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JUST PLAIN NANCY BROWN
By ANNABEL LEE.
(Copyright, 1906, by W. R. Henrat.)
Bbe climbed the dark, dingy stairs
leading to the editorial rooms, stopping
at each landing to gain her breath and
read the sign to which a grotesquely
drawn Unger pointed—"Munliuttun
Magaslne, Editorial Rooms Next
Floor.”
•’How much further.” she sighed
wearily, and then she puused before the
door and half audiby murmured a
prayer, "God, that I may be fortunate
here."
She held up her head bravely, and,
presenting her card to the office boy,
said .easily, ‘To the editor, please.”
"He has g«*n«- to Chicago."
Her heart beat painfully, but she in
quired: "Is his assistant here?” The
boy took her card into the next room
and a moment Inter returned and said:
This way, please.”
She followed him to a high roll-top
desk, where a sleek, well-groomed
Voung man wheeled around lit a re
volving chair to a position In front of
which the stood.
"You look well feil, and as If you
knew where you were going t«> sleep
tonight; you .«r»* enjo>lng a brief au
thority. and now I wonder If you arc-
going to put on airs," was her inward
comment, but she smiled and said di
rectly: "I am sorry Mr. Weltcm Is away,
for I have a story here which I think
may Interest him."
"What is the nature of the material?”
he said austerely.
"A signed story, written In a popular
way by an eminent scientist."
"Well, that sounds good." he an-,
■wered. critically, half closing his eyes,
"but we can pass on nothing during
the 'chief's* absence, and ho w III be
away three weeks. Suppose you leave
It her*- for Ilia decisionT*
He-motioned her to a seat and vol
unteered emphatically, "You -ee. vo
want stuff by people w»p* are doing
^‘•-mething in tne world, no matter
recent their u* hkveim nu, that
what we are after. Something with
the ‘human touch/ ”
He paused and looked up to see the
effect of his words, then continued:
"For Instance, a chorus girl marries
a millionaire, no matter how obscure
she may have been before, if she mar
ries n millionaire she has done some
thing that shows she has done some
thing.”
"Art?" the woman queried.
"Work," the editor exclaimed, "any
how, It is achieve ment, and she would
make a rattling good story.”
"The human touch," suggested the
woman.
"Exactly," the editor replied.
A merciful Interruption came. The
telephone rang on his desk and the
bantering ceased. "You had better leave
this here,” he added, as he took the re
ceiver from the hook, "and your
name?”
"Nancy Brown." she answered, "plain
Nancy Brown, and the address Is In
side.”
With every sense on a strain, she
had talked lightly, but she was raging
furiously as she rapidly descended the
steps to the street. It had been two
days since she had tasted food, and
the fumes of fresh-made bread that
filled the air from a baker shop brought
a pang of hunger that quickened her
steps until she reached Broadway and
merged Into the full tide of downtown
traffic.
"That is one of the comforts of
Broadway." she said aloud, "if you
are stuivlng you are mercifully pro
tected from the smell of cooking on
this street.”
She stopped at a crossing to let an
automobile jaiss and recognised Its oc
cupant— u« star whom she had inter
viewed a season ug«*.
Til make my prettiest how to her."
sin* soliloquised, "she Is an addle-pate,
but she Is getting on;* she has her
gtip on Gotlmin and iny failures have
been splendid.”
The sight of pampered luxury aucl
tho Injustice of Fate made her Insensi
bly relax her pace.
"God; what a price decency pays to
ambition," she exclaimed, "three years
struggle in New York and what Is it
all for?"
"If I had failed utterly," she contin
ued, "then it would not be so hard to
give It up. but I've had just enough
success to beckon me on to the Journal
ist's ‘pot of gold,' and here I am strand
ed, but not beaten. 1 am still Insane
enough to feel encouraged If I should
land some of my copy tomorrow. What
a hideous existence, what a feverish,
distracting, unhappy life, and yet all
that I have set my heart upon, all that
bus made life sufilerable has tumbled
about my ears, even in this hour. God,
how I want It, how I want some small
measure of that recognition which Is
the life and soul of me, and now I am
done for."
Nancy Brown threaded her way back
home mechanically and slowly mount
ed the stairs to the back room of a house
facing Washington square. Under the
door she found two letters, one from
the landlady notifying her that her rent
wus overdue, and the other was from
her husband. She took off her veil
and carefully scrutinised the date of
the stamp, then said aloud, aa if count
ing to herself: "Yes. he could have
answered my letter by this time."
8he hurriedly opened the letter and
looked In the envelope to see If It con
tained money, but there was nothing
there. Then began to rend:
Dear Nancy:
I am sorry you ure in such straits,
but I can’t help you any. If you will
Insist on paddling your own canoe in
stead of letting me do it for you. In
my way, you must take what comes.
If you will live your life alone, go
ahead and drop me out entirely; If you
can't do it writing, do something else.
You know I am sorry that you arc up
against It. and the thought that you
may be hungry, even. Is depressing,
to say the least. I haven't eaten a
meal since you left without wondering
If you have had yours.
I am so overwhelmed by the disaster
to ’Frisco that 1 hardly know what to
write. I have written to my friend Jim
that I would send him what help I.
could. Jim was always my friend, and l
I don’t know whether I shall send you
any money or not. 1 am half Inclined
to believe that to struggle ulong alone
will either bring out what you have In
you or bring you to a right sense of
| things sooner or later. Yes, this is a
railroad camp, about a hundred |>er
| cent worse than anything In South
America, and four miles from the post-
. office. There are at all times three or
four men in our room, which contains
two double beds and ft cot. \V> get up
at 6:8a and leuve for the front at
6:16. We take our dinner buckets
(nose bags) and eat our cold dinners on
the end of a railroad tie. At night we
• arrive in camp about 7:80, and for
• amusement tell lies or read old news
papers by a dirty lamp. If any one Is
damn fool enough to thlpk he wants
anything in the way of the milk of hu
man kindness, love or affection, his
wants can be promptly supplied by
calling in a small bull pup who is
looking tor just such a snap, and shows
his loving nature by tearing your pants
leg, hiding your lint and carrying away
uifN thing he can drag and hiding It.
In fact, we are a prise lot of Idiots,
who at some time or other, more or
less remote, thought money and mar
riage the only things to make like
scanned the time tables. "I'll be able
to make It,” she said to herself. "Just
two hours," and she strulghtway began
to pack her trunk. "He must not die,”
Hhe cried vehemently, "Oh, Clod, I see
It all now*; I have been wicked and
selfish und he needs tne, help me to
make amends."
The door oponod cautiously and the
lundlady stpod inside. "I rapped, but
I guess you didn't hear tne/' she said,
tentatively. "No, Mrs. Barker, I did
not hear, but I am glad you came In;
I am going West at 6 o'clock and can
talk to you while I am packing”.
"Isn't that ruther suddlnt like?”
"Yes, something important. I shall
pay you for this week, however, so
you will have a chance to get another
tenant.” j
She put on her hat, grabbed her :
gloves and started for the street. "You
will excuse me; I know I have so little i
time.”
"Well,” Mrs. Barker began, "If you :
arc coinin' home soon. I’ll hold the
room till you git back.”
"I am not coming back.”
"But you always liked New York,'
the landlady persisted.
"I hate Njw York," said
THE RETURN.
.. eager 1
he hnd known as n boy;
draught of those founts ins
The scene
"Oh. for i
sweet.
And a taste of the vanished Joy,”
He roamed the fields, he mused by the
streams,
lie threaded the paths and lanes;
On the hills he sought his youthful dreams,
In the woods to forget tils |mlns.
Oh. sail, sad hills: oh. cold, arid hearth!
In Sorrow he learned the truth-
one may go hack to the plain* of his birth—
He eauiiot go hack to his youth.
—John Burroughs.
u»|i' me uni) limit;* it* iimivc mi* n * Natp*>
worth while. But It Is me for the gay | Br3 * n *
life In the future. The head of the
house, that's "me,” In the future, will
give you one more chance. To sum up
the situation, you have until the 1st
of June to make up your mind wheth
er you want me or not. 1 have reached
the limit. It Is up to you to decide.
I have been n widower by request long
enough, and you have had time to prove
that you do not cut enough Ice In New
York to Interfere with a lemon frappe.
As ever. JACK.
She carefully folded the letter and
put it In Its inclosure, then threw her
self on the couch in a paroxysm of
hysterical laughter. There was a knock
at the door, an Imperative knock, and
the voice of the maid called through
the keyhole, "A telegram.”
There were two—-one contained an
official notification of money, and the
other: "Your husband was seriously
hurt in a landslide this morning and
begs you to come to him at once. 1
have wired money for transportation at
his request and would suggest that you
do not delay.
R. R. SURGEON.”
THE DELICIOUS QUAIL
IS NOW IN SEASON. TRY
ONE TONIGHT AFTER
THE THEATER AT THE
NEW KIMBALL PALM
GARDEN.
IT SHALL BE WELL.
If them shalt be In heart n child.
Jorgivlng, tender, meek and mild.
Though with light stains of earth drilled
Oh, soul, it shall ho well.
1* shall we well with thee. Indeed.
V» bate er thy race, thy tongue, thv creed.
Thou shalt not lose thy flu lag me«l:
It shall l»e surely well.
Not where, nor liow, nor when we know.
Nor by what stages thou shalt grow;
We may but whisper faint and low,
"It slutli he surely well."
It shall be well with tliee. oh, soul.
Tho the heavens wither like n scroll:
Tho the sun and moon forget to roll—
Oh, soul, it shall l»e well.
—Lewls'Morrls.
THE BABY.
Ai Seen by Hie Brother.
By JAMES~j' MONTAGUE.
Jiint mice wlmt that thrro doctor did
When I was out one day?
He went ami brought n raggy kid,
An' left it here—to stay
An’ cow my uiuvver's got to tend
To him nil day, an* she
Don't never have no time to spend
A-dotn* thing* for me.
HU-* thinks he's Just a reg'lar salat.
An’ never seemed to care ....
tVlu-n I says, scornful: "Humph. lb* 11
Got any teeth nor hair!"
Solomon Goropers. father of Samuel, the
president of the American Federation of
Labor, lives* In Iloxbury, Mass. He Is 7k
years old. quid lias !>een totally blind for
nlue years. He was born In London, when
be joined a trade union in IMS.
Major Powell Cotton, who Is ou an **xim*-
dltlon from the Nile to '/.amU-id. i* acrom-
{tanled by bis wife, tho first Europe* u
woman to penetrate the Ituri basin. The
catnp has been thronged dally l»r natives
who «n* wild with curiosity to'*e«- -ihi
She crabbed the murnln* paper and white woman with the Ion* hair.
THE MAN AND HI6 WORK.
1 l “ V ptaln“' 1Cl1 f * l,h ,n ,he ->>o com-
«>f the work bo bn, chmen to do.
*{*“,- J"*J- l> . r - 1 ?" be - * deficient hi iirnlon.
Ho , llkjdy to o boo I and he - * likely r„ rob;
Awnywhh I bo man who fin.!* lault with hi.
I have to go to lied nloue,
An’ lay awake all* bear
The nwfnl ghosts an’ goblins grnau-*
They’re thick this time.o' year.
An’ no one tells me stories now,
But every one says: "Keep
As still as any boy knows bow—
Dear Ihi by Is asleep!”
[ I knew that doctor man was bound
To ploy us, some mean trick.
! I*or every time he’s come around
HometHsiy has been slrk.
An' when It's me, he's made me tau<*
A lot of awful truek , .
That's gave me such n stomach tune.
He’s always brung bad luck!
I'm goln' to get the kid some day.
An* when the doctor's here
I’ll give him to him. an' I’ll ■#>
•Mush take this ‘little dear.'
You brought him. now you just g*«
Back home with him!’’ An wli-u
The raggy little thing Is ffon*»
My nm’ll love ME again.
with the sun in bis
But give me i
fact*.
And lie shadow* till dancing behind:
' Vbo p «5» n, "ot hi* reverses with cnimueM
and grace.
Am! never forget m is* kind;
r° r * ^whether winding a arepter <i
1 Uar hiJ°id! 1,1 tl,H ,l,a, ‘ wh,V * IH love wit
—John L. Hhrojr, iu Lippincott’o.
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