■' . ’ ... . . m L Si ' 1 ■
r—-------------—-*
ll IN THE SHADOW OF SHAME |
* Copyright 1501 by AutS or of “ Tho Di. of
} Dfitini." “An Excel
I T. Fitxg.ro.ld Molloy lant Knovo." Etc.
I _
Herschel Mansions early in the morn-*
lng. and with the further discovery
that it was his habit, and probably had
been for some time before the tragedy,
to spend a portion of every night
watching the authoress's house, led the
inspector to believe his suspicions of
Bostock were just. And with the hope
of furthermore confirming his opinion
from observation of Bostock’s manner,
and perhaps from the drift of his con
versation. Mackworth had resolved to
cull upon him.
The news of Mezza's death gave tha
inspector the opportunity he soughr,
and for the purpose he had In view he
decided that he might best use that op
portunity by assuming a hopeless view
of Mrs. Dumbarton's ease, even favor
ing. if necessary, the idea of her guilt.
With his stout figure encased In a
tightly buttoned frock coat, his clean
shaven, mobile face full of Intelligence,
his swift moving eyes observing his
surroundings. Mackworth awaited the
publisher. When the latter entered
with his abstracted manner and gloomy
air, the little man arose and bowed.
"I have ventured to disturb you, sir,”
he began, "that I might tell you of a
discovery—a disappointing discovery—
I have made in the ense which interests
us both.”
"You have not disturbed me," an
swered George Bostock. “But I tlilnk
I have already heard your news. Sit
down."
“After all," said the Inspector, Ids
eyes watching the publisher's face, "the
Italian was not the man who killed
David Dumbarton."
"I know, I know," responded Bostock
irritably.
"You know." exclaimed Mackworth,
with emphasis on the Inst word.
"As I told you, I have already heard
the news."
"From Mis. Dumbarton?”
"Yes,” Bostock replied, seating him
self with an air of weariness.
“When I brought her the news this
morning she was in a desperate state,
for she sees how black her case is,
and has little hope left," remarked the
inspector, shaking his head with a
melancholy air.
“But surely, surely, sir. you have
some clew?" exclaimed Bostock, rous
ing himself.
"I may say. sir, between us. that I
have none," replied Mackworth with
Impressiveness.
“None," repeated Bostock, his face
ghastly. "There must be some clew.”
"Why?" the Inspector asked eagerly.
"Because there was a man stabbed
in the open roadway, outside the house
in which he took refuge; stabbed by
some one lie had quarrelled with,
wronged or insulted, and-"
"And,” said Mackworth, as the pub
lisher suddenly paused.
"And there must be some clew forth
coming.
“Are you sure Dumbarton's death I
happened us you describe it, sir?"
“Certain? No, how can I he certain?"
Bostock said, controlling his excite
ment. “But in what other way can
you account for the murder?"
Maekworth hesitated a second before
deciding on the course he would pur- i
sue, then leaning forward he said, low- !
ering his voice to an Impressive key, !
"What I say must remain quite a sc- I
cret."
“A secret," replied Bostock, his face
full of anxiety. "You may trust me.”
"Well. 1 shouldn't be surprised if the |
lady who is accused of the crime was
in reality guilty."
"No, no,” exclaimed the publisher in
hot indignation, "1 know she is not."
"You do?" said Maekworth quickly, j
and with a searching glance at the face j
before liiin. its eyes full of horror, its !
lips twitching from suppressed emo- j
lion.
"I will stake my life that she is in- I
nocent."
"Your life?”
“Yes," answered Bostock, a sudden
change from excitement to calmness i
coming over him, "my life.”
"But you have not heard my explan
ation.”
"Nor do I want to hear it."
"It may be reasonable, for nil that,”
persisted the inspector. "Doctors tell
as there are persons of highly wrought i
nervous temperaments, who, under tlie j
influences of drugs or mesmerism, are !
guilty of acts that they would be in- !
capable of in ordinary circumstances,
and of which they retain no memory
on recovering their proper stale of
consciousness. Now Mrs. Dum- j
barton-”
Your theory is Impossible in this
case," interrupted Bostock in a decisive
tone.
"But for weeks before the tragedy
she had been In the habit of taking a j
drug against which her doctor hud re
peatedly warned her. That’s a fact
that can't be denied.”
"And I tell you (hat such a thing us
her guilt Is incredible, impossible.”
"And yet. sir, it's the only feasible
explanation of this mystery.”
"Do you really mean that?" *
"Judge of the circumstances yourself.
'She is found one night with the knife i
in her hand which had taken the life of
the man at her feet—the man she had ;
every reason to detest and fear. Inves
tigation shows he had but one enemy,
who died some hours In advance of
him."
“Surely you haven’t exhausted your
inquiries?”
“I fear I have.”
"But there may—nay, there must be
—others who desired Dumbarton’s
death; others whom you don't sus
pect,” said Bostock, his excitement
threatening to overcome his enforced j
calmness.
"Do you think so?”
"Surely you will agree with me, for
Mrs. Dumbarton is innocent. I know
the is innocent.”
“But can you prove It. sir?”
Bostock looked up quickly, as If the
question startled him, then hurriedly |
rising from his chair he walked to the
other end of the room. Mackworth 1
watched his every movement closely
putting his own construction on the
agitation the publisher endeavored in
vain to conceal.
“Because, If you can’t," said the in
spector in a cold, severe, far-reaching
voice, "it will go hard with her; I can
not see how the jury can full to find
her guilty."
No comment was made upon this
plain statement; he who heard it
turned his back upon the speaker, and
for some seconds there was silence in
the room.
Presently Bostock, with a determined
expression in his dark face, advanced !
to the inspector and said, "She must be
saved. Don't spare expense or energy,
only wile must be saved, for she is in
nocent. I tell you she is innocent.”
”1 wish you could make a jury be
lieve as much,” said Mackworth us he
rose to depart.
“It may be proved to them yet."
To the question which the inspector’s
eyes expressed no answer was made, j
and George Bostock turned away once
more.
(Continued Next Week.)
The New Woman.
Nurse—"Did you ring, madam?”
Madam—"Yes, Marie; get the incu
bator up out of the cellar and put the
baby back in it for a few days.”
Nurse—"Oil, but, madam-”
Madam—“That will do, Marie; we
won’t argue. 1 am preparing a paper
for the club on ‘The Itelativeness of
the Absolute,' and 1 simply can’t be
bothered."
i
JURY FIXES $10,000
AS VALUE OF LOVE
Samuel Flinders to F’eceive
That Sum From A. C. Bailey
for Wife’s Affections.
A QUESTION OF AMOUNT
i _
Jury Agreed Flinders Had Been Dam
aged and Apparently Believed
Bailey Had Offered $75,000
for Her Love.
Cherokee. In., Jan. 23.—Evidently be
lieving Samuel Flinders when he de
clared on the witness stand that his
wealthy neighbor Asa C. Bailey, had
said he tvpuld give $75,000 for the love
of Mrs. Flinders, the Jury In Flinders’
suit for $25,000 damages for alienation
3f Mrs. Flinders’ affections by Bailey
this morning returned a verdict of $10,
100 for Flinders.
Asa C. Bailey and Samuel Flinders
were neighboring farmers near Suther
and and lived peaceably until March
27, 1904, when Flinders discovered a.
otter In his home, said to have been
written by his wife to Bailey, in which
ihe is said to have shown her prefer
ence for Bailey.
The Jury was out fifteen hours, com
ing In at 9 o'clock this morning. When
the verdict was given to Judge Hutch
inson fume were present except Carl
Herrick, attorney for Flinders, and J.
D. F. Smith, attorney for Bailey.
Agreed Flinders Was Damaged.
The jury never for a moment dis
agreed on the subject as to whether
Flinders should recover some dam
ages. It was admitted by them at the
outset that lie had been wronged, and
was entitled to monetary compensa
tion as the only one he could receive.
The first ballot is said to have stood
10 to 2 In favor of giving Flinders $10.
000. Then, after more balloting, an
other man came over to the majority
and there was a deadluck until this
morning.
me judge s instructions were lengthy
and technical. A number of special
findings were asked and the substance
of the answers was:
First, Samuel Flinders and wife had
lived together in happiness until March
27. 1904.
Second. Asa C. Bailey wilfully and In
tentionally did steal Mrs. Flinders’ af
fections from her lawful husband, Sam
uel Flinders.
Third, Samuel Flinders did not in any
manner contribute to this by neglect
of his conjugal relations with his wife.
Broke Up Flinders Home.
Fourth, that since the letter was dis
covered In the Flinders home. Flinders
and his wife have not lived together as
man and wife, and that Flinders has
been deprived of a home.
Regarding charges of criminal rela
11ons which were said to have been
made by Flinders to witnesses for the
defense, the jury Is silent.
It is presumed that the atorneys for
the defense will file a motion for a new
trial, but they have not yet expressed
themselves on this point. The suit has
been bitterly contested, and was the
most sensational that has occurred in
this county for many years. The court
room was crowded with people from all
over this and other counties. Asa C.
Bailey is one of the wealthiest farmers
in the county and testified that owned
a thousand acres of land. He is worth
probably $7.7,000.
Would Give All for Her.
The assertion was frequently made by
witnesses for the plaintiff that Bailey
had asserted that he would give all he
possessed for the love of,Mrs. Flinders.
In the trial stories have been told of
trips made (o other places by Bailey
and Mrs. Flinders, but the defense
showed that these trips had been ar
ranged when Flinders was present, and
he had asked Bailey to accompany his
wife.
Since the trouble began last spring
Flinders and his wife have lived in a.
divided house near Sutherland. The
children live with Mrs. Flinders and
took tier part through the trial. Miss
Maggie Weal, a cousin of Mrs. Flinders,
was dragged into the trial, and it was
attempted to establish the fact that
Flinders wanted to divorce his wife
so that lie could marry Miss Weal.
During all the trial the wife of Bailey
was not in evidence, and it Is not
known what she thought of the pro
ceedings. Bailey is said to have told
neighbors, however, that his home life
was not happy, and he married his wife
in the same way that he would buy a
horse.
MURDERED HIS WIFE.
Jury at Leon, la., Finds Charles Wood
ward Guilty of trie
Crime.
I)es Moines, la., Jan. 23.—Charles
Woodward of Leon was found guilty
of the murder of his wife, the jury re
turning a verdict at a o'clock this
morning. Sentence will be pronounced
Saturday and a life sentence is pre
dicted.
The crime was most brutal, witnesses
swearing that lie repeatedly knocked
ills wife down and kicked iier. She ,
died suddenly while riding in a wagon
with him. A chemical analysis of her
stomach disclosed large quantities of
strychnine. Woodward protested vig
orously against the autopsy and in
quest.
WAGES ARE ADVANCED
Iowa Central Engineers and Firemen
Granted About Half Their
Demands.
Marshalltown. la., Jan. 23.—The con
ference of tlie engineers' and firemen's
committees with General Superintend
ent Sweeney of the Iowa Central closed
last night by the men being granted an
Increase averaging 50 per cent, of their
demands.
Iowa Editors to Meet.
Waterloo, la., Jan. 23.—Editors and
publishers of the northeastern twenty
seven Iowa counties, organized as the
Northeastern Iowa Editorial associa
tion, will hold their mid-winter meet
ing here on February 2, 3 and 4. A
strong program has been prepared.
Among the speakers of note who will
address the meeting are B. B. Her
bert, editor of the National Printers’
Journal and Governor A. B. Cummins.
The craft will also have an opportun
ity to see a "Junior” linotype machine
in operation at this meeting to which,
the publishers of the state are Invited.
As lie quickened his pace he almost
overtook the servant us she opened
the drawing room door; then he stood
quite still and almost breathless, gaz
ing before him. The apartment, which
was faintly lighted by a single lamp,
showed him the figure of the woman he
sought, seated at a table on which she
had thrust out her arms, between
which her head was buried. There
was something so pitiful and despair
in the abandonment of her attitude,
that all the misery he had felt that day
became suddenly accentuated, and he
recognized that here lay the cause.
With intuitive delicacy he stopped
back until the servant’s entry having
disturbed her mistress, the latter rose
and turning her back to the light, pre
pared to receive him. Dimly seen as
It was, her pallid face, drawn and hag
gard, with its eyes dull and swollen;
Its mouth quivering and above all its
expression of utter misery, startled
him.
The hand he held in his trembled and
felt cold as death.
"What has happened?” lie asked
while dreading to hear her reply.
"You have not heard?” she said, in a
low broken voice.
”1 have heard nothing new. Tell me
what It is?”
“All hope of saving me is lost.”
“No, no, not that,” he cried out fierce
ly, as if in defiance of the statement.
"All. That man—the Italian—”
“Has escaped?”
“Has been traced to his grave.”
“Well ?”
“He died in a hospital a few hours
before my husband was killed,’ she
said, striving to steady her voice.
In a second he realized what the con
sequences of this discovery might
prove to the woman before him. The
hope that she had entertained of being
quickly freed from a horrible charge
the only hope which had been held out
to her, had been destroyed and she
was once more face to face with the
accusation of murder, and with the dire
consequences that must ensue.
All the great love and pity he felt
for her swelled within him, but all
words were for the moment frozen on
his lips. She sank back into her chair,
and for some seconds the silence was
unbroken between them. Meanwhile he
was searching his mind to find some
consolation which lie might hold out
to her even while he felt there was
none he could reasonably or truthfully
offer.
\\ iifl! tuu juu near ims news. ne
asked presently.
“This morning; the inspector came
to tell me.”
“And you have been alone ever since
with your trouble?" he said looking at
her.
“I sent for my cousin, but I suppose
he was not in his rooms when my mes
sage reached him.” she replied.
"For your cousin?" he repeated in a
tone of reproach, regretting the mo
ment they were spoken, not only the
words, but the tone in which uninten
tionally he had uttered them.
"I felt sure you would come later,
when you heard it; I knew you would,”
said said quickly, conscious that she
had pained him and anxious to make
amends. *
“But tell me about Mackworth; has
he no other clew?”
"Not that I know of, at least,” she
answered wearily.
"He may have, though ho withholds
it from you,” he remarked.
“Why do you think he would keep
It back from me?”
"He might not wish to speak until
he was able to prove his case.”
"I see,” she answered, a grateful look
In her eyes, “you are striving to give
me hope, but I cannot blind myself
to the fact that circumstances seem
dead against me."
Though her-voice was calm there was
an undertone of pitifulness in it that
appealed to her hearer more directly,
more keenly than she would have be
lieved possible.
"No matter: it’s my belief one of two
things must happen,” he said, his man
ner growing more serious if possible.
“And that?” she said eagerly.
“Either the man who killed your
husband will be found-”
"Or?”
She shook her head sadly, saying, "I
fear the murderer will never be dis
covered; you see all these weeks gone
by and no definite clew has been ob
tained; as for confession—that I dare
not hope for.”
"Why not?" he asked.
"I cannot imagine a man who would
be guilty of murder sacrificing himself
to save the innocent."
"But I can conceive circumstances,"
replied Boslock, speaking slowly and
with emphasis, “under which a confes
sion was not only possible, but prob
able.”
"What are they?” she asked.
He withdrew his chair beyond the
focus of the lamplight before replying
in a clear decisive voice, that indicated
his words had been well considered,
"A man may commit murder through
a feeling of hatred or revenge, and
yet shrink from inflicting a terrible
blow on one who had never wronged
him,” he said.
"You think so?”
“Is it not a reasonable surmise? He
may through moral cowardice, and in
the hope that you may be acquitted of
this charge without the necessity of
his intervention, wait till the last mo
ment, and then if there are no other
means of freeing you, he may speak."
Blie shook her head saying, "I can
not agree with you; a man who com
mits murder is not one to make such
a sacrifice.”
"Who can tell? The passion that
blindly hurried him to take a man's
life having been satisfied, he might
come to regard his deed in the same
light as other men."
In speaking he leaned forward, and
as his face came within the circle of
light cast by the shaded lamp she
could see the pallor which had spread
from his hollow cheeks to his bare
polished temples.
“You think that possible?” she asked,
impressed by his words.
"Certainly."
"Then you judge others by yourself,
my friend."
lie gave no answer, he made no
movement. She could no longer see
his face, for he had withdrawn into
the shadow, but she could hear his
breath coming hard and fast in the
silence.
After a pause she continued, "It is
so easy to imagine what we might do
were we situated as others are or were,
und yet so difficult for us really to put
ourselves in their places. The man
who took one life to gratify his hatred
or revenge, would not, I think, hesitate
to see another life sacrificed to save
himself from the consequences of his
action."
“There may be exceptions," he an
swered from out of the darkness.
"There are exceptional men in the
world, but 1 dare say they are few,”
she replied.
[ "Anil 1 can almost realize," said
George Bostoek, with a force In his
I words that startled her, "how welcome
expiation would be to a burdened con
science, and how necessary a confes
sion might become as an escape from
the Infliction of an intolerable secret."
"Such things can only be known to
and judged of by the guilty," she mur
mured.
“Yes, only by the guilty," ho re
marked, emphasizing her words.
In the silence that followed they
could hear the rain full heavily on the
sodden ground and on the dead leaves:
and the wind rising once more made
the closed shutters rattle. From where
he sat he could see the haunted, pa
thetic look in her eyes, the weary ex
pression of her face, and as she bent
her head he noticed how quickly her
hair had whitened.
lie could no longer sit there a silent
witness to the outward sign of hec
sufferings, and therefore, rising, he
drew near to her.
"You mustn't give up all hope yet,"
he said earnestly, longing to relieve her
depression.
"But my prospect looks black."
"You forgot the old saying, 'that the
darkest hours is nearest to dawn.’ ”
"And you really think that my inno
cence may yet be proved ?”
"I am sure It will,” he answered
firmly.
"Sure?" she repeated, surprised alike
b>' the words and by the tone of the
expression. "How—why ?"
"Because-" he began and then
hesitated.
“Yes?" she asked anxiously, her feel
ing wrought to intensity.
"Because, as I have said, murder will
out one way or another!"
He eyes expressed the disappoint
ment she felt at hearing him express
this vague generality instead of some
particular explanation.
"Is that all?” she asked in a low, dis
pirited tone.
Before he could reply the bell of the
garden door rang loudly through the
house.
marked.
“I must go now,” Bostock said as he
rose.
She did not ask him to stay, but said,
“You will come and see me again soon,
I hope.”
“Very soon." lie replied gravely, as
he took her hand and looked into her
eyes.
As he passed through the corridor on
his way out he met Valerius, who, with
displeasure in his prominent blue eyes,
coldly regarded the publisher. They
bowed as they passed without speak
ing.
“She loves him,” George Bostock
thought as he emerged into the rain
and the darkness, and the depression
he had felt all day grew deeper yet.
CHAPTER XXII.
George Bostock drove home to his
flat In Herschel Mansions absorbed and
impressed by the Interview which had
taken place between him and the
authoress. Entering his sitting room
he found half a dozen letters awaiting
him, which he read without under
standing and laid aside, only to take
up once more and read again with the
like results; for his mind being full of
the woman he had Just quitted, was
incapable of fresh Impressions.
In a little while a servant announced
that dinner had been served, when he
entered the dining room and seated
himself at the' table. Of appetite he
had none; the smell of food proved dis
agreeable; but mechanically he helped
himself to fish, and then forgot to eat
what was before him.
On the servant reappearing to change
his plate she. seeing he had not begun,
would have quietly retired, but that he
called her back. He scarcely tasted
the second course or that which fol
lowed, and the dishes being removed
he was unaware he had not dined. As
ho sat looking absently at the fruit
before him and the empty glass beside
him he heard the electric hell of the
entrance door ring, and his thoughts
went back to that other bell he had
heard a couple of hours before, and
to the man who had rung it.
tered to say Mr. Mackworth had culled
to see her master.
“Show him into the sitting room, and
say I shall he with him directly,” the
publisher said, thinking the inspector
called to tell him what he already
knew.
Now, Mackworth, on learing at the
Italian hospital of the death of Mezza,
and having that news confirmed by an
inspection of the certificate of Mezza’s
death at the consulate, was thoroughly
disappointed to find that the deceased
foreigner was not the ntan who had
taken David Dumbarton’s life.
But his mind recovering from this
mortification, reverted with force to his
old theory that George Bostock, and no
other, was the criminal. He was the
Individual whose interests were cent
tered in Dumbarton’s death, and
though Quinton Quave had hesitated to
recognize in him the figure which was
seen to watch the house on the night
of the murder, Martyn, the policeman,
had identified him as the same who
was in the immediate vicinity of the
scene of the tragedy soon after it had
taken place.
These considerations, coupled with
the fact that Mackworth had been un
able to trace George ftostock’s move
ments from his leaving Mrs. Dum
barton’s presence until his return to
I 7
' I don't care, I'm perfectly happy,”
Said Frank.
"I’m sure I don't care, I”rn happy—
perfectly happy. Don't see how I could
be more so.” said Nellie, In a hopeful
tone of voice.
| Neither was looking at the other.
& ;• Faeh tried to he absorbed in a book,
ft blit certainly neither was absorbed, for
* an the average, during the entire after
noon. they had made remarks similar
to the foregoing at least every ten min
utes.
'Did you say. Nellie,” continued
‘•'rank, just a trifle doubtfully, "that
there was. enough in the house for sup
per and breakfast?”
"I’m quite sure, dear.” said Nellie,
"that there is enough for supper, and
perhaps for breakfast. But we shall
not want much for breakfast. You
Know that you have very often said
, that you did not care for much break
fast. and really I can get along on
nothing at all.”
“I don’t see what we have to worry
about then, do you?”
"Indeed. I do not. I think we have
every reason to be perfectly happy,”
she answered.
"Sure of supper today and breakfast
tomorrow. I should say we have every
reason to be thankful,” continued
Frank.
"Yes, indeed,” added Nellie. "Just
think of the number of people in the
world who are sure neither of supper
today nor breakfast tomorrow. Take
the case of'a cannibal-”
"Just what I was thinking." broke in
Frank. "He is dependent on the chance
rail of a missionary—surely a precari
ous existence.”
"Oh, Frank, you are joking!" said
Nellie.
"Proof that I am perfectly happy,”
responded Frank.
"While 1 am perfectly happy," said
Nellie, "I do wish that the firm had
not failed, and that you had not lost
your position and your good salary.”
"Yes, and while I am perfectly hap
py." said Frank, “I do wish that our
parents had not objected to our mar
riage."
"The idea that we. who are children,
both of us. of rich parents, should be
left to the disagreeable expedient of
pawning the few wedding presents that
we received!”
IUU.V1 IJ1C UliJUglCCrtUIC
snt of pawning the last wedding pres
ent that we received. Now—now—
now, little wife, you are going to cry!”
"Indeed I am not,” said Nellie, strug
gling bravely to suppress the tears.
"I think we are very lucky to have any
wedding presents to pawn. In fact, I
think we are very lucky indeed.”
“And so do I,” added Frank, “very,
very lucky-” Just then he was in
terrupted.
There is no better time than an In
terruption to explain the condition of
affairs in a romance, so I will take
advantage of the present one, which
may be the only interruption in my
story. Frank and Nellie Hayward had
married against their parents’ wishes.
Their parents, though rich, refused to
help them in any way, or even to re
ceive them in their homes. Frank was
brave and manly, and Nellie was sen
sible and womanly. They determined
to do for themselves, and at the very
cutset made a solemn compact with
each other that come what might, they
would consider their love for each other
compensation for all the Ills of life.
For a time things went very well.
Frank obtained a position that enabled
them to live very comfortable In a
furnished flat. But, as in the life of
every one else, the time came when
luck turned against them. The firm
'.hat employed Frank failed, and he
was unable to get another position.
The little money that they had saved
up from his salary was soon exhausted.
They were forced to the disagreeable
expedient of nawning such things of
value as they possessed, and finally
they had come to the end of even that
resource.
''Undoubtedly you have a wellstoekea
larder, though?”
"It is about exhausted.”
"Of course. In a case of real distress
you have your parents to rely on?”
"On the contrary, we would not wish
to ask th?m to help us under any cir
cumstances.”
“Well, young man," said the old gen
tleman exoitedy. "will you tell me what
in the world you are going to do?”
"I would much rather have you tell
me what 1 am going to do,” answered
Frank.
“Nothing." answered the old gentle
man. solemnly.
"That's what I have been doing quite
a while.”
“The fact is,” continued the old gen
tleman, "you are precisely what you
were saying you were when I knocked
in your door—you arc lucky. I am a
man of whimsicals. I .have been look
ing all my life for'' a happy married
couple. Someone, never mind who,
told me that you were the couple I was
looking for. I did net believe it for
a long time, but when 1 discovered
that you were in hard, luck, and still
were not complaining, I began to be
lieve it. My mission on earth is te as
sist happy couples who are in hard
luck. This is the first time i have ever
hud a chance to fulfil my mission. It is
all the more to your advantage,
though—there is more money in the
fund than there would be if the world
were stocked with happy couples. I
propose to settle on you a little income
of five hundred a year.”
The old gentleman paused to see
wtrait, effect this startling announce
ment would have on the happy couple.
The effect was not marked. They
looked at him very much as they would
look at a curiosity.
“I suppose you think I am an insane
man?” is inquired angrily.
“No," answered Nellie, “hut I think
you are my father, with a wig and eye
glasses, and a very poor attempt at a
disguised voice.”
Saying which, she ran to him and
threw her arms about his neck.
"Well, I am,” said the old gentleman,
laughingly as he removed his dis
guise, "and I frankly confess that for
a long lime 1 have had a disguised
heart. 1 didn't want to help you until
I though 1 you needed it, so 1 waited.
Hut I will tell you this—if you had ac
knowledged that you were not happy
I would have given you double the al
lowance I have.”
"I don't care," said Nellie. “I'm per
fectly happy.”
“And so am I,” said Frank.
c yarn
Ca/A.|fcs«’ y j
£
He Wanted to Know.
Medium—Here is a spirit who seems
very anxious for news from this tVorld.
Believer—What does'pur poor friend
wish to know?
Medium—He wants to know who had
the highest batting average for 1901.
Never during all their trouble had
either acknowledged to the other that
they were anything but happy. The
crisis, however, had just about been
reached. They were in a quandary.
It was a question whether they would
he forgiven by their parents under any
circumstances, and they were forced to
acknowledge that they had made a
nistako. They were obstinately proud.
But there was an interruption. It
was a knock at the door. Nellie rose
from her seat, and Frank was about
to do so, when it occurred to him that
the chances were that it was a cred
itor, and he thought it hardly worth
while to go to the door. He was rather
surprised though, when at the invita
tion of his wife, the door was oponed
by a queer old inan. who looked at
each of them over the rims of his
eyeglasses for a full minute before he
spoke.
"Mr. and Mrs. Hayward, I believe?”
he said at length.
“Yes, sir.” replied Nellie. "Will you
take a chair?”
"Ought to have been named Way
ward 1 suppose.” he said, chuckling to
himself, as he took the proffered chair.
"I suppose my visit ‘is rather unex
pected?”
"Decidedly,” said Frank curtly.
“Well, it is the unexpected that al
ways happens,’ said the old gentleman.
I was rather surprised to hear through
the door, accidentally, of course as
suring yourselves that you were very
lucky and very happy and all that sort
of thing."
"May I inquire what business It is
of yours, sir?” asked Frank.
"None, except that it assured me that
I had fonnd the right place,” answered
the old gentleman.
' And what place were you looking
for?” asked Frank.
“The house of a happy married
couple,” said the old gentleman.
"You have found It,” said Frank and
V N',,I!i,1 Inmlhor
The Reason.
Mrs. White-—Did you see that rat '
jump out of the oven?
Mr. White—Sure.
Mrs. White—Then why didn’t you |
shoot it?
Mr. White—Eecause it was just out i
of my range.
■rind mil IliM I mi lilt n ii i m i iimi i run m li / 1/
" X 1 ‘ Ah!” said the old gentleman, ‘‘it. is
f quite a curiosity. I suppose you will
pardon an old gentleman like myself
If lie asks a few questions. I am a
student of human nature, you know,
and, who knows? perhaps this visit
may rebound to your advantage.”
‘■'■’ire away," said Frank, who was
beginning to get interested.
"In the first place, what was the oc
casion of your saying just now that you
were lucky?"
“Because we have some wedding
presents to pawn," answered the in
genuous Frank.,
“No,” corrected his wife gently, "be
cause we had some wedding presents
to pawn."
"Dear me," said the old gentleman,
"they are all pawned then?”
"res,” answered Nellie, "but that
docs not make us unhappy.”
"I suppose that you occupy a good
position?” said the old gentleman to
Frank.
"I have lost my position, sir,” the
latter answered.
"i'ou have plenty of money In the
bank?"
“None."
He Was Wise.
"Do you believe the story of Jonah
and the whale?”
"No; sounds to me like a gag Jonah
gave his wife for not coming home.”
Sure.
Bessie—('holly didn't give Ethel any
thing at Christmas. Did she give him
anything at New Year’s?
1 Jessie—Yes, she gave him up.