Newspaper Page Text
TOE GEORGIAN’S MAGAZINE PAGE
“The Gates of Silence”
By Meta Stmmins, Author of "Hushed Up"
TODAY’S INSTALLMENT.
If the thought occurred to Rimlngton
he dashed it aside from his mind. He
*as mad where that one idea was con
cerned. It had become an obsession with
him that never lifted its shadow from
his waking thoughts and haunted all his
dreams. He must escape—whatever the
iesult—whatever the penalty of failure;
he must escape.
Once or twice, it is true, he thought
longingly of his aunt; the fantastic little
lady who had visited him and propounded
a wild scheme of coming down to Bil
mouth in orcfer that she might live his
.'•%? and share his suffering. He had
heard nothing of or from her, and his
knowledge of her in the past told him that
if there had been any way by which news
of her could reach him she would have
found out that channel and have tised it.
No doubt, with her undeniable common
sense, she had discovered the impracti
cability of her scheme, and the end of
his thoughts of her was that even if she
were at Rilmouth she would have been
no help to him. Her house would be the
first to be suspected, and her every
movement be watched like those of a
known criminal.
No hope or help from that quarter, Rim
lngton knew that very well. No hope of
help from any known quarter. Only
surely there was justice in heaven, and
if this chance ever came to him he must
escape.
His Chance.
The madness grew with brooding; the
desire quickened and throbbed till it be
came an additional suffering—a pain as
sharp as hi« longing for Betty as his de
sire for vindication He must eFean*.
About a fortnight after his dismissal
from the infirmary the chance came.
The thaw had ended in a week of ;
steady downpour, ar.d even when the rain '
had ceased live air had seemed heavy
with moisture. The mornings had. for I
the most part, dawned foggx. and more j
than once Rimlngton had dreaded that. ,
owing to the fog. the <mt doo- gangs would ■
be confined to the prison precincts. But ;
this had never once happ* re • Each day ’
the fog had cleared, leav ng a day of i
raw. damp mist, and each day the wil ;
derness, and the fog. for wl.icl: Riming- ■
.ten had prayed, had never returned till i
darkness fell. Then, on the eleventh day, ;
had come a change.
As usual, the morning had downed
mistily but had cleared Fufficentl} to
pl’ow the gang to get to hot as the :
afternoon approached Rim’notor every '
sense a’ert. noticed that a change was j
creeping up over the wild, deso’ate '
country. There was fog in the air—
he seemed to see it rush tag up over the
sea. Fog. the deliverer!
The thought gave an impetus to his ;
work that drew jeering comments from .
the men near him
“Put yer on ter piecework, 'as they, j
male.’” the man nearest said to him. i
pausing in his ov n labor. He was a big. :
muscular looking brute, with a finely I
shaped head, its line# clearly revealed by :
the convict crop, set incongruously on
liis bull throat./ “Fair e’ cited yet looks."
His thin lips burled’ In a smile that re
minded Rimlngton oddly <>f :lo «!.)”.? that
curves the lips of the in the Em-
perors’ Gallery , and his ♦v. .= *hat w-'-re
very hl :a and very cold-h oklng. met his
with an c-nigtnaiical expression,
"Y< u seem' ’<■ be taking a (’altering in
teres! in me.” Rimingtor said, forcing
himself to adopt an answering tone
From the first moments of his convict
career he had been fully alive to the ne
co-sity <>f preserving a verba’ equality
with his associates so far as was possi- j
ble. The gentleman lag is a marked man >
in 4 more■ senses than one.
The other sidled nearer, lowering his !
voice, speaking through his teeth, with- I
out lip movement, in the way Rimington i
bad learned to understand
“Yer go*n’ to make a bolt fer it. ain’t ;
yer'.’” he .«:dd. and as Rimlngton, by a •
movement of his head, made a disclaimer. •
ho abjured him. with much verbal em- J
broidery, not to be a liar. “I’ve seen it ,
in yer eyes this three weeks back,” he i
said. “And terday’s yer chance—our •
chance!”
So he had been thinking of ; t, too! Rim
lngton gave him a startled glance, then
looked away again. One of the warders
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or one of the civil guard might have seen
them talking—might suspect. But Rim
ington’s- thoughts were working quickly.
If this maiwjoined him in the attempt
two diffused the trail; it would be easy
enough to give him the slip afterward.
But at first there would be a certain
safety in numbers.
That, apparently, was the other man's
thought also, for presently, as the op
portunity occurred, he drew near Rim
lngton and spoke again, and for the hour
that followed he was often near Rim
ington. Then they were separated, and
Rimington’s eyes and mind were concen
trated on two things the movements of
the warders and the specter of the fog
that was rolling inland from the set*, not
reaching them yet, but visible and thick
ening ominously.
It was odd how this other man’s mind,
working entirely independently of his
own. had y et devised a plan with so many
points of resemblance. To him also the
inadvisability of attempting escape in
the open country, where every’ point of
vantage was occupied by h civil guard,
had occurred. His plan was to wait
until they were returning and had al
most reached the tunnel that separated
the stone workings from the actual prison
property, and then for them to make a
bolt for it—-one to the right, one to the
left-distracting the attention of the
guards, who would be called on to look
in different directions. Having separated,
the dash was to be made for open coun
try.
“Five o’clock, mate.” the convict had
given the signal. “The 5 o’clock hell,
and —”
Would 5 o'clock never come?
How fa r had he walked? How long
had he been walking? .lack Rimington
had lost all idea of time. For long now
i he seemed to l ave forgotten a time when
jhe was not walking, walking on and on
through the white fog. tha/t seemed to
1 him now no longer* the deliverer, but the
! destroyer, behind whose white, shroud
j ing curtain lurked a. thousand shapes of
; fear.
His head ached and reeled, and bis body
I was soaked through and through: once
ihe had plunged through the fog knee
: deep in a brawling streamy had fallen
land stumbled, soaking himself in the wa
! ter. Ice cold from its journey’ down from
; the source beyond the shoulders of the
! tors. His dread was that he might be. for
jail the ceaseless energy, moving only in a
circle, instead of increasing the distance
i between himself and the prison He was
j faint and sick with hunger, and hardly
i realized that it was hunger; only now the
white whorls of the fog were beginning
sto take definite shape for him The white
•cur’ain of rhe fog had become full of
| even The air was full of expectancy, of
<walting. It came to him that his pursuers
i waited only for him to pause or halt so
I that they might rush upon him and pull
! him down like a pack of hounds.
; Fagged Out.
I He stumbled on and on, with steps that
flagged and grew more lagging Then
: presently It was not the curtain of the
! mist tha.r hid the world from him; sleep
.that was more a failing of nia waking
‘ senses than a voluntary surrender to
■ slumber took him out of the ambush cf
;i<s intense weariness and fatigue. He
! stumbled yet again, fell, ai.d lay heavily
! against an excrocrmc*' on the face of
I the rnoor. ;hat s’ • mcd 1 lack and grim
' through the llftirgard ever-lifting mist.
It was brc.'u: daylight when he awoke.
Iy et still a uhltc world; hoar frost lay
' *>ver the brown-] arched face of the moor,.
■ spreading a, \ «d! of silver spun like cpb
i web over the great tracts of brake fern
and the blackened, leafless tracery
|of the bilberry bushes that here in this
‘desolate spot clothed the rncor save
| where here and there, in broken places,
|it sh owed its immemorial face of granite
lin greet i’atened slabs ar.d shattered
I moraines.
j Riminglon roused himself with a start
land looked about him. He was stiff and
' chilled with cold, but his brain was clear;
1 sleep had chased away the mist of last
; night from his brain as the morning sun
; light had sent the fog skulking back out
• to sea.
He remembered all that had happened.
; The plan had gone without a hitch,
.lust as they had arranged, they had
made a bolt for freedom the big con
vict. who had stated his name was Winch,
to the right, and himself to the left.
Orders to stop had been shouted after
them. and. those orders disregarded, shots
bad been fired; hut the fog had swal
lows! them up. What had happened to
the other man? Was he still at large?
Rimington hoped so. poor wretch, since
his punishment would be very’ heavy, see
ing that this was the man’s third at
tempt to break prison.
He raised himself cautiously and
looked about hmf. So far as his eyes
could see there was no sign of human
life or human habitation. The moor
stretched white and sparkling in the sun
light. unbroken to the horizon; of the
prison, that grim fortress on the hill
that seemed to dominate all the* coun
tryside. lie could see no trace; he sur
mised that it was hidden behind the ris
ing shoulder of land that rose clear and
shapely, outlined against the turquoise of
the sky
Yet. that he could see no one was no
guarantee of security; there were a hun
dred hiding places from behind which
the hounds of the law might rise and
give tongue. He dared not show himself
I in the open, grotesque figure that he was.
| to shout his identity of runaway to the
Intelligence of the tiniest toddling child.
it was bitterly cold; his Qlothss,
drenched through last night, stood out
stiff and frozen about him; he ached in
every bone, and hunger was gnawing
at him again with cruel teeth. He tried
to drag himself out under the shelter
of the boulder, behind which lie lay into
the sunlight, but the winter sunshine had
n<» now’er to thaw cold such possessed
his bones; its brightness seemed to mock
him.
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Hot Weather Cooking Some More About the \ alue of Paper Bag Cookery
By ELIZABETH RATHBONE.
A GOOD many people who have tried
paper bag cookery have failed to
be successful with it because they
did not understand that the food must
t»ot be placed in a dish, nor should the
bag be put on a dish. The paper bag is
used instead of a dish or pan. and is
tightly sealed, so that the juice of the
food, the aroma and delicate flavoring
may be entirely retained.
When the food to be cooked is in the
bag, seal the bag and put it in the oven,
which should be heated in advance. Put
the heavy roasts which take long to
cook on the lowest shelf of tile oven.
The economy
of this process Ay . \ ■ i
is easily shown. .
Everything- in /
a paper bag can //A jTWpr >. ' Jay
be eaten. The / B/A
extreme cleanli- / \ A
ness of paper bag | WWWWWF; «« I
\ \WHI Ik e-. W. //
cookery is another Ek , WW Ml
recommendation.
Al l of the |
food’s nutritive fl ‘ V
qualities remain A /
intact in this bb-
process. "
The juice of the food, delicate aroma and flavoring are entirely retained.
and the lighter dishes on thq middle
and upper shelves. The paper bag is a
good method of cooking chopped or
hashed meat with left-over vegetables.
A good recipe for made-over beef
calls for half-pound of cold roast beef,
which should be cut up very small or
minced. To this should be added about
half the quantity of finely chopped ba
con. leaving the fat on. Chop up half a
dozen olives and add parsley, the juice
of a slice of lemon, pepper and salt,
and if you can get it a sprig of traagon.
Beat up the yolk of an egg and the
white in separate dishes; add first the
yolk and then the white. Mix thor
oughly. place in a well buttered jiaper
bag and bake for half an hour. Serve
with a tomato sauce.
Chicken can be cooked in a paper
bag very successfully, and one can cut
it up. or cook it whole; cooked in pieces
it takes much less time. One of the
secrets of successful cooking is to have
plenty of grease inside the bag. A
good recipe for boiled chicken calls for
one well cleaned chicken, a couple of
pieces of bacon, placed with it in the
paper bag, a small onion, one carrot, a
piece of celery, a sprig of chives and
parsley, pepper and salt. Pour into the
bag a good tumblerful of water, seal it
up. and if the water begins to run out
of it tie a piece of string around its
neck to prevent its doing so.
(F- Him finer a Hnckanrl eletl Tf > es s o Defend Maynard, But o
I IRRIIRg & fIUSDanCI the \\ id on' Will Hear Nothing of Hun
i
BEATRICE was not mistaken, for.
after a moment’s reflection, Hel
en Robbins took up her tale of
protest.
"My dear girl," she began deprecat
ingly, "how do you know that all this
talk about poor old Roh Maynard Is
true? It may be all idle gossip. In
deed, I feel that your viewpoint is but
the result of your morbid fancy ex
cited by the fact that he drank a high
ball in your presence. You are too
nervous and touchy with regard to
things of that kind, Beatrice, to be able
to take a sane view of. them."
"I can scarcely see where my view -
point is not ‘sane,’" asserted Beatrice,
controlling voice and manner that she
might not show how excited she really
was. "Perhaps, Helen, if you had been
at the Arcadian, as 1 was last night,
and had seen Robert Maynard so drunk
that the waiters were forced to expel
him. you might still, in the cause of
blind loyalty, disbelieve your eyes and
ears. But I can’t!"
“I’m sure- you were mistaken." in
sisted Helen, with the calm and irritat
ing obstinacy of an outwardly amiable
tv oman.
"How could 1 be mistaken about such
an evident thing as that?" demanded
her hostess.
"Well, you might easily be wrong
about It." reiterated Helen.
Beatrice laughed disagreeably.
"Or drunk myself, why don't you sug
gest?" she said with angry sarcasm.
"Beatrice!” exclaimed the shocked
guest. "Don't be so vulgar! But I
can't believe my ears when you tell
me such things of Robert. By the way,
who was with you?" she asked sud
denly.
"I acknowledge.” admitted Helen,
that I have heard from several people
that Robert Maynard has been drink
ing occa.aionally lately, but not to ex
cess, and I could hardly believe even
that. If it is true," she continued,
blandly, "I suppose it is because the
poor fellow is so lonely and unhappy
that he would do almost anything to
forget his sorrow for a little while.
He misses his wife dreadfully!"
"He must!" sneered Beatrice.
"Oh, Beatrice," reproved the widow
er's champion, "how can you speak in
that way you. who know for yourself
what the torture of such bereavement
is""
But the widow did not reply Imine
diately, ami. during the silence that
followed, Helen looked at het hostes
with a gaze in which uncertainty and
triumph were mingled Inwatdlt Bea
trice wo- lighting against the impulse
to dll lie futlher tl|H,n Matnatd's ill
linquema llowevet artistically and
\ /y ' ;. \ /
\ /■ \/
r vor J
Many of the dishes that are fried—
liver and bacon, for instance, or chops,
veal, etc.—can be done in paper bags
and save the housewife a good deal of
anxiety. For a single person two chops
placed in a nicely buttered bag, or tn a
bag with a small piece of bacon, will be
done after twelve minutes in a hot
oven.
Where fresh berries can not be eat
en and the diet calls for apricots or
prunes, place the dried fruit, after care
fully washing, in a bag with a small
quantity of water and a little lilt of
lemon for the prunes; seal the bag and
let it cook until the prunes and apri-
I cots have absorbed the moisture. They
; will taste very much better than when
cooked in any other way.
Codfish can be cooked in a paper
bag as follows: Take a one-pound
piece of fish and place it in a well
buttered bag into which has been
I dropped a wineglassful of milk, a
[ teaspoonful of butter and a heaping
I teaspoonful of flour, which has been
stirred to a smooth paste. After put
ting the fish in, add a little chopped
onion and parsley, seal the bag and
cook for fifteen minutes.
Occasionally the bag bums 01
scorches or it suddenly catches fire
from the draught when the oven doo:
is open. None of these things should
discourage the cook, however, because
Bv VIRGINIA T. VAX DE WATE
consistently one may maintain A pose
or a sham, the time is pretty sure to
come when she will suffer because of
it or rebel against it. Beatrice felt
now that she had reached this period,
for she could not explain to her friend
her horror of a. drinking man without
tacitly admitting by her manner that
she had the unfortunate experience of
knowing such a one intimately, thus
virtually acknowledging her own social
hypocrisy in posing as Tom Minor's be-,
reaved widow.
So, not feeling it safe to talk on the
subject, she sat silent by the window,
watching the long tree shadows cast
across the park beneath her by the
slowly sinking sun. And. as she w atch
ed and mused, her anger died out grad
ually and her pulses beat once more
quietly. At last she trusted herself to
s peak.
“1 may have wronged Mr Maynard,"
she added, dispassionately "No doubt,
the memory of his dead wife is very
dear to him. Certainly”—with a flash
of. sarcasm and a rueful laugh—"he
talks ot her enough to justify that
supposition."
Helen Robbins drew her chair nearer.
"Now, my dear,” she said, sweetly -
with the manner of one who congratu
lates herself on having kept her tem
per throughout a pdinful discussion
"w e won't talk of Robert any more just
now. Perhaps you are a little preju
diced on that subject, and besides”—
with a slight feline touch —"! am mere
ly bis disinterested friend, and you only
a chance acquaintance of his. so why
should we squabble about th'- man as
if he were near and dear to Us both?"
Beatrice's recently acquired self-con
trol did not desert her. and her de
meanor was so calm that her guest did
not suspect that the astute remark had
had any effect,
"J really came around this after
noon," Helen continued, "to speak to
you of pleasanter matters. My John is
asking several friends to dine with us
tomorrow evening. We re going away
to the country in two weeks from now,
and the place is all upset, so we can't
have anything but a plain family din
ner. It's horribly inconvenient, of
course, but a man never thinks of that
kind of thing, and John says it will be
best to have these men now while he
thinks of it. He has asked them often
to come, and had always forgotten to
set a date. One of them is an artist
the other a. physician, limit wet. at
college w ith John, ami he has neglected
tlum shamefully for. as the.' are old
bachelors, and he has a wife and home,
we ought to have had them at out
house* long ago Now, dear, won't .volt
please help me out by coming tomor
row night to dinner with tin in ' There
will be these two slr.tnut* no n and I 1
if she will experiment for a little
wiMle she will find that cooking In a
paper bag is a simple and expeditious
matter which will save her a good
deal of time, besides the annoyance of
dishwashing. Almost all recipes can
be adapted to the uses of the paper
bag, especially those that contain
more solids than fluids. The expert,
however, can make soup In a bag just
as well as in a pot.
One more Interesting thing about
paper bag cookery. You get the ab
solute flavor of what you are cooking;
so much of the odor and taste is lost
in ordinary cooking by evaporation,
because the pot or pan is opened, that
food is often said to be good when
it is only highly seasoned. You will
find that you don’t need so much sea
soning when you cook in a paper bag.
but that you must be much more care
ful to have a good quality of material,
fresh vegetables and good meal
Another item is the economy of this
process. Everything In a paper bag
can be eaten. Very little sticks to the
side of the bag, and there is no wasta
in pouting it out, as there
is when using pots. The extreme
cleanliness of paper bag cookery is
another recommendation, while doc
tors who are always crying out that
half of the good is cooked out of the
food can be assured that the oil, salts
and nutritive qualities remain intact
in this process.
:r.
have asked Cousin Hannah to make the
• third woman—but she will not be much
of a drawing card, and 1 do want you.”
If Beatrice felt a momentary im
pulse to refuse the urgent invitation,
it was crushed before the declination
reached her lips as she contrasted the
dinner, with its possibilities of cheer
and pleasure, with the stupid evening
meal she would probably have In her
own lonely little apartment. Perhaps.
' too, the phrase, "two strange? men,"
may haw tempted her to a favorable
consideration of the idea, although
she did not admit this fact even to
her inner consciousness. But she was
a bit surprised to feel how different
society and social functions appeared
to her within the past months. Right
after her husbarnTs death she felt that
men were unworthy a woman's con
sideration Later, when she became
accustomed to her freedom, she
thought of men as selfish, egotistical
beings, in whom she bad no Interest.
But, since she had tried the wings of
that much-prized freedom, and had
fluttered out in the world and had
J proved that she still had the ability
to charm mankind, she found herself
enjoying the company of the few men
she knew, and taking their compli
ments and homage with an eager zest
that had heretofore been foreign to her
character.
So she accepted gratefully Helen's
Invitation and became immediately
more vivacious ami voluble in her talk.
"It is always delightful to dine at
your house," she said, affably, "and
really I have so many lonely evenings
that it is a genuine kindness to me
when one of my friends invites me
away from this quiet little home in
which lhe children are sound asleep
by X o'clock."
She had actually forgotten her hos
tile attitude of mind towards Helen—
for the time, at least.
"At what hour do you dine, dear?"
she aslod as Iter guest rose so go
home.
"At our usual hour. 7 o'clock," re
plied Helen. "I am thoroughly glad
that you can come."
And so am 1!" exclaimed Beatrice,
sincerely.
CASTOR IA
For Infants and Children.
Ths Kind You Have Always Bought
Bears the ZV /
Wifnatare 01 '-£4X4*
The Manicure Lady §
By William F. Kirk
ZZ T T’S a mighty queer world, tftis
j world that we’re living in.” said
. the Manicure Lady. “A girl
friend of mine was in here today and
told me about the kind of a job she
had getting a position. She is kind of
unlucky, George."
"I know what you mean,” said the
Head Barber. "You mean she is un
lucky enough to be pretty. You don't
need to.tell me anything about pretty
girls looking for theatrical positions,"
he concluded.
"J knew some of them theatrical of
fices was kind of bad." said the Mani
cure. Lady "But t never knew how
much luckier I am to be a manicure
girl than a chorus girl until my little
pal told me some of the talk she had
handed to her. I guess there ain’t
enough big. clean boys in the world,
George—the kind that coud wdlk into
that kind of an office with four of the
cheap fellows sitting around at ma
hogany desks, lock the door, and come
out with the key, leaving death and
devastation in his track. Gee, I could
love a hold-up man out West—one of
the chaps that Is all the time facing
bullets or lynching, me from
them little, cheap, sneaky rats that
takes any kind of advantage of a girl’s
position In life. I get a few of them in
here now and then, you know. George.”
"I don’t know," said the Head Bar
ber angrily. “Ever since the time I
walloped that cheap drummer with a
shaving mug that belonged to another
traveling man, you have been afraid to
tell me anything. That's the trouble
with girls. They stand for all the rough
stuff, talk and all, because thflr don't
want to make a scene What’s a scene,
anyway, after it is all over? Many a
man has had to make a scene just for
the sake of teaching another man a
lesson."
"I know you are awful brave,
George." admitted the Manicure Lady
with a beaming smile of admiration.
'That was sure grand, the way you
beaned that fellow with that shaving
mug. And it said on the mug 'Re
member me,' too. That struck me kind
/*’ rr ,
XjMtXc Mm* JaU
Anty Drudge Suggests an Essay.
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duipntaUe Superiority ors Mind over Matter.* ”
Anly Dredge— “ Why oot make your aowby about practical
things: How EeU.*<aptb* Has Lightened Wonm's
Work.’ After you are marned, and have a hoarne
of your own. you wfll find that Fme-Muptha boo don**
n*jre to take the stmg ovt oi honaenrork lUa aay
ever jnoioi l *
The three great forward steps in
woman’s housework are:
The modern range in place of the
old fireplace and kettle;
The sewing machine in place of
laborious hand-sewmg;
Fels-Naptha soap, which makes it
easy to wash clothes in cool or lukewarm
water, without boiling or hard rubbing.
Os these three, Fels-Naptha saves the
woman more back-breaking labor, more
time, more money, and does more to
make life pleasanter than either of the
others.
At the very first, you can see how it
saves time and labor, but perhaps you’ll
wonder how Fels-Naptha saves money.
In two ways: First it saves the cost of
coal or gas to heat water and boil the
clothes.
Then the clothes last longer when
washed with Fels-Naptha in cool or luke
warm water.
Their fibre isn’t weakened by boil
ing nor strained by hard rubbing.
You can’t realize just what a help
Fels-Naptha is until you’ve tried it in
your own was’ ng.
Why not begin next washday?
Fels-Naptha easy way of washing in
place of the tiresome, tedious back-break
ing method.
Use it according to directions on the
redound green wrapper, winter or summer
of funny at the time, because the part
of the mug that landed nearest to me
after it had bounced off his block had
them words on it—'Remember me.' I
guess he won’t ever forget you."
"I didn’t want to break that mug.”
said the Head Barber, "but the gent I
broke it on had a kind of tough mug
himself, and I am too long in the league
to go picking a fight with- a man that
bounces up after you knock him down.
I have to use my hands for shaving,
kiddo. I don't want to break them up
on a bully."
“Brotjier Wilfred said the same
thing -ne other nigru," remarked the
Manicure Lady. "Him and me wag
walking home and a big stiff on the
corner near the house said, Pipe the
long-haired guy with the queen.' I
thought at the time that Wilfred was_
going to take it up, but when we got;
home and I asked him about it, he said:
that he didn't want to break up his*
hands. I guess shaving mugs and other!
crockery IS kind of handy, after all,
George."
LOVE'S LABOR LOST.
Weary, worn, wretched and woe-»j
begone was he. So milch so that he at-J
traded the sympathy of the passing,
stranger.
“What's the trouble?" asked the Good!
Samaritan, kindly. "Anything I can'
do, old chap?"
"No. thanks,” moaned the victim*.
"Only please go away and leave me.” '.
"Yes, but," hazarded the
"perhaps It would relieve you If you?
told me about it.”
"Well, it's this way." came the replyJ
"I’i;e been teaching a gin to ride
bicycle. I've wheeled her miles; she's
fallen on me; I've paid for the hire ■ S
the machine. I've boiled with th«
heat—”
"Poor chap!" Interrupted the stran-sj
ger. "And now she's jilted you—eh?" ’
"No—worse than that,” came th<i
mournful answer. "Last evening K
went on the pier and discovered thaw
she's a trick cyclist in an athlethS
troupe!”
Then he colla peed—done tn the world.
The blow had been too heavy.