of
II—“because there is a lino in that;
song whic'li says ‘There’s no place like
home.’ You do not believe that, do
you?”
Then he coughed a hollow cough and
arose and went silently out into the
night.
She Is So Sensitive.
“I wish some persons weren’t so all
fired sensitive and ready to see an in
sult when none is intended,” remarked
the man with the troubled look, look
ing for sympathy. “Now, last night 1
got myself into an awkward fix just
trying to be agreeable and to please
everybody. I went to see a young
lady I think a great deal of—yes, I do
think a great deal of her, but I wish
she would be more seusible. Girl
friend of hers was there, and it was
her first visit: since she’d sent a crazy
looking, good for nothing decorated
cup and saucer with scalloped edges
as a birthday gift.
“ ‘When I was out shopping,’ the
girl friend explained, ‘and saw that
cup and saucer I just thought of you,
Marguerite.’
“‘How? Hand painted, isn’t it?’
“Now, the recipient’s complexion is
natural, as any one can see, and there
was no reason for her to be so chilly
toward me the rest of the evenipg.
Hang such sensitiveness!”—New Y*ork
Telegram.
ONE AUGUST NIGHT,
She Was Told the Story of the
Lady of Shalott.
By VIRGINIA LEILA WENTZ.
(Copyright, 1909, by Associated Literary
Press. J
it had been an unusually oppressive
day eveu for August. Every one
seemed sleepy or sleeping. Cobblers
slept with half mended boots in their
laps; Italian women slept at their fruit
stands with sleeping babies at their
breasts; horses trotted conscientiously
along in front of sleeping drivers.
Iu the department store where An-
tona Wheaton worked the day had
been difficult, especially behind tho
stuffy corner where she measured out:
ribbons. And, oil, what a godsend tho
loud sounding bell at 0 bad been! Most
of the girls in the store were city bred,
uud they accepted tho conditions of
August philosophiaclly, but Antona
Wlifeatou had come from a fresh little
country town in tho west, and as she
leaned from her boarding house win
dow'—the third floor liall room, back—
a few minutes before going down to
dinner it seemed to her that she was
locked iu a place of torment from
which no escape was possible.
They dined at 7 in Mrs. Brown’s
boarding house. Iu the half hour that
Antona had been home she had taken
a sponge bath, brushed her silky, flax
en hair and changed her black alpaca
dress for a simple white muslin. As
she leaned out of the window from the
open space beside the storage house
in the rear she could see tho dust
carts roll down the streets. Tho whisk
ing of their big rotary brooms remind
ed the country bred girl of large tur
key gobblers sweeping the earth with
disdainful, proud wings. The open
space faced the west, and, resting her
little oval cheeks in her hands, Antona
could see that the sun was doing its
best to sot with some sort of rightful
beauty, even in this homely downtown
section.
“Where the quiet colored end of
evening smiles”—
Antona was speaking to herself in a
reprehensible fashion that was grow
ing on her, trying to recall some verses
which Francis Logan had quoted to
her one sunset time down on the Bat
tery. She had fancied she could re
member them, they were so simple and
lovely.
Just then Mrs. Brown’s cracked din
ner boll rang.
Across the long, narrow table Fran
cis Logan glanced at Antona with
something like a lump born of a big,
protective instinct rising in his throat.
Every vestige of fresh country rose
bloom bad fled from the girl’s sweet
face, and iu the" intervals when she
fancied she was not observed the
young fellow’s alert eye noticed that
black lashes rested heavily against
her cheek as would those of one who is
overweary.
Antona’s weariness struck home per
haps because of contrast. Francis him
self was more than usually happy that
uiglit.
The big importing bouse where he
was employed had that very morning
sent a note to his desk Informing him
that his salary had been increased
some $10 a month. His dear mother,
over in Devonshire, had just written
him that a relative had left her an un
expected little legacy. Altogether the
world was going well with Francis Lo
gan.
“You look pleased, Mr. Logan,” ob
served Mrs. Brown from her accus
tomed seat at. the head of the table.
“Ah, I remember—this is your favor
ite soup!”
For five years now young Logan had
been an inmate of Mrs. Brown’s estab
lishment without having ever changed
his seat at table or liis room. Natural
ly Mrs. Brown sought to ingratiate her
self with him.
“Why, my dear,” she had exclaimed
once to Antona in a burst of enthusi
asm, "lie knows all the poets by heart.
He sees only the best plays, even
though it may be from gallery seats.
He knows all the finest pictures up in
tho Metropolitan. He has what they
call an ‘artistic’ taste too. My lands,
you should hear him notice the sunset
at the end of a narrow city street or a
tiny flower out in the park or”—
“Yes, I know,” said Antona impul
sively, for once coming out of her re
serve. “lie’s pure gold—that’s what he
is!”
“Huh! ‘Gold?’” Mrs. Brown had re
torted disdainfully. “None o’ your
pretty, soft yellow stuff for him. He’s
good, solid, practical steel, if any one
asked me. Don't you forget it, Miss
Wheaton. And if you could be fortu
nate enough to tie up to him”—
Mrs. Brown had broken off abruptly
at a flash from Miss Wheaton’s eye.
One dared not presume too far with
Miss Wheatou, in spite of the silky,
flaxen hair and the childish dimples,
as many of the young men in the de
partment store had found out.
“If only they could be a little more
like Mr. Logan!” Antona liad more
than once found herself commenting as
she pinned up her colored bolts. "He
is the sou! of honor, and I—I don’t
know what I'd do without him!”
“Had a stroke of luck today little
gir!." Logan waylaid Antona as she
was going upstairs after the scanty
saucer of raspberries, made purple
with milk, had been eaten. "I want
you to come out tonight and help me
celebrate—if you'll do me the honor.”
A little later, from the basement din
ing room window, Mrs. Brown, who
was arranging her cloth for the next
morning’s breakfast, watched them go
up the street together. Antona. in her
simple white muslin, wore a nodding
spray of pink roses at her waist. As
they walked toward tlic west the
young fellow’s eyes were fastened
adoringly upon her.
“Guess they’ll hit it off all right,”
commented Mrs. Brown as she went
on refilling the porcelain saltcellars.
“I’ll tell >oii what we’ll do,” said
Francis as they walked toward the
cars. “We’ll go out to Riverside drive
and sit there for awhile till the night
gets cooler; then we’ll go to some big
uptown restaurant and order some ice
cold chicken salad.” *
“Oh,” broke iu Antona In economic
defense, “I’d just as lief go to a drug
store and have some nice soda."
“Now, don’t you bother about the
expense, little one,” said Francis gay-
ly. “As I said, I’ve liad a rare stroke
of luck today, and when we get out. on
one of those cool benches on the drive
I’m going to tell you about it.” Also
be determined resolutely to himself he
■would tell her something else. She
needed to be petted and taken care of.
The car ride to the river was long.
The sun glow had faded entirely out of
the west nnd tlie gray veil that spread
between the night anil day was already
beginning to be pricked by llie city’s
innumerable lights when finally they
reached the drive and leaned over the
stone wall that edged it. The Palisades
on the opposite shore cast huge black
shadows upon the water. Near by a
yacht or two were at anchor. Silently,
mysteriously, their lights came up, one
by one. Over on the Jersey shore a big
building which by day showed itself to
be an unsightly factory now took on
the majesty of a mediaeval castle.
“See the turrets and spires,” said
Francis, calling Antona’s attention to
it. “Do you know the story the
Lady of Shalott?” he added. “She lived
in a grand castle—we’ll pretend that’s
it,” lie nodded toward tiie factory—
“and from the highest window she
watched her lover, Sir Launcelot, go
ing by, and she drifted down the river
to find him. We’ll pretend this is the
river, and—dear little Lady of Shalott,
will you let me be your Sir Launcelot?
I love you and want you to marry me
and let me take care of you. Surely,
little one. you are so fragile and sweet
you need to ho taken care of. Will
you ?”
The girl’s eyes as he spoke were dis
tant. All the yellow lights on the
yachts seemed to be swinging them
selves together.
*******
“Just look at my hair, Francis,” An
tona was saying twenty minutes later,
with a shy note of laughter.
“I’m looking at it, dear,” said Fran
cis oddly, with something like a catch
in his rich young voice. “And just to
think I’m going to have it to look at
all my life!”
“Nicknackitorian.”
Loudon shopkeepers’ slang is a dia
lect in itself and one that is always
changing. What, then, is a “nicknack
itorian?” Wo know not the word to
day; but, looking recently through
some old law cases dating about a
hundred years back, I was puzzled to
find it applied in all good faith to
describe a plaintiff in the sheriff’s
court. On further search it turned out
to be a piece of forgotten cockney
slang for a dealer in bric-a-brac.
The evidence showed that this plain
tiff kept a sort of old curiosity shop,
in which lie dispensed "mummies,”
poisoned arrows, the head of King Ar
thur’s spear and a genuine manuscript
of the “first play acted by Thespis and
his company in a wagon!” The de
fendant, a woman, had actually
bought and paid for some of these
rarities, but she died after having com
missioned the embalming of an oraug
outang to add to her collection, and
for this her executors refused to pay.
Counsel for the defense poured con
tempt on the mummy of the orang
outang and called it a “stuffed mon
key.”
But the “nicknackitorian” won his
case. His profession was more taking
than his name.—Manchester Guardiau.
An Equal Test.
It is an interesting fact that the two
studies of arithmetic and geography
often seem to be opposed to each other
in the affections of school children.
Pupils who are particularly proficient
in the one are apt to be backward iu
the other.
A story is told of a youngster who
was slow in arithmetic and whose ap
parent stupidity' in this field was a
great source of grief to his father, a
clever mathematician.
One day when the father and son
were walking out they passed a place
where a “learned pig” was on exhibi
tion, and the father took the boy in to
see the prodigies that the animal could
perform.
“Just look at that!” said the father.
“Why, there’s a pig that can count and
add up numbers! Don’t you wish you
were as smart as he?”
“Ha!” answered the boy. “Just let
me ask him a few questions in geog
raphy! I reckon I could beat him at
that!”
Told by Sydney Smith.
The late Lord Dudley was a most
absentminded man. “One day,” says
Sydney Smith, “he met me in the
street and invited me to meet myself.
’Dine with me today; dine with me,
and I will get Sydney Smith to meet
you.’ I admitted the temptation held
out to me, but said lie was engaged to
meet me elsewhere. Another time in
meeting me he put his arm through
mine, muttering, 'I don't miuu walking
with him a little way: I’ll walk with
him as far as the end of the street.’
He very nearly overset my gravity once
in the pulpit. lie was sitting imme
diately under me. apparently very at
tentive, when suddenly he took lip his
stick as if he liad been in the house of
commons and. tapping the ground with
it, cried out in a low but very audible
whisper. ‘Hear, hear!' ”