iTwo Mistakes!
,f One Corrected the Other l>
<r After a Long Interval. jj,
| By SHEELAH ESTHER DUNN |
% Copyright, 1910, by American Presa 1
^ Association. <|>
Returning from shopping, I opened
tuy reticule to take out some samples
" hen. to my surprise, I found entirely
different contents from what I had ex
pected. In short, I had laid my own
reticule down on a counter and picked
up one belonging to some one else.
Among the articles I found inside
was a slip of paper, on which was
written:
Dearest Little Mary—Meet me at the
fountain tomorrow at 6 o’clock. I have
Inaele all arrangements. We will be mar
ried at the rectory and take the evening
i lain for B. Don’t let your fears get the
better of you. Remember, 5 o'clock sharp.
1 will be there half an hour earlier. If
you think you had better come veiled
carry violets. Tour loving J.
Tuesday.
Fifteen years before I had received
just such a note. Indeed, there was
something similar In the handwriting
of the two missives. Them I had mar
ried a man whom I had been obliged
to leave before the honeymoon was
over.
A sudden thoughttstruck me. How
would it do for me to keep this girl’s
appointment a trlfle>ahend of time, im
personate her, veiled and with violets?
I could find out whether she was about
to wreck her future or marry a true
man. If the former, I might save her.
At half past 4 I sallied forth, bought
the violets of a street flower vender on
Hie way and at a quarter to 5 entered
the square. I knew well how to as
sume a hesitating step, for 1 hud ’’been
there” before. On nearing the foun
tain. looking out for .7., 7 saw a man
looking eagerly at the violets in my
hand, but of an age more suitable to
an elopement with me than a young
girl. As 1 drew nearer something in
Ills face and figure apiieared familiar
to me. Then i stopped, overpowered
with astonishment.
No. I was not mistaken. He was the
man who had been my husband. Fif
teen years make a marked difference
in one’s appearance, and they had
•changed him more than they usually
■change men.
1 was now more than ever bent on
playing the part. He Joined me, and
In a whisper, as though I had Jost my
voice through excitement. I said:
"Take me where we can talk. I have
something to say to you.” He replied
that his auto was waiting on the street
and led the way there. I got in the
auto, and he ran it out of the town.
“1 am not satisfied about this pre
vious marriage of yours,” 7 said.
’’Croat heavens! Haven’t we gone
over that sufficiently? You have heard
my explanation, and the last time we
met you expressed yourself entirely
satisfied.”
I uuu c use your myiug iuo umum
on your wife. If we were to have
trouble and separate I suppose you
•would lay all the blame on me.”
He turned to look at me as though
taken aback at my words. He could
mot see my face for my veil, but his
•eyes were fixed on that as if they
•would pierce it.
•'You women are all alike.” he said
presently. “We men no sooner stand
you on your feet than you fall down
again. Here at the last minute you
are bringing up what 1 have been at
such infinite pains to settle."
"But, tell me. don’t you blame her?”
“No. 1 don’t. 1 blame myself rather
than her. A newly wedded pair are
like two persons floating down a tortu
ous channel full of rocks and snags.
It Is the man’s part to keep his head
and steer the boat. 1 supposed that
honeymoons were always what the
name implies. I found my wife a
prey to nil sorts of temporary emo
tions—one moment loving, the next ir
ritable. the next hesitating, the next
despondent. I should have known that
this, at least to some temperaments, is
a condition to be expected—a reaction
upon realizing that one’s fate is Irrev
ocably linked with another personali
ty. Besides, she was very young. You
are ten years older than she was at
that time, and I confess I have looked
to you for more steadiness. I am
much disappointed.”
"A woman of my age should have
.more sense than to elope.”
"You know the reason for that. If
your father and mother had not an ab
surd prejudice against your marrying
a divorced man we might be married
sensibly, as becomes our age.”
“Your first marriage having been a
case of elopement, I should suppose,
considering that it resulted disastrous
ly, you would not care to try it again.”
“The elopement has nothing to do
with either case. Two people elect to
unite. The method of their doing so
Is n mere matter of sentiment"
There was a silence for a time—at
least nothing but the chugging of the
nuto. We were both thinking, he
probably of the. fickleness of woman.
J of how a trifle may turn the whole
current of two lives. For years 1 had
considered that 1 had married a brute.
True, 1 had mourned that he had turn
ed out to be such, but X had not doubt
ed i hat my Interpretation of him was
.correct. And now 1 found him accus
ing himself of a want of tact in his
-former treatment of me, his bride, and
Joying no blame on me whatever.
I believe that feelings may be con
fevcil outward signs. I felt
---. .~.
that bis heart was ritit In this second
marriage. Possibly I may have judged
by something in his tone, possibly by
an absence of desire In his words. lie
was too rational for a lover. 1 won
dered if he were not bent on marriage
to escape loneliness or to help him to
bury a melancholy memory. I deter
mined to apply a test.
“You have been considering mo vac
illating.” 1 said. “Now you seem to be
undecided yourself. And I am not
quite sure but you are right Suppose
after we are married you should meet
your former bride. Suppose she should
admit that in a condition new to her.
a very young girl, she had tried your
patience severely: that she had mis
taken you: that she deplored the break
between you and her and would give
years of her life to undo what she had
done. You would then look upon your
marriage with mo as a chain of slav
ery.”
He said nothing for some time.
When he did his words thriled me:
“Candor compels me to admit that
I would."
I leaned back on the cushion as
though much disappointed. I am not
sure, but I practiced the deception of
a sigh Iffs mood was indicated by
the speed he was driving the machine.
I was tempted to tear off my veil and
throw my arms about Ills neck. Hut
I dared not. As his bride 1 had been
a girl. Now I was approaching mid
dle age. Another denouement to this
singular freak of fate occurred to me.
I would go with him to the church,
then reveal myself.
“Well.” I said, “it is time that we
stop This backing and filling. 1 shall
show you that I have more steadiness
than you suppose. Come: turn about.
Let us go to the rectory.”
Without a word he turned his ma
chine, and we were soon speeding in
the opposite direction. Neither spoke
for some time. I wondered of what
he was thinking. Perhaps that lone
liness which comes over u single man
after he has passed the heyday of
yontli would now be ended. Or was
he thinking of his bride of fifteen
years before? When we drew up at
the rectory, before alighting he said:
“There is yet time to reconsider this
most important step in your life. If
you have not perfect confidence in me
I beg of you to withdraw before it is
too late.”
“If there is vacillation now it is in
you. not in me."
He got out of the auto, but not with
the springy step of a groom. I knew
he was swayed by two opposite cur
rents. Whatever were his feelings, he
would not recede from the position he
bad taken.
We were received by the rector, who
had been expecting us for some time.
He placed us before a mantel, took up
his prayer book and waited for me to
take off my veil. Slowly I unwound it
and when removing the last fold turn
ed and looked at the groom.
He had not seen me since I was
eighteen. Now I was thirty-three, but
he knew me aj: once—that is. he kuew
me ns soon ns he could recover from
his astonishment. And the fact that
his bride was the same as he had
stood by years before rendered that as
tonishment rather a confusion of ideas
than a natural Impression. He stood
luuKing ai mi, un/.ru.
"Gwen!'' he exclaimed at last.
With the two men looking at me, the
one waiting to know what the scene
meant, the other how I came to be
there in place of the woman he expect
ed. it was incumbent on me to make
an explanation. 1 did so to the rector,
telling him briefly the circumstances.
When 1 had finished I turned to my
groom, wondering what expression 1
would find there. I saw at once that
he was eager to know what would be
the outcome of this contretemps. Did
it mean punishment, revenge, or would
it lead to a reconciliation? I replied
to the question asked by his eyes with
my lips. I gave him a smile. With a
profound sigh of relief he turned to the
clergyman and said:
“Proceed!”
The rector seemed puzzled. Evi
dently the situation flustered him; but.
being in holy orders, with a church
man’s antagonism toward marrying
divorced people and a churchman’s
pleasure in reuniting those who have
been separated, he was not long in re
covering his equanimity. He looked
at me for my assent. But he looked
In vain. I gave no assent. Neither
did I express dissent. He looked to
the groom for instructions and doubt
less received them, for without fur
ther delay he began the ceremony.
Neither man was quite sure what
would bo the outcome until the ques
tion was asked me, “Will you take
this man to be your wedded husband?”
I hesitated for p. moment, then said
firmly, “I will.”
Both men gave a sigh of relief.
And so it was that, while I was sep
nrated for fifteen years from the man
I loved and who loved me, by a sense
less tiff, I was reunited to him by a
marvelous coiucldence. Had not the
woman he was to have made his sec
ond wife put his note in her reticule
and left it on a counter, had 1 not *
taken it up by mistake, I would not
have been in the nick of time in a po
sition to take what belonged to me and
appropriate it to myself. The reticule
was hers; the man was mine.
I never asked my husband how he
explained matters to the woman With
whom he had Intended to elope. I
considered it none of my business.
Moreover, I was not interested in It.
But I did ask him if he did not sus
pect thut the woman beside him In the
auto was not the one he expected to
meet. He told me that, while he did
not suspect me, he felt that there was
something in the situation foreign to
what was Intended. My voice, he said,
was the only real difficulty in the way
of a perfect deception. 1
—--i
JUGGLED BY BRIIS
A Boy’s Remarkable Adventure
With a Pet Bear.
WHIRLED ABOUT LIKE A1TOY.
After the Unique Performance * Wai
Over Seventy-six Stitches In th<
Lad’s Scalp and Rolls of Surgical
Plaster on His Shins Saved Hia Life
Ben was a pet black bear four years
old and as good natured and friendly
as If his ancestors had never had bad
reputations. There Is only one occa
slon on record, says his owner, Mr.
William n. Wright, In his biography
of Ben in “Black Bear," when even to
appearances did Ben misbehave him
self.
■i tie circumstances Deing examined,
however, the animal came off with his
good name virtually untouched. Ben
had been left In hla shed as usual.
Later In the day a crowd was seen
about the door. I hurried home to
And most of the women of the neigh
borhood wringing their hands and call
ing down all kinds of trouble on my
head.
At first I could make neither head
nor tall of the clamor, but finally gath
ered that that bloodthirsty, savage
and unspeakable bear of mine had
killed a boy, and upon asking to see the
victim I was told that the remains
had been taken to a neighbor's house
and a doctor summoned.
This was pretty serious news; but,
knowing that whatever had happened
Ben had not taken the offensive with
out ample cause, 1 unchained him and
put him in the cellar of my bouse, well
out of harm's way, before looking fur
ther Into the matter. Then I went
over to the temporary morgue and
found the corpse—It was one of the
Urlln boys—sitting up on the kitchen
floor, bolding a sort of impromptu re
ception and, with the exception of
Ben. the least excited of any one con
cerned.
1 could not help admiring the young
ster’s pluck, for he was an awful sight.
From his feet to his knees his legs
were lacerated, and his clothing was
torn to shreds, and the top of his head
—redder by far than ever nature had
Intended—was covered with blood. As
soon as I laid eyes on him I guessed
what bad happened.
It developed that the two Urlln boys
bad broken open the door of the shed
and gone In to wrestle with the bear.
Ben was willing, as he always was,
and a lively match was soon on.
whereupon, seeing that the bear did
not harm the two already in the room,
another of the boys Joined In the scuf
fle. Then one of them got on the
bear’s back.
This was a new one on Ben, but he
took kindly to the idea and was soon
galloping round the little room with
his rider. Then another boy climbed
on, and Ben carried the two of them
at the same mad pace. Then the third
boy got aboard, and round they all
went, much to the delight of them
selves and their cheering audience In
cue doorway.
But even Ben's muscles of steel had
their limit of endurance, and after a
tew circles of the room with the three
riders be suddenly stopped and rolled
aver on his back.
And now an amazing thing happen
ed. Of the three boys suddenly tum
bled belter skelter from their seats one
lappeued to fall upon the upturned
laws of the bear, and Ben, who for
pears had juggled rope balls, cord
iticks and miniature logs. Instantly
undertook to give an exhibition with
ils new Implement
Gathering the badly frightened boy
nto position, the bear set him whlrl
ng. His clothing from his shoe tops
:o his knees was soon ripped to shreds
tnd his legs torn and bleeding. His
icalp was ldcerated by the sharp claws
intll the blood came. His cries rose
o shrieks and sank again to moans.
3ut the bear, unmoved, kept up the
lerfect rhythm of his strokes.
Finally the terrified lookers-on In the
loorway, realizing that something bad
o be done if their leader was not to
>e twirled to death before their eyes,
ore a rail from the fence and with a
'ew pokes in Ben’s side induced him
0 drop the boy, who was then dragged
tut apparently more dead than alive.
The doctor took Beventy-slx stitches
n the lad's scalp and put rolls of sur
real plaster on his shins. So square
md true had Ben juggled him that not
1 scratch was found on his face or on
my part of his body between the top
if his bend and his knees. He even
ually came out of the hospital no
vorse for his ordeal, but 1 doubt If be
ver again undertook to ride a bear.
How 8ho Won Out.
“Oh. George,” she cried in perplexed
ones. “I’m afraid we must part"
“Parti Why must we part, dear?” he
choed.
"On account of father,” she replied.
He fears we would be mismated. We
re so very different, he says.”
“In what way are we so different?”
le asked, with a show of dignity.
“Well, father says I am of such a
eady and willing disposition, while
ou seem so—so backward, so reluc
ant and hesitating, so—bo loath to
ome to the—the point, don’t you
now.”
“He does, does he?” blustered George,
racing up, and the very next after
oon she was showing her girl friends
iow stunning It looked on the third
nger of her left hand.—Boston Herald.
He that lives upon hope will die
as ting.—Franklin.
•' \ CANNIBALISM.
It is tHi Religion of the Savages Who
Practice It.
In the course of his thirteen years as
a missionary in the FIJI Islands the
Rev. Joseph Nettleton learned a good
deal about cannibalism nnd even saw
some of his colleagues killed and eaten.
"It Is a common mistake to think that
these men eat human beings because
of hunger.” he said. “Cannibalism Is
their religion. The ovens In the temple
where they cook their human sacrifices
are never used for any other purpose
X once witnessed the capture of a
white victim. He was surrouuded.
bound hand and foot and dragged
along to the temple, where be was
dashed with terrific force against the
altar. Then he was pushed Inside the
compound, while the chiefs arranged
as to the division of the body and be
gan a war dance. Their hideous war
dnsee—the 'derana* they call It—makes
one's flesh creep. An American sea
cnptaln who once visited the Islands
said he was not so much afraid of
being eaten as he was of this dance.
It took all the courage out of him.”
Mr. Nettleton had to use extreme
tact to avoid arousing suspicion among
the savages. “My colleague, Mr. Ba
ker, wus murdered, cooked and eaten
with seven others while exploring,” be
said. “The cannibals thought he was
spying. 1 never carried a revolver.
Why? Because the cannibals sny at
once. 'He doesn't carry that to kill
himself; therefore he means to kill us,'
and they act accordingly.”
The Rev. J. Calvert, another of Mr.
Nettleton’s colleagues, had a narrow
escape. He was surrounded by canni
bals, and tt was decided that be should
be killed. By a miracle his life was
spared. “My friend pleaded till he wns
bourse,” said Mr. Nettleton, “but it
was of no avifll. Suddenly one of the
cannibals remembered that Mr. Calvert
bad doctored blm when he was ill.
That saved my friend's life.”—Chicago
News.
DEMONIAC PLEASANTRY.
Humorous Diversion of tho Roman
gmperor Commodus.
Professional barbers are said to have
been Introduced Into Rome by Menas
from Sicily, of which Island he was
praetor In the days of Cicero. Under
the empire their shops In some In
stances became fashionable resorts at
which every luxury of the toilet was
enjoyed and the gossip and news of
Rome and the empire were discussed.
The means, luxury and weaknesses of
personal adornment therein carried to
excess are amply immortalized In the
pages of Terence, Plautus. Horace.
Juvenal and Martial.
Other barber shops were more re
tired, as we learn from the annals of
the Emperor Commodus, who, having
wearied at times of the wholesale trag
edies of the Coliseum, wherein armies
engaged In murder at his savage be
hest, and being desirous of a little
humorous diversion, used, like the
caliph of Bagdad In the “Arabian
Nights,” to disguise himself and sally
forth, accompanied by two or more of
his favorites, and, having hired a bar
ber shop suitable for his purpose,
would place one of his men at the door
to solicit custom.
Having secured a customer, the em
peror barber would politely affix the
towel and apply the lather, all the time
keeping up a running' fire of the latest
jests and little pleasantries until the
customer nnd himself were almost over
come with laughter. Then the keen
edged razor would slip, and among
regrets and proffers of assistance the
noseless victim would be assisted to
the rear of the shop, where between
threats and bribes he was kept from
making a riot until one or two more
victims were added to the number and
Commodus, weary of his demoniac
pleasantry, was ready to return to the
palace or to the arena.—Charles Win
slow Hall In National Magazine.
The Mails.
When does a crime become punish
able? When It Is committed by mall.
The mall Is the most sacred thing
known to the United States govern
ment except Itself. Nothing but trea
son surpasses in egregiousness the mis
use of the malls. So far as the federal
authorities are concerned, one may
steal, gamble and murder so long as It
Is not done by correspondence. Do ye
whatsoever ye will one unto another,
but do not write It down and stick a
stamp on the upper right hand corner,
for If ye do then In truth will all the
demons of justice be unloosed upon
your trail.—Life.
startled the Native*.
Herrara, the Spanish historian, say*
that Plzarro when he landed In South
America owed hla life and those of his
companions to the fact that one of the
party fell off his horse by accident
The natives had succeeded In cutting
off the retreat of the Spaniards to
their ships, when one of the riders
was thrown. The Indians were so as
tonished at the dissolution of partner
ship that they took flight at once.
They had supposed horse and man to
be one animal.
An Inference.
Kose—Why don’t you pop In and
bave a game of bridge sometimes?
Violet—Oh, well, you see—er—I’ve be
come a bit of a recluse lately. Rose
How much do you owe?—Illustrated
Kits.
Thriftless.
“Did she marry the man who rescued
her?"
"Yes, and now she’s discovered that
her life was the only thing he ever
saved."—Detroit Free Press.
" 11 " ii
jmrn'mmwirr'Imtmmmm* iwnilHlfMli,»i>iu„^» i ; Mll. ilh rg
i
. <
I Intellectual j
| Courtship j
| It Is a Very Different Affair |
^ From Simple Love. «
I By EDITH B. ARNOLD.
% Copyright, 1910, by American Press
£ Association.
Miss Margaret Lyall took all the de
grees of the under and post graduate
university courses. Bclug possessed
of an independent income, it was not
necessary for her to make a living, but
she was so clever that the college sent
her abroad to study for a professor
ship. She returned with an additional
foreign degree and assumed the cliulr
for which she had been preparing her
self.
When Miss Professor Lyall was
twenty-seven years old it occurred to
her that after all sho would prefer to
bo a wife and mother to growing old
as a teacher. If sho were to choose
the more natural course It was high
time she were doing so. She was con
sidered a very attractive woman and
was comely. She had had a number
of offers, but had not been thinking of
marringe and for this reason had ac
cepted none of them. Now, having
determined to wed. she looked over the
list of her suitors and settled on Boyal
Richardson, a Journalist
Mr. Richardson was editor In chief
of a large newspaper. lie was a high
ly educated and a forceful man. There
Is no place In the world where exact
ness, system and. above all. a quick
resource are more essential than in the
mnkeup of n daily newspaper. Mr.
Richardson had a quiet, dignified way
with him that carried great weight
“That match,” every one said, “Is
between one of nature’s highest type
of men and the same grade of women.
Such a couple united should produce
important results for good. What a
splendid spur the one for the other!'
“No doll wife for me,” said Mr. Rich
ardson. “Give me a woman with n
brain In her head!” “If I am to be
married,” said Miss Lyall. “1 prefer a
man who is certainly not my inferior.
If lie Is my superior I will follow his
lead, for that Is a law of nature. If
he should turn out to be of poorer
judgment than I, then thut same law
will compel him to submit to my de
crees.”
Two persons were especially disap
pointed at this engagement One was
Walter Fairbanks, a quiet, unobtru
slve man several years younger than
Miss Lyall. Not being highly educat
ed himself—he had gone into business
at seventeen—he hud a profound ad
miration for Professor Lyall. It
was the acme of his desires to have
such a woman for his wife. It would
be like an Intellectual beggar marry
ing one with nn intellectual fortune.
The other disappointed person was
Miss Lucy Brooks, a girl of twenty,
whose knowledge had been gained in a
public school, but whose heart was as
fresh as a rose and exhaled as much
fragrance upon all who knew her. She
had long worshiped Mr. Rlchnrdson
from a distance, but considered him so
far above her that It was madness for
her to aspire to be his wife.
No sooner had Professor Lynll be
come engaged to Mr. Rlchnrdson thnn
she began to take an interest In his
paper She liked to pick out editorials
in which she could see his vigorous
opinions expressed In Ills terse, pun
gent style. Rut one day she noticed
what she hnd not discovered before.
She was much Interested in the na
tional problems of the day and sym
pathized with every movement calcu
lated to bring the trusts under a proper
legal subjection. Mr. Richardson had
given In his edltorlnls an impression
that this was the policy of his paper
But In an article which bore every evi
dence of having been written by him
he made use of the term "trust bust
er.” The next time he met his tluncee
she said to him:
“Royal. I supposed the policy of your
paper was to advocate the regulation
of the trusts by law.”
“My dear Margaret, the policy of a
newspaper is an uuknown quantity to
any one except its manager.”
“Will you kindly explainV”
Mr. Richardson for the moment for
got that he was not In his editorial
chair. It seemed an icicle rather than
a sentence that came through his cold
Ups.
“Yes; 1 will explain by saying that 1
alone dictate the policy of my paper.”
Miss Lyall looked at him with aston
ishment. “And 1 alone," she said,
“will decide as to the man I will mar
ry. He shall not be one who would
make use of the obnoxious expression
‘trust buster.’ ”
She strode majestically out of the
room and upstairs.
Mr. Rlchnrdson departed with a com
plication of feelings. lie was disap
pointed, angered, hurt. For the Urst
time he had been interfered with In
his life work. His eyes were opened
to the fact that the high grade of
character, of intellect, he had wished
in a wife had in this case at least
proved a boomerang. If he had been
called to account by another his feel
ings would not hnve been the least ruf
fled. Rut he had formed the very im
portant plan of marrying Miss Lyall,
and he saw that such a union would
necessitate the rooting up of the main
habit of his life.
“Good morning. Mr. Richardson,”
came a soft voice, and, looking aside
us he walked, he met the amiable
Bmlle of Miss Brooks. It was like a
=a» „r- -ini—JLiB_—
; warm StitiShlne breaking through a
> wintry cloud, fle turned and joined
> her- For an hour he walked beside
> her. listening to her prattle, scarcely
> speaking himself, the girl all the while
; pouring balm on his perturbed feel
» lags. He Went with her to her home,
\ and It ,wa»«.notherdiour ■before be left.
Miss Lyall Buffered the same per
turbed sensatlons^rand as Mr. IUchard
son had been comforted by mi«»
Brooks she turned to Walter Fair
banks for Blmllar treatment. If a
person of strong mind becomes balked
and consequently Irritated there Is a
craving for somo one—not to rely on
for advice, butto whet opinions upon.
Miss Lyall made an excuse to send
for Mr. Fairbanks In order that she
might have a dummy to pound. Mr.
Fairbanks proved himself admirably
suited to the purpose. Not capable of
understanding that higher role of ele
vating by an unceasing flow of Infor
mation which Is the great work of
newspapers, he saw only the blemishes
resting on the press. When Miss Lyall
told him of her disagreement with Mr.
Ulehardson he was surprised that she
did not know that his paper was own
ed by a combination of Industrial mug
nates. This opened Miss Lyall's eyes
not only to the fact of an entire ab
sence of sympathy between her and
the man who was employed to oppose .
views she held very strongly, but that
there was, after all, a comfort In com
ing down with her aeroplane and hav
ing a heart to heart talk on the earth’s
surface with a man who knew what
was going on there.
But Mr. Ulehardson before any an
nouncement was made of the break
ing of the engagement concluded to
mnke an effort to set matters right be
tween him and his fiance. He called
upon her, and she came down with a
disappointed |ook on her face.
“I have called to say. Margaret,” he
began, "that perhaps you are not aware
that a newspaper Is not exclusively a
concern for dispensing noble Ideas. No
ble Ideas there may be in It, but they
would not be there at all If the paper
had no means for Its publication. Un
less a newspaper can be made to
pay”—
"Has that anything to do with pre
tending to advocate Ideas and at the
same time sneering at them?"
“I don’t admit”—
“What Is your definition of the term
trust buster?"
“A trust buster? Why, a trust buster
Is one who advocates breaking up those
combinations which are essential to
business at the present day."
“But I doa’t admit that they are
essential.”
your opinion can have
nothing to do with the management of
the paper 1 edit"
“If the paper you edit Is the exponent
of the principles, or, rather, the want
of principles, of the man I am to marry
It certainly Is of great importance to
me.”
“I am employed to carry out the
policy laid down by the owners of the
paper.”
“Why. then, do you pretend to carry
out opposing ideas?”
"Margaret, a newspaper is a prac
tical affair. It must have advertise
ments; to secure advertisements it
must have circulation; to have circu
lation It must have readers. Headers
are of various opinions. One must
steer a middle course to”—
"Enough! You, the man with whom
1 had decided to unite my very being,
have no principles of your own”—
“My principles are my own; the pa
per’s principles are Its own.”
"Then If you were paid to advocate
anarchy and assassination you would
do so without a qualm of conscience.”
“Margaret,” be said, changing his
tone to one of despondency, “if our
union is to be one of argument instead
of simple love it will be a failure.”
“And unless I marry a man whose
principles are not for sale it will be a
failure.”
“You are Impracticable.”
"Goodby!"
Mr. ltlchardson and Miss Lyall bad
igain found themselves in the position
>f those
_— m a.__Li * j i.i_ a
Thus beating up against the wind,
though neither of them loved the
tempest. They were obliged by their
uuture to beat up against it. Agala
they sought solace iu the sympathy of
their intellectual Inferiors. Mr. Rich- j
unison called on Miss Brooks, and
M lss Lyall called in Walter Fairbanks.
Richardson sat on a sofa beside the
lithe, laughing girl, rested by her
every Innocent word, by her every j
dainty motion and more than all by
that perpetual smile which hovered
over her lips. She cared nothing for
the policy of bis paper, and. as to bis
principles, she did not for a moment
doubt that they were noble. A lock of
his hair fell down over his forehead,
and with the touch of her waxen fin
gers she put it back in place, laughing
as she did so. He took the fingers in
bis hand and kissed them. Then he
kissed her. That settled it
Miss Lyull talked to Walter Fair- j
banks about her conversation with i
Richardson. He listened to her with
out a word, looking at her the while
with a pair of sympathetic eyes.
Whenever she said, “Am I right?” he .
replied, “You are,” and when she said,
“Am I wrong?” he said. “You are not"
In other words. Miss Lyall got from
Mr. Fairbanks what she wanted. And !
so in time she became accustomed to
getting what she wanted and found It
more convenient to place Mr. Fair
banks where she could have him all i
the time. She married him.
Mr. Richardson and Miss Lyall meet
occasionally and have intellectual
talks. She considers him a brilliant !
man. but without principle. He con- |
skiers her a very smart woman, but
educated in a theoretic. Impractical
school. Each is very happy at home.
